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.
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.
