War and statecraft
All days ended, even great ones. Perhaps it was this very fact that made some days so special, knowing that even the best day would come to an end. Today was an exceptional day, but Sundance could see its end. Already, the sun had dipped low, falling below the clouds that obscured the Canterhorn in the distance. The party showed no signs of stopping, of letting up. If anything, everything felt more festive now than ever, perhaps because it would all end soon.
There was dancing and the Royal Guard Band played music worth dancing to. Sundance watched it all; he drank it all in, trying to remember every last second of it, because he knew that right now would make for happy memories—a great way to endure hard times. Sometimes, happy memories were all one had. Being poor, sometimes happy memories were the only thing that kept him going. Sundance had fantastic memories, such as going to the boardwalk with his grandmother, his mother, and his father. That was a day of fond memory…
And today would also be a wonderful day to reminisce about.
Nuance was a prince among his subjects. Perhaps not a titled prince, but that didn’t matter. The colt’s smile was sheer infectious joy as he danced with Quiet. There was no sign of the persistent insecurity that Nuance suffered from as Quiet boisterously flung him around. Why, Nuance didn’t seem to care that he was dancing badly; the colt danced as if nopony watched. He was bold, too, flirty, even with his parents present.
“Sundance, I must ask you to come with me.”
Somewhat startled, when Sundance turned his head, he saw a guardspony in ornate armor, and suspected that it was Olive. She was right there, and had somehow snuck up on him without his knowing. Without a single clank of armor. His muzzle was now mere inches away from her snoot, and he was overcome with a dizzying desire to kiss her, which seemed like a terrible idea, but he wanted to do it anyway.
Such behaviour would be frowned upon.
“To the gatehouse. Time is short. There is a gift for you that Princess Celestia wants you to have, and I’ve been instructed to help you get familiarised with it.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Come and see…”
As Sundance rounded through the doorway, he came to an abrupt halt when he saw bones. Olive—at least he suspected it was her—smacked right into him and she almost bowled him over. Her armor was hard, and something about her armored body thrilled him to no end. Now, he was distracted, thinking about the hard body beneath the armor, and also by the sight of bones. One of these things, or perhaps both, left him feeling a bit lightheaded.
“That’s an owlbear skull,” he said in a matter-of-fact sort of way.
“It is,” Olive replied as she pulled off her helmet and transitioned into her regular self. “Does he look familiar?”
Sundance gulped.
“Princess Celestia had armor made from it. The skull is a helmet and it has been reinforced a great deal. Other bones were cut into wafers, which was turned into scalemail, and that makes up the barding. There’s owlbear leather beneath the scales. It can be said that there is no finer natural armor, as the whole thing is feather light and magically strong. What you see only weighs a few pounds. The leather jack is actually heavier than the bonemail.”
When Sundance didn’t respond, Olive shoved him towards the armor rack, which now stood in the gallery. It was vaguely pony-shaped and allowed the armor to be displayed. She shoved him again, which made his hooves scrape over the floor. He tried to contain the revulsion caused by the sight of bones and the mention of leather.
“Go on… time to suit up. I’ll help you. Once you’re decked out, I’m going to beat you so that you might learn a lesson. You’re a flier, so we can’t have you flinching. Fliers have to keep their eyes open so that they can see where they’re going. So you’re going to have to learn to trust your armor, and not flinch when I whack-attack-smack you.”
The sweet strains of music could be heard from outside, and Sundance wondered if something was wrong with him, because the prospect of being thumped on by Olive was thrilling. Yes, there had to be something wrong with him, because that wasn’t normal at all, wanting to be beaten up by a burly, muscle-bound mare.
He gulped when he felt the first stirrings of arousal.
“Do you need help?” Olive asked whilst she set her helmet down upon the floor.
“I’ve never worn armor before,” he was quick to reply. “And wearing leather is kinda icky—”
“Tough teats, Lord Sundance. One way or another, you are wearing that armor. I have orders.”
Olive’s rough response made everything worse. He liked it. In fact, he liked it just a little too much, and a part of him considered refusal, just so that this could be done the hard way—because doing it the hard way sounded like fun. Sick fun, perhaps, but fun. Would she be rough? Maybe. He tried not to think about it too hard, for fear of causing something else to go hard.
