Awake and Asleep
The Dreamer and Me
A My Little Pony fanfic by LysanderasD
Izzy was a foal when she first dreamed about the mare with the starlit mane.
She didn’t remember very much from when she was that young, but she remembered the dream. The open expanse, the empty field, filled with knee-high grass. Directly overhead, fuller and brighter than it ever could have been in the waking world, the silvery, solitary figure of the moon, and around it, an impossible, uncountable number of stars.
It was beautiful. In the dream, she simply leaned back, laying in the soft, sweet-smelling grass and letting the moon and stars above captivate her. She remembered the gentle, cool breeze. The light tickle of the grass against her coat.
How long she spent there she couldn’t say, for time meant very little in that place. But, gradually, she became aware that she was not alone.
May all your dreams be sweet tonight…
She sat up, and the breeze ruffled her mane—frazzled and untameable even in the dream world—blowing strands into her face which she quickly raised a hoof to disperse. When she could see again, she could make out the figure of another pony, distant and indistinct. On the breeze, she thought she heard a few notes of a song, slow, gentle, and calm.
Safe upon your bed of moonlight…
Izzy stood up. The distant pony hadn’t moved, so the unicorn took the initiative, moving in her direction. The dream, as such dreams so often do, got weird, perspective shifting and distorting, and it seemed that she was making almost no progress at all. Still, very gradually, spurred on by the snatches of song she caught on the wind, Izzy pulled herself toward the mare.
And know not of sadness, pain, or care…
The first thought Izzy had was that it was hard to tell where the sky stopped and the mare began, mostly because of her mane. It was the same deep blue of the sky beyond and, like the sky, shone with the thousand twinkling lights of stars, shimmering and shifting and blending weirdly into the space behind. As Izzy approached, spent and breathless, the mare opened her eyes, showing glowing turquoise that shone gently like the moon above. She watched Izzy, a small, conspiratorial smile working its way onto her face as she sang.
And when I dream, I’ll fly away and meet you there…
The mare—impossibly tall, long and slender and beautiful in a way Izzy had never seen before and could never quite describe afterward—reached out a hoof and very gently rubbed Izzy’s cheek.
“Sleep,” she whispered, and it was not clear whether it was part of the song or not. “Sleep.”
And Izzy slept.
That was a long time ago. Izzy had not seen the mare with the starlit mane in her dreams since, and yet every time she closed her eyes, she heard again that faint song on the breeze, the gentle whisper in the wind.
When she was born, she was just Izzy. Well, she might have been Isabella. Both of them were strange names, not like normal pony names, but Izzy had never been quite like normal ponies, even before she started dreaming. She was only Izzy Moonbow after she had the dream and started spending nights on the roof of her dwelling, staring up through the trees at the moon as it made its way across the sky.
Somepony was responsible for that, she knew. And in some of the oldest tales, it was said that it was one pony in particular, a beautiful princess who had both a horn and wings and was as beautiful and ethereal as the night sky, bright and fickle as the moon. Sometimes when she was out at night, watching the moon pass by overhead, she’d even whisper, hoping that maybe Luna would hear. She used to be louder, having whole conversations—one-sided as they were—and sometimes singing songs, but that had gotten her in trouble with her parents and her neighbors, so she settled for whispers.
Whispers about anything, really. About her day. About her dreams, about life in the forest, about her family. Sometimes… well, a lot more than sometimes, lately, she whispered about how lonely she was. How everypony was lonely, living in isolation in the woods, growing up on legends of magic and power and forgotten glories—forgotten friendships. Sometimes she imagined that the moon was her friend, and hoped against hope that she would dream again of the mare with the starlit mane.
Dreams about magical ponies were fine for foals. But Izzy wasn’t a foal any more; she was almost fully grown. Everypony else her age was gearing up for real life. But not Frizzy Izzy Moonbow. She tried, really she did—she knew that her friends would come back around eventually. They were still her friends.
They were. They were.
It was summer, so it was nice enough that she could grab a blanket and settle out on the overgrown roof of her house (which might, once upon a time, have been a tree), just outside her second-floor window. School was out, and she had nothing but time.
