"Tempest?"
"Yes, Princess?"
I open my mouth to speak but pause mid-thought. It's not for a lack of things to say; it's more for an overabundance of them. I don't know where to start.
"I know that you're upset with me, Princess. And I never asked you to mince words on me."
I sigh. "I'm not angry. I got annoyed at her too, so I kind of understand why you did it. But . . ." I trail off again.
This isn't the usual place for our "evening chats," and it's been a long time since we've had one. It's a tradition we started back when we were still both in Ponyville. One of the very first lessons I taught Tempest in her rehabilitation was that the first step in being a good friend is to be true to yourself and not bottle things up. Tempest was loath to talk about anything remotely personal, especially out in public where her vestment of confidence and command gave her authority and power. She's always wanted to present herself as invulnerable both for her sake and others. So it became a ritual: once a week with nopony else inside the castle, not even Spike or Starlight or our friends, we would talk. Nothing she or I said would leave the room, no matter how terrible.
I feel a tremendous responsibility when she talks to me like this because I know, for right now at least, I'm the only one she can do it with. It keeps her centered, and it keeps me humble.
We're certainly a long way from Ponyville Castle. Rain Shine has a number of rooms more protected and private than the courtyard vestibule we entered from. The one we're in now is carved into stone (as is every room), but the wooden flooring, plush carpets, and beautiful tapestries hide that fact almost entirely. There's a bed along one wall flanked by red curtains.
It's only large enough to bed one. This particular bed is Tempest's. We both knew what was happening when I knocked to enter her room.
I step inside and sit on the carpeted floor. Tempest sits on the bed, fixing me with her ever-severe expression. She's never been easy to talk to, and our current situation and complications don't make it any easier.
I sigh again. I still don't know where to start, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Why do you keep calling me 'Princess?'"
"Because you are a Princess."
I frown and shake my head. "You know that doesn't answer my question. I've said it a few times now: you're my friend, and my friends are free to call me 'Twilight.' Even 'Twi,' if that's easier. But I've barely heard you ever say either of those. Even when talking to others, I'm always 'Princess' or 'Her Highness.' I've never said it's necessary for anypony to refer to me by title only—I don't want princesshood to be a barrier to talking with me. I just let it happen because I know someponies feel more comfortable speaking about me if they, well, elevate me."
I rub one hoof with the other. Just because I know someponies want me to be higher than them doesn't make me comfortable with the idea. You can be friends with Twilight. You really can't be friends with Princess Twilight; she's above you. "So, I guess the question is, after all this time that we've known each other, after everything you've told me and I've told you, why do you still elevate me above yourself?"
"I take it that you wouldn't be satisfied if I said it was a force of habit?" she begins.
"I guess if it is, it is. Maybe I'm wrong, but I just got the feeling that there's a reason you started calling me 'Princess,' and there's a reason you keep calling me that even after I made it clear you never needed to. Am I right?"
Tempest glances at the door to the room. I seal it with a tacit muting charm. There's a reason why the castle was empty when we had these talks back in Ponyville. She looks back to me and nods.
"The fact you made that inference is part of the reason. You know that I visited the Crystal Empire some years ago and saw Princess Cadance there?" I nod. "I didn't see her as a Princess at first because I never understood why she deserved to be one. I thought it was another fluffy virtue Equestria had honored with a ludicrous princesshood because that's what Equestria is: fluffy and inane."
I just nod and gesture for her to continue. She trusted me enough with these truths that I need to be tolerant enough not to judge her for them. Working on her perception of Equestria is something that happens later.
"You were the same way. Friendship was yet another useless virtue. I would capture you like the rest of the Princesses, and I would seize your alicorn power. And I did, for a moment. After . . . everything else, and after you offered me your friendship and tutelage, I truly understood what real power was. I understood why I could have never defeated you. Your ability to perceive the true nature of a pony and forgive them when they can be redeemed, even if they don't believe so themselves, is extraordinary. You have a power I can never understand or wield for myself. I can only respect that you have it."
I can't hide the blush that comes onto my cheeks. Tempest sees the world differently from most of us. She has a way of seeing all the worst—and best—parts of any circumstance and bring them to the harsh light of reality, stripped of all conditions, qualifiers, and emotion. She is brusque to the point of rudeness and extreme honesty. She distilled her perception of me to a single truth—and I am so very proud of what she found. I can only hope I can continue to live up to that perception.
"That is why you are a Princess. You have the power to lead and change this world, but you don't have the naïveté for it to take advantage of you. I address you as 'Princess' because you have the power and moral compass to lead that I lack. Military, Princess, you understand? The leader holds terrific power by having powerful ponies at her heel, ponies more than willing to fight, kill, and die for her at her word. But the leader must prove to them that she deserves that privilege. You do."
My blush deepens. That's what Celestia said, too: leaders are ostensibly above commoners, but it's in fact the burden and curse of leaders to forever be in servitude to them. I am immensely humbled by how Tempest perceives me, but then again . . . only Twilight is friends with everypony. Princess Twilight is friends with none. I offered her my friendship. She never actually said she offered hers in return.
Plus, this brings to mind the other style she used today. "And Rain Shine?" I ask. Tempest's first address of her was 'Majesty,' but her address seemed to get more and more irreverent the longer she spoke with her.
Tempest scowls. She once again glances at the door. "I assumed that Rain Shine deserved her position out of respect. I challenged Princess Cadance her right to rule, and she proved me wrong. I challenged you, and you proved me wrong. I challenged Rain Shine, and she did not. Rain Shine commands the authority of her village, but she holds that power and obeisance through control and the hiding of the truth. Autumn Blaze and her neighbors do not offer the power Rain Shine requires to lead. Rain Shine holds it away from her village so that none can challenge her for it."
Now I frown slightly. "I suppose there are certain aspects of Rain Shine's leadership that I disagree with, but I think you're being a little unfair to her."
Tempest narrows her eyes. She's not angry at me, at least I don't think she is. It's always hard to tell with her. "If you'll allow me to speak freely, Princess?"
"Always, Tempest. Don't hold back just because I'm a Princess."
"You've been too shaped by the ponies of Canterlot. You're being too easy on Rain Shine by refusing to criticize her directly without covering it with squirrelly words."
Tempest is a great source of feedback because of her extreme honesty, but that doesn't always mean she's right. Even if she is, there's a time and place for her brand of honesty, and diplomacy isn't one of them. I shake my head. "I appreciate you saying that, Tempest, but I think you're letting your personal experiences color your opinion of her. I don't agree with every way Rain Shine leads her village, but that doesn't mean she deserves attacks on her character, either. It's unfair to say that she doesn't deserve her position just because her thoughts on leadership are at odds with ours. She comes from a different place."
Tempest's jaw tightens. "Rain Shine holds onto her power by forbidding her village from questioning it. She is free to forbid speech for all I care, but she cannot forbid argument and conflict. The kirin would not, could not question Rain Shine's right to rule because they cannot argue with her. She stakes her leadership on that fact. It is no challenge to be a leader if none will test you for the privilege. Her leadership is a mask put on to keep others at a distance, and I can only guess at what she hides underneath. Holding power through masks and deception and incomplete stories is what the Storm King did to me. I have no tolerance for 'leaders' like that. I hate traitors," she spits.
Part of me is proud that Tempest has such strong feelings about the kirin having a just leader—she has such a strong sense of empathy now, something she didn't have just a few years ago. And I can't say I entirely agree with Rain Shine's leadership views, either. I understand that the consequences for kirin anger can be more violent than pony anger, but it's not as though fire can't be isolated, or that ponies are harmless when angry. It's a false equivalence. And I'm not entirely convinced that Rain Shine was happy that her village's voice returned, either. She may have tolerated it because others showed her that her views on emotion control were too extreme, but again, someone made the decision to enforce that control in the first place. Plus, there's the political movement Autumn Blaze mentioned: some kirin still don't speak and want to return to silence. It seems to me too convenient that Rain Shine wasn't aware of that or that she was entirely neutral on what side she'd be on.
But I shake my head again. "Like I said, you're letting personal experience make this meeting more hostile than it needs to be. Remember that you're talking to the leader of another nation—she probably wouldn't appreciate us meddling in how they do things. And she's nothing like the Storm King. You don't know if Rain Shine actually is holding anything away from her village. We're lucky that she agreed to help us at all and that she didn't escort us from the village. There's a certain way to get into arguments with those in power because of their ability to dictate how and even if the argument happens. A less friendly nation might refuse the argument by also refusing to trade with us. Or they might engage in the argument by declaring war on Equestria, and I know you don't want that to happen again."
I look Tempest in the eyes, challenging her stance. Arguing with somepony as intimidating as her is . . . not easy. But I think I'm in the right in thinking that a former military Commander's predilection for conflict is more than Equestria needs now.
It's a look Tempest more than matches. "Anypony, anyone, can recognize injustice. If the kirin are averse to conflict, and they clearly are, all the more reason to express our opinion now before any more are hurt by her stupidity. Or Rain Shine reneges on her agreement."
Tempest's pleading echoes in my mind: But we had an agreement! she said, finding out for the first time the goal she staked her life on was only a means of manipulating her.
I've gathered that the Storm King's betrayal transformed Tempest to despise anyone even remotely like him—to say nothing of the doctor who abused her while she was waylaid. She hates liars and false truths more than anyone I know. But it also seems a false equivalence now to compare Rain Shine to the likes of him, or compare anything to the scale of his betrayal. He never had good intentions; Rain Shine does. That much I am confident of. Then again . . .
Tempest purses her lips tighter, staring me down as she did when she caged me on her skiff. She has a way of making anypony feel small, even a Princess she elevated so high just moments before. Suddenly, I'm her subordinate, challenging someone who can never be wrong.
I hold her gaze for several long seconds, but I'm the first to break eye contact. I don't think I've ever won a staring contest with Tempest, insofar as we've had any. She is like Rain Shine in that way: she doesn't try, either, and that makes her all the more fearsome. I can see how she got her way with the communities she subjugated in her past.
And going back to her argument, at this point, I'm honestly not much more experienced in diplomacy than she is. And it is true that the kirin nation would probably be the last I'd expect to threaten Equestria in any meaningful way. Am I being too soft?
I shake my head. Part of being a Princess and a leader is being confident even when unsure. And I'll always err on the side of peace and forgiveness and friendship when I'm unsure—I'm still new at all this, and I'd really rather not start a war by mistake and have to answer to my little ponies (and the ones we lose) for it. If I make a mistake, I'd rather it be one that I can take back.
"I . . . would you stop if I asked you to?"
"I'll always defer to your judgment, Princess. You see straighter than I ever will. But I will still express that I believe you are making the wrong decision by choosing not to act now."
I'm not used to this kind of authority. It's even more intimidating that Tempest is saying it, somepony who clearly doesn't answer to anyone unless she chooses to. This isn't the most momentous decision I've ever made, not by a long shot, yet it feels so heavy. I'm instructing a Commander who's made a lot of bad decisions but for good reasons. I'm instructing a Commander who could save worlds or destroy them with a single word.
I choose my words carefully. "The kirin have been fine for at least a few moons like this, and they'd probably be fine for a few more. Can this . . ."
Can this wait? My stomach drops, and I feel a pang of nausea at the word. I can't ask her for that, never that.
I shake my head. "N-nevermind. Just don't do anything rash, okay?"
"Understood, Princess." Her expression is unchanging.
. . .
"Are you . . . feeling alright, at least?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"The encounter we had this morning with Autumn Blaze. You panicked and tried to cast something. Are you feeling alright now?"
One of her eyes twitches. "Fine, Princess."
"Are you sure? I could—"
"If you need to know, my headache resolved itself as we were walking to Rain Shine's palace. I haven't felt out of sorts since," she says curtly.
"I . . ." I really need to stop hawking over Tempest like this. I can't help it, I know—I care for her and I want to make sure she's doing as well as she can be right now. But she clearly doesn't appreciate my concern.
I shake my head. "Okay. Sorry I asked," I say, a bit of annoyance coming through in my tone. "What I don't understand, though, is why. I thought you'd be a little more . . . agreeable about Rain Shine's plan. You do realize that she's kind of exchanging our goodwill for your cure, right? She might pull back or refuse to help us any more if you keep attacking her like this."
"Of course," she responds. "But you don't know if it is a cure."
"No, I don't," I concede, "but it's probably a lead to one. Have you noticed all the interesting things happening around the kirin village? The terraforming, Rain Shine's home, and the Stream, of course. There has to be some new magic here to explore, and some of it has to help you. You yourself thought it could at one point. Are you . . . not interested in any of that?"
Tempest remains silent for a long time, so long that I question whether she'll answer at all. "I think it's more interesting to you than it is to me, Princess," she says in a curiously quiet voice.
"But . . . but this is your life we're talking about!" How is she so nonchalant about this? She did agree to accompany me, but it's almost like she forgot the entire reason we came here in the first place.
Again, Tempest doesn't respond for a long time. All the while, she stares through me into nothingness. "Maybe this is something you'll never understand."
"You . . . what?" I go from puzzled to utterly baffled. "What won't I understand? Tempest?"
Tempest doesn't answer. Instead, she lays back on the bed and stares at the ceiling, not bothering to fluff the pillows or pull the covers around her. "Thank you for coming by to speak with me, Princess."
I take a breath to protest, but let it out in a sigh. This was how Tempest used to be all the time in Ponyville: courteous enough in casual conversation, but short on patience and not willing to speak more than a few words at a time. It took moons of prodding and encouragement and experimentation to get her to open up at all, and longer still for her to speak about the kind of pony she once was. We've come a long way since then, but one invariant I've discovered is that when Tempest doesn't want to speak, she will not speak.
I sigh again and get up, slowly. "You're welcome. But . . . but my door is always open if you want to chat, even here."
. . .
"Have a good night, Tempest."
. . .