“Pegasus ponies have been wearing armor for eons. It is a proud part of their heritage. Even if they lacked the skills required to make it themselves, armor was obtained somehow. Hard armor is a bit easier to put on. This armor is flexible, and there are some complications involved with getting it on.”
Getting it on?
Sundance winced.
“To put on the jack, you want to drape it over your back. Everything will hang down to the floor. Just behind the wings there are latchets you’ll have to connect, so that the top half and the bottom half come together.”
Olive’s final two words caused an immense droplet of sweat to appear on Sundance’s brow.
“It’s not too hard. A coat closes along one side, usually along the belly. Well, this is sort of the same, only it closes just behind the wings, along both sides. To get into the jack, you’ll have to slip the front half over your neck, slide it down, and allow it to come to rest upon your back. Also, when you secure the bottom portion against your belly, watch out for your dangly bits.”
“Dangly bits?” he asked, hesitant, and fearful of the answer.
“You don’t want those pinched, do you?”
Well, maybe he did, but he didn’t dare say it aloud.
“Well, go on. The jack will slide right off the rear end of the armor stand. If you stand over there, you can pull it right off and slide it right on to you. Get to it, will you?”
“It just slides right off?”
“Yes.” She gestured. “Jack.” Now she made a sliding motion. “Off.”
Sundance swallowed. Hard. It brought no relief. Cautious, flustered, his wingpits sweaty, he approached the armor stand and tried not to think too hard about wearing the skin and bones of another creature. The thin bone wafers did make for magnificent scales though. There was a certain stark beauty to the armor, but also something blood curdling. It was almost like the armor of some warlord in an afternoon matinee.
The skull helmet really sold the look.
Being near the armor caused his wings to tingle in some weird way, and he paused for a moment so that he might fully experience the strange sensation. When he lifted the top flap, he was shocked by how light it was. Why, it was almost… buoyant. Was this the magic of owlbear bones? The secret to their scary speed? How could something so light be so durable?
He slipped his snoot beneath the top flap, and using his wings, he clumsily pulled the jack from the armor rack. It slipped over his head, down his neck, and settled over his back. There was a muffled clatter when the belly flap flopped to the floor. Wearing the jack, he found it weighed almost nothing, or at least felt that way. It was bulky though, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to bend himself in half so that he could deal with the latchets. One front leg at a time, he slipped through the short front sleeves, and braced himself against the floor.
“What a wonderful fit,” Olive remarked. She pulled a short, thick baton from a loop on her armor, and with a terrifying ‘snickt!’ sound, it telescoped into a vicious spear, which she twirled about in a dazzling display of martial prowess.
It took some effort, but Sundance finally got his jack latchets secured. After some adjustments, the armor was tight against his body, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable. It pinched in places, bunched up in other places, and rubbed unmentionable places in the worst way possible. It was all he could do to hold the nightmarish mental images of blisters and calluses at bay.
The pale white bonemail rippled against his body, affording him an exceptional amount of movement. Each scale was a small leaf-shaped wafer of bone, and these slid with smooth perfection against one another. The overall effect was quite marvellous, if a bit disgusting. Perhaps the worst part of the armor was the neck, which was tight, restrictive, and almost choking. Slipping his head through it had been quite a challenge, and he wasn’t sure how he’d get it off.
“Some grandmothers get their grandsons tacky sweaters,” Olive said to Sundance. “Your grandmother got you armor. Aren’t you lucky. Now get that helmet on so that I can beat the ever-loving crap out of you.”
“But what would Grandmother say—”
“Grandmother ordered me to do it,” Olive replied, impatiently tapping her hoof against the floor. “Mind the helm. It opens and has a hidden lock system. The beak part splits so that you can grab a bite to eat or get a drink without having to take your helmet off. Tuck in your ears.”
Using both wings, he lifted the helmet from the stand and held it aloft. It too, was light, but also felt impossibly solid. He’d sunk a splitting maul into this very skull. The eye sockets were rimmed with brass, as was the opening in which he had to slip his head into. Wary, he pushed his snoot into the opening, and then shoved his head in. With a ‘fwoomp!’ the helmet slipped into place and was quite secure. How did it fit so well? It had just… sucked his head in and now clung to him like a second skull.