So she lay back and watched the moon. The forest was thick, but there was a clearing between the dense leaves that she could see through if she lay in just the right way, and so every night, for a few minutes, at least, the silver figure of the moon was her companion.
She hummed the song. She still remembered the melody, coming to her in bits and pieces, though the words escaped her. The actual melody was unmistakable: gentle, peaceful, slow, filled with so much warmth and hope. The words danced on the tip of her tongue, and she raised a hoof. The moon swelled large in her vision, and she traced her hoof around it, imagining she could reach up and grab it, hold it. She imagined that maybe she was the mare that moved the moon, and that it rose to meet her anew each night because she desired to see it again, like an old friend—
Safe upon your bed of moonlight…
Izzy sat up. She was not on her roof anymore. As it had so many years ago, the endless field surrounded her, the grass still knee high—to her much taller knees, now—and she had to push herself to all four hooves or risk the tall stalks brushing up against her nose and tickling her into a sneeze. The wind was blowing again—not the chill wind from winter nights in the woods, but the cool wind of this place, the wind that felt like a hoof brushing against her cheek, and she had the sudden, irrational thought that the wind seemed to be welcoming her back.
And on the wind was the song. Izzy’s ears flicked, trying to locate the source as the wind shifted, the long grass brushing against her coat, not urgent, but gentle, welcoming as the wind.
And though the words had escaped her in the waking world, she found them again here just as they found her on the wind.
And know not of sadness, pain, or care…
There. She saw the pony in the distance again. She smiled, and though the starlit mare seemed miles away, she knew, she just knew, that there was a smile on her face too.
So she began to walk. This time she felt no urgency, no hurry. The wind had welcomed her, and the grass was gentle and soft. And unlike the last time she came here, there was no distortion, no strange bending of time and space. Slowly but surely, she saw the mare grow bigger in her vision. Soon enough she could see the flickering, flowing mane again, the mane full of stardust. She looked up and saw the mare’s face. Something clicked, and her eyes widened.
“You’re Luna,” she said quietly, reverently, as she approached. Her eyes widened when she saw the legendary princess nod. And the last few lines they sang together. She knew the words to the song. She always had, since she was little. Or at least she did here, at the heart of all dreams, where even the deepest parts of one’s self were laid bare.
And when I dream I’ll fly away and meet you there…
“Sleep,” said Luna, gently, soothingly, holding it out. “Sleep…”
And though she had so many questions, so many things she wanted to ask, Izzy felt her eyelids grow heavy again, vision dimming. But Luna’s smile, conspiratorial and sly, was the last thing she saw. And, whispered, or something less than a whisper, on the edge of hearing:
“Remember, my little pony. Remember...”
Luna left Izzy in the field at the heart of dreams.
The place she returned to was difficult to describe. Not a place, or even a time, but Elsewhere, where such definitions had less meaning. Only a few days ago—inasmuch as a “day” meant anything to Luna anymore—she had been standing here on the starlit path with Twilight, watching as Sunny received the Journal. And that had been the beginning of her plan.
Now, though, it was not Twilight waiting for her on the path. Cadance gave her aunt a well-meaning but harsh glare.
“Twilight would probably think what you’re doing is cheating,” she admonished.
“Perhaps it is,” Luna replied smoothly. “But if I am breaking the rules, Harmony has yet to stop me. The Dreaming is not bound by such petty things as space or time. And Izzy Moonbow will be necessary.”
Cadance tapped a hoof, still looking frustrated, but—she was unable to commit to the act. Luna saw the moment the younger alicorn’s curiosity won out over her worry.
“You think she’ll be able to help Sunny?”
“I think she will need to.” Luna stepped beside Cadance on the path. “T’was a multitude of ponies who saved me from Nightmare, and ‘t’will be a multitude of ponies again that will set Equestria back on the proper path.”
“The Elements…?” Cadance began.
