The Night Princess and the Improbably Long Hiatus
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The Night Princess and the Improbably Long Hiatus
The Night Princess and the Improbably Long Hiatus
Cock's crow stirred Princess Luna, the Impossible Moon, from a semi-vegetative state of paperwork completion.
Ancestors looked down and surely laughed. She had come to terms with the fact that it simply wasn't done anymore to rule by force, or even force of will. True, the Equestrian constitution had provisions included for such an event, just in case Celly had decided it might be a good idea, but if her sister had managed to rule Equestria wisely and well for an almost uninterrupted millennium through this... government of desks, then Luna could surely tolerate the same. Almost reflexively, she flipped through a few of the pages of the current report that she had been reading.
It was about beet farming. A brief perusal suggested that the author was broadly in favour, but had decided to express this sentiment through the extinction of what had surely been part of an old growth forest.
Luna stood, and stretched. Off-hoofedly, she lowered the moon in time for the sun to come up, and she examined a couple of nearby coffee mugs, hoping against hope that past Luna had been kind and had left a little something in one of them for her. Hope, it appeared, was in vain. Even cold coffee would have been better than no coffee.
Paper Weight, her principle private secretary, had told her that the term was 'burn out'. Her various other adventures had been an outlet, but when it came down to it, they didn't build crises like they once had. Now, a crisis was a seven percent reduction - she double checked the paper - make that seven percent increase in beet production, when there was nowhere to store the added bounty. Surely, the world was not so placid these days that there were no worse problems to be had?
And unquestionably, there were. The problem - and again, worse problems to have - was that the Royal Sisters weren't needed to deal with them anymore. Victims of their own success. Celestia had a professional army, Luna had the band of cutthroats and misfits that she affectionately called her Night Watch, and anything that needed a blast of weapons-grade friendship had the Ponyville Wrecking Crew, not that anyone called them that to their faces. Put simply, the new crop of heroes, unlikely though they might have been, had the salvation and maintenance of the realm well in hoof.
"And so the hero, coming to the sea, doffed her helm and wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer." She mused.
"I beg your pardon, highness?"
Luna started slightly, having dithered herself into a state of distraction and completely missed her secretary's entrance. "Paper... sorry, just woolgathering, I suppose."
"Bucephalus, I believe? Although there's some debate over the authenticity of the quote." Paper Weight was busying herself, steadying the ever-teetering stacks of paper and opening the drawn curtains that had kept Luna from growing distracted by her own night sky.
Luna allowed herself a faint smile. "If they really wanted to know, they could have asked. He was a stallion and a half, you know."
Paper paused. "You knew him? Personally?"
Luna's smile grew into a smirk. "One of the most famous war-stallions of all time, and you don't think Equestria's warrior princess might have bumped into him a time or two? I wrote a book of his quotations." She frowned. "Well, transcribed. And admittedly, I fluffed them up a bit. Brilliant military mind, but not exactly the soul of a poet, you know?" A pause. "I guess I did write them, really. Funny, when you think about it."
Paper humoured her princess with a tight-lipped smile. "Oh, very much so highness." She tilted her head. "I thought that book was attributed to Magistrae Equitum?"
Luna shrugged. "It was the way of things at the time. You could paint a fresco, but the only way that you knew it wasn't just people kissing your dock was if you used a pseudonym. Of course, half the time you heard things you wished you hadn't, but it was that or never hear what they really thought." She smiled fondly. "I should really try my hoof at writing again. I wasn't bad, upon a time. Wrote some racy stuff - tame by modern standards, if some of the dreams I've observed have been any gauge."
Paper was gathering the mugs, small now-dry oases across the desert of the desk. "Anything I would have heard of?"
Luna laughed. "Maybe, since you said you read Classics at Canterlot U. Probably not though. I can't imagine that anyone much would have heard of 'Gibbous Eclair' in this day and age, and I'm doubly doubtful that anyone would have retained centuries old smut."
There was a crash, as the delicately balanced tray that had too recently carried a half-dozen ceramic mugs lost its magically-maintained battle with gravity and decorated the floor with pottery shards.
"You were WHO!?"
* * *
Time, Luna reflected, was a funny thing.