There was some kind of felt lining inside of it, which grew quite warm right away.
Peering out through the eye sockets of another creature, he found his vision somewhat obscured. He could see forwards well enough, but not so well off to the sides. Wearing the armor and the helmet, there was a feeling of power, or maybe authority, he couldn’t tell. It was something new. Olive moved into his vision, and he saw her looking at him right in the eye.
“Now, you need to keep your eyes open. A pegasus pony flies with their eyes, I’m told. I’ve been learning to fly, so I have an idea of how important this is. If you close your eyes for even a second, you can fly off course, or smack into a tree, or suffer whatever terrible fate awaits you. So you need to trust in your armor to save your skin. No flinching. No wincing. You need to look straight ahead and keep those eyes open. Got me?”
He nodded.
A second later, he saw the spear swooping down, and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. It bounced off of his helmet, and while the blow rattled his head a good bit, it didn’t hurt. While he was still processing this first blow, there was a second, and this one struck him right in the throat. It hurt—in fact, it hurt a lot, it sent ripples of white-hot pain radiating through his tender flesh—but he found that he could draw breath just fine. Though the pain was quite awful, he found that he wasn’t injured, near as he could tell, and such a blow without armor might have been fatal.
He forced his watery eyes open, and made himself look at Olive. The first thing he saw with his bleary vision was that she was angry, or maybe disappointed. She raised her spear and began to twirl it around once more, and he wondered if this was done to build momentum, or for intimidation. Perhaps both. Her green glittery magic held the spear in the middle, and he chose to focus on that point, because looking Olive in the eye was too distracting to bear.
The third blow came down hard just between his eyes, and he felt stinging disappointment when his eyes betrayed him, and closed. Gritting his teeth, he forced them open, and just as he did so, the spear connected with his throat again, right in the exact same spot where he’d been struck the first time.
Never in his life had he ever experienced such pain, a pain without injury.
“Your enemies will not relent,” Olive deadpanned, her tone frosty and without sympathy. “You will not be given time to recover, or catch your breath. They will strike the same place, repeatedly, and if you let it, it will become your weakness. Pain passes. It is temporary. Death is permanent. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he croaked, and every breath drawn was an inferno in his throat.
“I’m impressed. You took those hits like a champ. Now, eyes forward, and focus.”
She was beautiful, with her grim determination as well as her vigour, and he wanted so much to impress her. If she were to notice him, to praise him again, it would be wonderful. Sundance dared to dream, he risked allowing the flicker of hope to become a flame, and this time, as he waited for the flurry of blows, he stared right at her, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Olive was a creature of fantastic beauty, all muscle and ferocious fierceness.
“You look quite owlish,” she said.
“Well I—” He was interrupted by Olive’s spear arcing down.
Once more, his eyes betrayed him, but not completely. He winced, but his eyes did not close completely. Olive’s eyes narrowed, and the first blow was followed up by a brutal second. This time, she came up from down low, and struck him hard in the chin. While his protective headgear absorbed most of the violence, his skull got rattled around a bit and his skin suffered some irritation as it was chaffed by the heavy, coarse felt that lined his helmet.
He staggered backwards from the force of the blow and fought to regain his balance. Olive was relentless, and once more, he cringed, squinting his eyes as the spear swooped though his peripheral vision. The blow upside his head that he was expecting changed direction suddenly, and the spear came down on his back instead, smashing into his spine just above his wings. He felt the back half of his body go a little numb, and his hind legs wobbled. Sure, his armor protected him from the worst of it, but it still hurt.
How was she so fast?
She was beating him like a piñata, and he rather liked it, all things considered.
As she brought her spear to bear on him once more, he hoped that she wouldn’t strike his legs. They were vulnerable, uncovered. All he had was his jack and his helmet. Though, looking at Olive, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move while wearing heavy ornate plate, like she was. Then, somehow, she struck a blow, and he didn’t flinch. He didn’t squint, cringe, or shy away. Nopony was more surprised by this than Sundance, who froze up at the realisation.
While he was helpless, Olive whacked him again, this time catching him in the side of his helmeted head. This time, he flinched a little, and she flashed a dreadful predatory grin at him, just before she caught him with the reverse stroke, and smacked him on the other side of his helmet. Sundance found himself reeling a bit—from the rapid succession of blows or Olive’s smile, he could not tell—and so he braced his legs to keep himself upright.
