Carpe Noctem

by BleedingRaindrops

Timor Reverti

Luna took breakfast in the royal dining hall with her sister. It wasn't an extravagant meal. Hay bacon and Oats with wheat crackers. Their conversation was meager. Celestia mentioned something about the upcoming Summer Sun celebration. Luna gave her standard responses, to the best of her memory.

After it went on for long enough, Celestia broke through the stagnant conversation. “Sister, there is something bothering you.” It wasn’t phrased as a question.

“Yes.” Luna bowed her head. She had promised her sister that she was ready to resume her duties, and that her past wounds had been all but healed. She would not lie outright to her, but how could she tell Celestia that the consequences of their past battle were still bothering her? She would not do that to her sister. Instead, a half truth: “Several disturbances held my attention in the Dreamscape last night. It was not as relaxing as it ought to have been.”

“Disturbances?” Celestia cocked a businesslike eyebrow. “What sort—”

“No, no,” Luna found her vigor and the echo of a smile. “Had it been something that needed our attention, I doubt I would have refrained from barreling into your chambers to tell you last night.”

Celestia returned the smile, but said nothing as she sipped her breakfast tea. She held the porcelain cup for a moment and appeared to trace the thin, painted lines of a minimalistic sunrise that adorned its side. “I hope you know I am still here to help you, regardless of what it is that disturbs you in your night.”

“Of course,” Luna bowed her head. Most of her food had gone untouched, so she made a token effort of chewing through some of the hay bacon. Her tongue recoiled. Why must we torture ourselves with an imitation of non-pony food? She washed the taste out of her mouth with a bitter blanket of black coffee, and she realized Celestia was waiting for her to continue. “I found no villains directly in the Dreamscape last night. Just some of their victims. I did what I could to still their dreams with images of a hopeful path, and will make preparations to follow up if that advice goes unheeded.”

Celestia gave a knowing nod, and Luna felt almost bad at how easy her misdirection had turned focus from her mood. There is no use lamenting getting my wish, if I took the wrong path to get there… On that note, Luna excused herself and rose. “I do have matters I should attend to before I retire for the morning.”

“You hardly touched your hay bacon.”

Luna knew that all-too polite tone too well. Usually, it was reserved for pranks, and usually then, only for the pig-headed suitors or political ‘allies’ who came as guests to spin tales of how their best interests also aligned with Equestria’s—and never mind any of the detriments to the latter. It was fun to watch the predators squirm, and to finally reach a breaking point when they realized they were not going to smooth-talk their way with either of the sisters. With a smile and a big, phony bow, Luna played along: “Oh, I absolutely could not accept such a gracious extent of your generosity, my queen.”

Celestia snickered. She remembered that particular guest as well.

Luna bent her head up to glare from a bowed position. “Seriously, sister. I have checked the kitchens’ books. Why do we stock that when we aren’t preparing to entertain foreign ambassadors?”

“I…. thought you enjoyed it.” Celestia’s eyes widened, far more surprised than she would show to anyone outside the castle.

“I tolerate the steps that must be made to ensure our foreign neighbors feel at home, as one of us…” Luna’s tongue broke free of her lips, and she tried to scrub the memory of the hay bacon off it with her lips. “But only just so.”

“Duly noted…” Celestia nodded, chuckling softly. “I will revise our kitchens’ orders to reflect this.”

Luna rose and hugged half her breast with a hoof. It was an old salute, used by very few mortals; for the sisters, it carried a sense of affection along with respect—a boundary that had long ago needed to be established when their dynamic began to include government collusion with one another. “Thank you,” she said, and then took her leave.

The carpet-draped polished marble of Canterlot Castle’s hallways were mostly empty as Luna made her way through the castle. Hooves weren’t as sensitive as other appendages, she knew, but there was still a comforting sense of give to the plush velvet beneath each step she took. The sun beamed in through tall windows, and square after square of morning light passed beneath Luna as she headed nowhere in particular.

There, in reality , it was easier for her to keep stock of her thoughts and emotions. The Dreamscape was, as it had been named, a place of dreams; there, emotion and impetus crashed together like a tempest. Still, as Luna became aware that she was wandering aimlessly, she steeled her hooves and straightened her shoulders. Regality was an old skill of hers, and she knew to practice it now. It wouldn’t do for her to give any credit to the rumors that she was a still-insane, eccentric schemer who had lost her mind in the moon.

I am not still insane, she told herself.

For her own amusement, she answered back: Or are we?

The faintest of smiles touched her lips, even as the joke question struck too deep. I have spent far too much time alone in my mind for quite some time, she iterated. Perhaps Celestia was right; perhaps she needed to speak with some of the subjects on a more regular basis. Her nostrils flared, even as the young filly inside her sparked up in a bout of stubborn refusal. Conversation had always been an effort for her, even before the world had leaped forward a millennium without her being any the wiser.

Yet, Luna knew, if something was difficult, that usually meant it could be improved through practice. When she rounded a corner of the hallway, she saw a pair of guards posted outside an entrance to the Library’s archives. Not all doors were guarded, but Luna knew in particular what spells and artifacts lay locked underneath the stone ways that lay behind the stone door.

If they were unleashed, two Canterlot Guardsponies—an elite branch of the military—would not be enough to stem the bloodshed. Luna regarded the pair; to the naked eye, they were the same shade of imposing, steely gray. She could see through the simple illusion woven into their armor, as part of the uniform: the guard on the left was actually an olive color, with hazel eyes to match; his comrade was a deep green, the color of pine forests, but with bright blue eyes like the sky above.

She racked her mind for their names; Canterlot Castle employed several hundred guards, so Luna only had to know the names of officers. She still tried to go the extra mile, in the sake of thoroughness; that morning, she hoped it paid off.

Her steps slowed, and with a polite nod at the synchronized salute, she turned to the pair and smiled. “Please… as you were.”

The olive guard nodded slightly as he set his hoof on the ground. “Good morning, Princess.” His words came with a thick, Trottingham accent, and all of a sudden, Luna remembered reading his psychological profile. He was a Guard of almosts—almost being imprisoned at age sixteen, almost being kicked out of the Guard at age twenty-two, both times for fighting. Had Luna not read further into the reasons for the latter quarrel, he would not be standing there before her at the present.

