Dream

by Cascadejackal

End

Within a small house, within a forest, a life was born from a dream.

One step, then another, bronze hooves moved. Gears whirred and ticked, a delicate mechanism giving life and motion, powered by a heart of quartz. Copper feathers slid and spread upon great wings, gleaming in the soft light of flickering candles.

Finally, eyes of flawless sapphire opened, looking upon the world, a dream made whole and real.

This dream's gaze saw only one thing. The face of Father, weeping. Though, he did not weep tears of sorrow, but tears of joy.

For he had found his dream.

The dream was innocent, without guile or fear or sorrow. As delicate and trusting as a newborn foal, knowing only Father, and the things he taught.

He taught his dream of beauty, of Mother, who slept eternal, and of the wonders of the world. He taught of the seasons, the mountains, the flowers and the birds. Paintings and songs and his marvelous machines, these were her playmates, her companions, her world within the house within the forest.

She learned of beauty. Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, their light touching her gleaming body was deemed beautiful by Father. The dances learned from Father's music boxes, with spinning ponies so small yet wondrous, revealed beauty in movement. Tales of the far-off lands, of Canterlot, of the highest mountains with snow-kissed peaks, of great bodies of water called oceans that sparkled in the sun, told her there was beauty everywhere.

The greatest beauty, though, came with tears. Words of Mother brought tears, silver drops that fell from Father's eyes. Words of love, and life, and loss. Of joy and sorrow, of peace and pain.

The dream knew of these things, the things Father taught.

Sometimes, while the sun crossed the azure sky, behind the clouds of purest white or stormy grey, Father would go away. Always, he would return to his dream before the moon's silver eye could gaze upon the land.

At these times, he spoke of the town, of where Mother lay sleeping. He would speak, and he would weep, and he would laugh, until he, too, slept.

Through the night, the dream would wait. She did not sleep, nor breathe nor stir. She would only wait, until Father awoke once more with the rising of the sun, to speak and teach and create beautiful things.

Time passed, as it must. Days into weeks into months into years. Summer's heat warmed her unfeeling body with dazzling light. Spring unveiled new wonders, flowers and bees and the marvels of the forest. Autumn coloured the trees anew, with oranges and reds, as though the forest were ablaze with living flames. Winter, too, had beauty. The serenity of the sleeping world, a stark white canvas alive with possibilities.

Always, the dream remained near her home, where Father had given her life, where beauty was all around.

Always, time continued on its course.

A year, then two, a dozen and more. Father spoke and taught and created. The dream would listen, and watch, and learn.

Father would go to town, and the dream would remain. Father would sleep, and the dream would wait for him to awaken.

Until, one morning, he did not wake with the rising sun.

The dream waited as the sun rose, then set, chased and followed by the moon. She waited beside his bed, for him to arise and speak of beauty once more. And yet, he didn't.

One day passed into two, then three. Still, she waited, never stirring from her place.

A noise at the door, one who was not Father entering, then leaving. Hours passed, the patient dream wondering what new things she would learn, and more who were not Father came.

Hushed words and curious glances, for loss of the old clocksmith and the presence of a strange masterpiece beside his bed.

When sleeping Father was taken, the dream did follow. From the house and through the forest, to the town where Father spoke to sleeping Mother. A new world was revealed, but the dream longed only for Father to awaken, to teach her of this beautiful new place.

She looked on as sleeping Father was placed within the earth. When the first soil fell upon him, she sat beside the stone that bore his name. When he could no longer be seen, she did not stir. When night fell, words and touches, meant to move her, the strange creation that was the old clocksmith's greatest work, proved fruitless and meaningless. They were not Father, and the dream would wait until he awoke.

A day, a week, a month. The shining oddity, of copper skin and brass hooves, of sapphire eyes and gemstone heart, remained by Father's side. The ponies of the town grew used to her, the gently clicking headstone, the silent watcher beside the clocksmith and his wife.

