A string quartet played a waltz in the background that floated lazily on top of the hum of conversation. Sunset stood at parade rest near the throne at Princess Celestia’s left hand.
The hilt of her blade rose up from above her shoulder, reminding everyone in no uncertain terms of why Sunset had the reputation she did. For however Princess Celestia complained about Sunset’s lack of subtlety, the fact was that that very lack was where her value was most obvious.
She was the hard-nosed subordinate. The loyal and obdurate wall that stood between the Princess and the more spineless of the courts’ denizens, which actually numbered the majority. Sunset Shimmer was a known quantity and an obstacle, and that only worked because she lacked subtlety.
It did mean that she got a lot of stink-eye, though.
“You’re certain you want your precious Twilight Sparkle to be seen dancing with me, your Highness?” Sunset asked out of the side of her mouth.
“You promised,” Celestia replied sotto voce. “If you don't, she probably won't dance at all, and it's traditional she have at least one. If she doesn't then the nobles will complain even louder than usual.”
“Scribe forfend,” Sunset mumbled, earning a quiet huff of laughter from the Princess.
At least a waltz was relatively easy to dance to. Twilight would certainly step on her toes a few times, or many times, but it would be better than trying to do the samba or something else that would probably result in a snapped spine.
Hers or Sunset’s, it was even odds, honestly.
“And thank you,” Celestia said warmly.
Sunset turned her head minutely to raise an eyebrow at the Princess of the Sun. “Why?”
Princess Celestia put a hand out on Sunset’s arm. It was a light touch, but it had the comfortable familiarity that Sunset permitted almost no one else to touch her with.
‘Almost’
“For always having your heart in the right place,” Celestia replied.
Shaking her head, Sunset returned to her rest and continued to watch the milling crowd of overdressed and overstuffed nobles with their daughters and sons strutting around like peacocks that had been clubbed in across the head once or twice.
Just enough to leave the contents of their skull suspect, at best.
A soft clearing of a throat from Celestia drew Sunset’s eye to her right to where a noticeably awkward-looking Twilight Sparkle had shuffled up to the Princess’ right hand. It was a place that Sunset had been used to occupying but was reserved for the current student. Still, even after a year it was a little odd for her to see Twilight there rather than be there herself.
With that said, Sunset couldn’t recall anyone ever standing at Celestia’s left during her tenure as the Princess’ student.
“I’d really rather not do this,” Twilight said flatly as she tugged at her dress in obvious discomfort. “Can I please, just go back to the library?”
“At least you’ve got me, rather than the Princess’ last student,” Sunset remarked, drawing wince from Celestia. “Speaking of which, did his nose end up healing straight?”
Twilight raised an eyebrow, and the Princess coughed delicately into her hand, drawing a ripple of laughter of Sunset and a questioning look from Twilight Sparkle.
“In his defense, he was very drunk,” Celestia said a bit too calmly.
Sunset shook her head before stepping forward and around the throne, doffing her scabbard and blade as she did and holding it out to the side. A boy in his early teens with a shock of green hair, wearing equerry’s gear marked with the heraldry of House Sparkle, up and took the blade with relish only to gasp and sag under its weight the moment Sunset let go.
“Shall we?” Sunset held out a hand. “It’s just the one dance, Sparkle.”
Twilight groaned, but nodded, clearly resolved to get it over with which suited Sunset just fine. The sun was already dipping low on the horizon and Sunset had been done with this ‘party’ for over an hour already.
At least she had the frankly hilarious fact to lean on that Twilight had only made the most perfunctory possible appearance despite the party ostensibly being for her.
That took moxie.
Or total social ignorance.
Once again, even odds with that girl.
Laying a silk-gloved hand in Sunset’s palm, she allowed the former student to lead her out onto the dance floor as the string quartet picked up a new tune.
Surprisingly, Twilight wasn’t nearly as bad as Sunset had expected. Sunset looped her arm around Twilight’s back and moved her onto the dance floor with the fluid motion of a long sweeping melody.
“Just follow my lead,” Sunset murmured, and Twilight nodded, looking a little green as Sunset moved her step by step.
She didn’t make any fancy moves, only doing enough to keep the dance interesting for the onlookers without any of her usual flourish or bombast. She wanted Twilight to look good doing this, not leave her with a sprained ankle and a lifelong fear of string quartets.
By the end of the relatively short waltz, and from the look on Twilight’s flushed face, Sunset had succeeded, and by the time the quartet ended the piece fully she was actually smiling faintly if a little uneasily.
There was a smattering of polite applause as Sunset stepped away and cut a deep bow to her partner, while Twilight managed a wobbly curtsy with an expression that clearly said she’d wished she’d practiced it a little more.