She smiled at him and replied, “Good morning, Sergeant Boxer.” She turned to his companion; even the armor’s illusions didn’t hide his widening eyes. “And to you, Sergeant Trails.”

“You know our names?” The green guard spoke out of turn, incredulously.

Sergeant Boxer turned to him with a scowl. “You idiot. It’s her ruttin’ job to know our names!” He seemed to remember his place just too late, and he turned back to Luna with a bow. “Er… beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am.”

Luna smiled, and shook her head. She tried to find the right words to put them at ease, while still remaining authoritative—fraternizing was generally frowned upon, but she knew that a well-needed break in the monotony of guard duty would be appreciated. “If I have time for names, there are usually no pressing matters for the Guard.”

Sergeant Trails’ eyes finally shrank to a usual size, but his voice was much quieter when he wasn’t shocked. “Yeh… when things go belly-up around here, they usually do it quick-like.” Luna had difficulty placing his accent—certainly from the north, but none of the colder regions. He’d been an expert trailblazer and tracker, and still was; Guard duty, for him, was a break between technically non-existent reconnaissance excursions into other country’s borders. As such, many of his original recruitment paperwork had been lost, as a necessary preparation for the worst. He continued with a bow, “But… please accept my apologies, for doubting certain elements of your duties.”

Luna did not know how much of his excursions he made publicly available to his comrades, so she made sure to avoid exposing him on that front. “Strictly speaking, it is not part of my ‘rutting’ job.” Four eyebrows rose, and Luna smirked at Sergeant Boxer, who was smiling. His humor caused her to forget some of her own misgivings and apprehensions for conversation, and she found herself adding, “That sort of work usually requires more intimate details, and possibly a drink first.”

He didn’t even blink. “With respect, Ma’am, you can get in line with all the other mares.”

She laughed at what she hoped had only been joke-flirting. “Well met.” In an effort to turn things back to propriety, she asked, “What news is there, from the grounds?” Guard shifts rotated; the stationary shifts only last a matter of hours, to allow for more active patrols.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Sergeant Trails reported. “Walls are tight, the other patrols are checking in like clockwork. Quiet nights are good nights, as far as we’re concerned.”

Sergeant Boxer pointed a hoof at his comrade. “Forged here saw a bird.”

He glared back. “She asked for news, Wine.”

“Yeh, and you went on ‘bout it for a good five minutes.” His ribbing was well-natured—the sort of friendly rapport that thrived in predominantly male, combat-ready roles.

Luna turned to Sergeant Trails and asked, “What kind of bird was it?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Sergeant Boxer shook his head and murmured something under his breath; she thought she made out the words “bucking kidding me”. Though perhaps his lips had chewed the first part of it.

“It was a Rainbow-Breasted Meadowlark,” Sergeant Trails answered matter-of-factly. “I didn’t know they summered this far from the tropics.”

“They are fascinating little creatures,” Luna agreed. With a wry, apologetic tilt of her head to Sergeant Boxer, she added, “For various tolerances of the term.”

His chestnut eyes narrowed quizzically, and Luna nearly saw him bite his tongue to avoid saying something. His hesitance made her acutely aware of herself and her situation; she still intimidated these ponies—if not by her history, then by her rank alone. She knew she had to maintain an air of authority, but she still tried to continue the conversation: “Were you about to say something uncouth?” She made her words warm, and foragiving.

“Not…uncouth, Ma’am. Just not sure I wanna poke my nose too close to personal reasons behind your interests.” He gave a sidelong glance to his companion, who tilted his head, and Sergeant Boxer turned back to Princess Luna. “No offense or discourtesy intended. It’s just not my place.”

Luna and Sergeant Trails shared a confused glance, but all of a sudden, it clicked into place for Luna. She smiled at Sergeant Boxer and nodded. “The kindhearted are always the most sorrowful sources from whence words lie unspoken.” After a pause to let the words settle, she asked, “Do you remember the disturbance with the wyvern delegate, several months ago?”

“A few rumors from the court officials, but the guards who settled things were tight-lipped.” Sergeant Boxer answered.

“We all are,” Sergeant Trails spoke up. “Security and secrecy are the same basic word.”

As the other sergeant puzzled over that piece of trivia, Luna continued. “The ambassador called me a regicidal bitch, and swore no negotiations would take place while we were in the same room. Celly offered to relocate outdoors, and I politely noted that the Moon Garden was lovely at that time of evening. He decided to get violent.”

Sergeant Boxer smiled broadly. “Next time you’re picking guards for dealings with that sort… keep me in mind.”

“You do so enjoy grounding the spirits of overbearing nobles…” Luna noted.

He nodded. “When certain lines are crossed. I know you’ve read my history.”

“And you have read mine,” Luna responded. “Do not be afraid to speak to me of past events, especially when you do so politely. I have heard far worse, from much more inconvenient sources.”

Sergeant Trails looked at them both. “History and politics aside… what about asking about the present?”

Sergeant Boxer rounded on him like he were explaining the obvious. “You watch birds when there’s no one around. You read books when there are, so you can dot the lines.”

The green guard slowly nodded, and his eyes turned back to Luna. She smiled at both of them. “Your superior officers have commented many times that you work well together.”

Before any of them could continue further, a member of Luna’s personal Guard flew down the halls. Mach was the smallest of her bat-winged ponies, but he made up for it in speed; he was a runner, getting messages—and supplies, in a fight—from one unit to another at his namesake speed. When he alighted in front of Luna, she noted the distinct lack of armor clinking; she knew that he wore lightweight leather armaments whose appearance-unifying enchantments had been tailored to include a more standard set of plate armor.

“Message for you,” Mach said with a snap of a salute. Luna barely returned it to relieve him before his hoof twitched to his body and whipped back out to produce a scroll.

“Priority?” Luna asked, while magicking it out of his grasp and breaking the seal. That wax insignia told her it was from Twilight Sparkle, but the almost weekly occurrences and disasters in Ponyville ranged in severity and impact.

“None stated.”

