Luna quivered and moaned in deep, luxurious tones as waves of ecstasy washed over her. Gerrar felt her pulsing and clenching along his length as her nails dug into his shoulders, and her legs tightened inexorably around his backside.
The sensation, the body heat, the sweet, pungent scent of her sex, the mets’il--it was too much, and Gerrar finally gasped and arched his back as he emptied himself, pulse after pulse into Luna, who spasmed and cried out with each wave of their shared climax.
She opened her eyes even as Gerrar was still shuddering and panting. His legs were twitching weakly and she could feel his heartbeat pounding against her breasts in time with the throbbing she felt deep inside her own body.
Luna took a long, slow breath: “Gerrar…”
He gasped: “Gods!”
“Gerrar…”
He pressed his face against her neck, burying it in her glossy, black hair: “Wha--what? Oh, Gods! I--I can’t…catch...my breath!”
“Kiss me.”
Gerrar’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, then squeezed shut again as he was wracked by a final spasm. Luna moaned lightly as she felt another surge of warmth in her loins.
“Kiss me.”
Gerrar groaned and reached a shaky hand through Luna’s hair to the back of her head. He pulled her in close and pressed his hungry mouth against hers. She murmured something softly. He opened his eyes and toppled helplessly into an aquamarine chasm.
“Sleep.”
The world washed away in a glittering silver wave.
Gerrar awoke some time later in a sun-dappled garden. The scents of hydrangea and lilac were as unfamiliar to him as the surroundings. He had never been here. He had never seen anything like it, even in the finest palaces of the Southlands.
He tried to sit, and awkwardly struggled to his knees--all four of them. His eyes went wide as he took a look at his body. It was covered with a dense, tan coat, and his four limbs now ended in hooves. He had a tail, streaked with brown and grey.
“What in the name of T'zarjāin is going on?!”
“I can assure you that the God of Death has nothing to do with this.”
Gerrar swung his head around and saw Luna walking barefoot across the sward toward him, clad in a simple indigo robe and crescent moon pendant.
“Where are we?”
“We are in the garden off my sister’s solarium. It is one of my more favorite locations to stroll and think and take in the air.”
She sat nearby on a low stone bench: “Do not let my sister know, but I actually rather enjoy mornings sometimes!”
Gerrar struggled to his hooves: “That still doesn’t really answer the question--nor the question as to what happened to me!”
Luna nodded: “I understand your confusion. I went through something similar a few weeks ago. You are now a pony. It is a creature akin to a dalzi.”
“I’m a beast?”
“Not on this world. Here, ponies are the dominant sentient species, as with the Kurlin on Kur.”
“But—but how did we get here? Why are we here?”
Luna stood and walked toward a small fountain carved in the shape of a pair of entwined pegasi, captured as though in flight: “We are here because I brought you here.”
“Again, how? Why?”
“To be honest, this is not real; you are in a dream. On this world I am the Princess of the Night, and Mistress of the Domain of Sleep and Dreams.”
“Well, this all seems quite pleasant, but I’m not sure I see the point. When I awaken—”
Luna smiled sadly: “You will never awaken.”
Gerrar’s eyebrows jumped: “What do you mean?”
“Precisely what I said: you will never awaken. This is your final destination. You will not meet Yunada, you will not betray him, you will not fall before the gates of Fort Torlek.”
A look of shock came across Gerrar’s face: “How do you know these things? What have you done? How did Yunada hear of this?”
Luna put up a hand: “I phrased that poorly. You, Gerrar, as you are, will never again walk upon Kur. But you, as the one named ‘Reaper,’ are on Kur as we speak, and will do all the things you would do, as you would have them done.”
“I don’t understand. Why would someone else do these things in my stead? Why not just leave me to do them myself? I plan to be dead within two or so days as it is!”
Luna reached for a carafe of wine that had appeared on a tray beside the bench. She poured a cup and took a sip: “In a bit over two days you were to have died, after successfully betraying Yunada. At that time, Death or Fate or whoever doles out such assignments will choose you to be the new agent and avatar of Death on our world. You arrive here and take up the name ‘Reaper.’ You have now been here for thousands of years.”
