Resuming Duties, Night 1

by auctor

1. Meeting

On an isolated road in the midst of a fierce blizzard, a pair of ponies were hollering furiously at each other.

Socket Wrench yelled, “We’d never be here if not for your blasted tinkering with the motor!”

Sunny Skies yelled back, “The tinkering would’ve been fine if not for your shoddy craftsmanship!”

The storm intensified as the stallions argued.

Sunny reared up in anger and frustration, and above him he caught sight of a hole in the clouds, through which he could see a thin partial circle at the edge of the new moon. In the billowing fog and snow, one could make out any number of shapes, and for just a moment Sunny thought he saw Petunia, looking up at the sky.

“What’ve you got to smile about?” demanded Socket.

Sunny rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s silly. It just occurred to me that if Petunia were looking up, we’d see the same moon.”

Behind Sunny, the fog and snow, for just a moment, drifted into a shape that reminded Socket of Olive. Socket smiled, and playfully poked Sunny’s side, “Marefriend of yours, eh?”

“Oh, no no! We’re just friends. But Petunia — she is something special.”

Socket chortled, “You sound like I did before I got the nerve to ask Olive on a date.” Then he sighed, “If we ever get out of here, you’ll have quite the story to tell your Petunia.”

“She’s not my Petunia,” Sunny stammered. “And you’ll have a story for your Olive.”

“Nah, she passed some years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have plenty of happy memories of her. And there’s li’l Torque. Spanner took after me, but it’s like my Olive skipped a generation. If it weren’t for her mane, li’l Torque would be a spitting image.”

As they continued chatting, the howls from the storm seemed to become fainter, of less and less import.

---

The thickness of a thought away, in the domain of symbols and metaphors, a small sky‐blue alicorn mixed the red and white paints on her palette and began painting the fire of newly‐forged friendship that’d warm the old stallion and the colt through the mid‐winter storm they dreamt themselves in.

A being like an alicorn, but twisted and deformed — cobwebs for her mane, giant mosquito wings, and a coat of green and puce, mottled like rotting flesh — landed beside the easel, furious.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked.

Luna snorted, “Ill met, witch. We are seeing to Our Duties. Long absent We have been, but not so that We may such forget!”

“You are ruining my exquisite nightmare! Do you know who I am?”

“We ken well whom thou art, Mother of Nightmares. Thou art unwelcome here. Go thither whence thee came and ne’er return.”

The dream world shifted...

---

“Messing with ponies’ dreams, Luna?” Celestia said, a disappointed frown on her muzzle. “Will I have to send you back to the moon?”

“Thou’rt a fool to reckon such rude trickery wouldst deceive Us. Begone, thou faker, thou false sister.”

“So, you have the power to not blindly accept all illusion.” ‘Celestia’ leaned forward, “But not the power to banish them. Leave me and my nightmares alone, or I’ll trap you in dreams so vile you’ll be begging to be my slave if only I’d release you from them.”

“Thou kens not what Our power be.”

“Show me, little one.”

---

“Majesty! Majesty! Twilight Sparkle has snuck into the Dark Magic library annex!” Dusty Shelves called out, racing towards the princess.

Celestia brought her hoof to her chest, “No. Not again.” Her heart raced. Had she learned nothing? Was she doomed to make the same mistakes, every time?

She decided that she needed some cool, brisk air. She stepped out onto her balcony. The crescent moon whispered to her, “’Tis but a figment, Sister. You are needed. Harken to Our voice and come hither forthwith.”

Celestia hadn’t experienced this dream lucidity in a millennium, but she remembered what Luna had shown her back then quite well. She easily identified the portal, and followed Luna’s voice.

Which led her to the throne room, where there was... another Celestia? But the moment her duplicate saw her, the image tore apart in the characteristic manner of dispelled illusions, to be replaced with an alicorn uglier than any she’d ever imagine on her own.

“Witnesseth thy folly, despicable beast! Thy apparition of Our Sister canst not remain with Her being present.”

The impersonator hissed, and the dream world shifted...

---

Nightmare Moon cackled in glee. “It was foolish to be so stingy with your power, ‘princess’. It made your ‘faithful’ student oh so easy to turn.”

Celestia had to concentrate to keep tears from welling up. Her voice was anguished, “Why, Twilight? Why?”

Twilight Sparkle sneered at her, “Nightmare Moon was willing to give me the power I had earned, that I deserved, that you were never willing to trust me with.”

Celestia replied, “Unwilling to trust? Twilight, you had my utmost trust. You never expressed any desire...” She raised her forehooves to her head and screwed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as she fought back against the dream trying to insinuate its ‘facts’ past her consciousness. “You — are — not — Twi–light.”

Yet all reality was bearing down on Celestia’s mind, insisting with unrelenting pressure that she was.