Luna nodded and scanned the letter. Her eyebrow rose at the preamble, and on the next page, she saw several lines of what appeared to be a psychological evaluation.

“Ma’am?” Mach spoke with urgency.

She shook her head. “Dismissed, Mach. This is… confusing , but nothing pressing.”

When she looked up from the letter, he was gone; Luna’s attention instead returned to the other guards. They of course seemed curious, though neither of them stood much taller or looked at her much differently.

“Wait…” Sergeant Trails spoke up. “Twilight Sparkle… that’s not a survey, is it?”

Sergeant Boxer lit up. “You two got ‘em, too?”

His comrade looked over with a new source of interest: “You seem pleased about this.”

“Of course!” He closed his eyes and held a hoof to his chest. “I thought I was up for review. This means Princess Booknerd’s just having a curiosity, and I get to enact ‘Plan F’.”

Luna joined Sergeant Trails in looking at the oddly amused guard, and he clarified, “All psychobabble’s just about childhood memories and ruttin’, so I’m going to answer everything in ways that ties it to the latter.”

“You’re horrible…” Sergeant Trails was quickly losing a fight to keep a grin off his lips.

Luna, on the other hoof, fought to keep an amused grin on hers. If Celestia had wanted to psychoanalyze her, requesting Twilight Sparkle’s thorough attention to detail to include the entire Canterlot Guard as a false flag would not be out of place, for either of them. She re-read the opening letter; it seemed like it was requesting a survey of Canterlot staff’s preferences. The questions themselves didn’t seem to be detecting any obvious lines of thought or reasoning. “I wonder what tics she hopes to glean from my favorite geological formation.”

“Mountain,” Sergeant Boxer cracked instantly.

She smirked at him. “You have a gift, though its applicability is nebulous.”

“Some of ‘em are easy,” he explained. “Favorite form of exercise? Favorite thing to eat?”

Sergeant Trails watched his partner with a thunderstruck, horrified amazement while Luna scanned the list of questions. One spoke up to a personal note: “Favorite constellation?”

“Big dipper. Was my nickname in secondary school, after all.”

She let out a slow snort through her nostrils and re-rolled the scroll. “I thank you, Sergeant Boxer; I will have that knowledge in the back of my mind every time that particular formation needs maintenance.”

He nodded quickly. “Apologies if that outlives me. But you picked that one out of the list.”

“So I did,” Luna agreed. With a sigh, she stood straighter and tucked the scroll away in her wing. “Though truly, I ought to resolve this paperwork before it even hits my in-box. It seems benign and simple enough to answer honestly.”

The two guards nodded and saluted her in unison; she nodded warmly at them before turning to leave. Over her shoulder, she warned, ever so softly, “Please don’t actively try to disturb Twilight Sparkle with your fun.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am.”

Luna nodded back at him and continued on her way. When she was alone, she let her brow furrow, trying to determine if the sergeant’s parting word had contained any subtext.

~ ~ ~

For yet another night, Luna remained true to her duties of Dreamwalking. Her mind still swam with schools of vicious, quarreling thoughts of her waking life, but still, she persevered. It was not her first night in the Dreamscape with a troubled heart, and she knew it would not be her last. But it was her duty—hers alone—so she steeled herself and prepared to defend the guests of her realm from themselves, or any external threats.

Luna swallowed, and actively tried not to think of some of the creatures that knew the ways in and out of her Dreamscape. She did not fear the lesser beasts, and ignorance was never the best defense against any possible threat, but the greater Thoughtpliers utilized a type of mind magic that actually gained power the more one thought about them. Those would take either special tactical nuance or blunt, furious aid from her sister to vanquish.

The double-edged thought warmed Luna ever so slightly; monsters who lived and preyed in the darkness often could not withstand the judgement and wrath of the light. As much as she divorced herself from the entity of Nightmare Moon, she had been a part of Luna, nurtured and given strength through her own hatred. She was grateful to Celestia for freeing her mind of a violent, psychopathic intruder, and she even had to admire Celestia’s unwaveringly blunt solution to the problem.

Luna took stock of her surroundings, and usual, there was nothing but dreams. She and Celestia had worked to gate the barriers to enter the Dreamscape, and the species that were known to invade had been sealed away in a prison-like replica of their would-be hunting grounds. Luna checked that from time to time, but only from the outside. The creatures there knew her, and their hungers were vile. The more she could do to avoid provoking them, the less likely they were to try to escape, and the fewer escapes she had to deal with, the better.

She had dreams to protect, after all.
Of those dreams, one seemed troubled, so she headed towards it. She let herself dwell on certain aspects of her own folly—for example, the fact that her sister had been there to bring her back from the edge. There were not many others like Celestia and Luna, and of those, none had been siblings before their ascension. They were alone through uniqueness—immortal endlings—but even if they were opposites, their sisterly bond would withstand nearly anything.

As long as we remember not to test it by inciting a war, Luna mused darkly. She pushed the self derision out of her mind to examine the dream in front of her; a teenage filly and her father were having a heated argument over her outfit—and a loud one, Luna noted. Despite the deaf soundlessness of the Dreamscape, her ears tensed as a reflex to the piercing shouts in her mind.

When the shock passed, Luna puzzled over how best to resolve the filly’s imagined conflict. The emotions that emanated from the dream didn’t worry her as anything more than growing pains; if anything, that sort of furor were best when they could burn out on their own. I could set their house ablaze, Luna reasoned. Despite it being uncharacteristically dramatic for her, external adversity did have its uses in proving the strength and longevity of certain bonds that were often taken for granted. With a grin, Luna simply made a note to tell Celestia of that plan over morning tea; she had always favored direct approaches to problem solving. And also fire, in general.

To still the dream at hoof, Luna simply cast a spell to deepen the filly’s sleep—not to prolong it, but to simply build a strong enough foundation for a more potent dream. Then, when she could do so without waking the girl, Luna sped the dream’s sense of time up, gradually, to the point where—if the dream lasted until natural waking—the filly would be well into her twenties by the time she awoke.

It was a complicated, pragmatic solution whose efficacy could not easily be measured; Luna hoped either the filly would grow in the dream to have enough empathy for her parents’ best efforts at what they were trying to accomplish, or she would fail and realize that her daily choices, even at a young age, might lead her towards that point of failure.