At their time of publication, the works of Gibbous Eclair had been well-received but only modestly popular. It had been a fun way to blow off steam, even if it hadn't ultimately stopped the whole 'Nightmare Moon' thing from happening, and Luna had enjoyed modest dividends from the book and scroll merchants that had carried her works. Writing under a pseudonym, she had silently basked in unknowing praise when some of her courtiers had quietly and blushingly discussed her latest works sotto voce, and more than a few dreamscapes had been clearly influenced by her creative efforts.
When she had undergone her little transformation, tried to block the rising of the sun, and begun her tenure on the moon, most of her official and formal writings had fallen out of favour. No one had wanted to remind Celestia of the horrible cost that had been asked of her, and very little that had been written by Princess Luna still survived.
Gibbous Eclair's absence had been noted however, but no one had associated the writer of such base fiction with the oh-so-imperious princess. There had even been some quiet speculation that the writer might have been Celestia, now having abandoned the pen name in her grief. Apparently Luna just hadn't seemed like the type.
Not the type her dock! Those scenes had been painstakingly researched! (Ah, memories...)
The sudden disappearance had briefly been a mystery that had quietly worked its way through the land. Ponies asked close friends and confidants - but never too loudly - if they knew anything, and nopony had. It had eventually just become an Unsolved Mystery, added on to the tautologically named pile, and swept into the dustbin of history. The books, on the other hand, had not.
As the language had evolved, they had been translated, updated, reprinted and republished. No one was asking for royalties, so there had been collector's editions, and it wasn't all that uncommon to find a hardbacked copy of one or two of the works in the libraries of ponies who had the taste for that sort of thing. Illustrated versions - some better than others - were carried in specialist bookstores.
Paper Weight had mumbled something about a complete bound collection, and then rushed off under the pretext of finding a dust pan for the broken mugs, blushing furiously.
Celebrity wasn't new to Luna, powerful sorceress, warrior princess, and boogiepony for a millennium of Equestrian history. The notion of being a popular author on the other hoof - an impossibly popular author - that was novel. She idly wondered how she would even begin collecting back payment on royalties. At the very least, she figured she was probably due a gratis copy of some of those graphic novels of which she'd heard so much.
In the meantime, she'd sought Celly's counsel. Tea had been provided. It wasn't her preferred beverage of course, but she was ready to make sacrifices - besides which, the novelty of the situation was more than stimulant enough. If she'd had access to all of the caffeine she might have liked, she would undoubtedly have been giddy.
"Surely you must have known." She dunked a tea biscuit. "If nothing else, after I was gone, I had all of my notes and drafts in my chambers in the palace. You've said you went through there."
Her sister's usual fittingly sunny disposition was briefly shadowed by a cloud. "Things were... hectic. it didn't seem like a priority. Besides, it wasn't as if your smut was treasonous, just... imaginative." The diurnal ruler gave a gentle wing-shrug. "Neither of us were ever much for censorship, and I certainly didn't want to take an authoritarian tact. Besides, they brought my not-so-little ponies some harmless pleasure."
Luna considered that, and nodded, nibbling on her sodden biscuit. "And they just... never went out of fashion?"
"Well, there were waves of prudishness of course." Celestia gave smile number two-three-eight, 'patient exasperation at the whims of the public'. "Every few generations, some ponies need to re-learn that with the exception of exploitative works, trying to censor simply drives the censored underground. So I support them in stamping out anything that does actual harm or victimizes ponies, and then let the more liberally minded publishers make a small fortune in the grey market. Eventually, social mores loosen up again, and we keep a lid on any of the bad actors in more conventional ways. The publishers help us out because they know how the game is played, and the ponies in general get a feeling of vague satisfaction at being the first generation to truly understand freedom."
"Devious."
"One does not remain the mostly uncontested ruler of a principality by collecting bottle caps, dear sister."
Luna traced a line around her saucer in spilled tea with a hoof. "So... you wouldn't object to me trying my hoof again at some... creative writing?"
Celestia gave an indifferent shrug. "Not if it makes you happy to do so. Might be hard to pass them off as Gibbous Eclair works though, given that unless she's one of us, new works might seem a bit untimely. You may wish to choose a new pseudonym."
Luna smiled at that. "As it happens, I was just talking to Professor Quills at the Canterlot University library the other evening. About properly funding the effort to restore old antebellum manuscripts. I'm sure a new piece or three could be 'discovered'."
"Useful things, those university studies. Did I mention that they recently discovered a new triptych by famous Two Sisters Reign artist Glorious Dawn?"
Luna hid her grin with a teacup. It was nice to be able to chat with someone who knew how the game was played. "Painting coming along well then?"
