//------------------------------//
// Stealing 
// Story: Heroism 
// by The_Last_Centurion 
//------------------------------//

This story is a fan-fiction of MLP:FiM. I don't own any of it. It belongs to Hasbro, etc, etc.
Don't sue. Seriously. That would be so uncouth.


Stealing 

“I ain’t a hero. So why does that matter to you?” I glared at the wizened dragon fiercely. I could see my glaring face in the pools of liquid emerald that were his eyes. 
“Only a hero can play out this story and only a hero will have their name sung throughout the centuries by my people. It is foretold.” He said between deep breaths that filled the cavern with smoke.
I rolled my eyes and started digging into a pile of gold, jewels, and loot that was strewn across the floor of the dragon’s lair. “You gonna stop me?” I asked him as I pulled out a long, curved sword by its unmistakably orange hilt. The pommel hit one end of my mouth and I lashed it back into its holster on my front right leg. The black blade reflected the shimmering gold into a glare that would have blinded me if I were looking at the blade. But my eyes stayed on the great wyrm as I tied the gauntlet on my front left leg just a wee bit tighter. The gauntlet was made of the same brown mud that was found on the banks of the only river of my home, the river of my people. And they lived on within me, within the green and blue jewel that was in the center of the gauntlet and grew throughout it with thick veins. I shook out my legs and approached the dragon.
The wyrm looked at me with astonished eyes and then started to laugh…until I approached him and swiped my blade gently across the scales of his front leg. Even as the stroke was gentle, it elicited a thin trickle of blood that glowed with vibrant scarlet against his grey scales. His laugh turned into a hiss and then he looked at me with a frown as I raised my sword once more.
“That is enough.” The dragon said with dismay. “I did not mean to offend. But if you are no hero, then why do you seek the chamber of legends? Why do you carry the hero’s gauntlet? And why do you have the cursed blade? Tell me your tale, small pony, and perhaps you will live to see another day. You may even enter the chamber…” he said as he slunk back down into a pile of loot, looking comfortable despite the wound on his arm and the vicious snarl on his face. 
“If it means I don’t have to fight you, then I will do so.” I said, putting the sword back into the sheath on my back. Its crescent-blade was a little hard to store, but once you got the hang of it, it was simple to carry and comfortable on a leg. I sat down on a pile of loot across from the slightly fuming wyrm. 
“I was never a hero, and I never will be.”


I was never a hero. I don’t think I will ever be, nor do I think I can be. I’ve got my own demons, but unlike heroes who try to fight them, I embrace them. Hell, I love to steal. I love that moment, the look especially, when a pony realizes that they just lost something important to them. Be it bits, jewels, food, clothing, mares, or candy, I love the sensation of taking something away from those who think they are invincible and incredibly strong. So strong they can tread all over types like me and my family.
See, I was born in the gutters. The deepest, nastiest, scummiest gutters anywhere in the wide reaches of the New Equestrian Empire. My home was in one of these gutters in the city of Oattara, the ancient city of the Mesoponish civilization. Oattara is in the middle of the Desert of the Fallen Stars, thanks to all the meteorites once found in the sandy dunes. However, a miraculous river of water flows though this arid land and gives life to Oattara. 
Years before I was born, the New Equestrian Empire swept through the Mesoponish lands and took each city, some by force and some by more peaceful means. I never found out how Oattara was taken, but either way, Oattara stayed one of the massive trading cities on the great northern trading route between the southernmost cities that grow much desired spices, produce, and dyes, and the north cities of Elder Equestria. With the N.E.E. controlling the cities of the Desert, Oattara became even bigger and more divided. The rich had always looked down on the poor, but with the addition of more traders and merchants, we poor sunk even deeper into the scum of the gutters. 
And in this scum, I was born. In this scum, I learned to survive. From this scum, I would show the powerful who they truly were.
For fifteen years (I had learned to count from the old alley-witch that lived in Demon’s Strut), I had lived with my brothers and sisters, orphans and poor ponies and grew with my family of misfits and strangers. I came to make a name through my trade as I never had parents to give me one. “Deft Hooves” was what my scum-family called me and when my cutie mark appeared on my muddy-brown coat (a black seven pointed star) the alley-witch told me the gods approved of the name. As I stole and perfected what I knew so that I was almost never caught in the act, I was also able to steal stories and sights of the nobles, the “heroes”.
Ever since Oattara was young, much earlier before Equestria, or the N.E.E, there had been a prophecy of doom that would befall Oattara. The only pony to prevent this would be a pony of the noble class, a “hero” that would be chosen by the gods and would wield the Hero’s Gauntlet. This gauntlet was told to harness the magicks of the ancient sand ponies, a race of earth ponies that could control all of the Earth with their might. So, many of the heirs of the noble families were trained from young ages, no matter what race of pony they may be, to become the destined “hero” Oattara would eventually need. My family and I just laughed at them as they paraded themselves through the streets. A bunch of nobles knew nothing of fighting for their lives. However, some seemed tougher than others. And one would become my enemy, my best friend, my love, my downfall, and the reason I’d truly never be a hero.
