As Slave 23, Van Hohenheim of Xerxes had been an observer. He would watch, bitter with envy, as his Master danced with his choice of Xerxes' prettiest girls. Slave 23's Master never married, being too proud of the range he had to choose from. Slave 23 always resented him for taking for granted his simple right to walk to any of Xerxes' golden dancers, hold her close, move to the rhyme of music, and if he so desired, marry her. Of all the privileges Slave 23 was denied, it was that of marriage he most longed for.

And so in Xerxes, Van Hohenheim never learnt to dance. It could not be learnt from a demon in a flask, so he never knew.

Following his ashamed exodus to Xing, Van Hohenheim was regarded as a sage. Bringing his knowledge of alchemy, he was able to return the kindness the Xingese people offered with information. They came to call him the Western Sage, and Van Hohenheim preferred it over the name a traitor had given him. In Xing, where he was so revered, it became difficult to allow himself a short temper, or any further mistakes. He had made the ultimate one, one too great for any human to atone for.

And so in Xing, restricted by his youthful attempts at being all-knowing and all-self-hating, Van Hohenheim never learnt to dance.

He did not age, but those around him withered. And so Van Hohenheim came to travel, far and wide, aimless, listening to the voices screaming within him. He would simply listen, and as the decades past, they ran out of things to scream. Hohenheim spoke back, and they listened. They would speak back. They could converse. They would bond.

It took centuries, but by the time he first reached a small town called Resembool in the recent country of Amestris, Van Hohenheim had millions of friends within his monstrous body. He had finally learnt patience.

Yet he had never learnt how to dance.

The town of Resembool was welcoming and slow to question, and it was there at a festival that he was first asked to dance by a young girl named Trisha. He declined. She asked again, again and again over the years, apparently having some great expectation from dancing with the strange reclusive alchemist, until Hohenheim finally accepted.

"Good!" Trisha brightly said. "I knew you'd say yes eventually."

Hohenheim stood up. He surveyed her young (too young) body uncertainly. "I have never danced before."

Trisha's eyes widened. "Really? Is that why you kept refusing?" She did not laugh. She smiled kindly. "Don't worry. You're never too old to learn something new."

On that day, Van Hohenheim, fabled Western Sage, last survivor of Xerxes, ancient monstrosity, learnt how to dance. In the process of tripping over his own feet, of Trisha laughing with him, her bright smile helping him to his feet over and over until he got the movements right, he also learnt of kindness.

This was written for a quick fic challenge on tumblr a couple of months ago, and I just decided that I liked it enough to post it here, too. X: