Lost Daughter
And so she is gone, this new friend you made?
Yes. She went to Atlas, to seek a new life there.
Without telling her mother? Without leaving any word as to where she has gone?
As she sat in the dorm room, momentarily alone, Sunset could feel the disapproval of Princess Celestia roiling off the page to surround her like a miasma.
She licked her lips. Ruby said she had a right to leave, whatever the consequences; her life, and her decisions, were her own and in her keeping. But you think I have done ill, don’t you, Princess?
In the question of Leaf’s going, Ruby is correct, of course; nopony — forgive me, no one
It’s alright, Princess; you can say nopony if you want to; there’s nobody around to read this but me.
Very well, then. As I was saying, nopony should be held against their will; nopony should be forced to live a life that they do not desire.
Not even by destiny itself?
Destiny, as I am sure I must have tried to tell you more than once, is revelatory, not binding. It cannot impose its will without consent.
Can it not?
No, or else why should cutie marks only appear at the moment of acceptance, not at the moment of practical discovery?
Sunset frowned at that, for all that she knew her princess couldn’t see it. 'The moment of acceptance'? She understood what Princess Celestia was trying to say, but at the same time … she wasn’t sure if she entirely believed it. She wasn’t aware that she had ever had a moment of conscious acceptance of her cutie mark; in fact, truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure what her cutie mark was. In her younger days, she had thought that it proclaimed her destiny to surpass Princess Celestia and succeed her as the ruler of Equestria, but that, of course, was both utterly ridiculous and far away now. Far, far away. Not going to happen, even if she wished it so.
Which I do not, for I would be a poor ruler, no doubt.
But then, I think anypony who might assume the crown and throne, even Twilight, would be, would seem, at least, a poor successor compared with Princess Celestia.
Just thinking about it, shorn of her youthful arrogance and ambition, the idea seemed … almost perverse. Princess Celestia was the ruler of Equestria — yes, Princess Luna had returned, but even so. Even so … Princess Celestia was the one who had been there. She had ruled Equestria when Sunset had been born; she could have been said to have been ruling Equestria when Sunset’s parents had been born if she had possessed any idea of who her parents were.
For a thousand years, Princess Celestia had held the rule of state; the throne, the crown, the majesty. For a thousand years, she had watched over all her little ponies, governed them, guarded them when necessary, guided them where it was required … served them, with all her heart and to the best of her ability.
Yes, I would have been a poor ruler. I can serve, but … but a few. Those I do not know, I cannot sacrifice for, as has been proven.
I could never have taken Princess Celestia’s place.
I am not sure that anyone ever could.
How could anyone hope to fill the horseshoes — or the delicate golden slippers — that Princess Celestia would leave behind if … if she wearied of the throne, if the worst should befall, for whatever reason, who could possibly take her place? She was … eternal. Permanent as the sun over which she was empowered. Equestria had changed, and changed dramatically over the course of her rule, but the princess herself had stayed the same, a fixed point, the rock on which Equestria was built.
Sunset ran one hand through her fiery hair. What maudlin, melancholy thoughts. Princess Celestia isn’t going anywhere. Why did I even start thinking about this?
Oh, right, my cutie mark, the meaning of which eludes me.
And yet, I have it regardless, without any moment of realization or acceptance.
Sunset wondered if perhaps that was why she had always drifted towards a more set, deterministic interpretation of destiny than the more goal-oriented interpretations of Princess Celestia or Pyrrha.
Or perhaps I just wanted a comfort blanket to wrap around myself in bad times. Perhaps I just wanted to be able to reassure myself that, however bleak things might look at that moment, I had a great and glorious destiny, so it would all turn out okay in the end.
That sounds rather pathetic, I must admit, and yet, I’m not wholly convinced that it is.
What about Twilight Sparkle? She didn’t choose to be a princess, and yet, that was her destiny nevertheless. If anyone chose it, it sounds as though you did.
I certainly encouraged her in that direction.
Sunset could practically hear the amusement in Celestia’s voice contained within those words, that soft chuckle that tickled lightly at the ears.
And yet, it was her destiny, nevertheless.
And not mine, though I was the one who sought for it so eagerly.