"It helps me to relax."
* * *
Luna stared at the page in front of her with frustration. She had, so far, written twenty or so words on it, fully half of which were blotted out. Currently, she was stuck on the word 'turgid'.
Definitionally, it fit the scene. Indeed, it was difficult to figure out a more situationally appropriate word for the sentence. All that being said though, the word felt wrong. She had quite the pleasant scene in mind, and yet the use of 'turgid' was making it decidedly unpleasant, rather like discovering half of a spider in one's sandwich. Attempts to come at the same scene from a different angle had run into similar problems with 'moist', a perfectly fine, reasonable, useful word that nevertheless had a quenching effect on the mood that she had been attempting to build.
"Pa~aper!"
Her secretary yawned. Luna had been keeping longer hours, now stretching distinctly into the daytime, relying on the fortitude of an immortal to carry her through. "Yes, Luna?"
"May I impose upon you to fetch me a book that provides synonyms? I'm getting hung up on phrasing here."
"A thesaurus?"
Luna glanced down at the page, where turgid sat waiting like an unexploded cherry bomb. "Perhaps a thesoraptor, to move swiftly in a pack of synonyms, and hunt out the best word with the greatest alacrity." That movie with the theme park and the dinosaurs had stuck with her. "Or maybe a thesaurus rex."
"Biggest we have then. Alright, on it. But you should really get some sleep, Princess."
"All in good time, Paper. I just..." Luna frowned, nibbling her lower lip. "I don't remember writing being this hard. I received acclaim for my creative works, and it fueled me to strive ever onward. Then, for obvious reasons, I stopped for a little while, and now I just can't get back into the swing of it!"
Paper sat back on her haunches. "Look... Luna. If you want to write, because it will make you happy, or because it's fun, then I encourage you, as my sovereign, my boss, and my friend. But don't do it if it's making you unhappy. People liked your earlier works, and it brought them pleasure, but if you need to go at your own pace, I'm sure that they would understand, if they even knew who you were."
Luna cocked a faint smile. "Sounds like second-hand advice, oh dear secretary mine."
Paper Weight chuckled ruefully. "Maybe. I tried some creative writing back in my university days."
Luna squared her shoulders and looked down at the page. "I want to write because I enjoy writing. I find it fun and interesting, and perhaps I may write silly smut from time to time. But right now I need to push through this block, because if I don't, I'll just let it fall to the wayside, and it will be another decade before I even think to try again."
Paper paused, considered, and shrugged. Ultimately, Luna was an adult. Given her age relative to most ponies, she was among the adultiest adults in Equestria. "Alright then. Just... don't stay up too late beating your head against the wall. We just got it re-plastered."
* * *
Ultimately, it had taken a few weeks for the creative juices to start to flow, and at the end, Luna hadn't been entirely satisfied with the result. But it had been a real result, real progress, and she had allowed Professor Quills to 'discover' it, trusting that the research team would show discretion regarding the manuscript's relatively recent manufacture, and the fact that it was in her own script.
Now, Paper and Celly and a few other confidants were reading the advanced reader's copies. Luna found herself apprehensive. If the didn't like it, she wasn't certain what she would do - she had never handled rejection well. They might think less of her, if they didn't like her work. On another hoof, what if they liked it, but not in the way that she had intended? She had heard that the author was dead, but she was an immortal.
Her faithful secretary finished first, and came over to her. Luna found herself holding her breath.
"I quite liked it, actually." Paper began. Luna felt the butterflies in her stomach tickle all the way up past her rib cage.
"You did?" Luna coughed, and swallowed her hopeful tone. "I mean... I'm glad that you did! That was the goal, after all."
"It wasn't the same as the earlier works, but it reflected growth. It showed vulnerability. It was still fun, and more than a little racy, but it's a reflection of who you are, rather than who you were." Paper smiled up at her employer. "You did well, Luna."
And now the butterflies had flown up her throat, and were pushing up the corners of her mouth. "Thanks Paper." Ideas whizzed through the Night Princess' head - new scenes, new stories, fun words and phrases. Sequels composed themselves behind her eyes, entire universes of her creation springing into being fully formed, with characters and conflicts.
"I think I have some more writing to do."
Author's Note
No, YOU'RE a metaphor for something.
Seriously, just blowing off a little steam and working through some pony-word writer's block. We'll see what happens next.