Princess and Pariah

by Taialin

Princess and Pariah

Simultaneously, I cast three spells. One, teleportation. I appear in a flash in front of Tempest, head lowered and teeth bared in aggression I rarely show. Two, a repulsion bubble. With my materialization, I force a pressure wave against Rain Shine, and she staggers backwards several steps. Three, a clarity captivation. It counters Rain Shine's one of silence and at once, it becomes easier to think and easier to speak.

"No. You're wrong, Rain Shine," I declare, my voice stronger than it's ever been. The statement of defiance gives me strength. "I don't stand for peace. I stand for friendship. And I stand with Tempest Shadow."

Rain Shine narrows her eyes. The flames about her own body are no cooler despite my repulsion. If anything, they grow more energetic. "Twilight Sparkle, your delusion is clouding your—"

"No! Now it's your turn to be silent and listen to me. I believe in her. If you want to take her down, you need to go through me first," I say. A moment later, I catch myself and take a deep breath, raising my head to a more dignified position—violence still isn't the solution.

"I'm not that confident about a lot of things, least of all leadership or diplomacy, but I think I know friendship pretty well. I spent moons rehabilitating Tempest after the war because I knew she could change, and I knew she could be a friend to us all. She has, and she is.

"She left my Castle not long ago, and I let her go because I trusted her. Not because I knew her every decision would be morally right or peaceful, but because I knew she had a good heart. I don't believe anyone in this world is evil, not really. I believe there are some who have different beliefs and different motivations from many of us, and when they clash with others who don't understand, we call it evil so we don't have to think about it anymore.

"We came here on a selfish mission, but we stayed here because we were concerned about you and the kirin you rule, Rain Shine. I know Tempest doesn't think you're evil, and I don't, either. We think you've experienced some grief in your past, and that's caused you to make some poor decisions that are still affecting your village."

I turn around to look at Tempest, still on the ground but looking up to me. Her eyes are more vulnerable than I've ever seen since we arrived here. It's in these rare moments that I can better read what she's thinking. There's some not-inconsiderable amount of fear in them—a rare emotion for Tempest. But there's awe in them too, awe that I would step in front of her and take control of the situation.

That awe only elicits shame in me. She shouldn't have to be awed that I stuck with her. It's what friends do—are supposed to do.

I lend a hoof to her, pulling her back to her hooves. "Come on, Tempest," I say, offering an encouraging smile. "I've done all I can. It's up to you. You're the only one who can save the kirin."

"But . . ." Tempest begins, voice broken, "you heard it yourself. My purpose is passed. I am only good for destruction." She lowers her head again. "You have a vision for what the world could be, Princess. And I'm not a part of that. I am still not a part of that."

Rain Shine's words must have cut deep. Tempest would always be the first to refute something with a sharp word, but she seems utterly unable to now. I shake my head. "You are—you're part of the guard that's spreading friendship. And just because I'm the Princess of it doesn't mean I know everything. Being a friend means recognizing and supporting each other's strengths, and that way, we become more than either of us alone. If I could do everything myself, I wouldn't need friends."

She only shakes her head. "I am . . . destruction. You know it better than I do. I have no control. A de-horned unicorn can only be destruction."

I shake my head again. "A pony who is only destruction would have died in the war. She wouldn't accept help from her arch-enemy to become better. She wouldn't learn about friendship. And she wouldn't make grand plans to save an entire species from themselves. A pony who is only destruction isn't named Tempest Shadow, Tempest."

She glances up at me, and I can see the doubt in her eyes. "Then . . . who am I, Princess? What can I possibly do in your world?"

It pains me that only now does Tempest lower her walls and show me the pony underneath all those layers. For as much as I wish I could sit down with her and commiserate her vulnerabilities, I know now is not the time. Tempest calls me a Princess, and now, I need to be one for her.