Do you assume, little sunbeam, that the only way to seek for something is consciously? Do you think it is impossible to seek unknowingly? If that is so, then why do so many little ponies acquire their cutie marks in things that they never would have considered? Destiny is in our choosing, but the choice may be made without our active knowledge.
Then how is it a choice? Forgive me, but I find it hard to see any difference between that and the notion of an immutable fate.
An immutable fate need not — and indeed probably would not — be satisfying. A destiny that is unconsciously sought after usually is, in my experience.
Sunset smiled. Sunset: I will defer to your wisdom in this then, Princess Celestia.
As you deferred to Ruby’s wisdom in the matter of Leaf?
Indeed. I promised to start listening to her more.
And, as I have said, as I tried to teach you when you dwelt in Canterlot with me, she was correct, as far as it goes. People must be free to make their own decisions with their lives or else There was a pause. I am ashamed to say that I find myself reaching for tautology.
People must be free to make their own decisions, or else, they are not free?
Precisely. Without freedom, there is no choice, and choice is a gift most precious.
Even if it’s a bad choice?
Perhaps especially if it is a bad choice, for without bad choices, then there can be no good choices of any meaning.
And yet still you disapprove?
What would you have done, if it were not for Ruby’s advice?
I would probably have told Leaf’s mother what she was planning ahead of time. And she would have stopped her from going, probably.
It is well that you did not do that, but you said nothing to her mother afterwards?
No. No, I did not.
Then if I disapprove of anything, it is that. To leave that poor mare to suffer in ignorance, not knowing where her daughter is, whether she is safe, whether she is even still alive. Again, there was a pause on the other side of the book. Celestia: It must be a terrible time for her.
That was why I wanted to tell her about Leaf’s plans!
But you did not tell her where her daughter had gone after the fact?
What good will it do then?
She will know that, even though her daughter is far away from her, she is still safe, still alive; she may even learn that she is happy and thriving where she is, surrounded by good friends.
Sunset hesitated for a moment, tapping the back of her pen upon the desk. What if she decides to drag Leaf home from Atlas? If the paramount thing is to respect Leaf’s choices, then surely her choice not to tell her mother and slip away unnoticed, without a word, should also be respected?
Celestia took a moment or two to reply to that. You make a fair point, I must admit. Was her mother cruel to her, do you think?
I only met for a moment. I’m hardly qualified to judge, but I would say not. Oppressive to a degree that Leaf found burdensome, but not cruel, at least, I think so. If she were, I think Leaf would have had a harder time getting away.
I do not like the idea of letting her suffer.
I wasn’t too thrilled about it myself.
You surprise me a little, Sunset, I thought your sympathies would have been with the runaway.
Perhaps I’ve learned that the thing you’re running away from is rarely as bad as it seems.
And yet the thing you run towards can be more wonderful than you could possibly imagine, can it not?
Sunset let out a sort of little bark of laughter. Yes. Yes, Princess, I suppose it can, a point to you; you have struck me on the hip. As for Leaf’s mother, Sunset paused. She beat a tattoo upon the wood beneath her with her fingertips. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how she reacted to Leaf going away. Perhaps she is glad to be rid of her?
I doubt that very much. She is a mother, after all.
Indeed, I wrote that more in hope than in expectation; it would relieve me of needing to feel at all guilty about this. I almost wish Leaf had kept her mouth shut to us about all of this. I say almost because I am glad that I was able to drop Rainbow a line and get her to look after Leaf. I’m glad to know she’ll have a friend there, someone she can rely on. It’s not a place for the lonely.
Very few places are.
Indeed, you are unfortunately correct.
'Unfortunately'? No, for the fact that we cannot survive alone drives us to make friends, to bond with others, to work together to achieve more than we could otherwise, and there is nothing whatsoever unfortunate about that.
Even when it is forced on us by circumstance?
Some people need a push.
Sunset chuckled. Or to unknowingly push themselves, in my case.
You sought, and yet, you knew not.
Very well, Princess, if you say. In other news, Pyrrha has regained her confidence, although perhaps not in a manner best pleasing to me.
Did the delightful time she had with Jaune and his family help?
A delightful time was had by her, but no, that is not the cause of her renewed self-belief. She sought out Cinder for a duel, single combat to the death.
To the death?