Or, if she is vapid enough to be arguing about clothing in a dream; perhaps there is nothing that one night’s dream can fix for her. Luna had long since learned to distance her efforts from their outcomes; when all she did was give tools to mortals and the chance to make a change, they often chose familiarity. That, in turn, did not doom them to an unhappy life; it merely prolonged their waking struggle with the problems that plagued their dreams.

Abruptly, Luna spun around with the foundations of seven schools of magic defenses readied around her in a ring. Three more spells burned in her mind, with the shared arcane frameworks already built: involuntary slumber, sealing away from the Dreamscape, and a particularly nasty blend of every type of death that visited mortals in the night.

Luna was in her realm. But she was not alone.

Her skin prickled, and not only due to the buzzing shell of magic that coalesced around her. She had felt something within the usual stream of dreamers’ emotions—something aware, something beckoning her. The Dreamscape folded back on itself like a bowed playing card, and she felt the frigid vacuum of true emptiness at her back. With everything before her, she scanned the pinprick dreams for movement—shadows that momentarily obscured only parts of the dream—but all she saw was the usual, random lighting or snuffing of dreams as their owners entered or woke from sleep.

Princess Luna?

Her eyes honed in on the general area of the source of the thought. It felt like a rudimentary spell that held together a young voice—literally child’s play, in terms of magic. She willed herself to relax some of her readiness to leap into action. It was true that some Nemeses were devious enough to use foals’ voices when haunting the Dreamscape, but her odds of running into one of those were incredibly low. They had been all but exterminated, by her efforts.

Still, the question remained of what was seeking her. Luna moved towards the source of the voice—cautiously, but not combatively. The Dreamscape warped to retain its full visibility in front of her, and when she drew nearer to the cluster of dreams where the voice had originated again, she felt the emotions that drifted out from the dream itself. In an airless sigh of relief, the Dreamscape relaxed as Luna dropped most of her preemptive offensive spells—the ability to induce sleep was a handy one to have, if an inquisitive foal was experimenting with magic late into the night.

But Luna recognized this filly. Sweetie Belle, the gentle girl from several nights ago, had somehow tapped into a nigh-antiquated school of magic. A paranoid echo rang in her mind that it might still be an imposter, but Luna also felt the presence of Sweetie’s two friends. The odds were almost imperceptibly small that an entity skilled and strong enough to pull off an illusion of that magnitude wouldn’t simply use the energy required to capture her before toying with her mind, later, when she were at its mercy.

And Celestia says I am rarely optimistic. Her mind chuckled blackly. In truth, it was the simpler explanation that a filly would be able to accomplish some simple spells to interact with dreams. The only remnant of resistance Luna held for that idea was curiosity. From what Luna understood, she and her friends were siblings by blood or heart with several of the Elements of Harmony, and while library restoration was well underway, it wasn’t as if Sweetie Belle would have been able to locally find a book on Dreamsmithing. The most recent one that had been written had been two languages ago, in terms of the lives and deaths of popular Equestrian tongues.

As Luna neared the dream, she could hear the youths voicing doubts with an apparent plan:

“Are you sure you did the spell right?” Scootaloo, ignorant of magic even at an academic level, tried not to sound accusatory.

Regardless, Sweetie Belle defended herself. “I did everything Twilight said to!”

Mystery begets mystery... As much as Luna admired Twilight Sparkle’s ability to balance her duties to country, friends, and science, she had to admit the young mare’s recent inquiries, aimed at her, had been unexpected—though not unwanted, nor unsettling. She made a mental note to ask Twilight what had sparked her recent interest in the night’s domain the next time they spoke.

For the present, Luna entered the three fillies’ shared dream. The mimicked air and presence of her surroundings felt hazy and soft; she could tell she was in the overly bright, almost gaudy representation of an already merrily decorated pastry shop’s front parlor. She recognized where this dream was supposed to be taking place; it was the shop where one of the Elements of Harmony made her home in Ponyville.

The main distinction of this version, Luna realized, was that it was as if a child had imagined it and built the dream vessel herself. She looked around a second time, now with an appraising eye. For everything unnatural and obviously dreamlike about this incantation of Sugar Cube Corner, the basics were all there; the windows only showed a dense, illuminating fog outside, but Luna wasn’t going to critique a child for keeping a project simple. In truth, she was impressed.

“Maybe she’s busy.” Apple Bloom’s voice echoed unnaturally through the empty shop—it was not loud; it was an omnipresent, conversational volume. “I mean, we’re all here, Scoots, so it’s not like Sweetie flubbed the other spell.”

“I could try it again...” Sweetie offered meekly.

Luna’s eyes wandered to the bell above the door, and with a smile, she batted it with a wingtip. It was too loud, too close, and too high-pitched, but it was functional. As soon as the bell had rung to announce her presence, she felt a triplicated sense of surprise flare from the store’s kitchen.

“Someone’s here!” Scootaloo whispered, and Luna raised her eyebrow at the air around her that seemed to speak the words clearly.

“Shouldn’t we say hello?” Apple Bloom’s tone also held the question of why they were whispering.

From the sole, abysmal well of dread she felt from the kitchen, she immediately knew that Twilight Sparkle had been fairly thorough with the dangers of this type of magic, and that Sweetie Belle had foolishly thought she had been doing the kind thing by keeping her friends ignorant. Quickly, Luna tested the structure of the dream’s outer limits; it would have been as secure as any natural dream would have been, if several additional layers of security hadn’t also been woven into it.

Not so foolish... Luna mused.

“Uh... We should see if we can make sure it’s Princess Luna, first...” Sweetie Belle warned.

“She has a point,” Luna said coolly. From the kitchen came a thud and the clamor of metal, as if a filly had jumped into a stack of pans; the perceived nearness of the noise to Luna made her flinch. As hooves scrambled on tile, Luna walked towards the kitchen with measured, near-silent steps.

