[Fic] "The Sun and the Moon" -- original
This is a fairy tale set in the world of The Moon's Daughter, though it has nothing to do with either the Isles or the witches of Immish. Instead, this is a love story, of sorts.
ETA, 9/10/08: minor word flow tweaks, so it reads better aloud.
ETA, 12/19/08: elaboration on the gift-giving section, to make the moon less passive and the sun slightly less of a creepy stalker
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The Sun and the Moon
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Long and long ago, before your grandmother's grandmother was born, the sun fell in love with the moon.
At first he did nothing but smile when their chariots passed in the sky and sigh to himself as he rested in his garden at night. But after some years, he grew tired of watching the moon from afar. One evening, when they both reached their homes in the uttermost west at the same time, he rode one of his milk-white horses north to the moon's palace and knocked on the door.
The moon answered his knock herself, waving her guards aside. "It's only the sun," she told them. "He won't harm me." The guards withdrew reluctantly.
"Why have you come here?" the moon asked the sun as she led him into her palace. "I'm sure I kept my horses from challenging yours during the eclipse." Her pale light shone gently on the silver and pearls, and the sun wrapped his cloak of darkness more tightly around his shoulders to keep his own light from striking blinding reflections. Even so, he knew his face was too bright for most people to look on directly.
The moon looked at him straightly, instead of casting down her eyes or turning her face aside. The sun was enchanted. But it was too soon to speak of love.
"I wanted to visit you," he said. "We've worked together for so many years, but we hardly know each other. I'd like to change that."
The moon considered, and then summoned a servant to bring tea. She and the sun sat in her palace, speaking of this and that, until the night was nearly over. Every hour, the sun fell more deeply in love and knew more surely that he couldn't live without the moon.
"It's nearly time for dawn," the moon said as the stars wheeled overhead. "You need to hurry to reach the uttermost east."
The sun found, to his surprise, that he didn't care if he neglected his duties, but the moon had already risen from her chair. He followed her out of the palace and turned to say farewell. "I'd like to visit again the next time you have a night to rest. I think we could become good friends, and I'd like that." He smiled as warmly as he could.
The moon didn't notice how eagerly the sun waited for her answer. Her hand rested on the latch of her palace door, her fingers running over the polished silver. She closed her shining eyes for a long moment. Then she met the sun's gaze again, still straightly and unafraid. "Yes. I would like that too."
The sun galloped home along the shore, hitched up his chariot, and drove his milk-white horses eastward under the earth. He was a few minutes late for the dawn, but fortunately the eastern ocean was cloudy that day, so hardly anyone noticed. The moon drove her chariot into the sky an hour behind him, and he spent the day trying not to laugh with foolish joy while she could see.
He would have to be cautious. The moon was solitary and proud, and they were still little more than strangers. It would take many more visits -- perhaps many years -- before he could reveal his true feelings. But for now, friendship was enough.
The sun had all the time in the world.
After a year, the sun began to bring gifts to the moon. First he brought a basket of plums from his garden, whose stones played haunting tunes once the fruit was eaten. Next he brought a pale blue parakeet, who understood human speech. Then he brought a blanket of dreamgrass to perfume the moon's palace, and a wreath of snowflakes to hang in her window.
"What shall I give you in return?" the moon asked. "I have nothing but pearls and stone."
"I bring you gifts because I hope you'll like them," the sun told her. "You don't have to repay me."
"Nevertheless, I feel I ought to," said the moon. She touched one of the snowflakes. "It doesn't melt. How strange, and how lovely."
As she thanked him, she smiled -- faintly, awkwardly, but unmistakably. The sun's heart leapt.
He continued to bring gifts, drink tea, and gaze longingly at the moon's calm, quiet face whenever her attention wavered. Over time, she returned his smiles more readily, and began to tell him stories in return for his gifts. The sun counted each word as a treasure to be guarded and kept pure in his heart, and thought that soon it might be time to speak of love.
Then, one night, when he rode his milk-white horse north to the moon's palace, the moon didn't greet him at the door. A guard answered his knock instead.
"Where is your mistress?" the sun asked, alarmed.
"Down among the pearl fishers," the guard said. "If you have another gift, please leave it with me and I'll see that the moon receives it."
The sun refused. This night he had brought a golden ring, thinking he might finally reveal his heart, and he would let no hands but hers touch that gift. He wondered what could have claimed the moon's attention and made her forget his visit. Worried, he decided to find her and see if she needed his help.
He rode down to the water's edge where the pearl fishers had their village. He knew immediately where the moon had gone -- her silvery light shone steady and clear from the windows of a tiny cottage. The sun wrapped himself from head to toe in his cloak of darkness and closed his eyes so only the barest sliver of light escaped to let him see. Then he peered in the window of the cottage.
The moon lay on a bed with a man, each twined around the other, fast asleep. The man's weathered hand rested on her long, shimmering hair, and his arm circled her waist, pulling her close to his body. He murmured something, shifting in the grip of dreams.
In her sleep, the moon smiled and held him tighter.
The sun stumbled backwards, anger, shock, and sorrow warring in his heart. Under his cloak, his fingers tightened on the golden ring.
He rode back to his garden in silence.
The next morning dawn was a trifle late, and though the sun shone with brilliant light, somehow the day was cold even at noon. All summer long, people shivered and wondered if the sun was ill or hurt. And the sun never went to visit the moon.
One night that winter, while the sun lay in his garden listening to his birds sing of sorrow and loss, the moon rode her coal-black horse south along the shore to visit him. When the sun heard hoof beats, he wrapped himself in his cloak of darkness and hid in a thicket of raspberries.
The moon searched for him, but after a time she stopped and sat under a plum tree. "I'm sorry I wasn't home to greet you when you last visited," she said to the birds and flowers. "I want to thank you. Because you taught me how to be a friend, I learned how to love. Now I've found a man who loves me in return."
She plucked a raspberry and offered it to a daring nightingale. "His mother had died the week before," she said, as the bird perched on her outstretched fingers, "and he needed me. But you're my friend. I should have left you a message so you wouldn't worry. Don't be angry. I miss you."
The sun stood, shaking the bushes and startling the birds into flight. "Why did you look to humans for love?" he asked, unable to hide from her anymore. "I love you!"
The moon met his eyes, still the only person who could see him straightly without being blinded. For once, her calm was ruffled.
"You... love me?" she asked. "But you said nothing."
"I visited you because I love you. I brought you gifts because I love you. I dreamed of you because I love you. And now I'm tired and heartsick because I love you, but you love another man," the sun said, throwing aside his cloak and lighting his garden to a dazzle of rainbow colors. "Why him? He'll die. He'll leave you. I could stay with you forever."
The moon picked up the cloak of darkness and let the black fabric slide through her fingers, falling like water to the ground. "I know," she said. "Humans are like snowflakes -- they fade so quickly. But he's always with me, not only a few nights a month. And I love him. You're my first and dearest friend, but I'm not in love with you."
The moon's eyes were clear and still, like pools of deep water, and the sun could see truth all the way down to eternity.
He cast down his eyes and turned his face aside.
"I won't bring you any more gifts," the sun said, "since you have another to care for you. But when he dies, remember that I love you, and that I'll always be ready to listen to you." He took the golden ring from his pocket and offered it to the moon. "I meant this as a symbol of love. Take it as a sign of friendship instead."
The moon took the ring from his hand. Her fingers were cool against his skin.
"I hope he makes you happy," the sun told her.
"He does," said the moon. "Maybe someday you'll find someone who loves you the way he loves me. Until then, you can still visit on the nights we share. I will always be ready to listen to you." She slid the ring onto her hand.
The sun was silent, and after a long moment the moon turned and left his garden. She rode back to her palace, where her mortal love lay waiting in a room built of obsidian and pearls. The sun watched her leave, until her silvery glow faded into the starlight along the dark ocean.
Then he wrapped himself in his cloak of darkness and waited for the dawn.
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The End
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Other stuff:
1) I'm slowly plugging away at "Undertow," which is a loose sequel to "Tides," and have firmly outlined the final scene of "Secrets" chapter 11 -- it was being a pain because I had no effective cut-off point, but the scene had no purpose either, beyond filling space. Then I realized that if I yanked one key realization out of the penultimate scene, and let Ginny and Neville have a particular conversation in the final scene, things would work much better. So that's what I'm doing.
I like Neville. Also, Ginny-Neville interaction is good because it lays groundwork for them being friends of sorts in GoF, when he asks her to the Yule Ball and she agrees.
2) I mailed two Christmas presents today. I really should have done that last week, but I forgot and only got them wrapped on Sunday. Then I had the fun of trying to find ReadyMail packages and/or envelopes that fit my gifts. I ended up sending the coffee table book in a bubble wrap envelope, and the four bars of cold-kettle organic scented soap in a video cassette box. Hey, if it fits, it fits! (And I remembered to bring my aunt and uncle's address with me! My day-to-day memory is a sieve, but I can be taught. Sometimes.)
3) I need to buy electrical tape, because the wires on my hairdryer are totally stripped and the copper strands have nearly separated. I'm not sure when this happened, but I nearly burned my hand on bare wiring this morning, and I need that fixed before the weather turns cold again. I walk everywhere -- I have no car -- and walking around in typical winter weather with wet hair is not on my list of favorite activities!