My reaction exactly, Princess. It was a reminder to me that, for all that there is much to love to admire about Mistral, its ways are not our ways, and Mistral is not Equestria.
Indeed, I must say that it seems to me a somewhat barbaric practice.
Barbarians would have fewer rules and customs, I think; only civilised men could take something like fighting to the death and crust it over with so much formality and ritual.
But Pyrrha lives? She won the battle?
Yes, Pyrrha lives, thank goodness, and she was victorious, although Cinder also lives, Salem intervened in the battle to save Cinder’s life when the fighting went against her. Professor Ozpin was disappointed to hear that, but fortunately, it has not darkened Pyrrha’s skies, which are bright and shining as a result of her triumph. She has cast off the doubts that this business of Salem and all the obstacles before us bred in her and stands proud before all challenges once more.
While I may not approve of the circumstances which led to it, I am glad that Pyrrha has her confidence back, and I cannot even say that I am surprised at the manner in which she did so. Her actions may be foreign to a pony perspective in specific, but in general, success is a great tonic to doubt. Twilight Sparkle felt the same way, not too long ago.
Sunset’s eyebrows rose. Really? She felt inadequate?
Pointless, purposeless, uncertain of her destiny and of the role she had to play.
What happened?
Tirek returned, and it was necessary for Luna, Cadance, and I to give up our magic to Twilight to keep it safe from him, and then for Twilight to defeat him and save Equestria once again.
Ah, yes, that. Twilight had already told Sunset all about Tirek. She had told Sunset all about what she had not been willing to give up in order to defeat Tirek: the lives of her friends. And yet, that is what reassured her about her position, in the end? Sunset might have to ask her about that again, provided it didn’t stir up any overly painful memories.
I won’t say that I wasn’t worried about her going to fight Cinder, but now that the fight is done and everything is happily resolved, I can also say I’m glad Pyrrha won’t be spending the next few years tormented by self-doubt. Sunset hesitated. Princess, on the subject of Tirek, may I ask you one more thing before I release you?
Sunset, you may ask me as much as you like, but if there is only one more thing, then by all means, ask it.
You hid your magic — and that of the other alicorns — with Twilight Sparkle for safekeeping, to keep the power away from Tirek. If his threat had not been so short-lived, would you have considered doing that permanently?
You speak of the Maidens, these four embodiments of magic in the world of Remnant?
Precisely; they have long lain hidden, and I believe that is a mistake, but I would know your thoughts upon the matter.
As you point out, it is not as though I can say that I would never take the step that Professor Ozpin’s predecessors have done and which he has continued. When faced with a great enemy who wishes to steal away the most powerful magic that you possess, hiding that magic is a logical response.
For a little while, perhaps, but forever? To not only give the powers to Twilight to keep safe but to then have Twilight go into hiding for the rest of her life and for many lives after? Surely, there must be limits, especially when there is no prospect of an equivalent to Tirek’s defeat that will lift the threat.
If the threat is ever present then why must it not be ever guarded against?
That makes sense, to a point, but must there not come a point where we must accept that this threat must be, to an extent at least, lived with? At what point is more harm done by the cure than by the disease? To have you, and your sister, and Princess Cadance deprived of your magic for a little while is one thing, but to have no alicorns in Equestria forever? To be so afraid of future Tireks that you deprive Equestria of hope and inspiration forever?
I could not do that even if I wanted to. Someone would always ascend to become a new princess, and a new alicorn, even if I set myself to preventing it. No matter how dark the night, the light of friendship will always shine within it; no matter how barren the soil, the green shoots of a new hope will always spring up out of the ground to signal the rebirth of all that is good. Even if all the princesses of today were to vanish from Equestria and the harmony of Equestria itself were to be broken, I believe with all my heart that somepony would come to restore harmony and magic into the world and, in so doing, find their wings just as Twilight did, and Cadance, and others I have known who went before them. And so you see that the incessant hiding and concealment adopted by Professor Ozpin simply could not be done. And yet, I have no doubt that he is doing his best in such difficult circumstances.
He is following wisdom I do not believe was ever wise.
Then persuade him of better wisdom, if you have it; demonstrate to him that there is another way, a better way. If you are convinced, and if you are correct, then I have no doubt that he will listen to reason.