Luna gave this some thought, and not for the first time. Twilight, strangely, had not asked this question. The Elements, yes—always a possibility. But broken or whole, there were six, and Luna did not think six would be the magic number twice in a row. It would not simply be enough to repeat history. No Nightmare this time, but decline—and, as remarkable as they might be, the power of the Elements of Harmony was not meant to be used for such mundane things. Nor would they help; no, the healing that Equestria needed must come from within itself.
“No,” she said finally. “Nothing so grandiose as that. Sunny, Izzy and the others may save the world, but not from some long-forgotten sealed threat—not in the way that you did, or that Twilight did, or that Celestia and I did once upon a time. There is a threat, yes, a darkness, but the darkness too is a victim of circumstance. Of this decline. Sunny, and those we gather to aid her, will be fighting a problem that cannot be solved by artifacts alone.”
She looked back the way she had come, inasmuch as that meant anything. An image of Izzy, asleep in the field—and, simultaneously, somehow, asleep on her roof in the waking world—hung there, at once close and far, within reach and untouchable.
“No. She will need Izzy. And she will need other things—other ponies. The sort that only you or Flurry Heart can inspire. And perhaps if we can gather enough, then my sister will at last be spurred into action—after waiting for the pieces to fall into place, as is her wont.”
“You know nopony will believe her,” Cadance said, staring at the sleeping unicorn.
“Of course they won’t; if they did, there would be no need for Sunny. But Equestria needs its dreamers—and its lovers.” Luna gave Cadance a pointed look. “Those who reach for the impossible. Sunny has will, yes, she has spirit, I would dare to say she has hope—but not in the way Izzy does. Certainly not with the will to shape it the way Izzy has. That creativity—that spark, that inspiration. As Rarity inspired others, so shall she.”
There was a pause. Cadance watched the unicorn, something difficult to read in her eyes.
“Will you ever let her have more than this? Will you ever let her remember?”
Luna looked down at nothing in particular, a pseudo-star glistening in the expanse. “She will remember this one, as she remembered her first. She must let the wonder take root and grow. It must stir her. She is a dreamer, Cadance, of a sort I have not seen in many, many years; her creativity will inspire her in the mystery.”
The pink pony looked a little confused.
Luna smiled gently. “It is a matter of the heart, true, but not only that. She will be the match that sets Sunny alight when they are at their lowest. She knew me, and called me by name. She can hear me as few can—in our time or in any other.” Luna paused. “I hesitate to think of her merely as a tool. But as a heroine—yes. Not a purpose—a destiny. A dream.”
“Isabella!”
She started awake as she heard her mother’s voice come through the open window. Izzy sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It was morning—there was light filtering through the thick canopy overhead. Guiltily, she turned to the window for her room and saw her mother’s disapproving face.
“How many times have we told you?” she sighed, holding a forehoof to her face. “Sleeping on the roof is dangerous. You could fall. Do we honestly need to put a lock on your sill?”
“No,” Izzy muttered, trying to sound willful. “It’s—I’m okay, Mama. I promise. See, I’m way away from the edge.” She gestured with a hoof, looking away. One hoof fiddled loosely with the overgrowth. Then she remembered. “Oh!”
“What is it?” she heard her mother ask.
“I dreamed! I saw the mare again!”
“The mare?” Izzy’s mother asked. Izzy recognized the tone of voice as one she’d often use when she really didn’t want to hear, but she paid it no mind. This was important.
“The mare with the mane made of stardust!”
She saw her mother’s expression tighten. “I—just... Isabella, please get back inside the house.”
Izzy gathered up her blanket in her hooves, then draped it over her back, obediently stepping back over to the window. “I did! I saw her!”
“Ponies can’t have manes made of stardust, Isabella.”
“She did, though!” Why didn’t her mother understand? She never seemed to understand. Usually her dreams were a little sillier than this, but this was serious! “I saw her! It was Princess Luna!”
There was a pause. Her mother began to smile—but it was an unkind smile that turned into unkind snickers. Izzy’s ears pinned back in shame.
“She’s just a myth, Isabella. We’ve told you this so many times. ‘The Mare in the Moon’? What rubbish. It’s an excuse for a holiday—nothing more.”
“She was real. I know she was real. I…”
She stopped when she felt her mother pat her on the forehead, and she pulled back a little, pouting.