“Thank you,” Twilight whispered as she straightened and took Sunset’s proffered arm. “That ended far less disastrously than it did in my head.”
“How did it end in your head?” Sunset asked, more morbidly curiously than anything.
“Screaming, blood and assorted effluvia, the collapse of impossible angles in the matrix of space-time,” Twilight rattled off.
Sunset shrugged and nodded wordlessly as she plucked a few glasses of champagne from a passing server’s tray and passed on to Twilight who took it and sipped at it tentatively before nodding and taking a slightly longer sip.
“So are we getting married?”
It was only with a great force of effort and will that Sunset didn’t spit her mouthful of champagne across the nearest noble’s daughter, instead relegating herself to silently choking on the beverage for a few moments before she could clear her esophagus and turn, slightly ruddy-cheeked, to Twilight.
“Written’s Quill, no,” Sunset said raggedly.
“Oh good,” Twilight said with a relieved sigh before slugging back the rest of her drink. “I would make a terrible wife.”
“I barely make a passable human, so we’re in the same boat,” Sunset grumbled as she drained her own glass.
Twilight giggled lightly, the laugh ending in a nebbish-if-endearing snort.
“I see they’re still letting witches into polite society, how disappointing,” an acerbic voice cut in, drawing a glare from Sunset over Twilight’s shoulder.
“Sanguine,” Sunset’s voice dripped with saccharine venom, “I knew I smelled something! I thought I’d trodden in dung but it’s just the brown on your nose.”
Sanguine Blood’s pale face turned a blotchy purple as she tipped her head back in her best impression of her father’s haughty glare which didn’t work nearly as well since Risen Blood was almost six foot and two, while Sanguine barely crested five feet. She still had a gaggle of sycophants and assorted hangers-on that thought they could acquire wealth by osmosis or something equally pathetic, though.
As for Twilight, she just blanched and scuttled behind Sunset, who rolled her eyes. She had to grow a spine one of these days or the nobles would eventually figure out how to eat her alive.
And they would.
“I see Celestia’s Sledgehammer hasn’t grown an ounce of tact since her expulsion,” Sanguine snarled.
“Graduated, Sang, I graduated,” Sunset drawled. “At least put some effort into insulting me.”
Sanguine’s eyes narrowed, then flicked over Sunset’s shoulder, and Sunset was immediately struck by the image of jackal eyeing easier prey. Before Sunset could cut in, though, the waspish noble opened her mouth.
“Twilight Sparkle, so this is the Princess’ new pity case,” Sanguine simpered. “Frankly, I would have just adopted a dog, it would probably learn faster.”
Sunset rolled her eyes. That was weak even by Sanguine’s relatively low insult standards, and that thought lasted as long as it took Sunset to hear the faint sniffle from behind her.
The gears in Sunset’s brain ground to a halt as she turned to look back at Twilight who looked absolutely gutted. That had barely been a prod by the standards of the Canterlot elite, and Twilight was already about to fall to pieces.
So that was it.
This was why Celestia had extracted the promise that Sunset danced with Twilight on her debut night.
Sunset turned back to Sanguine, suddenly realizing why it was that Celestia had proposed the political marriage. It hadn’t necessarily been for Sunset’s sake, although it would have neatly gotten the whole of the nobility off of her back in one fell swoop.
It was because Celestia had probably long ago come to the conclusion that Twilight had thin skin and absolutely no backbone.
Not yet, at least.
“You realize I’m currently her escort, right?” Sunset said flatly, as she fixed Sanguine with her third-best glare. She’d ramp it up to second-best if things got worse.
“And?” Sanguine replied archly.
This was what Celestia had wanted, even if she couldn’t say it outright. Twilight needed someone in her corner who wasn’t the Princess. Someone who the nobility had already learned to fear.
SLAP
Sunset’s leather glove fell to the floor between herself and Sanguine, who goggled in comic disbelief with a growing red mark on her cheek where Sunset had slapped the article over her face.
“As the aggrieved party, the right to challenge is mine,” Sunset said loudly, her voice echoing as the entire party hall went silent. “As the challenged party you may choose the method of combat, blade or magic, but if I could offer a suggestion,” Sunset leaned in with a wicked grin on her face, “I would pick blade—flesh wounds are easier to heal than burn scars.”
Sanguine’s eyes went wide as saucers, and she worked her jaw several times before clenching her teeth and snarling out the words: “I… respectfully withdraw my remarks, and apologize.”
Sunset raised an eyebrow, then shifted to the side and gestured to Twilight. “To her.”
