Why Should I Dance

by I-A-M

If I Can't Dance

The weight of a claymore is a considerable thing.

Forty-two inches of steel blade. Thirteen inches of grip. Almost five solid feet of brutal, hacking power behind several pounds of metal gives a foot soldier with the strength to wield it the ability to bring down horse and rider in the heat of battle or bring infantry to their knees in a single stroke.

It’s the type of weapon that ought to be wielded by the stoutest and most durable of Celestia’s Royal Guard. Certainly, it shouldn’t be in the hands of Celestia’s last student of magic.

Sunset’s fingers tightened around the grip of the weighty blade as she swung it in killing arcs around her, moving with every half-moon stroke. It churned the dust of the training yard around her, creating dust devils as she worked her way through her forms in the light of the early morning, sending her long, tied-back, red-and-gold hair flapping in the breeze like a bloody pennant.

Every student of Celestia’s was instructed in the use of a melee weapon of their choice by tradition. The Princess required it for two good reasons: the first was that it kept the body in shape—a strong mind should have a strong body. The second was that one never knew when their magic would fail them for whatever reason, and one should always have a way to defend oneself.

Of course, most students—like Celestia’s current protege, Twilight—chose the weapon most associated with nobility; the rapier. Sunset Shimmer had been the only one in memory to step onto the training field and point to the heaviest, most cumbersome bladed weapon available when she was asked to choose hers.

It suited her, though.

Sunset had earned a variety of nicknames over her time as Celestia’s student, prior to and after her graduation, and very few of them were flattering; Brute, Firewitch, and Celestia’s Pet Sledgehammer were among her favorites.

As a rule, Sunset didn’t have much time for the lords and ladies of the Solar Court, and even less for their sons and daughters who thought courting Celestia’s latest graduate would earn them some kind of accolade. At this point, Sunset suspected her only suitors were dares from other, older children of the nobility whom she had already rejected.

Which, naturally, meant she was propositioned with irritating regularity.

It was times like that that Sunset regretted Celestia’s bans on duels to the death. First blood wasn't nearly as satisfying, and a few fatalities would certainly cut down on her daily interruptions.

That also happened to be why Sunset liked early mornings and late evenings the best: she could actually get some damn privacy.

Sunset finished her warmup strokes and stopped at the far end of the tertiary training ground, turned on her heel, and angled herself down the length of the pitch, and began her real workout.

The air thrummed as Sunset beat and slashed her way down with clockwork efficiency, the corded muscle in her arms, shoulders, and chest burning as each stroke of her claymore fell in rapid succession at a beat and measure calculated to hammer her target into insensibility.

Let the nobles think of her as a crude bludgeon if they wanted to. Celestia knew her capabilities and that was all that mattered to Sunset.

Reaching the end of the yard, Sunset finished her strokes and lowered her blade, breathing heavily as she let the chilly air of the mountain cool the sweat she’d built up.

“Again,” Sunset muttered, and turned to repeat the process.

Four times, Sunset cut her way back and forth across the training yard until sweat soaked through her linen tunic and plastered her hair to her neck. When she finally lowered her enormous weapon, dawn had passed and morning had begun in earnest, which meant she needed to wash up.

Today was an annoyingly important day.

Sunset pulled the cord free that had kept her hair in a tail down her back, and which had been shaken loose during her training. As she walked back to the weapons rack by the edge of the yard, Sunset carded her fingers through the damp strands to work out the worst of the snarls.

Her hands ached beneath her leather gloves, but the callouses she’d built up over her years of tutelage had carried the weight of the weapon’s strokes easily enough. It had come with practice and with her natural stubborn refusal to use anything but the weapon she’d chosen—no matter how often her trainers suggested she do so.

“Uhm, would you like some—eek!”

Sunset spun her heel, adrenaline firing through her veins as a voice made itself known at her side, and she had her claymore up and ready in an instant before reason asserted itself and she stepped back and relaxed her blade.

“Written’s Quill, Wally, what have I told you about sneaking up on me?” Sunset groaned as she turned to set her weapon on the rack.

“S-Sorry,” Wallflower mumbled.

The quiet young gardener shuffled back and away from Sunset. In her hands, she gripped a soldier's flask, and the moment Sunset saw it she realized how parched she was.