When she reached the door, it swung open to reveal Sweetie Belle. For some reason, her mane was paler than Luna remembered; that was odd. Usually, those who experimented with the forces of dream magic maintained a fairly consistent image of themselves. Her voice sounded precisely the same as earlier when she gasped, “Princess Luna! I’m... glad it’s you!”

Luna raised a warning eyebrow, but smiled nonetheless. “You were expecting something else?” Sweetie Belle gulped, and Luna could feel the shame radiating from her like it were heat. Quickly, Luna added, “You crafted this dream very well, and it feels as safe here as any natural dream.”

The compliment built the filly back up inside, and her head rose. “Miss Twilight mentioned some of the dangers... and things, that are attracted to magic-made dreams.” She looked up, and then around at her surroundings. “She taught me a lot, but she’s the one who made the spells. Like the one where only you could enter without shutting everything down.”

Luna’s eyes rose to the ceiling, and her horn glowed as she inspected the defenses once more. True to Sweetie Belle’s word, there was an ephemeral kill-switch of sorts, meant to quickly wake the dreamers and violently unweave the dream if it were tripped. Element of Magic indeed, she mused. If Twilight Sparkle could break down a spell’s components so deftly that even a foal could weave intricate layers within the arcane framework, she was worthy of the title.

“You still should have warned your friends of the inherent risks,” Luna stated plainly. “Unlikely as they were.”

“Yeah...” Sweetie Belle gulped. “I just didn’t want Apple Bloom to get worried, ‘cause that’d set Scootaloo off when she got scared—”

“We can hear everything you’re saying!” Scootaloo’s annoyed complaint, shouted as if she needed her voice to carry, rang through the bakery’s parlor. Luna’s eye twitched, and Sweetie Bell jolted.

“S... sorry!” Her white face turned a warm hue of pink. Looking up at Luna, she whispered, “I guess... some of the details didn’t come out right.”

“Still hearing you! Ow!”

“Shut up, Scootaloo; they’re talkin’ magic. Just pretend like you can’t!”

Luna chuckled and nodded down at Sweetie Belle. “It is still a finely crafted first effort.” She looked around and asked the implicit question, “But would you mind if I...”

“No, not at all.” Sweetie replied meekly. “I know there’s lots to fix.”

Luna gathered her thoughts and quickly scanned some of the illusory portions of the spell that enveloped all four of them. Several of the interlaced ley matricies were rather crude—simple, and functional, but not robust by any measure. With delicate pulses of her own spells, Luna isolated a few, one at a time, and rewove them into more intricate, broader-spanning conduits that could better interface with pony minds.
It only took a few moments. When she finished the last of the main components, the room around them had changed—it was afternoon outside, with borrowed memories of Ponyville citizens going about their daily business. The light filtered in through the windows to illuminate the better-defined boundaries of furniture, and Sweetie Belle looked around her with wide eyes. “You made everything better.”

“There was not much that needed fixing.” Luna looked outside. “Though I would not recommend trying to read from your friends’ memories, if you wish to remain sane.”

“Right...” Sweetie gulped, and Luna could feel the solidifying foundations of her resolve to obey.

With several of the finer points taken care of—Luna had replaced the dream spell’s original kill switch with a military-grade teleportation spell that would hold any unwanted intruder in stasis before Luna could decide where they would end up—Luna returned to her original query. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind answering my own question, Sweetie Belle: Why have you called me here?”

Sweetie’s forelimbs squirmed, and she looked over her shoulder. “Actually... that’s best answered by all of us, in the kitchen.”

She turned and—quickly, if hesitantly at first—walked through the doors. Luna had little choice but to allow herself to be led; it was a strange occurrence to her, but once that passed, she found it was not one that was unwelcome. There was something to be said for childlike exuberance, even from one as demure as Sweetie Belle.

Then, the kitchen exploded in a cacophony of jubilation. “SURPRISE!” Three voices cheered in unison, and Luna froze in place. The fillies were loud when they wanted to be, even with the sound carrying naturally now.

Eventually, the shock wore off, and Luna realized the fillies were holding a messy-looking cake. It was uneven, like it had set wrong in the oven, and the frosting looked as though it had been spread on a still-warm cake. But on the gooey, melted field of dark chocolate, unsteady lines connected globs of white icing that formed her favorite constellation. Above and below, in a wiggly scrawl, read the words “PRINCESS LUNA DEFENDER OF NIGH.”

“We ran outta space for the ‘T’,” Apple Bloom explained.

Luna nodded, trying the best she could to find words to express her gratitude. She hadn’t been surprised with a gift in quite some time, let alone by someone who wasn’t Celestia. And for them to know… Immediately, thoughts clicked together like gears in her mind, and she realized exactly why Twilight Sparkle had been so thorough in her questionnaire the other day. It had indeed been a decoy, a classic psychological study tactic of obfuscating the true intent behind the survey. But just not one designed to test her sanity.
She bowed her head. “This is undue kindness. Thank you.”

All three fillies spoke up at once:

“It ain’t undue!”

“Yeah, you helped us out in a dream; we wanted to get you back!”

“You’re welcome,” Sweetie Belle said politely. Her friends turned and gave her a glare of reprisal, and she defended herself with, “Well, she said ‘thank you’!”

Luna tried to pre-emptively quell their bickering. “Even if it is repayment, it was unexpected.” The three fillies seemed to find that stance agreeable; each of them performed a slight variation of a shrug and glance at the other two.

Sweetie Belle let go of her part of the cake, and her horn lit up. With slow, trembling motions that keened Luna’s instincts, a chef’s knife, plates, and forks all levitated onto the kitchen’s central stainless steel table. It was only when Apple Bloom and Scootaloo easily set the cake on the counter that Luna noticed the perspectives of the kitchen were skewed. The ceiling was higher than most rooms in residential businesses tended to be—especially businesses with a second live-in floor above them—but at the same time, all the appliances, counters, and the central table were a good half meter shorter than usual. She grinned to herself; children often thought their world was much larger than it truly was.

Despite her lack of dexterity—fine motor control of telekinetic magic was a skill that came with practice—Sweetie Belle managed to cut and plate four slices of cake for the unlikely gathering. Apple Bloom eyed the plates, then the remaining cake. The thought she was apparently lost in finally escaped her lips: “Does eatin’ in a dream count for eatin’ in real life?”