Before she could club him once more with her spear, Sundance said to his assailant, “There’s music. We could be dancing. We should be dancing.”
Disarmed with words, Olive paused. Sundance saw her eyes… they were filled with conflict, and something else. Sadness, perhaps. A purplish flush darkened her drab green face. Her spear quivered, but remained frozen in one spot, just over Sundance’s head. This might have been the most courageous thing he’d ever done in his life, and that was saying something. For all of his daredevil antics, this one felt the most dangerous, the one most likely to cause him harm.
“The one I wish to dance with is far, far away,” Olive said. She punctuated her words by licking her lips and there was a faint rustle as her tail swished around her hind legs.
Instant regret flooded Sundance, and so he apologised with the hopes of making things better. Or, if not better, at least making things right. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve—”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, it’s okay.” The spear retracted and became a short baton once more, seemingly no worse for wear for having been used as a bludgeon.
“I didn’t know you were spoken for,” he said, all while wondering how he’d managed to stick his hoof into his mouth. This was why he didn’t talk to mares, at least in general. His attempts only ever ended in humiliating failure. Now, the hot sting of shameful embarrassment left him sweaty in his armor.
“It’s complicated.” Something flashed in her eyes and all traces of expression retreated from her face. “I am spoken for. As an Immortal Solar… well… I… It’s complicated. There are ponies I love dearly. They have a love worth fighting for. Which is why I am here. Love makes us do funny things sometimes. Like I keep saying, it’s complicated, and I don’t expect you to understand.”
Sundance thought about taking his helmet off, and it was almost as if Olive read his mind. He saw her horn flare, but rather than his helmet coming off as expected, there was a click and the beak opened, revealing his face. Now, he had a clear, mostly unobstructed view of her face, and he was almost certain that if she clubbed him right now, he wouldn’t bat an eye. She was beautiful, a creature of physical perfection. He understood that many would not consider her pretty at all, but to his own eye, she was a perfect rose. A perfect green rose.
Like any rose, she had her thorns, but that only added to her appeal.
The fact that she could easily break every bone in his body without even trying thrilled him. She was as dangerous as she was pretty, a creature of treacherous beauty. He was staring, but couldn’t be bothered to care. This was a profound moment, and Sundance found himself lost to it. The moisture on her just-licked lips glistened like tiny diamonds, and were a perfect match to the emerald sparkles that glittered in her eyes.
“I wish I hadn’t said anything.”
“No, Sundance… it’s okay. I understand. You… you’ve never really been in love, have you?”
Somehow, he did not flinch or turn away. Her words caused some pain, a discomfort that his armor did nothing to protect him from. He didn’t know how to answer, not without sounding like a desperate colt. The back of his neck was on fire now, and he could feel rivers of sweat flowing down from his wingpits. His armor would need to be aired out, no doubt.
“I can’t make vows.” Her voice was soft, but husky. Almost gravelly. “I can’t do anything that might interfere with the most important vow I’ve ever made. That vow allows me to protect everything I hold dear. Even though it troubles me sometimes, I don’t regret it.”
Understanding Olive’s sense of duty left Sundance melancholy.
“Dance with me, Sundance?”
“Are you allowed? he asked, worried.
“It is just a dance,” she replied, her head tilting off to one side just a bit. “No vows are being made, or broken. You will be a perfect gentlepony, won’t you?”
Before he could reply, he found himself standing neck to neck with Olive, and his bonemail scraped against her platemail. The screechy sounds were like claws or a hoof on a chalkboard, and he struggled not to react. Unlike his armor, Olive was heavy. She was weighty and solid. When she leaned against him, his front legs wobbled a bit from the strain of holding her up. Leaning in, he sniffed—he couldn’t help himself—and was left intoxicated by her scent.
She smelled of leather, steel, and some sort of oily smell, perhaps armor polish. Nothing about her smelled feminine, except for the faint hint of musk, which Sundance couldn’t be certain if he was actually smelling, or if his imagination was a bit too overactive. She swayed against him, her armor scraping nastily against his, and so he swayed against her in return.