“You’re such a dreamer, Isabella. But let’s let dreams stay in dreams, okay? Breakfast is almost ready—as long as you’re able to keep your head out of the clouds. Or,” and here she started to chuckle again, the same unkind chuckle, “out of the stardust manes of fake ponies, maybe.”
Izzy groaned, but obediently kept her mouth shut as she followed her mother down to the breakfast table. Her father was already seated, rifling through a newspaper and occasionally sipping at a mug of coffee.
“Hey, little Lunatic,” he said, giving Izzy’s mane a ruffle. This one was gentler than her mother’s, and a smile managed to fight past the pouty scowl on her face. “What’s with the long face, huh?”
The little nickname broadened her smile, and she opened her mouth, but behind her, her mother cleared her throat.
“Can we not today, dear, please? She was already talking about dreams…”
Izzy pulled out a chair and climbed up into it. Her mother pushed past into the little kitchen, and Izzy heard her fumbling for plates and muttering to herself.
“And what’s wrong with dreams?” her father asked.
“Nothing’s wrong with dreams,” said her mother, only a little defensively. “Only when they interfere with reality. Stardust manes,” she muttered, clearly loud enough for Izzy to hear, and her cheeks burned with shame. “Nonsense. You’re nearly an adult, Isabella, I mean, really, Nightmare Night is for foals…”
She groaned.
“Come on, love,” her father said. “Leave her be. Heavens know we could use a little more light and cheer with how dreary things are these days.” He shot Izzy a knowing wink when Mama wasn’t looking. “Dream as much as you want, little Lunatic. Not like we could stop you anyway.”
“Would you stop calling her that, dear, please? Our daughter is not crazy.”
“Of course she’s not. She’s crazy awesome.”
Despite the mare’s frustration, though, Izzy saw a small smile on her mother’s face. “Honestly, you’re incorrigible. I’m sorry, Isabella, I shouldn’t say such things, it’s just… I worry.” She came back, carefully balancing plates on her back which she set in front of Izzy, then her father, then the third chair which she took with a long sigh. “Hopes and dreams won’t bring Bridlewood back to life,” she said, ears pinned flat. “They won’t get us out of this forest or let us back into Maretime Bay or Zephyr Heights. There’s a time and a place for dreams, and… I worry that you won’t be able to find your way. To do something real.”
Izzy nibbled on her breakfast, unsure what to say. She loved her parents. And she knew her parents loved her, even if they didn’t totally understand her either. Izzy was used to not being understood.
But even so, after breakfast, she hugged them both and waved them off as they set off for work.
Now what?
She flopped onto the couch in her living room with a sigh. She supposed that if she were a normal pony with normal pony friends, this would be the prime opportunity to throw a party. But Izzy had never thrown a party before; she wasn’t even sure where to start. And that was a moot point anyway, because no one wanted to be friends with Frizzy Izzy Moonbow.
Her mother’s smile floated to the forefront of her mind. Fake, cruel, though Izzy didn’t think that her mother meant it to be cruel necessarily. So many ponies thought that Izzy didn’t pay attention to these things, or wouldn’t pick up on social cues. Who cares what you say to Frizzy Izzy? She’s not listening.
But Izzy was always listening. How would you know what to say if you weren’t listening? If something was important, you said it. It’s just that no one else seemed to think that what Izzy thought was important… was.
Her ears folded flat for a moment and she took a deep breath, trying to block out the sound of the chant that had followed her all the way from foalhood. Frizzy Izzy Moonbow, head in the clouds; everywhere she goes, stands out in the crowds...
Luna. That was who came to mind next. Princess Luna. She knew that Equestria still had princesses, somewhere. She thought that she’d heard at one point that the pegasi had actually started up a royal family. That was silly, but Izzy thought queens and princesses were a little silly anyway.
Or she had, until last night, when she’d finally understood what a princess was. The tall, slim, serene figure of Princess Luna was sharp in her mind’s eye. Deep blue coat, bright teal eyes, sharp with focus but alight with good humor and charm. And the beautiful sound of her voice. The song hadn’t sounded half as beautiful as when she’d heard it coming out of Luna’s muzzle. How had she missed all of that when she was young? Ah, because of the mane. The stardust mane, shimmering in the breeze, shining with stars and constellations.