Luna’s plate levitated over to her, so she took it with a brief, “Thank you,” before answering the original question: “I had not ever considered that line of thought. I would assume ‘no’; otherwise, many would elect to learn to control their dreams instead of taking a third meal.”

“Yeah...” Apple Bloom’s bow bobbed in a nod. “It’s just weird... Applejack always gets on me over wastin’ food, but we’re probably gonna leave this behind when we wake up.”

“It would resolve to its baser elements once outside a dream,” Luna agreed. “So even if you did, it would probably be a few stray motes of arcane energy that would be indistinguishable from the renewing magic of the dawn itself.”

Scootaloo spoke through a mouthful of cake. “Yor sister’sh not—” She swallowed. “Not here anyway. All that matters is Luna enjoys it.” Her friends gawked, horrified, and even Luna’s eyebrow rose at the lack of an honorific. “Princess Luna...” Scootaloo corrected.

Luna chuckled. “It is quite all right... if we can be frank with one another, titles and honorifics become stale amongst acquaintances after quite some time. And Celestia and I have been called ‘Princess’ to my face by enough would-be usurpers that we don’t quite hold stock in any implicit respect from the title.”

“Usurpers?” Scootaloo asked. This time, she swallowed before speaking.

“That’s someone who wants to take—”

The pegasus brusquely interrupted Sweetie Belle with a glare and a pointed hoof. “I know what a ‘userper’ is. I read. Sometimes. I just didn’t know...”

She trailed off, and Luna filled in the obvious gap. “We have ruled Equestria for quite some time, and some times have been more conniving and war-like than others. Please enjoy the peace while it lasts, and do not fret for the fear of losing it.” She looked around, hoping not to bring about any undo misfortune by stating her luck aloud: “Despite what some may say, Equestria’s diplomatic ties with our neighbors are stronger than I can ever recall them being.”

The four chatted about Equestria’s political climate—as much as Luna was willing to dispense upon three youths, anyway—while they finished their cake. Sweetie Belle poured them all some milk to pair with it, and Scootaloo helped herself to a second slice. “I was hungry when we went to sleep,” she explained.

“But... didn’t Princess... er, Luna just say it didn’t matter?” Sweetie Belle questioned.

Scootaloo shrugged. “I don’t want to keep dreaming I’m hungry, too.”
“Sound reasoning,” Luna commented as she set her foodware aside. The ironic difference between regal and rude behavior was not lost on her; without servants whose job it was to clean after her, she would have done her part to clean up after herself. “However, I believe it might be time for me to take my leave from this dream, and seek out others.”

The three fillies jolted in a half-panicked bout of protest that caught Luna by surprise. “We made somethin’ else to show ya,” Apple Bloom explained. “Well... Sweetie Belle made it. But it was all of us’s idea.”

“Twilight taught me how to borrow from the same dream pool we’re all sharing,” Sweetie Belle explained.

“Yeah, but you still did all the work to make something we’d never even heard of before,” Scootaloo countered. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Anyway...” Apple Bloom set aside her plate and turned to walk towards the back of the kitchen. “We checked on everythin’ before it got all real-like, so...” She opened the door and nodded. “Yup. Still there.”

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo put their dishes in the growing pile on the counter and joined Apple Bloom. Luna followed, now curious about the extent to which these fillies had set out to surprise her. She wasn’t opposed to the gratitude—far from it, actually; however, her innate sense of duty pinged at the back of her mind like a beacon. “I will stay a while longer,” she promised, just to see—

The door outside led not to an alleyway, but to a field Luna recognized as being on the outskirts of Ponyville. It was a common gathering place for public festivities, and that was exactly the purpose the young fillies had dreamt this iteration of it into existence for. It was night, outside the back of the bakery—an inconsistency Luna admitted she might have introduced to the dream—and a softly bustling herd of Ponyville’s citizens were gathered around booths, inside tents, and around telescopes. The tone of their jubilation seemed subdued, but all of them seemed glad to be enjoying the night.

Luna knew what they were supposed to be doing almost immediately. “No,” she protested. It came out as curt, but she didn’t make a strong effort to correct her tone for the fillies at first. Sensing wounded egos, she finally remembered her position and poise. “Forgive me. I am flattered by the suggestion, and I appreciate the effort—”

“And it’s a good idea!” Scootaloo seemed to come to her own defense, and Luna had to smile as soon as she knew whose of this three the idea had belonged to first.

“No,” she said much more warmly this time, along with a slow shake of her head. “Equestria does not need this. I do not need this.”

“Yer sister gets a festival!” Apple Bloom argued. “What’s wrong with a little celebration of you?”

Luna looked to the sky, hating herself for what she knew was necessary. Twice already these fillies had insisted on making her more than what she could be; there could not be a third time. Fear can be a powerful motivator, she reminded herself. And all tools must be used responsibly.

Her horn glowed, and the stars were instead replaced by her memories—only, for full effect, they were shown from outside her own mind. Above them, spanning the heavens, a not-so-much-younger version of Luna stood at the ready, wearing battle raiments of pitch black to match the hate-fueled candor of her heart. Only it was not Luna. Her teeth were filed into razors, and her fur had been replaced by dark, shining scales. Behind this monster flowed legions of different creatures who were allies of the shadow. The black-chitoned beasts who were not of this world seemed to be mostly tooth, claw, and rage; cruel unicorns had subjugated the dead themselves to fight as an unyielding, relentless army; and then there were Luna’s own invention—wisps of shadow brought death and rot to whatever life they came near to, friend or foe.

For if she was not going to be loved, she would be feared. If she could not win hearts, she would subjugate them. The armies of Equestria stood resolute against her terrible will; even as burning meteors slammed their ranks from above, they quite literally returned fire with concentrated, burning beams of sun magic.

Luna ended the spell before she could remember too well the mindset she had been in. And it had been her—corrupted, manipulated, true, but still a possibility of herself. Even now, she looked around her hooves and felt not as sorrowful as she ought to have; despite all reason, the fillies had taken refuge under her legs, near the very same hooves that had trampled a path to war against Equestria.