It was on my sixteenth birthday that the robbery was botched and my life was changed forever. 
The job was simple, just a little “grocery shopping” that I did daily to feed my large family. I hopped down to the grand bazar with two of my brothers, Mudd, who was two years my senior, and Dirtmouth, a young one just learning the trade. We walked up and down the covered alleys of the bazar until I decided we came to the right stall. A large fruit stall run by a northerner with six apples as his cutie mark was selling the same fruit on his flank. Apples were his main produce, but he had other vegetables and produce of Elder Equestria. I gave my brothers a look and they went to their jobs. 
Coming from different sides of the alley, Mudd and Dirtmouth made it look like they ran into each other in front of the northerner’s stall.
“Watch where yer going, pipsqueak.” Mudd snarled at Dirtmouth.
“Buck you, ya giant shit-stain. I bet yer all ugly and no punch.” Dirtmouth replied, showing off the reason for his name.
Mudd screamed at the younger colt and tackled him into the produce stall. The northerner screamed at them with a “Cut that out, y’all! No git!” trying to break up the commotion my brother’s caused. When the pony got in the midst of the brawl, my brothers got him into the middle, making it look like he was actually doing good and separating the fight and keeping him distracted, while I filled two big sacks with the spilled produce. I slunk away into the shadows as Mudd and Dirtmouth were scolded and forced to put the stall back up. Meanwhile, I was picking out our next target.
We did one more stall job like this, the brawl and the distraction, but the last one was nothing but haggling on my part as my brothers quickly slid food into their pouches. The stall itself was closer to the rich district of the city, so causing a brawl here was a no-go. It would be all over if any guards came around and found us, so I made sure we were doing the job as the patrol changed. It was all going good, until Dirtmouth slipped and fell on his rump, swearing like a sailor as he hit the ground from surprise. Then the produce rolled out of his bag, but I knew we could get away before the silly merchant could stop us. We started to run, but then a patrol of Oattara soldiers came around the corner of the alley. 
I skidded to a halt to avoid the soldiers and came nose to nose with the mare leading the patrol, almost kissing her by accident. Her long brown mane cascaded around her face and her silver coat seemed to blend in with her steel armor, telling me that she was no Bronze-clad guard, but a noble, a “hero” no less. Her green eyes went wide with shock and her wings came up instinctively as I stopped mere centimeters from her. She backpedaled into her patrol, causing enough chaos for me to yell at my brothers.
“Other way! Go! Go!” I screamed at them as I turned around as fast as physically possible, a patrol of angry guards and one flustered heroine on my tail. We sprinted around the bazar, ducking into alleys and sneaking out of hidden entrances in dead ends. However, the heroine must have put out an alarm, because more and more guards came swarming through the bazar. As soon as we could, we stopped for a quick breath. In a few seconds flat, I was ready to sprint away again (I’m not called “Deft” for nothing), but my brothers needed a moment more. A moment I was sure we didn’t have. My suspicions were proved true as I heard the shouts of the guards around the corners of our shallowly hidden alley.
“Listen, everypony for himself.” I told my brothers as I darted towards the back end and started to climb the low wall that separated this alley and another. I saw Mudd dart out the alley from the corner of my eye, but Dirtmouth just cussed under his breath and hid behind a worn blanket. I wanted to help him out, but at times like this, it was truly everypony for themselves. 
I barely managed to get over the wall and dive onto a low-roof of a small shop before two guards rushed into the alley, short-swords drawn and copper armor gleaming in the desert sun. I held my breath as they searched and winced as I heard a gently cuss as one of the guards kicked the pile of blankets. If swears were arrows, Dirtmouth would have riddled the guards with holes faster than the whole army of archers of Oattara, but he barely did anything as the guards grabbed at him. I shook my head at his screams and cussed to myself.
“Hey!” I said loudly, standing up from my perch, making the guards look away from my brother and glare evilly at me. “I’m so sorry for stealing.” I faked. 
“That fool there was just holding the goods for me. I was doing all the stealing. Please, let me come down so I can confess…I just don’t want any more trouble, ok?”
The guards glared at me, but their expressions turned to sneers as I slowly crept down off the roof, onto the wall, and back down into the alley. I came towards them with an innocent look, but darted my eyes sideways at the last second to tell Dirtmouth to get out of there. As I came closer, he made himself quiet for once and tensed up. Right as I reached the guards and the first one started to come around to cuff my limbs, I acted.
The first guard went down with a gasp as my hoof went straight into his stallion-bits and he went up into the air a little. When he landed on the ground, he started to cough and retch while his partner stood open-mouthed and let Dirtmouth escape. 
Then came the anger. The other guard rushed at me with his sword drawn, but I was already scrambling up the wall and back onto the roof as he chased after me. He was forced to slow down so he wouldn’t cut himself and that was when I started to sprint along the rooftops. I was fast, but I had to give the guard some credit. Not only was he following me somewhere where most guards would have given up due to the treacherous instability of roofing tiles, but he was also fairly close behind.