ETA, 9/10/08: minor word flow tweaks, so it reads better aloud.
ETA, 12/19/08: elaboration on the gift-giving section, to make the moon less passive and the sun slightly less of a creepy stalker
---------------------------------------------
The Sun and the Moon
---------------------------------------------
Long and long ago, before your grandmother's grandmother was born, the sun fell in love with the moon.
At first he did nothing but smile when their chariots passed in the sky and sigh to himself as he rested in his garden at night. But after some years, he grew tired of watching the moon from afar. One evening, when they both reached their homes in the uttermost west at the same time, he rode one of his milk-white horses north to the moon's palace and knocked on the door.
The moon answered his knock herself, waving her guards aside. "It's only the sun," she told them. "He won't harm me." The guards withdrew reluctantly.
"Why have you come here?" the moon asked the sun as she led him into her palace. "I'm sure I kept my horses from challenging yours during the eclipse." Her pale light shone gently on the silver and pearls, and the sun wrapped his cloak of darkness more tightly around his shoulders to keep his own light from striking blinding reflections. Even so, he knew his face was too bright for most people to look on directly.
The moon looked at him straightly, instead of casting down her eyes or turning her face aside. The sun was enchanted. But it was too soon to speak of love.
"I wanted to visit you," he said. "We've worked together for so many years, but we hardly know each other. I'd like to change that."
The moon considered, and then summoned a servant to bring tea. She and the sun sat in her palace, speaking of this and that, until the night was nearly over. Every hour, the sun fell more deeply in love and knew more surely that he couldn't live without the moon.
"It's nearly time for dawn," the moon said as the stars wheeled overhead. "You need to hurry to reach the uttermost east."
The sun found, to his surprise, that he didn't care if he neglected his duties, but the moon had already risen from her chair. He followed her out of the palace and turned to say farewell. "I'd like to visit again the next time you have a night to rest. I think we could become good friends, and I'd like that." He smiled as warmly as he could.
The moon didn't notice how eagerly the sun waited for her answer. Her hand rested on the latch of her palace door, her fingers running over the polished silver. She closed her shining eyes for a long moment. Then she met the sun's gaze again, still straightly and unafraid. "Yes. I would like that too."
The sun galloped home along the shore, hitched up his chariot, and drove his milk-white horses eastward under the earth. He was a few minutes late for the dawn, but fortunately the eastern ocean was cloudy that day, so hardly anyone noticed. The moon drove her chariot into the sky an hour behind him, and he spent the day trying not to laugh with foolish joy while she could see.
He would have to be cautious. The moon was solitary and proud, and they were still little more than strangers. It would take many more visits -- perhaps many years -- before he could reveal his true feelings. But for now, friendship was enough.
The sun had all the time in the world.
After a year, the sun began to bring gifts to the moon. First he brought a basket of plums from his garden, whose stones played haunting tunes once the fruit was eaten. Next he brought a pale blue parakeet, who understood human speech. Then he brought a blanket of dreamgrass to perfume the moon's palace, and a wreath of snowflakes to hang in her window.
"What shall I give you in return?" the moon asked. "I have nothing but pearls and stone."
"I bring you gifts because I hope you'll like them," the sun told her. "You don't have to repay me."
"Nevertheless, I feel I ought to," said the moon. She touched one of the snowflakes. "It doesn't melt. How strange, and how lovely."
As she thanked him, she smiled -- faintly, awkwardly, but unmistakably. The sun's heart leapt.
He continued to bring gifts, drink tea, and gaze longingly at the moon's calm, quiet face whenever her attention wavered. Over time, she returned his smiles more readily, and began to tell him stories in return for his gifts. The sun counted each word as a treasure to be guarded and kept pure in his heart, and thought that soon it might be time to speak of love.
Then, one night, when he rode his milk-white horse north to the moon's palace, the moon didn't greet him at the door. A guard answered his knock instead.
"Where is your mistress?" the sun asked, alarmed.
"Down among the pearl fishers," the guard said. "If you have another gift, please leave it with me and I'll see that the moon receives it."
The sun refused. This night he had brought a golden ring, thinking he might finally reveal his heart, and he would let no hands but hers touch that gift. He wondered what could have claimed the moon's attention and made her forget his visit. Worried, he decided to find her and see if she needed his help.
He rode down to the water's edge where the pearl fishers had their village. He knew immediately where the moon had gone -- her silvery light shone steady and clear from the windows of a tiny cottage. The sun wrapped himself from head to toe in his cloak of darkness and closed his eyes so only the barest sliver of light escaped to let him see. Then he peered in the window of the cottage.