She stepped away from the thunderstruck fillies and did not mince words. “That is why I cannot have a celebration. I nearly rent this country due to foolish pride; there is no appropriate demarcation for such intent beyond a memorial for any who died.”

“But you didn't!” Scootaloo quickly pointed out, but Luna gave her a cold, sorrowful stare.

“No, but I would have, had my sister not used The Elements of Harmony to stop me.”
When the proper weight had been attributed to that truth, Luna let out a softer sigh and admitted one more: “I do not trust myself not to return to that phase of being, if I allow my pride to wax once more.”

The three children stayed silent in what Luna hoped—and felt, partially—was a somber realization. She knew they had meant well, and for that, she felt a twinge of remorse for her powerful methods of demonstrating why they were wrong. She sensed that kindness, as much a she could hear them when they spoke; her attention turned to the source as one filly’s willingness to help others froze into a hard crystal around her fear of the forces she toyed with.

“You’re not the same pony you were,” Sweetie Belle said quietly. “You learned what you gotta do to keep from going down that path again.”

Luna stared, torn between whether or not she should tell the unicorn about her need for there to be a follow up point to the mantra she’d desperately repeated to herself for the past few years. Sweetie Belle said nothing, though, and Luna’s heart fell in her chest.

“You work a lot.”

Apple Bloom’s candid observation took Luna by surprise, and she chuckled lightly before answering, “Yes, yes I do.”

Her head tilted, and she gingerly tested the waters with a followup: “My sister’n brother both get pretty testy ‘round harvest season. But they do it, ‘cause we gotta keep the farm. But when they’re done, they throw a big party for all their friends. It’s not ‘pride’, it’s... they like ponies, they need a break, and all the apples that didn’t sell, they’d go t’waste anyway, right?”

Luna found herself dumbstruck at a surprisingly lucid point. That family certainly has an affinity for apples, and the truths surrounding them.

Before she could fully draft a counterpoint, Scootaloo joined in with her friends: “Think about it, Luna. You’re like the coolest non-pegasus pony I’ve met, but hardly anypony knows about it. You’ve gotta show off a little, so others can see you and be your friend. Even if everyone’s new to you, and it’s scary in a new city. Because otherwise, you’re just gonna end up cooped up in your room for six months, completely alone, and it sucks."

The other two fillies both turned their heads at Scootaloo’s far-too-apt metaphor, but Sweetie Belle refocused on Luna. “My sister always says it’s wrong to act when you’re jealous, or to go out of your way to seek attention. But if you like who you are, and you’re good at what you do, ponies are gonna notice. So... maybe that part of you deserves a festival?” The emphasis spoke as clearly as the rest of the subtext: The filly agreed that celebrating Nightmare Moon would be an abomination.
Luna felt as if she were flanked on two sides, and she fought the urge to laugh. Peer pressure... from foals… She ignored that particular misgiving, categorizing it as the pride she’d been fighting against for most of her life. Mortals often pray to us for help... yet here are three, answering my heart’s desire.

Still, as valid as their points were, their solution was a lot to consider. It would take nuance and care to avoid a certain level of self-aggrandization that Luna loathed seeing in her sister, and—more challenging—it would take a reassessment of several of Luna’s personal ethics she’d held herself to for centuries.

But maybe... maybe dreamers would be appreciative, if they saw more of what I did. Maybe they could be. The obvious thought struck Luna with a redoubled poignance. She remained hidden out of necessity and efficiency—case in point, she could have probably aided thirty dreamers in the same time she’d been in a dream with these three foals—but... that did lead to a strong sense of one-sided resentment.
The three fillies in front of her were waiting for a response, but Luna knew she couldn’t give it to them. Not yet. “You must forgive my request for patience,” she asked, “but all I can promise for now is a strong consideration.”

The deafening silence spoke volumes to the fillies’ shared disappointment, but Sweetie Belle tried to put a positive spin on it: “Well... that’s something that’s not a no.”

“Yeah...” Scootaloo agreed, and then turned on Luna. “Just don’t do the usual grownup thing where you said ‘I’ll think about it’ and you really mean ‘no’.”

“I am not placating you,” Luna insisted.

Scootaloo lit up and tried to share in Sweetie Belle’s optimism with a shrug. “Well, cool. I mean, that’s probably the best we could’ve hoped for, anyway.”

“And... even if it’s a ‘no’, we can still meet up again in our dreams, right?” Apple Bloom’s eyes went wide, pleadingly, and Luna suspected an act for dramatic effect.
However, Luna would not deny her particular request. “I can promise you that much.” Then, remembering her audience’s relative age, she added, “When there is time... and not every night. And regardless, if there is ever true need, I will be there to protect you.”

That much seemed to lift the fillies’ spirits, and when Luna took her leave this time, she was met with much less resistance. She re-entered the bakery through the odd, rectangular opening that stood free in the middle of that grassy meadow, and she sealed the door behind her—effectively locking the fillies “outside”, but they’d dreamt a festival for themselves, complete with food.

On that note, she walked back over to the remnants of the cake. With several pieces missing, it now read “LUNA NDER OF NIGH.” She chuckled to herself, but looked over the still in-tact frosting points of constellation. Undue kindness... or maybe ‘it ain’t’. Her thoughts immediately rejected an affecting of Apple Bloom’s accent; it worked for her family, but Luna had enough new mannerisms to evaluate and learn, anyway.

With a thought, she left the dream behind, and re-entered the Dreamscape. From outside, she could hone in on the fillies’ emotions—they were having the childrens’ equivalent of a serious talk, and Luna immediately shielded herself from learning any more. She did remember to switch around the defensive spells again; if there were any unwelcome visitors in the Dreamscape, Luna preferred if dreamers woke out of the danger, anyway.

With the fillies taken care of, Luna felt one more pressing matter and lamented the hour. It was nearly dawn, and not much time remained to seek out the dream of her sister. Luna braced herself and flew through the Dreamscape, faster than any mortal could have survived. She nearly choked as she lurched to a stop outside of Celestia’s dream sphere, and after collecting her composure, she slipped gingerly inside.