It was at this moment that Sundance knew what he wanted from a mare. Or, at least, he had a better idea. A better understanding. As he stood there, neck to neck with Olive, the most deliciously perverse thoughts flapped through the depths of his mind, like reprehensible reprobate bats flooding into the dark caverns of his thoughts to roost. He imagined resting his chin just on top of her head, just between her ears, and how her well-muscled body would move beneath him.
Or better still, how that well-muscled body might dominate him.
It was almost shiver-inducing.
One of Olive’s ears flickered and he heard her sigh. It was a sad sound, and he regretted that this was a sorrowful dance. Some—though not all—of his secret perversion abandoned him, and he found himself contemplating Olive’s troubles, even though he was unaware of what they were, what they might be. Was there something he might say to her? Should he remain silent? Did mares truly appreciate the strong silent type?
“Well, this is quite a sight.”
Sundance felt Olive go rigid against him at the sound of Princess Celestia’s voice and his own sense of alarm caused his heart to leap up into his throat. This was an unexpected outcome. So, this is what getting caught felt like. Sundance added it to his list of new experiences with the intention of reflecting upon it later.
If there was a later.
He was necking with one of Princess Celestia’s Immortal Solars…
“I came up to see what progress had been made,” the princess said.
“And you were very, very quiet about it,” Olive replied.
“Well, of course. I like catching my little ponies in unexpected, sometimes compromising situations and positions. If I made noise, they’d know I was coming and where’s the fun in that?”
“Indeed.” Olive, still neck-to-neck with Sundance, asked, “Am I in trouble?”
“Goodness no. By all means, do continue with this unusual means of basic armor training. I’ll watch.”
Cold, icy sweat now soaked Sundance’s belly. He couldn’t tell if the princess was sarcastic, or angry, or amused. However she felt about this was unknown. Olive gulped, and a second later, he found himself doing the same. Clammy terror soaked his wingpits and dampened his dock. Between his hind legs, hidden beneath his armor, something stirred with terrousal.
“Grandson, please, do try to not be so wooden. Only one part of the body should be stiff right now. Everything else should be left flexible.”
“Oh no,” Olive murmured. “No, this can’t be happening.”
Sundance felt the left side of his face twist and contort as his mind processed his grandmother’s ever-so-helpful advice. His legs and his body were no longer on speaking terms, and he found that he could not move. Even if he wanted to run away, which a part of him did, with his legs on strike he didn’t stand a chance.
“I have never seen dancing this bad.” Clucking her tongue, the princess’ head shook from side to side with disapproval. “Forget basic armor training, a quick dancing lesson is in order.”
With Olive’s silence, Sundance realised the response, whatever it might be, would have to come from him. His tongue failed him, and so did the perverted bats swirling around in his mind, as they all fled back to whatever dark cavern from whence they originated. He wondered if Olive could refuse the princess, and concluded that she probably couldn’t. Vows were dangerous.
“Come now.” She clucked her tongue once more, a true schoolmarm to her very core. “Time is short. We’ll be departing soon. Move closer together. Fillies don’t have cooties, Sundance. Go on. You’re a pegasus. Touch her with your wings, but mind the tickle. A little giggling will leave her cheeks rosy and warm—perfect for kissing.”
“Uh—”
“Sundance, do as I say. Right now, I am teaching you statecraft. What if you are at a formal dinner of some kind, and you are expected to dance? I’ll not have you make a fool out of yourself. Dancefloor diplomacy has long been a strategic asset for my descendents. Immortal Solar Olive will make for a fine training dummy.”
A weak snort escaped from Olive.
“I don’t know about this—”
“Sundance… one day, you will want to woo a mare. You will want to approach her, speak to her, and maybe even touch her”—the overbearing princess paused for a time, almost smiling, before she continued—“but you don’t want her pressing charges. What would your mother say?”
“I can’t—”
“You can,” Princess Celestia insisted, “and you will. Now, relax a little. Slip a wing around Olive. Pull her closer. Do as I say. Tut-tut!”
“But I…” He hesitated and found that he didn’t want to finish what he’d almost said.