"It's your world too. You live in it, and you can make a difference in it if you think it needs to change. You said it yourself a couple nights ago—you disagreed with me and the decisions I made. Well, now's your chance to make it right. I'm sorry that I wasn't supporting you the way you needed on this trip. You might have strengths in warfare, but I think we've found another today.

"You are destruction. I won't lie about that part, because it is a very big part. But you are also justice, determination, and honor in equal measure. Your power comes not from destroying things, but your ability to elicit change. If I really can see the true nature of a pony, even when they can't see it themselves, then take it as my verdict that this is your true nature. This is who you are."

I raise Tempest's head. "I need your help, Commander. I need you." I look into her eyes and smile. "What can you possibly do? Do what you do best. Change the world."

The eyes stare back at me. She blinks, and to my surprise, they glisten ever so slightly.

Then she closes her eyes and concentrates. I see a tension ripple across her body. When she opens her eyes again, the moment has passed—her eyes are filled with familiar determination, and her face has schooled itself fierce once again. The face that intimidated and subjugated dozens of communities in the past with nary a single spell cast.

The face that will bring to light the kirin today.

She straightens up and strides past me fearlessly to Rain Shine. She stops in front of her, so close that either of them could strike the other with a heat too intense to escape from or a kick too fast to react to.

Rain Shine, meanwhile, looks past her to me incredulously. "You would put your blind trust in this one? She has caused unfathomable grief to an uncountable number, and she very nearly destroyed you. She has no purpose now."

I shake my head again. "No, Rain Shine. I believe in her to do the right thing, and do you know why? Because she's my friend."

"And you are friends with none of your subjects," Tempest contributes. "The peace and quietude you enforce may ensure a lack of violence, but it also ensures a lack of friendship."

"You speak as though you have wisdom in the subject," Rain Shine says, now looking at Tempest with disdain. "In your travails, you have made only enemies at the expense of friends. I daresay that your 'instruction' is that which no sane being of peace would seek out."

"She does know friendship," I counter. "I'm her friend, and I have faith in what she's learned from me and others. If you can't take her for her word that she means well, then take mine." It doesn't escape my notice that moments ago, I was pulled into Tempest's argument more-or-less unwillingly. Now I'm pushing myself into it. "We're not trying to make enemies with you—we're trying to help you."

"Then forgive my skepticism," she says, though she keeps her eyes on Tempest. "Tempest Shadow, you are a being bred for war. I have no reservations about your expertise in military tactics and the most efficient way to render death upon others. But whatever your learnings with the Princess, they paint over a foundation not meant to accept it. Kirin are a species bred for peace. Were that not true, only nirik and ashes would remain. The kirin could accept nothing from you."

"The way you talk of the nirik, it's like you're at war with them, with yourself," Tempest says.

Faster than either of us could react, the flames about Rain Shine briefly form into pyres of energy, shooting into the sky and loosing a blast of heat. Tempest's mane is blown back, but she is unfazed.

Rain Shine bares her frightening fangs. "Do you think I like being this way? Do you think I would wish this fire and destruction and conflict upon myself and my kirinfolk? Being nirik is only as good as how they can be suppressed."

"Then I'd like to test that." Slowly, she walks even closer to Rain Shine even as she narrows her eyes and hisses. She stops so close the flames on Rain Shine's mane lick at her coat. Nevertheless, she holds her head high, fearlessly. She says, almost nonchalantly, "I have no magic, not anymore. I cannot make fire, and I cannot repel it. I cannot strike you without being burned myself. So, here's a challenge . . ." Tempest directs a piercing eye at Rain Shine, so pointed and authoritative that even she stops to listen.

"Kill me."

Tempest, what in Celestia's name are you doing!? I want to say, but the thought is washed away by Rain Shine's expression.

For what feels like the first time, Rain Shine's eyes show emotion—if "flabbergast" could be called a proper emotion. She takes a step back. "Your delusion is only matched by your audacity, pony."