“How horrible! I know I deserve to be punished for the evil I’ve committed, but--”
Luna held up her hand and shook her head: “It is not a punishment--it is a duty. You were sent to us as our species first became fully self-aware and developed an essence, a spirit worthy of some greater fate beyond death than the mere oblivion meted out to beasts.”
“What fate?”
“We do not know. To be honest, neither do you. As Reaper you are a custodian of the spirits of the deceased, and conduct ponies beyond this world to whatever awaits them.”
Gerrar walked a bit, wobbling and stopping: “True, that doesn’t sound much like old T'zarjāin the Blackhearted.”
Luna smiled: “I suspect Kur’s God of Death was as unfairly libeled as our Reaper here--victims of fear and uncertainty and ignorance.”
“Maybe. So this ‘Reaper,’ he doesn’t have to kill?”
“Very rarely. He has a sword for such things, but it is usually only employed in cases of particularly recalcitrant ponies or hauntings.”
Gerrar looked around and furrowed his brow: “I’m not sure I’d have chosen to get stuck as Death’s Agent in a dream. I dream enough about death as it is!”
“Well, Reaper is untroubled by dreams or anything else of the flesh. He feels no desire, has no fear, knows no need. His allegiance is to his task and the care of our world.”
Gerrar shrugged: “I could tolerate that.”
Luna smiled softly: “However, that is not why you are here. You will spend the rest of your days enjoying the company of the ponies of this world--resting and reading and conversing and playing and loving and eating and anything else you like.”
“Again, why?”
“Some weeks ago, a fellow Princess and I were slain combating an evil wizard. Reaper emptied himself of all his power to bring us back.”
“That doesn’t sound especially smart. It seems that Death’s Agent should just tend to his job.”
Luna nodded: “Many might agree, but Reaper believed my companion and I have higher purposes, and that our deaths would be disruptive to this world.”
Gerrar shrugged: “Based on the old stories, Kur certainly doesn’t seem any worse off for the loss of its gods.”
“Perhaps, but be that as it may, this act started us down the path toward Reaper and me journeying to your world in order to have him die again before the gates of Fort Torlek on the appointed day.”
Gerrar nodded: “I see. And there couldn’t be two of us.”
“Correct. I had to remove you from the board in order to allow Reaper to retrace his final steps and engage again with Death, in an attempt to regain his power.”
Gerrar looked at the wine on the tray: “I have no fingers--or hands, for that matter! How am I supposed to pick anything up?”
Luna smiled: “You are a unicorn--a type of pony who can control magic. Point your head down a bit and concentrate on picking up the cup.”
Gerrar stared at the cup and bit his lip. His horn glowed and the cup slowly raised into the air and drifted toward his mouth. He took a tentative sip, then set the cup back down, sloshing a bit in the process.
“So why not just kill me? You had that naked dagger between us for much of our time together, and you got past my guard at last. Why not simply plunge it through my throat?”
Luna shook her head: “I cannot kill, Gerrar; it is not in my nature. I was cruel and dark once, but no more. I will kill if I absolutely must, in the heat of battle, but not if there is another way.”
She turned a circle holding her arms outstretched: “This is that way.”
“So now what?”
“Now I must go and aid Reaper in his final act. When all is done, you will still--for all intents and purposes--be dead and Yunada will be vanquished as you wished.”
“And then?”
“Hopefully Reaper and I will be back on our world, and the balance of things will be restored.”
“And I will be here, dreaming this dream, apparently. Will you be here as well?”
Luna smiled softly: “No, but I can leave an echo of myself, a vision as most ponies see me. However you and I will never meet again within the circles of this life.”
Gerrar nodded: “This is a better fate than I deserved. Farewell and good luck, T’zesa!”
Luna furrowed her brow and turned back around: “Fate. Speaking of…”
She nodded toward Gerrar’s flank; Reaper’s old cutie mark faded away.