Izzy sat up and almost crossed her forelegs, but instead reached for her mane, tangling the fuzzy, unkempt mess around her forehoof. What she wouldn’t give to have a mane like that. It was probably a lot to keep track of, but it was so pretty.
Just a silly excuse for a holiday? She giggled. No. She could never have dreamed up a pony like that on her own. Luna was real.
And Luna had asked her to remember. Remember the dream in the field of sweet-smelling grass. Remember the song, perhaps? Did it matter?
She trotted over to the window. The sun had risen over the mountaintop now, and she grimaced a little and closed the blinds. She missed the moon. She missed the quiet of nighttime, when she didn’t have to listen to anything except her own thoughts, waiting until they stopped running in circles and she could finally think clearly. That quiet time, that space where she could be herself—the moon was intrinsically linked to that in her mind. And Princess Luna, the Princess Luna, from the storybooks, except she was real—that Princess Luna had showed up to her in a dream.
Izzy had never been bothered knowing she was different. And she was different. But she’d often struggled to answer the question of why. But Princess Luna thought she was important. Special.
Maybe? It was all so complicated, and her thoughts were going in circles again. She wished it was nighttime so she could look up at the moon again and dream. She hoped she would see Luna again.
Cadance was studying the image of Izzy again. Luna stood next to her, watching as the young mare paced agitatedly.
“You know,” Cadance said after a while. “At first I thought she reminded me of Pinkie Pie, but the way she’s getting caught up in her own head…” She giggled. “She reminds me of Twilight.”
“Perhaps not Twilight,” Luna said with a small shrug. “Perhaps Starlight Glimmer’s line led to this pony. Or Miss Lulamoon’s—though I forget now if those are one and the same. Or perhaps neither.”
Cadance perked up. “You think she’s descended from Starlight?”
“At this point, from where we are standing…” Luna gave another shrug. “Impossible to say. But I can see the resemblance, if so.”
“She’s really getting worked up, Auntie,” Cadance offered, a little more serious this time.
“I know. But that energy—it is part of why I chose her. She cannot rest on an idea. She has a hard time with the just so.That is perhaps the most important trait of the ponies we choose.”
Cadance let that idea sit for a few moments, giving only a nod in return, until…
“Are you really going to ask her to leave?”
“I am,” Luna said gravely.
“But to go all the way to Maretime Bay from here… And you know they’ll try to kick her out. You could hurt her if you make the wrong call.”
“This isn’t the wrong call.”
Cadance’s smile returned. “Ah. There it is. That’s why you like her. She’ll follow her gut, just like you.”
“She will. And just like me, she will have ponies with surer heads than hers to pull her back from the edge. Sunny, for one. Though perhaps not the particular pegasus you have your eye on, if I am to guess...”
The Princess of Love did not often wear a smile that Luna would call sly, but here and now that look on her face was unmistakable. “Twilight found her hope. You are prodding your creative little prodigy. But I think what they’re lacking is confidence.”
Luna nodded. “Then I trust you to seek out and inspire a confident little pony of your own. Ah,” she added, as Cadance turned to leave. “But—we are keeping this a secret from Twilight and Celestia, yes? At least for the moment?”
The pink alicorn sighed a good-natured sigh. “If we must. I suppose it will serve as a pleasant surprise—and we could certainly use more of those.” She stepped off the path and—vanished, or was never there at all, and Luna stood alone, Elsewhere.
She turned back to the image of the pacing unicorn, saw the frustration and confusion writ on her face. An actor, this one—not a thinker. And Sunny, little Sunny Starscout, would sit in her bedroom and hope until the cows came home, but would not act. Not without an impetus.
Luna smiled. Impetus. Yes—this would do.
Remember, my little pony. Remember:
There is a city on the coast called Maretime Bay.
It is an earth pony city.
There is a friend waiting for you there.
You will show her friendship.
And she will show you magic.