The two stood once more in the royal Gardens. Celestia stood staring forlornly up at her own depiction of the moon. Luna followed her gaze. The stars twinkled, and sat not in the array Luna had more recently used, but exactly the same as they had the night Luna last remembered seeing her sister before the Nightmare took over. Before she had become Nightmare Moon.

A melancholy lullaby wafted from Celestia’s lips, filling the air of the dream with heavy sorrow. Luna gasped. It was the same song Celestia had sung the previous night. Come to think of it, these were not the Royal Canterlot Gardens. Nay, but the gardens of the old Everfree Castle.

There were the moonlilies she had arranged herself. The great floral tapestry stood just beyond it. Oh such a shame that the pegasi could no longer enjoy this masterpiece. It had taken the royal groundskeeper months, with Luna and Celestia’s close guidance, to assemble it. Flowers had been brought from all over Equestria, and the earth had been enchanted so that they could grow here.

A tear escaped Luna’s eye. This place had not existed for a millennium—centuries, at least.

As the Lullaby reached its final wavering crescendo, Celestia turned and trotted inside the garden door to the east side of the throne room.

Luna cantered around to the rear entrance, just behind the thrones themselves. She slipped inside quietly, hoping not to disturb her sister’s slumber. Oh but that was a foolish notion; she must! The night was ending. Celestia would wake soon, and Luna must speak to her here!

Celestia stood in the middle of the carpet, staring right at Luna’s throne.

“You must lower the moon now, sister.”
Luna gasped, startled, but regained her composure and stood from her hiding place. Celestia wore a soft stare. One of knowing, and compassion. Luna strode boldly out in front of the two thrones, coming to stand behind the parapet at the front of the dais.

“Nay sister, I shall not. I would have words with thee.”

Celestia’s expression hardened just slightly.
“You must, Luna. It is time for the Sun to rise.”

“I shall not!” Luna stamped her hoof. The air grew thick, buzzing with her frustration. “I must speak with you, sister, do you not see?”

A vivid memory flashed through Luna’s head. She had stood here once before, in this very spot, and sung a similar, but far more sinister tune.

“Luna!” There was no anger in her sister’s voice, but concern. Celestia stood poised, eyes wide in all but panic. Just as Luna realized what she had been doing, the spell released, enveloping her in a powerful memory, and choosing her words for her. Celestia leapt forward, but Luna’s magic stopped her, fastening her in place.

“Not another step!” Luna called out. Her lips had moved on their own! The spell was cast. Celestia and Luna were now trapped in the memory until it ended. Forced by her own spell, Luna recited the next line.
“Did you really expect me to sit idly by as they basked in your precious light?” the room reverberated with magic as Luna’s voice layered onto the memory. Luna’s heart tore. The words may have been dragged from her lips by self-imposed magic, but they had been true once, and still today, they held some truth. She watched in horror from behind her own eyes as a long distant memory replayed, her sister its captive.

Even then, a dark corner of Luna’s heart wanted to see this through.
“There can only be one Princess in Equestria, and that princess will be ME!” The air vibrated with the force of her exclamation. Dark magic formed within the memory, and blue smoke enveloped Luna, twisting and reforming her body. Her teeth grew into fangs, her eyes sharpened into slits, and her mane evaporated, replaced by the smoke. A deep throaty cackle broke from her lips. She threw her head back and cast it high into the sky.

“NO!”

Luna could not stop, but internally she took notice of the new voice~Three voices to be precise. Could it be?

“Princess Luna, stop!”

“Don’t do this!”

Yes, those were the little fillies’ voices. Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom. They must have followed after her, having reopened the door she’d left through. Thank the stars she hadn’t simply teleported away. The spell shattered, and Luna’s eyes looked down. All three of the fillies she’d played with earlier stood by the garden door, behind Celestia. Tears stained all three’s eyes. The memory paused, but the smoke kept flowing.

They ran to her. Three sets of legs, tripping over each other as they scrambled up the short flight of stairs and sped to her side. Luna felt the warm touch of little hooves as they hugged her legs. The spell began to dissolve where they held her.

“Princess Luna. Stop! Ya don’t have ta do this. We thought you were happy. Didn’t ya like the cake we made ya?”

“This isn’t you. You’re kind and gentle and caring. You helped all of us get over our nightmares. You shouldn’t become one!”
Scootaloo smiled up at her. Luna gasped, audibly. There was no fear in the little filly’s eyes. Concern perhaps, but a deeper adoration and reverence shone through. They truly did love her.

A high pitched screech shook the air as the blue smoke enveloping Luna’s upper half began swirling about wildly. It was receding! Yes, of course. Luna surged her magic down to the three fillies about her legs, and empowered them, amplifying their love and offering Sweetie Belle the magic she would need. It would not break her. The three of them responded admirably, embracing the power she lent them and pouring it back into her. With their efforts, the spell vanished entirely, casting off the blue speck of smoke, which let out a piercing scream as it vanished with a loud pop.

Luna let out an anguished cry as she fell to the floor, finally released from her own memory.

She felt the warmth of all three fillies still clinging to her, and cried loud, bittersweet tears.

The soft click of Celestia’s hooves broke her trance. Luna looked up. Her sister stood halfway up the stairway, eyes full of tears, mouth agape in a frozen gasp. She didn’t say anything. The two sisters locked eyes for a moment, then Luna closed hers with a smile.

“Thank you, young ones. You must return to your own dream now. The night is ending.”

“No way!”

“Uh-uh.”

“We’re staying.”

They just hugged her tighter. Luna’s smile widened.

“Very well. You may stay for now.” She stood, and met Celestia’s eyes once again. “Speak, sister. I would have words with thee.”

Celestia swallowed, blinked back a few tears, then shook her head. “No, Luna. The night is ending. You said it yourself. You must lower the moon.”

Anger flared for a moment, but Luna felt a tug on her mane. She looked down. It was Apple Bloom. All three fillies looked sad again.

“Not again, Princess Luna. It’s all right. The day has to happen sometime. How would we grow apples otherwise?”

The other two fillies nodded.

Luna sighed. Apple Bloom was right. The night must end. The day must begin. The sun must outshine the moon.

Luna lowered her head, and the dream dissipated.