He glanced back: “What was that?”
“It was Reaper’s distinctive mark. It means 'death' in the language of yet another world, another reality.”
“So what goes there now?”
Luna smiled: “That is for you to discover! Ask around--I am sure you will receive ample help!”
She walked through the door into the solarium. Gerrar watched, and as he turned away, a long, elegant, silver-shod, indigo leg stepped through the entry, accompanied in stride by a gold-clad, white limb, and a mingling of radiance and deep shadow.
Luna roused slowly and gazed into Gerrar’s blank, staring eyes. She brought a hand up and closed his lids, then cautiously rolled from her side to her back, extracting herself from Gerrar’s arms as his now-spent member slipped free from her body, trailing the last of his seed down her inner thigh.
The door opened and Reaper stepped in, accompanied by a gust of icy wind. He watched as Luna stiffly set up on the edge of the bed and dabbed absently at a trickle of blood on her left breast.
“Please bring me a cloak.”
Reaper nodded and took up her dark blue cloak from the chair.
Luna furrowed her brow as she looked at the bed, the shattered wine jug, the blood-smeared dagger, the half-empty stone jar, the streaks of Gerrar’s and her own fluids glistening on her skin and soaked into the quilt.
“No. Not that one. I would rather not stain it with…”
Reaper reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a nightshirt, draping it around Luna’s shoulders.
Luna trembled and pulled the fabric close: “Thank you. Please warm some water.”
Reaper pulled out the small metal pan and water bottle, and stoked the fire before placing the pan among the embers. He handed Luna the water bottle.
Her hand shook as she raised the bottle to her lips and swallowed a mouthful: “Thank you.”
Reaper knelt next to the bed, his brow furrowed: “Are you OK? This all looks pretty rough…” He gestured to the disarray on display across the bed.
Luna blinked slowly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked back at Gerrar’s inert body, still slumped on its side, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded.
Reaper sucked air through his teeth: “I remember well who I was then, and I am truly sorry you had to--”
“That is not it.”
“What?”
“Every fluid you see splattered and smeared, every cut of the dagger on his skin and mine, every bite mark, everything he did to my body and I to his, was entirely up to me.”
Reaper raised an eyebrow skeptically: “Then what--”
“It is what I did after all you see here that haunts me.”
Reaper moved back to the fire and brought over the pan of water. He reached into his bag, retrieved a towel and handed it to Luna.
She dipped the cloth in the warm water and began absently wiping and blotting: “All you see here--the last two hours--was in preparation for the final few minutes before your arrival.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I took you unawares and rendered you hors de combat, yes?”
Reaper nodded.
“It was easy because you trust me.”
Reaper bristled and opened his mouth to reply, but Luna cut him off: “And that speaks well of you, Reaper. We are friends and I am sorry I took advantage of that trust. I hope you can forgive me, but I had need of haste, and I knew your defenses would be minimal.”
Reaper chewed the inside of his lip but remained silent.
Luna rinsed the cloth, spread her legs and began cleaning from her belly down to her ass, tipping from side to side, lifting each leg in its turn.
“Gerrar, on the other hand, had his defenses up at all times. No matter what we did, what was said, where my mouth or fingers were or his, no matter the wine or zaka or mets'il, he was always on guard.”
“It’s how I stayed alive for so long.”
“Precisely. And I had to finally break that. Even at the end, as he was emptying himself into me in his ultimate moment of ecstatic release, I could see the glint of steel in his eyes, could feel the shutters about to fall.”
Reaper nodded and rummaged in the saddle bag for the Equestrian antiseptic ointment.
“So I dropped all my own defenses, let the moment sweep me away, and asked him to kiss me.”
Reaper looked up and raised an eyebrow: “That’s certainly not galdu-like behavior!”
“No, and I think that last act caught him off-guard just enough that he opened his eyes and stared fully into mine.”
Reaper smiled grimly: “And was lost.”
Luna sighed: “Yes. Sleep came swiftly, and he will sleep for all time, now.”