“Y-yes, to you, Lady Sparkle,” Sanguine continued tightly. “I… apologize.”
“Your… your apology is accepted,” Twilight said tremulously
Sanguine sketched a stilted curtsy before turning and walking shakily away.
“I recommend taking your leave of the evening, Sparkle,” Sunset said without turning around.
“I think I’ll do that,” Twilight muttered quietly. “And thank you.”
Sunset blew out a quiet breath.
“Just doing my job.”
As soon as Twilight had managed to successfully extract herself from the dance floor, Sunset did the same, this time retreating to the west windows where a veranda entrance was situated. By this point most of the hubbub had been relegated to the rearmost quarters of everyones’ minds, and the rest of the party was just the usual social mingling and hobnobbing, something that Sunset had no interest in and even less patience for.
Despite successfully collecting her claymore, she didn’t quite manage to make good on her escape before a familiar wash of noontime warmth fell over her back.
“Sunset, wait.”
Biting back a groan, Sunset turned and bowed her head.
“Your Highness, how may thy Sledgehammer serve?” Sunset said tonelessly.
More sighing.
“Forgive me,” Celestia said softly. “But Twilight doesn’t have your strength… she needed you.”
Sunset bit back her initial response, reined in her temper, and tamped down on her scowl as she forced herself to look back up at the woman she’d once thought of as the mother she’d never known.
“I know, your Highness,” Sunset said. “But you could have just asked.”
Without another word, Sunset turned on her heel and left, seeking solace in the silent gardens far from the complexities of her station and her overbearing not-mother. Perhaps there would come a time when she and Celestia could have something approaching a normal relationship, but not yet. The Princess was too used to coming at things sideways, so much as that she did it to Sunset even without meaning to.
Right now, she needed to be somewhere else.
The air smelled of green and growing things, and it soothed Sunset’s temper as she walked among the flowers while the sun slowly vanished, ticking down the time to the whim of her mistress, Celestia.
Sunset scoffed quietly to herself. Even here, she couldn’t get away from the woman.
She knew, intellectually, that Celestia hadn’t meant anything harmful by pulling on Sunset’s marionette strings. It had been a clever bit of political theater, showcasing that even though Sunset was no longer Princess Celestia’s student, she was still firmly in the Princess’ corner, and therefore Twilight’s.
The manipulation had still hurt, though.
It wasn’t even that Sunset resented the strings. She wore them knowing they were there, it was the distrust that rubbed Sunset the wrong way.
“A tool doesn’t question it’s usage,” Sunset muttered as she stopped in the middle of a gazebo.
Shedding the weight of her weapon, Sunset leaned her claymore against one of the pillars before sitting down on the bench beside it, burying her face in her hands, and rubbing at her cheeks.
Getting angry wouldn’t do her any good. It rarely did.
A soft knocking issued from Sunset’s side, and she looked up, a smile filtering through the miasma of irritation as her eyes fell over the owner of the noise.
“I didn’t sneak up on you this time,” Wallflower said with a faintly tired smile.
Sunset snorted, but nodded. “Yeah, I guess you didn’t… you okay?”
The young gardener shrugged as she stepped into the gazebo, rubbing at her arms to ward off the growing chill of the evening.
“Worn out, I guess,” Wallflower replied.
“Yeah, me too,” Sunset said quietly.
Wallflower wrung her hands silently for a moment, and Sunset gave her a weary grin before scooting over on the bench and patting the space beside her. Wallflower’s smile widened fractionally as she shuffled over and settled in.
“I’ve been thinking,” Wallflower started, “about what you said about letting the others take advantage of me.”
Sunset nodded as she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees as she watched Wallflower who was chewing over her words thoughtfully. It was something that Sunset found charming about Wallflower Blush—how carefully she considered everything she did. She really was like a gardener in all respects, carefully finding the place for each word like flowers being planted in a plot.
“Change your mind about the busted heads?” Sunset asked, cracking her knuckles again. “I think I’ve still got a few good punches in me.”
Wallflower chuckled as she shook her head.
“No, I just thought that you and I are actually kind of alike in that.”
Whatever it was that Sunset was expecting Wallflower to say, it wasn’t that. Alike? The two of them, at least in Sunset’s mind, could hardly be more different, but that didn’t mean that Wallflower didn’t have a reason for saying so. It wasn’t in Wallflower’s nature to lie or even to be confrontational. If she was saying something like that, it was because she really thought so.
“Why?” Sunset asked, finally.
The answer didn’t come immediately. Rather, Wallflower first tucked her legs up on the bench, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her dirty knees. She was far dirtier than she had been this morning. Her trousers were heavy with layers of dirt and sod, her face had enough streaks and smudges to obscure her natural complexion, and her hair was as much leaves as actual hair, Sunset thought.