Is that my rhetoric homework?
If it pleases you to think of it so.
Then I’d better get to work, hadn’t I? I’m sorry to bother you, Princess Celestia; it’s just good to unburden myself a little from time to time.
There is no apology necessary, Sunbeam, none at all. I am always delighted to hear from you, about everything. I wish you luck, in all of your endeavours.
Thank you, Princess. Say hello to Twilight for me. Goodbye.
She shut the book and put down her pen. Sunset rested her feet against the wall and used them to push off, rocking her chair back onto its hind legs as she tucked her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling.
What to do, what to do?
What to do about so many different things. Or what not to do, as the case might be.
I thought things would get easier after we’d scotched Cinder’s plans.
Sunset was distracted from her thoughts by the buzzing of her scroll. She tucked her legs in, letting her chair fall forwards to land heavily upon all four legs once more, and fished the device out of her jacket pocket to answer it.
“Ah, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said. “I wonder if you might come up to my office for a little word.”
“Of course, Professor,” Sunset said softly, as she got to her feet. “Do you need me to get the team together or—?”
“Is Miss Rose with you?” Professor Ozpin asked.
“No, Professor.”
“Then your presence on its own will suffice, I’m sure,” Professor Ozpin told her. “Please come immediately.”
Sunset frowned. “Is something up, Professor?”
“You’ll see when you arrive, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said. “I promise that all will be revealed.”
Okay then. “Very well, Professor, I’ll be right up.”
“I will await your arrival, Miss Shimmer,” Professor Ozpin said and then hung up on her.
He asked for Ruby but not for Jaune or Pyrrha. Perhaps he would have wanted to see Ruby if she’d been around, but didn’t want me to spend time looking for her?
Why? Why only Ruby? Why me on my own but with Ruby and only Ruby as an optional extra?
I suppose I’ll find out when I get there.
Sunset left the dorm room, walking briskly down the corridors and stairs to exit the dorms and jog across the open grounds towards the Emerald Tower. Even moving at speed as she was, she was left with time and space to continue to think, or rather, to dwell upon the thoughts that had been there already.
Compared to the question of Leaf’s mother, the issue of the Maidens seemed almost straightforward. Yes, it was true that Sunset didn’t know who they were, and she didn’t know exactly how their powers transferred outside of murderous interactions, but those particular swamps of ignorance didn’t seem to matter, because her concerns existed purely at the theoretical level. She didn’t need to know these women to argue for them to be let out for the good of the world; she didn’t need to understand the mechanism of power transfer to argue for their role as much-needed inspirations for the common run of men.
She had no need of the facts that she did not possess in order to marshal her arguments in favour of her preferred state of affairs.
Now she just needed to come up with some arguments that didn’t come out of her gut.
It was preferable to consider that than to think about the matters over which she had less control.
It was preferable, too, to think about that than to pay too much attention to the way that some of the Haven students — and it was Haven students; some of them were even wearing those black uniforms — were looking at her as she jogged across the courtyard towards the tower.
Sunset was not so naive as to think that everyone would have been convinced by Pyrrha’s actions of the falseness of the allegations against her — not least because Arslan’s footage of the duel had not yet been released, and even once it was, it would not convince everybody.
Pyrrha had won back much good opinion by her actions, but there would always be some pathetic malcontents for whom jealousy and resentment proved stronger than admiration — it was the curse of the talented, and of the famously talented even moreso. Especially in a place like Mistral, where to rise high was to be considered to be cutting others down.
And there was nothing that Sunset could do to change their minds; after all, their minds had been swayed by nothing but insinuations, and you couldn’t reason people out of positions they hadn’t reasoned themselves into.
Still, they were only a few, a pathetic few, whose ill opinion Pyrrha could dismiss with magisterial disdain, secure in the good graces to which she had returned in the hearts of the general.
At least, Sunset hoped that there were just a few of them anyway.
Pyrrha’s battle, Pyrrha’s victory, would have been worth it for the return of Pyrrha’s confidence alone, but it would be nice if it had also convinced the overwhelming majority of the swaying and the doubtful, too.
In any case, on the matter of the Maidens, hopefully, Professor Ozpin had reasoned himself into this present course instead of simply absorbing the received wisdom of his predecessors.