“Worried about embarrassing underwing odours?” the princess asked. “Don’t be. Right now, Olive is wondering how bad she smells too. Be reassuring, Sundance. Put her at ease. Say something kind, maybe even something flattering, but don’t lay it on too thick.”
“I’ve never worried about dying before,” Olive muttered. “At least, not like this.”
Extending his wing, he gingerly placed it around Olive’s neck, and made a token effort to pull her closer. It was like hugging a statue and the corded, bunched up muscles in Olive’s neck rippled beneath his wing. He could feel her embarrassed heat rising up through her armor, which was warm to the touch. Looking down, he almost died from mortification, because he saw that he left behind glistening droplets of moisture upon her armor with every touch of his soggy wing.
“Would you dance with me?” he asked, whilst doing his best to ignore the onlooking alicorn.
“I’d like that.” Olive’s response sounded sincere enough to satisfy Sundance.
“Okay, Grandmother. Tell us what to do…”
- If you keep cringing like that, your face might stay that way.
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9672876
Sometimes, Consequences Come Home...
the best part would be half way through , she disappears, and the two keep dancing together
Ha! It’s all fun and games with leather whips and chains until your grandma gets involved
Cringing? Nay, I say! More like cackling, lol
Sometimes when playing house, as Celestia surely understands and practices, you don't just tap the little doll faces together once for a kiss and have them flutter about as they giggle in excitement. Sometimes you have to mash those muzzles together and just really make 'em slobber all over one another so they get the idea.
I think Celestia would be a pretty good dance teacher. She's had plenty of time to practice.
This scene is perfect.
Oy vey, a fan could just die!
This is one weird love... non-triangle in the room. Sundance yearns for Olive, Olive loves the Royal Family in various ways (I'm assuming), Celestia loves fucking with people.
And since Celestia came alone here, one can assume she not only knew exactly this would happen, but she planned for it and is the entire reason she sent Olive to handle this and not one of the others.
The Dawnmother knows how to get her entertainment and is the best wingpony you could ask for in this situation.
9675617
It's established in other stories in this series that Immortal Solars are married to their job, in the sense that their vows involve pledging absolute devotion to Celestia. They explicitly forsake family, friends, and any other bond whatsoever.
Ow, my face. Stop that, Kudzu, my cheeks hurt!
and now Kudzus third OC in awesome Armor.(correct me if i forgot some one)
First Bucky the Black Dragon from Tartarus
then Garlic the Juggernaut Wolf
and now Sundance the Owl Barron
9675658
Oh, I'm well aware. But she spoke of it in a very personal manner in a way I didn't expect, so I'm re-evaluating if that means she's hyper-loyal to Celestia alone or the entire Royal Family.
Nice armor, that's a good and topical use of the owlbear remains.
If you define it fairly loosely you already are dancing.
Keep the armor on for chastity.
Lots!
At least Celestia is enjoying this.
That makes a lot of sense. Even if the phrasing is amusing. :)
Does Olive realize what she is doing to him? I can't be sure either way.
Oh, Celestia. You were in full grandma-troll mode, weren't you?
Princess Celestia: You see, Paradox, most little ponies have some type of elemental alignement...pegasi tend to be aligned towards eletricity...
Paradox: Ummmm....not all of then....Sundance clearly have a fire affinity.
PC: Do tell, how do you know that, my dear student ?
P: Well, for one, he is self-combustioning right now.
Sundance: There is never a helping owlbear around when you need one....
9675967
"Keep the armor on for chastity."
Does that make what was happening before a chastity belting?
9676644
10/10
9675617
Let's not forget that there is a legitimate line of ancestry you can draw from Celestia on down to the Pegasus stallion currently slow (very) dancing with Olive...
9676785
To be fair, pretty much every pony in Equestria can do that, but his is more... legitimate simply because it kept the title directly from one of her sons or daughters, I'd imagine.
9677055
Yeah, when you have a Princess calling you "grandson", it kinda helps any claim you've got to a strong royal bloodline.
update???
9721635
Soon. Ish.
9721645
loL still nursing a headache ??
9721677
No?
9721684
ok well i look forward to the next update!
This is definitely a kink.
will this be update??
9800366
Yes. It will.
9800372
eta??
9800940
I dunno.
i am now op to date on this grate story and i can say i am vary impressed.
exultant righting team.
any progress ??