To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

by Georg


Chap. 1 - The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
--Georg (Editing by AlicornPriest)


We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest (4.1.168-170)


In the highest spire of the highest tower in Canterlot, Princess Luna dreamed of nightmares....




Princess Luna ascended into the night sky, free from the bonds of earth and toils of day and far from the voice that had frightened her so. She took a deep breath of the crisp night air and beat her wings even harder, as if altitude alone would be able to shake the terror of her dreams.


“They hate you.” The voice that had spoken in her dream was made of syrup and clouds, not the voice of Discord or the voice of...her. This was a voice forged from doubt and fear, an icy knife of words that crumbled her confidence like dust.

“They fear you.” Harder she beat her wings, looking only upwards in the thinning air. Far below she could hear the distant wingbeats of the Night Guard as they futilely attempted to follow her, their bat-like wings flailing against the thin air.

“They....love...me...” She panted as the air grew even thinner.

“They love your sister. She was always the special one. You have innocent blood on your hooves. You will always be in her shadow. Hated. Despised. Loathed. Feared.”

“My sister...” Luna stumbled for words in the thin air, her wings losing their rhythm.

“You are weak. She has always protected you.”

Luna gritted her teeth and flapped harder, rising higher and higher, but even here the voice followed.

“Only when you held the power, were you strong.”

“Some...power...has...too high...a price..” She gasped as the air around her thinned, the unblinking stars shining all around her.

“You could have that power again. All you have to do is—”




“NOOO!!” Luna’s scream would have woken half the castle if her bedchambers had not been shielded against magic. As it was, she could see the main door still vibrating as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer, and there was a faint far-off delicate tinkle as what remained of the beautiful stained-glass window in her bedchamber shattered on the courtyard stones far below. While she wrestled with the twisted bedcovers, the faint I’m-Tapping-Because-I-Heard-Something-But-Don’t-Want-To-Wake-You tapping of a concerned guard outside her door could be heard.

“Princess? Are you all right in there?”

“Yes,” she snapped after finally getting a sheet untangled from her forehoof. “Cursed covers, thou shall pay dearly for thy treachery.”

“Are you sure? I could send for—”

“No!” She ripped open the bedchamber door to reveal the youngest and lowest-ranked member of the Night Guard hunched uncomfortably in what could be called The Position For Gently Talking Through Keyholes, although upon sight of Luna in her present state of undress, he promptly fell down flat on his face and trembled. His older companion who had much more experience with the Royal Temper, properly maintained his Official Night Guard stance: Golden oval eyes firmly forward away from the door, ears firmly forward away from the door, his bat-like wings tucked firmly on his glossy black flanks and all attention concentrated firmly on any approaching being who could be a danger to the Princess. (and with full knowledge what horrible fate would befall him if he were to turn around and look)

“Guard!” she snapped. “What is thy name?”

“P-pp-ppp-pu-pu-pum,” the prostate guard gasped out between chattering teeth.

“Oh yes. Pumpernickel. The one with the wry name.” It was fortunate for Pumpernickel's fellow Night Guard that Luna had looked down at just that moment to free her last hoof from the tangled sheet, and missed his stifled snort of bemusement. “Get up.” She waited impatiently, her already foul mood was not improving. “We said get up!”

The guard maintained his face-down shivering attitude and pointed with one unsteady hoof at Princess Luna’s nightstand where the Royal Accoutrements sat.

“Oh for the love of....” She grabbed the tunic and tiara and threw them on, and debated about the shoes before passing. If the foalish idiot could not handle seeing his charge with naked hooves, he did not deserve to be in the Guard. “We said, get up. NOW.”

The trembling ebon Guard got up on his hooves, his bat-like wings tucked firmly in place on his glossy flanks. But he remained looking at the floor. “My Princess, I am at your service.”

“Look at us.” She stared at the Guard until finally his head came up and his golden oval eyes stared nervously into hers. “I. Am. Fine. Now return to your post.”

The nervous Guard briefly looked around at the room, taking in the char marks and the broken bits of furniture that were the result of previous dreams. “Are you cert— Yes, your Highness!” he blurted out and darted out the door moments before she slammed it shut. It irritated her that the doors in the castle were not properly made for slamming. A proper door for a princess would shut with a booming crash that would echo through the castle, while these just made a ‘thump’ no matter how hard they were slammed. (Although it probably would have made more noise if Pumpernickel had gotten all of his tail out before the door closed.)

At first she returned to the bed and straightened up the covers, hoping to return to a dream-free slumber. When sleep eluded her, she instead went to the window and looked out into the night sky. Her sister had allowed her to ‘assist’ with raising the moon for the last few months, even though it frightened her to the core of her being and she could not put more than a token amount of power into the Ritual of Night. The silvery disk that floated high in the sky bore terrifying memories for her, sporadic and flickering as if a dream. Her captivity had been spent spread out across the lunar surface in the immaterial form of Nightmare Moon, unable to think, unable to act, trapped in the form and mind of....her. Sometimes it felt as if she were still trapped there and this were the dream. And if she were to awake... She turned away from the moon to stare at her beautiful stars.

They at least remained her friends, never sleeping, never changing. Even Celestia’s glory did naught but overwhelm their delicate light with her blazing substance, when it passed, their cold brilliance returned as they had done so for long before the two of them had been born. They had not betrayed her, they had waited for her, and somewhere deep inside she knew they had helped in her escape.

She spread her indigo wings to take flight, to leave all her fears and doubts behind and ascend to fly with the stars, but hesitated at the edge of the balcony. The memory of her recent nightmare sent cold chills down her flanks and made the moonlit gardens below seem to coil with hidden shadows. For long moments she stood on the balcony, oblivious to the servants in the courtyard far below who had stopped sweeping up the broken glass, to the other Guards perched on neighboring towers who watched her in the darkness with their glowing cat-like eyes. The darkness swirled with memories of millennia ago, filled with names and faces long forgotten by this world and turned to dust. She could not help but think they were going to step around the corner at any second, just as if they were returning from a trip. But they all were dead and gone, forgotten to this world, forgotten to history and living only within her mind. How many of them were victims of her foolish pride, dying that a fool might exact petty revenge upon her sister? Their ghosts seemed to walk the halls of the castle, looking over her bed at night, unable to speak, unable to act, trapped in these stone walls as she was, prisoners of her actions long ago.

With a heart-felt sigh, she turned from the window and walked to the bookshelf. There were tax laws to examine, Royal Requests to approve, and historical records to read. Far too many things to do to waste time sleeping. Or trying to sleep.