“Hey, no, it’s… Wally, it’s okay.” Sunset smiled as she held out a hand. “Thanks for the water.”

Taking the flask gratefully, Sunset sipped at it, carefully not to slug the water down. With the growing heat and her heavy exertions, that was a quick way to an upset stomach.

Wallflower Blush smiled. It was a small thing, but to Sunset it was radiant. She had worked at the palace for almost four years, quietly and dutifully tending the gardens around the training yards, but it was only in the past year that Sunset had started getting to know her.

Something she found that she regretted waiting so long to do.

Per usual, the knees of Wallflower’s breeches were dirty from spending much of her time on her knees weeding, and her hair was a windswept mess tied back with a knotted cord. Her face and tunic were equally smeared with streaks of rich black sod, and despite all of that, Sunset liked looking at her more than any of the bejeweled and frilly daughters of the high nobility.

“Thanks again,” Sunset said, handing the flask back.

“You’re welcome,” Wallflower murmured as she took it and stowed it one of her many pockets. “You uhm, looked really good today.”

Sunset smirked. “Of course I did,” she said as she raised both arms and flexed. “These aren’t just for show, y’know.”

The blush on Wallflower’s face was worth every exhausting minute of every day that Sunset had spent earning her body.

It was no secret that she was considered less than ideal in terms of looks. In the opinion of the nobility, women should be slight and dainty, waifish even, and it was that, in part, that had driven Sunset even harder at her training.

Sunset maintained that she did her best work when she was fueled by spite, so she did all of her maneuvers and drills in heavy plate, which was only ever required of Royal Guard candidates. Likewise, she’d passed all of her conditioning tests at the highest level.

That training had given her broad shoulders that, combined with her already being half a head taller than most girls, resulted in Sunset’s reputation as the court equivalent of a thug.

Wallflower didn’t seem to mind, though.

“Are you uhm, going to the gala tonight?” Wallflower asked quietly as Sunset began her warm-down stretches.

“Sort of have to,” Sunset grumbled.

“Why?”

Huffing out a bitter laugh, Sunset sat down to tighten the lacing of her boots. “Because it’s Twilight’s first year anniversary as Celestia’s student, and the Princess extracted a promise from me to give Twilight her first dance.”

“Oh.” Wallflower tone was faintly unhappy. “You don’t sound happy about that, do you hate dancing?”

Sunset smiled softly as she looked up at Wallflower, then silently held out a hand. She didn’t need the hand up, but that wasn’t really the point. Wallflower, politely took Sunset’s hand, and the taller girl levered herself up to her feet.

“I love dancing actually,” Sunset said. “I just don’t want to dance with Twilight. She’s all left feet, and she’ll probably have her nose in a tome of theoretical arcana the whole time.”

Somehow, in the single year she’d been under the Princess’ instruction, Twilight Sparkle managed to garner a reputation as being even less approachable than Sunset, if for different reasons.

Twilight was a veritable wall of academic density. Most attempts at solicitation or, more hilariously, proposition, tended to go entirely over her head. The lucky ones walked away from the conversation feeling irritated and potentially slighted. The unlucky ones more often than not found themselves mired in a conversation regarding some piece of granular social or magical minutiae for the next two hours.

It was galling that Twilight had, in one year, managed to become practically immune to the most onerous aspect of her role as Celestia’s student through sheer cheerful obliviousness. Although, she has yet to attend any court functions since that only came after year one, so time would tell if that lasted.

Still, Sunset had practically had to threaten to throw her more persistent suitors out a castle window and off the Canterhorn itself to get peace in her first year.

“Besides, look at me.” Sunset gestured down herself. “I’m not exactly ‘damsel’ material, so decent dance partners tend to be few and far between… how about you?”

Wallflower laughed weakly. “I d-don't know how to dance, and besides… I work tonight.”

Sunset frowned at that.

“But you’re working now,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “How can you also have the late shift?”

A moment of tense silence followed as Wallflower rubbed awkwardly at the back of her neck, and her pretty brown eyes flicked away from Sunset as her cheeks colored.