Sunset reached the tower — there were two Atlesian guards upon it, and judging by the lack of armour over their uniforms, Sunset guessed that they were Military Huntsman, rather than ordinary soldiers; in any case, they didn’t challenge Sunset or impede her progress through the doors — and walked inside. The tower was relatively full, the elevators were in use, and the lobby was halfway to packed with students coming in and out.
Sunset took comfort from the fact that they were giving her more sympathetic looks than dirty ones.
At least Sunset thought they were. It was hard to tell, since they weren’t saying anything.
“Sunset?”
The voice that intruded onto her thoughts was familiar and yet not. Familiar in the sense that Sunset had heard it before, but not very often. It belonged, as Sunset realized when she turned in the direction of the voice, to belong to … that rabbit faunus whom Cardin had been bullying in the first semester, when Jaune had gotten caught up in his web. What was her name? Sunset couldn’t recall it.
Someone else was standing behind her, a tall girl — as tall as Pyrrha, perhaps even a fraction taller, a feat moreover which she was achieving without heels, although those were some very chunky boots she had on which might be adding an inch or two to her height, and in any case, her arms weren’t as muscular as Pyrrha’s — dressed in an incredibly unflattering drab brown sweater, her eyes concealed beneath a pair of sunglasses and some of her brown hair hidden beneath a black beret.
Sunset didn’t remember her name either, but she did recognize as the leader of the team. Team CFVY, who were known as the best team in the second year — at least at Beacon.
Not as good as us, though. I mean, Professor Ozpin didn’t pick them to join his secret army, did they?
Perhaps they got lucky.
Anyway, CFVY. C-F-V- V! V her name begins with a V, V for—
“Velvet, right?” Sunset said, holding out one hand.
“Right, Velvet Scarlatina,” the other girl said, taking Sunset’s hand in her own. “This is my team leader, Coco Adel.”
“Yo,” Coco said, tipping her sunglasses briefly so that Sunset could catch a glimpse of a pair of dark eyes before the sunglasses concealed them once again.
“Hey,” Sunset said, her tone polite but neutral; she didn’t know either of these people, and she didn’t know what they wanted, after all.
About the only things that she knew about Team CFVY were that they enjoyed a reputation and that they were supposed to have organized the Beacon Dance, but hadn’t returned from a mission in time, forcing Sunset and Yang to step into the breach.
Oh, and Velvet had been the target of Cardin’s bullying, a fact which sat uncertainly next to the aforementioned reputation, but then, there were weak links in many teams; look at how much of a liability Jaune had been when he started out.
Coco grinned. “I hear that we missed quite a party while we were away, huh?”
“You did,” Sunset said softly. “Although I’m not sure which party you’re referring to.”
Coco paused for a moment, before she chuckled. “Oh, yeah, right, we missed two parties, didn’t we? I hear the dance was okay — a little cool, but a little stuffy too — until one of the Haven teams turned out to be White Fang agents or whatever.”
It seemed forever and an age ago that Sunset and Yang had argued over the arrangements for the dance, yet nevertheless, Sunset could not help but feel that the elements Coco would consider a little stuffy were the bits that she had insisted upon.
At the moment, she couldn’t be greatly disposed to care. The opinion of someone she didn’t know, especially someone who dressed like that, was of very little interest to her.
She really didn’t care what Coco Adel thought. Not at all.
My inclusions to the dance were elegant; it’s not my fault if some people lack refinement.
It would have been a hit in Canterlot.
“Anyway, I’m sorry we missed the real action,” Coco went on. “Our mission went on way longer than expected. Such a drag.”
“Coco!” Velvet managed to cry while at the same time doing it softly, putting all the disapproving emphasis upon the name while at the same time failing to raise her voice.
“What?” Coco asked. “We were stuck—”
“Helping people—”
“Out in the sticks,” Coco went on, ignoring Velvet’s words, “while the real grimm threat was right here in Vale. Teams like Sapphire here made their bones and are getting talked about as heroes while no one cares what we were doing at … Cairn Cross.”
“Stony Cairn,” Velvet murmured.
“Whatever,” Coco said. “The point is, it sounds like you did some good work out there, Sunset.”
Sunset shuffled uncomfortably. “I … we … did what we could.”
“A grimm attack beaten off with only six casualties, I’d say what you could do was pretty good,” Velvet told her. “We—”
“Unless, of course, you set the whole thing up,” Coco suggested, her grin turning into a smirk. “You know, maybe you and Pyrrha stitched it up with your pal Cinder so you could stop a grimm horde and look like heroes.”
Sunset’s hands clenched into fists. Her ears flattened on top of her head. “Now you listen to me, you bargain basement—”
“Relax, kid; I’m just messing with you!” Coco declared, raising one hand pacifically. “Nobody could believe that nonsense, especially after what Pyrrha did after.” She paused for a moment. “'Bargain basement'?”
Sunset’s eyebrows rose. She doesn’t really think that sweater looks good on her? She can’t possibly.
Coco pursed her lips together for a moment. “Anyway,” she said, “we might have been delayed for a little while, but we’re back now, so you can relax and take it easy, okay, hero? No more saving the day, and tell Pyrrha no more need for possibly illegal duels either. We’ve got this from here on out.”
She patted Sunset on the shoulder and then walked past her, swaying her hips a little in a strut as she headed towards the door.
Velvet laughed nervously. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Coco can be … an acquired taste.”
“Bun Bun?” Coco called.
“Coming,” Velvet called back, before a weary sigh escaped her lips and her brown eyes rolled momentarily upwards. She focused once more upon Sunset. “I just wanted to say … well, first of all I just wanted to say congratulations upon your success. You must be very proud. You’ve earned your place in the history books already.”
“Have we? I … I suppose we have,” Sunset murmured. “Well, thank you. Have you only just returned?”
“We’ve been back a little bit, but this is my first time running into you,” Velvet said. “Our mission did take a lot longer than we expected; there were just so many grimm. Now I think we know why.” She paused for a moment. “Anyway, the other thing I wanted to say is … I believe in you, and I think that most others do too, especially after what Pyrrha did.”
“Bun Bun!”
“In a second!” Velvet shouted back.
“I’ve got to go myself,” Sunset said. “Professor Ozpin is waiting for me.”
“Oh, sounds like he’s taken a special interest in you,” Velvet said. “I can see why. See you around.”
“Yeah,” Sunset agreed. “You too.”
She watched as Velvet sort of skipped away, perhaps not really skipping, but her rapid movements gave that impression as she rejoined the waiting Coco, and then they both headed out of the door and the tower together.
Sunset’s ears pricked up once more atop her head.
Heroes, huh? I wish we felt like it.
It was not the first time something of that sort had been said to her — it had been First Councillor Aris’ reason for not stringing her up, after all — but … it still surprised her to hear it.
This was my dream once.
But now…
Sunset turned away, and turned away from the thought what was more, as she walked across the lobby, excusing herself as she squeezed between or dodged around people, to reach one of the elevators that led up to Professor Ozpin’s office.
In a different world, she might have considered telling Pyrrha that they were seen as heroes for the Breach in order to snap her out of her funk; fortunately, that wasn’t necessary any longer.
That was not one of the things she needed to worry about.
Instead, she needed to think of some reasons to reveal the Maidens to the world.
And she needed to decide whether to come clean with Leaf’s mother about where her daughter had gone.
Sunset pondered these things as the elevator ground slowly upwards, groaning and juddering its way to the very top of the tower until, at last, it came to a halt, and the doors opened.
Sunset stepped out into Professor Ozpin’s office to find Leaf’s mother waiting there along with the headmaster.
Sunset stopped, barely avoiding getting her tail caught in the lift door as it closed behind her.
What’s she doing here?
What do you think?
“Ah, Miss Shimmer, thank you for coming,” Professor Ozpin said. He was behind his desk, but standing, his chair pushed slightly backwards towards the great windows. He gestured towards Leaf’s mother. “This is Mrs. Kelly, and she—”
“Where is she?!” Mrs Kelly demanded, striding towards Sunset. “Where’s Leaf? What have you done with her?”
“'Done'?” Sunset repeated. “I haven’t—”
“Don’t lie to me; I remember you!” Mrs. Kelly cried. “I remember that you were there; you’re the one on the news, the one in that battle. You were there, you were talking to her, you and that other girl, Ruby; you were talking to Leaf, you put ideas in her head.” She grabbed Sunset by the collar of her jacket and began to shake her back and forth. “Where is she?” Mrs Kelly demanded. “Where’s Leaf, where’s my daughter, what have you done?!”