Tempest merely closes the distance again, but she makes no move to strike. "If I am so dangerous and war-mongering as you believe I am, then kill me. End my evil, release the Princess, and sleep soundly in the knowledge that I cannot infect anyone else."

Rain Shine growls, sounding more like screeching metal beams than anything equine. "The kirin are an insular species, but I am not blind to political stunts. You intend to rain melancholy and despair upon us when news returns to Equestria that the kirin have slain one of her own. There is a witness, one who could eradicate any nation in this world with a single word. You overestimate my gullibility."

Tempest cocks her head and continues speaking as though it was any other stranger and not . . . one staring her down with lethal flames behind her. "Then I will ask the Princess to return to Equestria, and we can continue our quarrel. You are far from the only one who would wish me dead. The question remains: would you kill me? Can you kill me?"

Tempest and Rain Shine leave me no opportunity to offer my own input . . . though I have no idea what I would say. It's not a meet topic to mention that one who's been quite level-headed up to this point is starting to say less-than-level things. I don't like Tempest's tactic, to be sure, but I know what she's getting at—I just disagree terribly with the consequence if she's wrong. She couldn't have possibly planned for this contingency.

Rain Shine stomps a hoof, agitated, unleashing a wave of fire that nevertheless diffuses harmlessly against Tempest's own hooves. "There are depths of irresponsibility I do not stoop to, pony. It has been generations since anyone has been audacious enough to level such words at us."

"What honor!" Tempest says, the first use of sarcasm I've ever heard come out of her. I don't know how to feel about that. "And yet you would let me live and do evil to others?"

"You have challenged me for the last time, Tempest Shadow!" Rain Shine points a hoof of flame at Tempest, then flips it upwards as if holding something. The fire follows and gathers to a single point above her hoof, turning from purple to yellow to searing white. The ball of fire turns into a ball of lightning, sparks escaping and licking at Tempest's coat. One reaches her mane, and the ends of her hair start burning. I move to intervene, worried that Tempest has finally gone too far.

The hoof trembles.

Tempest stares back, unblinking. The ball of lightning reflects in her eyes, along with the flames around her. Here is a face not afraid of her present situation nor what the future would bring. Here is a face not afraid of anything.

She closes her eyes.

"You don't want to," Tempest murmurs, so quietly that I have to read her lips. She opens her eyes again and speaks more loudly. "Because the nirik, for being the murderous monsters you seem to want them to be, are still kirin, whether you like it or not. Because if Rain Shine the kirin doesn't want to kill anypony . . ." Tempest walks towards the ball of lightning, willing herself to her suicide. With only a hair's-breadth to spare, Rain Shine pulls the ball just out of reach, saving Tempest from herself.

". . . neither will Rain Shine the nirik."

"You are wrong, pony," she says, her voice lacking the conviction it had up to this point. It's even more shocking coming from someone as frightening as Rain Shine the nirik. The ball of lightning slowly dissolves into the air in a shower of sparks, but Rain Shine keeps her hoof up like she's still holding it.

In an act of incredible irreverence, Tempest turns her back to the Empress of Kirin and shrugs off the fire that still burns on the ends of her mane. She walks to the Stream of Silence and stops before it, looking at the silently whistling water.

"The Princess briefed me on the kirin back in Equestria. So I'd know what to expect. She has this shield that shows the kirin on one half and nirik on the other. She told me the legends. So did Fluttershy when she visited, and how scary the nirik were when they appeared before her. And, well . . ." She scoffs. "Scary isn't much of a threat when I've spent my entire life being the scariest thing to walk into any room. In fact, despite being one right now . . ." Tempest turns around and walks back to us. Rain Shine remains silent. "You seem to be more scared of the nirik than I am.

"I knew, from the first moment I talked with you, that I wouldn't like you. There's one thing that you got right about me—that I'm bred for war and conflict. But, in a fact you may find ironic, on talking with the kirin of your village and the Princess, that upbringing probably makes me the best pony to slap some sense into you."