“Oh, w-well, the girl who had the late shift wanted to attend the gala, and uhm, I… I wasn’t going anyway, so I’m just—”

Sunset leaned in with a scowl, towering over Wallflower as she did.

“Did they know you worked the early morning?” Sunset asked sharply.

Wallflower swallowed thickly. “Uhm, y-yes?”

So they had bullied her into it. Wallflower had a tendency to be a doormat when others asked her for things, and it always got her the worst shifts. This wasn’t the first time she’d ended up working all day just because one of the other, lazier groundskeepers wanted a day off.

“Tch, damn it.” Sunset clicked her tongue and cracked her knuckles. “Who was it? I’m going to—”

“Sunset, no! Please don’t!”

Wallflower grabbed at Sunset’s hands, and gripped tight, and instantly the tension bled out of the former protégé.

“They’re taking advantage of you!” Sunset snapped.

“I wasn’t doing anything tonight,” Wallflower insisted. “And I spend all of my free time alone in the gardens anyway, so I may as well do it!”

Sunset let out a low growl. “That’s—Wally, that’s not the point, the point is that they’re walking all over you!”

Rather than reply, Wallflower wilted back, her face pinched in self-deprecation as she shrugged. Sunset hated seeing this. She hated seeing Wallflower just phlegmatically accept other peoples’ abuse. It made her blood boil every time it happened, but at the same time Wallflower always stopped her from acting on it, and Sunset would be damned if she ended up as one more person who trampled over what Wallflower wanted.

Of course, that also meant that Wallflower could get Sunset to do almost anything if she wanted to, something which neither Wallflower herself, nor anyone else in the castle, seemed to realise, for which Sunset was unreasonably thankful.

Sunset blew out an angry breath, but gave Wallflower’s fingers a reassuring squeeze.

“Fine,” Sunset grunted.

“Thank you.” Wallflower's face split into a relieved smile as she wrapped her arms around Sunset’s middle.

Her relatively meager height, combined with Sunset stature and build, meant Wallflower was fully a head shorter than Sunset, but she managed to capture the bigger girl anyway.

For her part, Sunset just laughed weakly as she returned the hug, even as she gave a feeble protest.

“Wally, c’mon, I’m sweating like a Diamond Dog, here.”

“And I’m covered in dirt,” Wallflower replied.

Well, that was fair enough. Sunset didn’t argue the point again, but she also didn’t let go until a minute or so had passed.

“A-Anyway, I’d better let you get back to work,” Sunset said gruffly, stepping back and letting go of Wallflower.

It may have just been wishful thinking, but Sunset liked to imagine that Wallflower let her go only reluctantly.

“Maybe uhm, maybe if you’re near the west windows I’ll see you,” Wallflower said in a small voice.

Sunset chuckled. “Sure, and if you can’t find me just look for the nearest dirty glare and follow it back to the ‘gorilla’ in a monkey suit with the sword on her back.”

Wallflower’s laughter was a gentle, sunny noise that never failed to make Sunset smile.

“Will you really have your sword?”

“Yeah, it’s tradition,” Sunset said. “I’ll pass it off to Twilight’s equerry for the dance, though.”

Another laugh bubbled up out of Wallflower, and this time Sunset joined her. Twilight’s equerry was a young boy named Spike, and the mental image of him attempting to tote around Sunset’s mammoth weapon was objectively funny.

“You’ll… I’m sure you’ll be very handsome,” Wallflower said.

At that, Sunset just smirked.

“As if I’d be anything else.”

---

---

The day passed quickly after Sunset returned to her quarters to bath and prepare for the gala. The whole time, she found herself returning to her irritation of Wallflower having been forced, amicably or not, into working such a long shift.

Maybe after the gala ended, Sunset would be able to bring her something to eat.

It’s the least she could do.

Sunset grumbled under her breath as she laced up her trousers, tucked in her gold silk tunic and donned her vest of soft, crimson-dyed hide, then pulled on her belt, and had just begun lacing her boots when a knock came at her door followed by the voice of a royal guard.

“Princess Celestia,” came the announcement.

It wasn’t a request, but then, it never was.

A moment later, the Princess herself swept into the room, resplendent in an opalescent gown with her shimmering, prismatic hair shifting and trailing behind her, carrying the warp of her ancient magic in every strand. She was taller than any human could possibly be, standing nearly eight feet tall, broader than any of her soldiers, and carrying a mantle of sunlight with her.

Her natural perfection always rankled a little with Sunset.

“Your Highness,” Sunset said as she dropped smartly to her knees and lowered her head.

A sigh issued from above her.

“You would think, after all this time, that you would be less formal with me, my dear student,” Celestia said, her voice effortlessly mellifluous as always.

“With respect, your Highness,” Sunset replied, not looking up, “I haven’t been your student for better than a year, and if I were any less formal that would just give the nobility more ammunition.”

“You never cared before,” Celestia quipped.

“Not so you would know,” Sunset said.

Another sigh.

Sunset frowned down at the marble floor she was kneeling on. It would have been nice if her old teacher had given her another few minutes. At least she could have her boots tied properly, then. The sun waits for no woman nor man, though, Sunset reflected ruefully, and the same was true of the sun’s mistress.

“Was there something you needed, your Highness?” Sunset asked.

For a near-goddess, Princess Celestia sure did sigh a lot. Maybe it was just around Sunset, though. That, the young woman thought, was probably more likely.

“I’m running out of excuses for you, you know,” Celestia said quietly. “Your lack of noble pedigree and social graces has the court clamoring for your displacement from the castle. They would see you assigned somewhere out of the way.”

“Out of sight, out of mind?” Sunset remarked.

“Quite.”

Sunset chuckled at that. She had no shortage of enemies among the landed elite, as she had certainly at some point pissed off either the noble themselves or one of their numerous entitled offspring. The fact that they were trying to get her ousted from what they saw as their bright and shiny city was honestly flattering.

“Once again, with respect, you could just tell them to stuff it,” Sunset suggested in a moment of cheek.

Celestia laughed, a pleasant tenor rumble that would have been much softer had she been the size of a normal woman.

“And you,” she rejoined, “could show a little more subtlety.”

That got a scoff from Sunset. “You say that, your Highness, as if you didn’t spend half my tutelage aiming me at your less pliant courtiers… or am I wrong?”

For a moment, Celestia was silent, but when she did speak up it was with an air of quiet sadness that put a weight on Sunset’s heart, and she wished she hadn’t said anything.

“An old woman is permitted to make mistakes, you know,” Celestia replied.

Now it was Sunset’s turn to sigh.

“I know, but I don’t regret serving my purpose.”

“But I regret making it your purpose,” Celestia said as she put one slender porcelain finger under Sunset’s chin to lift her head. “You deserved better.”

“So you say,” Sunset replied politely. “And that aside, you call me blunt but your current student seems to think subtlety is a beverage served south of Trottingham.” Sunset’s lips curved to a familiar smirk. “At least when I’m rude, I know I’m being rude.”

Celestia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, and the fact that you don’t see how that’s worse still troubles me.”

Sunset didn’t reply. There was no reason to. The fact that Celestia regretted turning her into a blunt political instrument was more annoying than anything. A year ago it would have been wounding to hear it—to hear that her great and powerful teacher had misused her.

Only now, after her graduation, had she truly begun to understand the weight she’d taken off of Princess Celestia’s shoulders. Whether or not Celestia regretted using her student as a bludgeon was immaterial. Sunset had served a purpose and that was enough.

It was a purpose she could still serve because Scribe knew Twilight couldn’t do it. She was oblivious, not belligerent.

“What would you have of me, your Highness?” Sunset asked softly.

Celestia lowered her hand, releasing Sunset’s chin and straightening out. “Would a political marriage be so terrible?”

Sunset narrowed her eyes.

“And before you refuse,” she continued, “I mean to say that there’s been a more… polite offer.”

“Do tell,” Sunset drawled, before tacking on the requisite: “your Highness.”

The Princess stepped away from Sunset, turned to the open bay window of her student’s room, and leaned against the sill as she stared out across the expanse of her kingdom.

“You have an atrocious reputation with the elite, but as you’re well aware that has given you an excellent rapport with the Guard,” Celestia began.

“The fact that I can out-wrestle most of them helps, your Highness,” Sunset added with a small smile.