Sunset’s head flapped back and forth; in fact, her whole body flopped like a stuffed doll as Mrs. Kelly shook her like … well, like a doll, and one that was not being carefully played with.
It wasn’t as though Sunset couldn’t do anything about it. On the contrary, she could have done something about it very easily. But that was … that was kind of the point. Mrs. Kelly was not a huntress, she didn’t have her aura activated, she wasn’t trained, she wasn’t the sort of person against whom you could fight back. It was like Pyrrha with Ruben: at a certain point, you were just bullying someone who couldn’t fight back.
And so, Sunset took it, allowing Mrs. Kelly to shake her and to shriek into her face, and her only recourse was to look at Professor Ozpin for a little assistance.
“Mrs. Kelly,” Professor Ozpin said. “Please calm down—”
“‘Calm down’?” Mrs Kelly repeated. “‘Calm down’?!” Her grip on Sunset relaxed as she turned — rounded, more like — on the headmaster. “Do you have children, Professor?”
Professor Ozpin was utterly silent and utterly still. His gaze lowered, not looking at Mrs Kelly, and in that moment, he seemed to age a hundred years at least, his face seeming more drawn, the lines upon it more pronounced.
“No,” he whispered. “No, I do not.”
“Then don’t tell me to calm down,” Mrs. Kelly snarled as she stalked towards him. “This is my daughter—”
“I’m well aware, ma’am,” Professor Ozpin said, quietly but firmly all the same. He looked up, and at Sunset. “Mrs. Kelly’s daughter … I believe that you and Miss Rose met her at some sort of motorcycling event, Miss Shimmer.”
Sunset nodded. “Yes. That’s right, Professor. Leaf Kelly.”
Professor Ozpin gave a very slight nod of the head. “Miss Kelly is now missing, and Mrs. Kelly … we were hoping that you might be able to shed some light upon the situation.”
“Where is she?!” Mrs Kelly demanded. “What have you done—?”
“I haven’t done anything!” Sunset cried. “What do you think I am, a kidnapper?”
“Then where is she?”
“I…” Sunset hesitated for a moment. What will she do if I tell her? Fly to Atlas and drag Leaf home?
At what point is Leaf’s choice, and her right to make her own choices, sufficiently safe from interference that I don’t have to worry about it any more?
At what point does Leaf’s freedom to choose start impeding on other people’s freedoms?
At what point is it safe to tell her mother? Do I have the right to tell her mother?
“I don’t…” Sunset trailed off.
Mrs Kelly’s eyes widened. “You … you know something, don’t you?”
Sunset clasped her hands together behind her back and said nothing.
“Tell me,” Mrs. Kelly said. She walked towards Sunset, closing the distance with her once again, getting up in Sunset’s face to yell, “Tell me!”
She slapped Sunset across the face, a blow which stung for all that it barely chipped her aura.
“I can’t,” Sunset murmured. “I … I promised that I would not. I … I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Kelly stared at her a moment, and like Professor Ozpin just a moment ago, her face, too, seemed to age in moments. It was already an old face; it reminded Sunset of Lady Nikos, another woman grown old before her time, but now, the already hollow cheeks seemed to grow yet more hollow still, the bags beneath her eyes appeared to deepen. Her eyes dimmed.
“You promised,” she whispered. “You promised, you … you promised Leaf?”
“I—”
Sunset was cut off by the sob that fell from Mrs. Kelly’s mouth. She half turned away from Sunset as her eyes filled with tears, she put her wrinkled hands to her face, and she began to pace up and down in her worn out jeans and her green cagoule.
“She … she ran away, didn’t she?” Mrs Kelly said. “She ran away … from me.”
“Mrs. Kelly—” Professor Ozpin began.