I resist the urge to zip Tempest's mouth shut myself. Rain Shine, too, is taken aback at the unwarranted insult, but she doesn't retaliate.

"Some things need teaching twice. Applejack and Fluttershy tried to tell you why the kirin deserved to speak. Now I suppose I need to tell you why they need conflict, too. As coming from a pony who knows a thing or two about the subject."

Finally, Rain Shine seems to find her voice again, but it's more desperate than self-assured. "What things do you know? How to conflict with your enemies to kill them? I concede, you have quite a bit of expertise in that," Rain Shine hisses.

This gives Tempest pause. When she speaks, she starts slowly. "Yes, and I am . . . sorry for the deaths I caused. You can bring up my sins all day, and I will have nothing to say to you. I am Hoof of the Storm and the Scourge of Seaquestria. I . . . I know what I have done. And I will never be able to adequately pay penance for what I have done. But . . ." Tempest straightens up a little, and her air of uncertainty vanishes so surely I can't be sure whether it was ever there. "I do not regret the conflict itself. I do not regret the war."

I straighten up too. I've never heard this detail from Tempest. Granted, my primary goal in rehabilitating her was to move on from the war and move into who she wanted to become—I didn't need to know what Tempest thought of the war, and maybe I didn't want to know at the time.

"I've been in more fights than I can count, and it may surprise you how many ended not in violence but some sort of truce. There's a clarity that comes with conflict. When you fight, unimportant things disappear. There are no wiggly words to hide behind and no social expectations that only force you to put up a mask and speak with other masks. There is nothing left but your soul, and nothing left to fight against but the soul of your adversary. You conflict, and the truth comes out.

"I conflicted with Princess Twilight. We fought. We saw each other for who they really were. She saw somepony worthy of forgiveness. I saw a target of needless hate. We conflicted, and the truth came out. I regret the damage, and I regret the hurt, but I do not regret the war because what came out . . ."

She looks to me, and I look back. For what I know she's about to say, my eyes are glistening with pride.

". . . was friendship."

I can't help my smile, so proud and awed am I by what Tempest has become. She's a mare of few words, but when she does speak, everyone listens. She's turned her tragic past into something truly wonderful.

Tempest turns back to Rain Shine. She, too, is listening. "That's why I hate small talk—and one of the reasons why I hated talking to you. I suppose I never have talked to you. I'm talking to the mask of the kirin that she wants to put on for visiting ponies. I'm talking with a mask that's kind and agreeable only so others will also be kind and agreeable. I'm talking with a mask so afraid of taking itself off and facing the truth that it would rather condemn an entire species to silence."

"Catharsis."

Tempest and Rain Shine turn to look at me. I shrink back a little, not meaning to say that out loud. But Tempest seems content to hoof over the reins, and Rain Shine seems willing to listen. I straighten up and go on.

"Sorry. Catharsis describes that feeling you get after you've . . . let everything out, so to speak. It's . . . relief? Happiness? I can't really explain the feeling. Fighting isn't necessarily pleasant, but when you're finished being angry and sad, you have time to . . . reorganize. Reflect on yourself and your friends. Find all the puzzle pieces that got knocked around during the fight and put them back together so you can get a clearer picture of who you are, who your friends are, and why you fought so that in the future, maybe you won't be fighting about the same thing again."

I shake my head. "Nevermind, I'm being metaphorical. What I mean to say is, Tempest is right. I don't want friends to fight. But I don't want them to not fight either if it means they'll bottle things up inside. If friends couldn't argue and express how they really felt, it would become so hard to trust one another. They wouldn't be able to tell if someone was telling the truth or if they just wanted to avoid an argument. Or maybe they wouldn't talk at all. Kind of like . . ."

"Like this?" Tempest volunteers.

I pinch my lips together and nod.

We both turn our attention to Rain Shine.