Celestia chuckled quietly. “It does, at that, but my point is that the captain of my Royal Guard has no qualms about you joining his family, and would be happy to have you, in fact.”

“With all due respect, I am not marrying Captain Shining Armor,” Sunset replied flatly. “He’s a good man, but he loves—”

“I’m talking about his sister.”

“Oh Tartarus, no.”

Just the thought of being married to Twilight Sparkle of all people made her stomach clench. Sunset could barely stomach talking to the girl for more than ten minutes! Being married was unthinkable.

“She’s a sweet girl, and brilliant,” Celestia chided.

“And very much not my type,” Sunset growled, finally dropped the formalities as she stood, then sat back down on her chair to finish lacing her boots.

“Then who is your type?” Celestia asked. “Because you’ve but rejected most, if not all, of Canterlot!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sunset said through gritted teeth. “If you want to expel me from the city to placate your mouth-breathing court monkeys then go ahead! There are a half-dozen nations that would kill to take me on.”

Sunset couldn’t have wounded Celestia any more cleanly had she run the Princess through with the claymore leaning on her wall, but her pride kept her cerulean gaze nailed on the Princess. If this was her last night in Canterlot then she would die before she bowed her head.

And before she showed how much it hurt.

“Do you really think I would do that to you, Sunset?” Celestia asked hollowly. “Do you really think I would just turn you out like that?”

“Why not?” Sunset replied tightly. “Everyone else has.”

At that, Celestia knelt, which really only served to bring her level with her former student, and reached out to gather up Sunset's hands in hers.

“Sunset,” Celestia started thickly, “those ‘court monkeys’ can send you away over my dead body.”

A knot formed like a fist in Sunset’s throat at those words, and she lowered her head. Celestia leaned in and pulled Sunset close until the bellicose sorceress had her face buried against a goddess’ shoulder where she could quietly cry out her shame.

“You are the closest thing to a daughter I shall ever have, my dear student,” Celestia murmured. “And I love you with all that I am.”

Sunset sniffled, suddenly feeling once more like the scared little girl that the Princess had found cowering in a scorched alley after she’d accidentally thrown a fireball at a street vendor who’d tried to beat her.

“Sshh, they’ll never take you from me, Sunset, and I am so sorry I made you think that was even possible.” Celestia hugged the young woman in her arms tight, and Sunset returned the hug with vigor.

“All I want is for you to be happy.”

Sunset nodded. That, at least, she believed. Celestia had never truly done her wrong, and it had been out of hurt that Sunset had lashed out at all. It was one of Sunset’s worse qualities, to react to pain with violence—emotional or physical—and it had earned her more than one reprimand.

“I’m sorry,” Sunset said quietly as she pulled back. “I just… I don’t want to have my future decided for me, that’s all.”

“Then what, or who, do you want?” Celestia asked gently.

For a long moment, Sunset didn’t answer, she just stared out the window, although in her mind's eye she was looking at a garden, and listening to a soft humming coming from a hedge while the voice’s owner did her work.

“I just want a chance to be normal for once,” Sunset said finally as she turned back to Celestia with dry eyes. “At least in this, your Highness.”

Princess Celestia gave Sunset a thin lipped smile at the return to formalities, but didn’t comment. Instead, she simply stood and nodded. Sunset would happily continue to be Celestia’s Pet Sledgehammer if it meant she could live even this one aspect of her life on her own terms.

With her boots laced and her long half-scabbard fitted to her back, Sunset stood and tugged her formalwear straight before pulling her hair back to tie it into her habitual rakish tail.

“Handsome as ever,” Celestia remarked. “But one day I’d love to see you in a dress.”

“To paraphrase a Princess,” Sunset replied. “You can take my trousers over my dead body.”

Strong tenor laughter rang through the halls as Sunset secured her claymore and pulled on her wine-dark gloves.

Time to dance for the monkeys.

Comments

[Pete100]

So this is about taking control of your life?

[I-A-M]

10770535
I mean, something like that. This story is seriously just a brain worm I couldn't get out of my head until I wrote it properly.

[Skulljack17]

Sunset seems the type alright. Blunt, cutting to the heart of something. In conversations and in combat, as long as it does not show any of her weaknesses, real or imagined on her part.