She tilted her head faintly to look at Sunset, and the smile she wore while she did so was a gentle one that was almost sad.
“I’ve never heard the Princess apologize to anyone before,” Wallflower said quietly.
Sunset snorted. “So you were eavesdropping?”
“Literally, actually, but not on purpose,” Wallflower replied with a small chuckle. “I was trimming under the eaves of the west windows near the veranda when she caught up to you.”
Sunset made a small hum of acknowledgement.
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t technically have to apologize,” she said after a moment.
“Because you let her pretty much do as she wants?” Wallflower asked, though not accusingly.
Still, Sunset’s hackles went up, and her fingers tightened into a fist. “I’m her former student, a sorceress of the kingdom, and a knight of the crown,” she said a little defensively. “It’s her right to give me orders.”
“But she didn’t order you to do anything,” Wallflower said. “She just… got you to do it. Because she knew she could, and that you'd do it even if you didn’t want to.”
It took a lot of willpower not to snap at Wallflower over those words, in part because they had an uncomfortable ring of accuracy to them, and also because Sunset never wanted to snap at Wallflower. She didn’t deserve to catch Sunset’s ire—not like some other people she could name.
“I… I suppose you’re right,” Sunset admitted ruefully. “But what else is there for me? I don’t have anything outside of my purpose as Celestia’s Sledgehammer.”
Wallflower perked up, then looked around the garden, and Sunset just watched her as her gaze roamed over the great plots of flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges, over the wide panoply of meticulously collected and organized flora from around the realm that had been planted with such careful precision so as to allow the blooms to happen in time with one another, and so no flower or fern would overwhelm any other.
“I love this garden, you know,” Wallflower said suddenly. “I really love it… this job is perfect, and I’m happy doing it. Even when I’m working back-to-back shifts, all it means is that I get to pay more attention to the flowers, and make sure every single one has the best chance to bloom.”
“You’re good at it,” Sunset said with a smile.
“This is what I want to do, Sunset… keeping this garden is what I’m happy doing.” Wallflower turned back to the sullen knight beside her, and tilted her head again. “So what do you want?”
Sunset blinked and stared across the gazebo as she processed that question. She’d told Celestia that all she wanted was a chance to be normal, but what did that even mean? What did ‘normal’ mean for someone like her? Someone who had, at every turn, gone out of her way to spite the concept of normality.
“I want…” Sunset started, then faltered, but Wallflower didn’t press, she just smiled and waited, and in that moment, Sunset realized what it was she wanted.
“I…” she began again, then swallowed and pushed through, “I want to dance with you.”
This time it was Wallflower’s turn to stare. Her brown eyes widened as Sunset stood on shaky legs and put her hand out, wearing a smile that was as hopeful as it was fragile as she repeated herself.
“I want to dance with you.”
Unfolding herself on the bench, Wallflower stared at Sunset’s proffered hand for a moment before looking up at its owner.
“But I’m… I’m filthy,” she said weakly.
Swallowing past the lump of apprehension in her throat, Sunset just shook her head. “You asked me what I want, and it’s this—you, I mean, I want to dance with you, that is—” Sunset bit down on her tongue as her face started to fall “—u-unless you, you don’t, I mean—”
Wallflower put her hand in Sunset’s, and her fingers traced the smooth, hard calluses of Sunset’s palm. It was a hand that had been worn and polished like a steel mirror, made for a purpose that its owner was happy to fulfill, regardless of how fulfilling the purpose itself was.
“Okay,” she squeaked as Wallflower let Sunset pull her to her feet. “But there’s no music.”
“I’m a sorceress, too, remember?” Sunset grinned. “Let me take care of that.”
Stepping back and pulling Wallflower with her, Sunset swept her hand around them, leaving motes of golden light behind the tips of her fingers like a trail of molten embers hanging in the air as she spun Wallflower around the gazebo until they were surrounded by warm flickering cinderlight.
“Phonothurgy isn’t my specialty but—” Sunset snapped her fingers, calling up the chords and melodies of the string quartet from earlier that evening.
The thrum of the bass and the viola rippled through the air, coming in tinny at first but sharpening until they found their deep-throated tone as Sunset modulated her magic until the harmonies aligned.
“And the violins,” Sunset murmured as she closed her eyes and flicked and wove her fingers around herself like a conductor, pushing her magic out until it laced around the first spell she had cast and the higher strings began filling the garden with their light-hearted voices.