She's still in her nirik form, but she's clearly less angry than before. She's sitting on the ground now, singing the grass beneath her instead of instantly turning it to ash. The ethereal flames about her are smaller and almost translucent, allowing me to see glimpses of Rain Shine's native sandstone coat beneath the flames. Her eyes are aimed towards the ground in front of her, studying how the blades of grass under her hooves resist the fire until they wither and dry.

Tempest is right. In all the time we've been talking with Rain Shine, we've rarely ever been talking with her—only the faces she puts up. Ironically, it's only as a nirik that we're gotten glimpses of the kirin underneath. I can only hope this fiery argument will have burned away enough layers for us to start to understand who she is. And, maybe, make friends with her.

Rain Shine turns her eyes to us. "I have never purported to be free of sin or shame. It is my duty as a leader to find the most harmonious path. If that path should include things you ponies find unpalatable, then so be it."

In a clap of thunder, Rain Shine is back on her feet, the flames about her dancing again. "I shall say it again," she says. "The circumstances that led to Overcast Light's tragic loss must never happen again. And if you would be so foolish to suggest arguments are worth my daughter's life, then allow me to slap some sense into you."

Tempest, unperturbed, steps up to Rain Shine once again. "We have been arguing. And I have been giving you the opportunity to make history repeat itself." She cocks her head again, and gestures at her bared neck. "You haven't taken it. You are clearly capable of it. Why not?"

Tempest starts walking, drill-sergeant-lecture–style. "Is it because you have so much more control over your nirik form than the others who share your abilities? Despite the fact that you're equally out of practice? I doubt that crown on your head has that level of power." She turns around. "Or . . . is it that nirik are just not as dangerous as you say they are? That anger and its consequences are a part of being a kirin, like any other living being, and you just won't admit it?"

Rain Shine growls that metal-screeching growl again. "Have you ever loved, Tempest Shadow, Scourge of Seaquestria? No, of course you never have. Because if you had, you'd perhaps have an iota more sympathy. You will never understand . . ." She flicks her eyes to lock on me, and I take a subconscious step back. "But perhaps this one will."

She takes a step towards me, and I have to use every bit of my courage to maintain eye contact. "She was my spirit reinvigorated, her dreams hungry for fulfillment. She knew what I was, and while proud of her lineage, she wanted to be more. But she turned to me for inspiration first. She was . . ." Rain Shine's voice quavers, the first time an emotion other than anger is allowed to color it. "She was my daughter.

"The greatest praise a mother can receive is when she, full in the knowledge of her countless failures and always testing herself on what she could do better, is allowed to see her daughter bloom into a proper kirin. She was one. She was not capable of hating anyone. Nirik transformations were always rare, but when they happened in front of her, she was not tempted. Even when my own temper was flared, Overcast knew what to say to diffuse my anger.

"The kirin who is worthy of succession is so rare—one may go several generations before seeing a single one. Overcast was the best. When she was born, she became my greatest, most treasured work. She would be my legacy. I knew she had the potential to be greater than I ever was. So I pushed her harder than any kirin before her or since. She did not complain. She learned. She grew.

"I told her one day, 'Nu er, I am weary of leading.' And she told me, 'Ma ma, I will help you retire.'" The words that follow are flooded with so much grief that they're difficult to listen to. "Those were the last words she said to me before she died. I could not tell her how proud I was of her." She looks down. "I could not tell her how much I loved her."¹

I jump back as Rain Shine the nirik as I know her reasserts herself in a peal of fire and wave of heat. She bares her fangs and glares at us with white-hot eyes. But the embers falling from them say that there's much more than anger in them. "I would tear down dynasties for her. I would chase her to the edge of the world. My greatest regret is that I was not there to save her from the nirik."

And because of that, you decided to stop anyone in the village from becoming one? I think to myself. That's before I'm overcome with shame for having it. I look down.