But I had grown up doing this sort of thing, running and escaping, chasing and being chased. I was the master, the king, the god of the alleys and master of the scum left behind by the rich. I was unstoppable!...or so I thought until I slipped on a tile and went crashing through a covered stall and had the wind knocked out of me as I landed on piles of hard things. 
I coughed and felt my body shudder with pain as I saw the guard descend from the roof via a ladder I didn’t see, probably because I was falling. I tried to get up, but the pain racked me and I wondered what I was laying in. One hoof behind my head grabbed a chunk of the pile and I realized I was laying in bricks. As the guard came closer, I moaned loudly, not entirely feigning my pain.
“I hope that teaches you, you common trash, not to run from the law.” He growled as he came closer to slip rope around my legs and neck, effectively chaining me to take me into custody. 
“And I hope this teaches you not to chase ‘common trash’.” I said as I whipped a brick around and clocked him in the jaw. He was taken aback by the hit and staggered, but caught himself after the initial surprise of the blow.
“Shit.” I said, copying Dirtmouth’s favorite cuss as the guard drew his sword and started running at me. But then I remembered I was in the middle of a pile of bricks. I picked them up as fast as I could and whipped them all in his direction, not caring if I actually hit him, just slowing him down and stopping his momentum towards me. Finally, I heard an almost comical “uhhgh” as a brick must have hit him square in the face. He went down and I sighed and laughed, knowing that I would probably be put on the wanted boards, which meant no more stealing without a lot of hassle. As I went over to the guard’s unconscious body and took his bit-pouch from him, I wondered how much it would cost to get my mud-brown coat and my black and tan mane dyed. I gave a silver bit to the brick-layer who had been watching on in abject horror for his troubles and hurried away, whistling a merry tune despite the pain in my sides and back. Sure, I had gotten pretty bruised up and in a lot of trouble, but I got a bit-bag full of bits, which is nice.
Or it was until I heard an angry mare’s voice behind me.
“Put. Gasp. Down. Pant. The. Wheeze. Bit-bag” she enunciated as I turned around and saw the same pretty heroine sweating and panting in her armor. I whistled, admiring her tenacity. It wasn’t every day I had pretty mares running far and wide to chase me down and (hopefully) tie me down. 
“Man alive, you really take your training too seriously.” I told her with a smile. “Come on, I’m just a petty thief. There’s no reason why a heroine should chase me down. Unless you didn’t do it because I was a thief. Do you like to tie down handsome stallions? Is that it?” 
My smile broadened as her face turned red and she unsheathed her sword. I couldn’t help but feel my heart leap at the sight. She may be out to kill me, but I’d be damned if she wasn’t cute.
“Ok, ok. No need for that” I said, putting the bit-bag down and slowly approaching her. “I’ll come quiet…HEY!” I yelled as I danced back from a swing of her long, steel sword. 
“WHAT WAS THAT FOR? I WAS BUCKING SURRENDERING!” 
“Yeah, and I wasn’t born yesterday. I saw how you fight. You don’t have any honor.” She said acidly, trying to bring me to fight her “properly.”
Instead, I smiled again. “You’re right. No honor whatsoever. That shit gets you killed.” 
“I’ll do the same to you if you move an inch.” She threatened. “I told all the patrols coming back about you and there were two other pegasi with me. They’ll be here any minute and you’ll be coming with us.”
I tapped my chin with a hoof and quickly kicked the bit-bag up and into my saddle bags while kicking a shattered brick in her direction. “NOPE!” I said as I turned, starting to run. However, the mare must have deflected the brick with her sword because after I took two steps, I felt something hit the back of my leg and I went tumbling down onto the alley floor. Then a weight fell onto me like a ton of bricks and the mare and I were rolling around, I trying to escape, she trying to hold me captive.
In any normal situation, I would have been able to get out of there like a greased eel-squid-pig-animal that is slippery, but there were three factors that were stopping me. First off, the mare was significantly taller than me, putting her at an advantage for tangling me up in her long, long limbs. The second was that she was wearing steel armor that must have added at least twenty pounds to her and also felt as uncomfortable as hell as I tried to squeeze and wedge myself out of her grasp. The third, and most important, was that I was liking this. At one point, we managed to become so intertwined that neither of us could move and our faces were barely an inch apart. Our labored breathing made the close space hot and steamy quickly and I noticed that her eyes were a lovely shade of green, like the leaves of a healthy date palm, and that she had an extremely cute smattering of freckles on her snout. 
While we were stuck, she glared at me, but not at fiercely as she had while she threatened me. I could tell she was examining my rough, dirty face with my ruby-red eyes, my scars and grime, and my torn ear. It made me feel self-conscious, something I had rarely ever dwelled on before, and I realized something with a smile and a laugh.
“What?” she asked, surprised at my sudden outburst as I heard wings coming closer.
“I love you.” I answered, kissing her as the other pegasi guards landed behind her.