When Sunset opened her eyes, Wallflower was turning her head back and forth, her hand over her lips as she stared in wonderment at lights and sounds around her. The lights warmed her verdant complexion, and when she finally turned her gaze back to Sunset it was to find a pair of wide, hopeful blue eyes staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.
To Sunset, she may as well have been.
“It’s…” Wallflower’s voice cracked. “I don’t… why?!”
Sunset shrugged and laughed weakly.
“Because I want to dance with you.”
“But I don’t know how to dance!” Wallflower protested, but she was smiling so broadly while she did that the little dried smudges of dirt on her cheeks crinkled.
Shaking her head, Sunset plucked Wallflower’s hands up and settled the left on her shoulder before grasping the other and holding it out and away from them, then finally settling her free hand comfortably on Wallflower’s hip.
“I’ll lead, so when I move, you move in tandem, okay?” Sunset said softly, and Wallflower nodded. “First we go back…”
For the next several minutes, with her spell looping the song along itself, Sunset taught Wallflower the basic steps of the waltz, adding in a flourish here and there as the gardener got more comfortable with the motions. Wallflower was, surprisingly, a quick study, and soon enough Sunset was leading her quick, fluid motions around the gazebo.
Night had fallen around them by that point until the only lights were the embers around them, and the moon and stars in the sky. Through it all the cool was kept away as Sunset’s magic warmed the air gently, the heat emanating out from the motes she’d conjured to hang around them.
Time had stopped, and yet stubbornly seemed to move faster than ever as Sunset taught Wallflower to waltz, then taught her the simple dips and spins and flourishes that she liked to show off when she was feeling particularly gaudy. From there they moved to the foxtrot, and Sunset sped up the tempo of the music around them, and soon had Wallflower laughing as they danced out of the gazebo and down a lane of flowers, and the motes of warm light followed them like a trail of dancing fireflies.
With the close embrace of the second dance, Sunset was left with streaks of sod and dirt on her vest and tunic, and she couldn’t have been happier to have them there as she led Wallflower on a quick trot with hitches, kicks, and jazzy embellishments, circling around the gazebo until they finally collapsed onto the steps of the building, laughing breathlessly.
“I… told you… I loved to dance,” Sunset said between gulps of air.
Wallflower just shook her head in disbelief.
“That was amazing!” she said brightly. “I’ve never—you’re an amazing teacher.”
“It’s easy if you have the right partner,” Sunset said, catching her breath. “The trick is you have to trust each other… the lead has to trust that the follow will move with them, and not hold back, and the follow has to trust that the lead won’t take them too far, too fast, or drop them.”
“And you trust me?” Wallflower asked softly.
Through it all, neither had let go of the other’s hand, and Sunset tightened her hand gently around Wallflower’s slender fingers.
“I do,” she said quietly. “Do you? Trust me? I mean.”
Wallflower nodded. “Yeah.”
Swallowing hard, Sunset took a chance and shuffled a little closer, and when Wallflower didn’t move away, she leaned in. The smell of rain and flowers and good, rich earth was all around the both of them.
That was it, then, Sunset realized, Wallflower Blush smelled like a garden.
And her lips tasted sweet, like honeydew.
Sunset pulled Wallflower closer as their lips pressed tenderly together, and the cinderlights around them flashed as Sunset smiled into the kiss, and the air went from comfortable to hearth-warm. Wallflower clung to Sunset enthusiastically, drawing nearer and nearer until she was very nearly in Sunset’s lap.
And then she was, and Sunset had Wallflower in her arms, right where she’d wanted her for so long that she’d forgotten where the desire had started.
As they parted, Sunset licked her lips and met Wallflower’s warm, earthy gaze.
“I want this,” she said softly. “Do you?”
Wallflower laughed, and looked down at where she was sitting before looking back up. “I think so,” she said playfully.
Weaving her fingers through Wallflower’s leafy curls, Sunset drew her back in for another kiss. There was so little sweetness in Sunset’s life, she realized. So little softness. She was Celestia’s Sledgehammer. She was the weapon of the crown wielded for whatever purpose the Princess decided.
But she was also a person, and she wanted, or maybe craved, something warm and soft. And Wallflower was so soft. She was gentle with Sunset when no one else would be, and it was something that the knight hadn’t realized until now that she’d needed.
And only Wallflower was brave enough to be gentle with her.
Pulling away again, Sunset rested her forehead softly against Wallflower’s as she smiled.
“Will you dance with me again?” Sunset asked quietly.
Wallflower’s hand settled on her cheek and guided her back up until they were looking eye to eye, and Wallflower brushed her lips over Sunset’s in a fleeting kiss.
“For however long you want,” she said happily.