Once upon a time there lived a knight who liked to dance. He floored them at the Castle Ball, astounded them at the Armory Disco, and set the dance world on fire with his solo Jitterbug at the Soirée of the Keep. Sir Dancealot, they called him and people from far and wide came to hear of his dancing prowess.
Whenever a fair maiden (or anyone else for that matter) asked him for a dance he always answered the same way. He’d do a high jump with a triple twirl, landing in a split and say in a deep, sultry voice, “I dance alone.” Then he’d get up from the split without using his hands and swagger off. (This was particularly impressive because he often did it in a full suit of armor)
Long ago while visiting a neighboring land at the behest of his king, Sir Dancealot had allowed a princess to dance with him. She had stepped on his toes and kicked his shins and moved at all the wrong times. After what seemed an eternity the song ended.
“Thank you,” she said as Sir Dancealot limped toward the edge of the dance floor
He breathed out in disgust and said, “You should do more than thank me, you dragon in a dress.”
The princess began to weep. Just then the crowd erupted in a standing ovation. Sir Dancealot turned, his anger melting as he basked in the crowds glory. Until a nobleman shouted, “Get off the dance floor, ya hack. We’re clapping for her.”
Sir Dancealot stalked away and threw himself through the door of the great hall, as the crowd cheered for the princess, the one who had no rhythm, until she took a bow.
That very night Sir Dancealot swore to himself he’d never dance with anyone again, princess or otherwise. And so he danced alone, winning competition after competition without the aid or need of a partner.
One day, King Francisco Disco of Waltzaria, came to Sir Dancealot and asked him to get rid of a dragon. The dragon had been bothering the king’s peasants in the far western mountains of his territory, near the land of Dancealonia.
Sir Dancealot wanted nothing to do with such adventures, but a knight is bound by honor and by oath to serve his king and protect the land, even when those things don’t involve dancing. So Sir Dancealot set out for the border lands on his trusty steed, Foxtrot.
Sir Dancealot arrived three days later at Jig, a small village on the border of Waltzaria and the region of Dancealonia. The whole town of Jig came out and danced to welcome him. The dragon had been ruining their crops and scaring their livestock for weeks. They could not wait to see Sir Dancealot drive it away. Sir Dancealot, however, saw this as more of an insult than an honor and felt exhausted by their primitive moves and lack of rhythm.
To Sir Dancealot’s great delight, just after the people of Jig began to dance, a shrill shriek split the air. A dragon buzzed the ground just above their heads. The wind forced Dancealot to the ground. The villagers scattered and Foxtrot fled for the hills. From his low vantage point Dancealot watched as the dragon flew up in the most beautiful pirouette Dancealot had ever seen before it glided away into the mountains of Dancealonia. “What is this beast that moves with such grace?” Dancealot asked out loud.