Slowly, the dream understood. Father would not awaken. He slept eternal, beside Mother, and would teach her no more.

In winter's grasp, seen only by the Mare in the Moon, she spread her gleaming wings. A single beat, then two, then more. Snow and frost fell from the once-still sentinel, and she took flight. She would see all the beauty in the world, and learn the things Father could not teach.

For weeks and months and years, she flew, and never did the beauty of the world end. Verdant forests, lush and green. Burning sand and towering dunes, golden and glorious. Bleak rocks and desolate wasteland, where life clung on, tenacious and unwavering. Cities and mountains, seas and oceans, she saw them all.

In tempests she danced, in torrents she soared. Beneath sun and moon, all the beauty of the world was revealed to the dream, and she learned it all. Her once-gleaming skin, of polished copper and shining brass, dulled and dimmed. A patina crept across her, changing old beauty for new, a sign of the years and untold time spent in search of beauty.

From sunrise to sunset, moon's ascent to moon's rest, she flew. Beyond the known world and back again, learning all the wonders she could find. The songs of great beasts in the sea, the flights of dragons fearsome and wonderful, the mysterious things that dwelled in lands forgotten and lost to the mists of time. Her sapphire eyes witnessed them all.

But something ever more beautiful awaited her.

Countless years had passed when she returned to the land of her creation, where a dream had been given life. A great glow, from a kingdom atop a mountain, as the sun rose to begin its path across the blue sky once more, was seen by a being of clockwork and magic. The dream waited, to see it again, to glimpse the strange beauty once more. Day passed into night, and as sun and moon continued on their chase, the glow appeared once more. With a beating of weathered wings, the dream flew towards it.

When it faded, she waited. When it shone, she followed. Day after day, she continued, drawing ever closer to this new wonder. Forests and paths and towns passed beneath her, yet all went unseen, caught as she was by a beauty unknown.

Finally, her hooves touched the night-kissed land, within a maze of hedges and leaves. She had flown past shining walls and over a city, to the towering spires of a shining castle. Her beauty lay within that wondrous structure, and she had only to wait. And wait she did, until it was time for the sun to rise.

Beauty. It seemed such a small word, to describe the sight before her. With wings and horn, together with stature all grace and height, a coat of purest white, lit by some inner glow, as though the sun had been given form. A mane that made the greatest rainbows cast by misty falls in ancient jungles seem pale, blowing as though touched by a breeze despite the still air.

This, though, was nothing compared to the wondrous creature's actions. Lighting her horn, the beauty spread her wings and looked to the sky. Caught between setting moon and rising sun, she seemed beyond all that had been, or ever would be. That morning, the beauty and the dream wept as one, yet no tears were shed.

The beauty wept as she gazed upon the moon, vanishing beyond the horizon.

The dream wept as she gazed upon such beauty, all she had ever wished to know.

The beauty vanished, returning to her tower.

The dream remained, watching, waiting, to learn more of this beauty.

Day became night became day. The dream remained unseen, concealed with the maze, watching always.

A week, then two. A month. Always, she waited. Always, she watched.

The dream knew beauty, in all its forms. It had learned from Father, from the world, from the being atop the tower. Upon this day, it spread its wings, rearing to take flight... and stilled.

The delicate mechanism within froze. The light left the sapphire eyes.

The dream had been fulfilled. It knew beauty, in all its forms.

Now, she would rest eternal, and sleep without awakening. Just like Mother. Just like Father.

Some years later, a tall and regal being would find herself wandering the maze beside her castle. There was no purpose to her steps, no direction as she walked, merely losing herself within the hedges and leaves.

To her surprise, however, in a dead end, hidden from view deep within the living labyrinth, something she had never before seen awaited her.

It was a masterpiece.

A face serene, born from the union of two, in spirit if not body. Wings broad and graceful, outstretched as though to take flight. Body poised in delicate balance, pointed to the sky. A patina upon the once gleaming copper hide, as though it had been there for countless years.

Princess Celestia smiled. It was beautiful.