The moon lay on a bed with a man, each twined around the other, fast asleep. The man's weathered hand rested on her long, shimmering hair, and his arm circled her waist, pulling her close to his body. He murmured something, shifting in the grip of dreams.
In her sleep, the moon smiled and held him tighter.
The sun stumbled backwards, anger, shock, and sorrow warring in his heart. Under his cloak, his fingers tightened on the golden ring.
He rode back to his garden in silence.
The next morning dawn was a trifle late, and though the sun shone with brilliant light, somehow the day was cold even at noon. All summer long, people shivered and wondered if the sun was ill or hurt. And the sun never went to visit the moon.
One night that winter, while the sun lay in his garden listening to his birds sing of sorrow and loss, the moon rode her coal-black horse south along the shore to visit him. When the sun heard hoof beats, he wrapped himself in his cloak of darkness and hid in a thicket of raspberries.
The moon searched for him, but after a time she stopped and sat under a plum tree. "I'm sorry I wasn't home to greet you when you last visited," she said to the birds and flowers. "I want to thank you. Because you taught me how to be a friend, I learned how to love. Now I've found a man who loves me in return."
She plucked a raspberry and offered it to a daring nightingale. "His mother had died the week before," she said, as the bird perched on her outstretched fingers, "and he needed me. But you're my friend. I should have left you a message so you wouldn't worry. Don't be angry. I miss you."
The sun stood, shaking the bushes and startling the birds into flight. "Why did you look to humans for love?" he asked, unable to hide from her anymore. "I love you!"
The moon met his eyes, still the only person who could see him straightly without being blinded. For once, her calm was ruffled.
"You... love me?" she asked. "But you said nothing."
"I visited you because I love you. I brought you gifts because I love you. I dreamed of you because I love you. And now I'm tired and heartsick because I love you, but you love another man," the sun said, throwing aside his cloak and lighting his garden to a dazzle of rainbow colors. "Why him? He'll die. He'll leave you. I could stay with you forever."
The moon picked up the cloak of darkness and let the black fabric slide through her fingers, falling like water to the ground. "I know," she said. "Humans are like snowflakes -- they fade so quickly. But he's always with me, not only a few nights a month. And I love him. You're my first and dearest friend, but I'm not in love with you."
The moon's eyes were clear and still, like pools of deep water, and the sun could see truth all the way down to eternity.
He cast down his eyes and turned his face aside.
"I won't bring you any more gifts," the sun said, "since you have another to care for you. But when he dies, remember that I love you, and that I'll always be ready to listen to you." He took the golden ring from his pocket and offered it to the moon. "I meant this as a symbol of love. Take it as a sign of friendship instead."
The moon took the ring from his hand. Her fingers were cool against his skin.
"I hope he makes you happy," the sun told her.
"He does," said the moon. "Maybe someday you'll find someone who loves you the way he loves me. Until then, you can still visit on the nights we share. I will always be ready to listen to you." She slid the ring onto her hand.
The sun was silent, and after a long moment the moon turned and left his garden. She rode back to her palace, where her mortal love lay waiting in a room built of obsidian and pearls. The sun watched her leave, until her silvery glow faded into the starlight along the dark ocean.
Then he wrapped himself in his cloak of darkness and waited for the dawn.
---------------------------------------------
The End
---------------------------------------------
Other stuff:
1) I'm slowly plugging away at "Undertow," which is a loose sequel to "Tides," and have firmly outlined the final scene of "Secrets" chapter 11 -- it was being a pain because I had no effective cut-off point, but the scene had no purpose either, beyond filling space. Then I realized that if I yanked one key realization out of the penultimate scene, and let Ginny and Neville have a particular conversation in the final scene, things would work much better. So that's what I'm doing.
I like Neville. Also, Ginny-Neville interaction is good because it lays groundwork for them being friends of sorts in GoF, when he asks her to the Yule Ball and she agrees.
2) I mailed two Christmas presents today. I really should have done that last week, but I forgot and only got them wrapped on Sunday. Then I had the fun of trying to find ReadyMail packages and/or envelopes that fit my gifts. I ended up sending the coffee table book in a bubble wrap envelope, and the four bars of cold-kettle organic scented soap in a video cassette box. Hey, if it fits, it fits! (And I remembered to bring my aunt and uncle's address with me! My day-to-day memory is a sieve, but I can be taught. Sometimes.)
3) I need to buy electrical tape, because the wires on my hairdryer are totally stripped and the copper strands have nearly separated. I'm not sure when this happened, but I nearly burned my hand on bare wiring this morning, and I need that fixed before the weather turns cold again. I walk everywhere -- I have no car -- and walking around in typical winter weather with wet hair is not on my list of favorite activities!