Reaper pulled out a wineskin that still contained some cider. He opened it, took a drink and handed it to Luna: “But what happens if he awakens?”
Luna shook her head: “‘For all time.’ He will never awaken. I have trapped him in an isolated dreamscape of one and cast him away. He can never awaken, for he is no longer here.”
She looked over her shoulder: “That is an empty husk, which will soon wither and die in the absence of its spirit.”
Reaper’s eyes went wide: “Wow. Yes, without a spirit, a body doesn’t have long--a few days at most.”
Luna shuddered, rinsed the towel and began cleaning her face and neck: “His spirit now dwells in a perfect copy of Equestria. He has your form as you appear there, though without a cutie mark.”
“Does he know what happened to him?”
“Yes. I explained the reasons and his fate. He seemed to accept it.”
Reaper smiled: “All of Equestria? All its ponies and denizens?”
Luna took another swig of cider and gingerly wiped the blood and sweat from her breasts: “Yes. Every pony whose dreams I can recall for hundreds of generations will be there.”
“Nightmare Moon was right--this is your greatest act of creation!”
Luna nodded slowly and winced as she sponged a swollen nipple clean: “I sensed my alter ego somewhere in the shadows. I know she was watching at the end.”
Reaper chuckled: “Maybe she stayed behind, too!”
Luna smiled weakly: “No, she did not; that would not have been possible."
Reaper tipped his head: “So are you there? Is Celestia?”
“I was able to make convincing facsimiles of myself and my sister. They are not as fully-rendered as the other ponies, but Gerrar will never really know that. He should find them engaging and pleasant companions in any event.”
“I don’t know what to say. This was a better fate than he deserved.”
Luna smiled grimly: “That is what he said, too.”
“Right, so I don’t see the problem. Honestly, you should have just killed him when you had the chance!”
Luna trembled and dropped the towel in her lap: “He said that too. But...but I cannot kill, Reaper--not in cold blood! Not even in the heat of passion!”
“Then you did the best you could. What’s the problem?”
Tears began to drip down Luna’s cheeks: “I sent him into exile, Reaper--me! The one who suffered a thousand years of exile! No being alive knows more about the empty, gnawing pain of exile than I do!”
“Even he admits that what happened--”
“It does not matter what he admitted or you confirm! I just stared into his empty eyes mere minutes ago knowing that he is now cast adrift in a prison of my design!”
Luna hunched forward and began to sob. Reaper stood and stepped toward the bed. He stopped and grimaced as he got a closer look at the quilt, and caught its sour scent: “Wow--you weren’t kidding about ‘fluids,’ were you?”
Reaper opened the saddlebag and pulled out a blanket, stepped beside the bed and pulled Gerrar’s body to the floor. He removed the quilt and draped it over his doppelgänger, then spread the clean blanket across the straw-stuffed mattress.
He removed his boots and cloak and sat down next to Luna. He leaned forward and picked up the jar of unguent and began applying it to the bites on Luna’s neck, and the deep scratch across her left breast.
Luna continued trembling and sobbing softly, but allowed Reaper to lay her on her side as he finished wiping her clean and dabbing ointment on her wounds.
He finished and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair, holding her as her sobs died away: “I’m sorry it came to that, Luna. I wish I had--”
“Nothing. There is nothing you could have done. Gerrar would have killed you the moment you stepped through that door. I know that now with a certainty.”
Reaper closed his eyes and nodded: “Still, I wish there had been another way.”
“As do I, Reaper.”
Luna turned to face Reaper, eyes closed: “Kiss me, please.”
Reaper furrowed his brow then leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against Luna’s, his eyes locked on her tear-dappled eyelashes. They held the kiss for several moments, then Luna rolled back over and pulled the blanket tight against her breast.
“Thank you.”
Reaper took a deep breath and settled in next to Luna as exhaustion overtook him. The lamp guttered out.
Nightmare Moon appeared in the fireside chair, her fingertips pressed together, staring at Gerrar’s inert form.