The thing is, Rain Shine is right, too. I do understand, in a sense. I don't have a daughter, but I do have family and many, many friends. When you spend your life with them and they put a small part of themselves into you, it becomes impossible to see things objectively. I would tear down dynasties for them. I would chase them to the edge of the world.

And I would risk enraged ministers and a seriously annoyed secretary and a nation wondering whether its leader was banished, all for them.

Suddenly, Rain Shine's measures barely seem extreme at all.

Tempest, in all her virtues and vices, with all her tendencies to hate chaff and chase the truth long after everyone else has stopped, speaks. "That's well and good if Overcast Light were alive. But the dead don't know what you're doing for them, and the dead don't care whose legacy you're trying to fulfill."

Rain Shine's flames get even larger and hotter, and for a moment, I'm afraid Rain Shine will actually carry out her threat. "The dead leave behind lessons," she hisses. "Lessons the living will carry out to honor them."

"What lesson?" Tempest scoffs. "Would you really say that Overcast Light's dying wish was to condemn her own and future generations to never argue again? Where in her final arrangements was that wish? That's not her dying wish; it's yours."

Rain Shine growls again and butts her head against Tempest's.

"Kill me if you think I'm wrong."

"You keep insulting my daughter like that, and perhaps I will."

"Enough!" I cry, using my magic to physically pry them apart and keep them separated. "Tempest, you're not helping. I know you want to make your point, but not even bothering to consider others' feelings is just callous and counterproductive."

Tempest, suitably chastised, falls silent. Meanwhile, Rain Shine calms her temper ever so slightly. They both look at me.

I didn't exactly have a plan when I interrupted except that I could feel that this particular argument was only going to go in circles. I know where Tempest wants to take this argument . . . but I know why Rain Shine doesn't want to go there. They each said their piece, and they still disagree. Who am I to try to get them to get along?

I take a deep breath and let it out. Who am I? I'm the Princess of Friendship, mediating a spat between friends. Time to figure this out.

In my best Princess voice, I say, "Tempest, apologize to Rain Shine. I know what you want to get across, but you need to be more empathetic for what she's experienced."

Tempest looks back at Rain Shine, and she her. Slowly, she begins. "I am . . . sorry. And I am sorry for not respecting your daughter's memory." I can tell Tempest doesn't entirely understand what she's saying, but it's a start.

Rain Shine doesn't respond, but the flames about her do grow a little cooler. It's too much to expect that she'd forgive Tempest so quickly, someone she's seemingly always had a quarrel with.

I turn to her. "I know that you would move mountains for Overcast Light—believe me, I know. And I know you want to honor her memory. But Tempest has a point, too. She sounds like a wonderful daughter who had wonderful dreams. Was one of her dreams really this? Peace at all costs? Did she dream about a species that would become nearly forgotten by the rest of the world because they no longer wished to express themselves?"

I don't know whether something in the air has changed or whether being around her for long enough has made me more perceptive, but Rain Shine doesn't seem as unreadable as before. Her eyes are more expressive now. There is anger, of course, and a lot of it, but she doesn't seem all that angry at me. At Tempest, sure, but even then, the picture is incomplete. There's also a longing, and a deep, deep sadness.

"She would never anger," she says quietly. "She would want a village that didn't anger. Because anger is what killed her." Even as she says it, I can sense the unease in her voice.

"I don't . . . I don't think it did," I say. "And I think, deep down, you don't think it did, either."

What if I wasn't able to rescue Owlowicious before Tirek destroyed the library? What if Spike was there? What if any of my friends were there?

What if Capper had managed to sell us into slavery? What if Autumn Blaze wasn't fast enough and Applejack and Fluttershy had fallen into the Stream of Silence and were never able to speak again? What if the Storm King indeed succeeded in conquering Equestria? What if, what if, what if?