“I knew that she wasn’t happy,” Mrs Kelly admitted. “I knew that … I mean, we fought all the time; there was… there was always something new to fight about, but … but I thought that … my daughter. My little girl. My Leaf. I thought she remembered, I thought she’d remember, that I was still the same person who used to take her out for ice cream so that she didn’t have to see her dad passed out on the bathroom floor, who used to let her come into my bed so that the monsters wouldn’t get her. I thought … I thought she’d remember that, remember that no matter how much we fought that I … that we…”
Sunset’s eyes were fixed upon Mrs. Kelly. But in her mind’s eye, it was not the Valish woman in the jeans and cagoule she saw; rather, it was a Mistralian lady, scion of a proud and ancient line, begging Sunset to help her mend the rift between her and her daughter, charging Sunset to fight alongside her in the wars to come, fretting in silence and behind a mask of calm over whether her brave, beautiful, talented daughter, last of her line, would ever return.
It was a princess with a coat of shimmering samite and a mane of many colours that flowed even in the absence of a wind, a princess whose embrace was as warm as a fire and as soft and fluffy as a cloud. Sunset could see her now, as though she stood before her eyes: sitting before a fire, sipping on hot cocoa, smiling as she listened to her faithful student recount all that she had learned that day, telling a story in a voice that was as lovely to listen to as the gently falling waterfall that bordered Canterlot, pacing up and down in a lonely tower beneath the stars, wondering at the fate of her little sunbeam and whether she yet lived.
Sunset’s head didn’t know what the right answer was in this circumstance, but as she watched Leaf’s mother pacing up and down, tears in her eyes, distraction in her aspect, Sunset’s heart knew for sure.
I’m sorry, Leaf; I can’t do this again. And if the freedom to choose is such a sacred thing, why shouldn’t I be free to choose for good or ill?
“She’s in Atlas,” she said.
Professor Ozpin’s eyebrows rose.
Mrs. Kelly turned to face her. “'Atlas'? Leaf … Leaf is in Atlas?”
Sunset nodded.
Mrs. Kelly stared. “How? Why?”
“Opportunity,” Sunset murmured. “Freedom. The chance to … to pursue her own destiny. She took money from your husband to pay for her flight.”
“And what’s she going to do there, in Atlas?” Mrs. Kelly demanded. “How will she live, where will she live?”
“She told me that she had a place lined up, at least for a little while,” Sunset replied. “I don’t know how … well-planned everything was.” She thought it would be unhelpful to mention that Leaf’s plans seemed barely worthy of the name. “But I asked an Atlesian friend of mine, Rainbow Dash, to meet her at the Skydock and make sure that she was okay.” Sunset paused for a moment. “Leaf made me promise not to tell you before she left, and … and it is her choice to go, her life to live, but … I am sorry that I didn’t come and tell you after she was gone.” She bowed her head. “Forgive me, ma’am.” I should have known better and shown more kindness.
For a moment, there was silence.
“I don’t forgive you,” Mrs. Kelly said, her voice sharp for all that it was quiet. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you.”
Sunset looked up. “No, ma’am, I didn’t expect you would.” Luckily, it isn’t your forgiveness I require; in this, I think I can forgive myself.
“I—” Mrs. Kelly was cut off from anything else she might have said by the buzzing of her scroll. She scowled in irritation. “What is it—?” Those words, too, were cut off, and the scowl faded from her face as she saw who it was that was calling. “It’s Leaf!” she cried. “Leaf’s calling!”
A smile broke out upon her face, which, though it did not return to the full bloom of youth, did at least appear to get back to something close to the mere haggard look that had dogged it just a few minutes earlier.
Professor Ozpin cleared his throat lightly. “Miss Shimmer, perhaps you and I should…” He gestured with his head towards the elevator door.
It was generous of the professor to vacate his own office so that Leaf and her mother could talk, but Sunset supposed it was a long way down in the elevator, and the signal might not be very good.
That, and for all that she might disagree with him at times, it was becoming harder to deny that Professor Ozpin was a very generous man.
“Of course, Professor,” Sunset murmured, and she turned back towards the lift she had ascended up in.
She heard, rather than saw, a hologram activated on Professor Ozpin’s desk. She glanced back to see Professor Goodwitch’s face hovering above it.
“Glynda,” Professor Ozpin said, “forgive me, but if you need to talk, perhaps we could—”
“Turn on the news, Professor, now,” Professor Goodwitch said. “There’s a breaking news story that we should be all aware of. It concerns the Schnee Dust Company.”