Being the purveyors of harmony and wielding the elements that attest to it isn't easy. I can never forget that on any one of our adventures, one or more of us might not return. I'd like to think that we're all strong enough to carry on if the worst should happen, but the truth is that I don't know. We've been lucky enough so far that none of us have had to experience it, but I've seen enough to know that no one, no matter how strong, is immune to death and the ripples it causes to those around it. Not even a Princess.

Rain Shine isn't a villain. She's a kirin with a good heart who fell victim to terrible circumstances and has had trouble coping ever since. She didn't ask for this. Were things only a little bit different, she might be where I stand, and I her.

I think back to the events surrounding Overcast Light's death and how Rain Shine depicted them. Of course, her retelling would be colored by her own feelings, but even then, I have to wonder why she chose to depict it in that way. Details stand out brighter for the fact they were in the story.

The wind carries a few motes of ash from Rain Shine's hooves to mine. I dip a hoof in the Stream of Silence to wash them off.

"Tragedy," I begin quietly, "is when bad things happen to good ponies. They don't deserve it. It couldn't have been predicted. They weren't ready for it. Tragedy is so hard for us to understand because it doesn't follow rules. Being the best pony in the world doesn't protect you, and being the worst doesn't mean you deserve it. Tragedy happens to anyone, and we all have to suffer for it.²

"The day all of this happened . . . there was a storm then too, right?" I ask.

Rain Shine does not respond, but she doesn't protest either. She only observes me with smoldering eyes.

I continue. "They're so violent here, more wind and lightning than rain, and you were so concerned when this one came by that you went out during the storm to make sure your village was safe. But no one said anything. No one saw you do it. I never really understood why you did that, or why you insisted that I stay put while you walked into danger.

"You were never there to see what happened, were you? Did the tree uproot in the storm, or did the fire collapse it? There weren't any witnesses until they drew attention to themselves, and by then, it was already too late." I look down and murmur quietly, "And at the end of the day, I don't think it actually matters.

"You've shown it yourself—an individual nirik, even a powerful one, doesn't want to harm anyone. You never said that you wanted to target or kill the kirin who started the argument—I'm sure they didn't want to hurt anyone, either. It's not Heavenly Fire's fault, it's not the niriks' fault, it's not the village's fault, and it's not your fault. It's not even the storm's fault. It's just a horrible tragedy that hurt a lot of kirin, you and your daughter most of all. Blame and revenge doesn't help anyone heal or move on, least of all you."

I pause. "Rain Shine, I know you've always had to put on a strong face for your village, but . . . did you ever mourn Overcast Light?"

She still says nothing but lowers her head and turns away a little, the same motion Fluttershy does when she's trying to hide under her mane. I think we all know the answer.

I reach out to her, seeking tacit permission. She doesn't give it to me, but she doesn't shy away either or seek to repel me. In a surge of blind courage, I reach through the flames of her lion's mane and wrap my hooves around her neck. It doesn't hurt. It's the heat of a warm summer's day on my cheek and my breast. I feel the strands of her mane, soft and delicate but tickling as embers dance along its length.

"I'm sorry," I say to her. The formality in my tone is thoroughly gone and replaced by raw emotion. "I know it doesn't mean anything now, but I'm sorry."

I feel a hoof on my shoulder. I open one eye and see Tempest, an unsure expression on her face, standing an awkward distance away—closer than you'd want to converse at, but too far to hug. I wrap a wing around her and yank her closer. After a brief "urk" of surprise, she cautiously puts her hooves around both of us. She says, "I'm sorry too. It means even less coming from me, but . . . I am. Truly. I know how it feels to . . . to lose what defines you."

Rain Shine softens as we hug her, but she doesn't reciprocate.

"Grief" is another one of those words. It's not pleasant, and no one seeks it out, but it reveals itself most poignantly only with its absence. When a village needs you to be strong, you don't have time to grieve. You can only hide it under a mask and keep going. But the wound never truly heals. It's another one of the many curses of leadership.

And for as much as I claim to instruct Rain Shine on the ways of friendship, in some ways, she has more experience in this than I do. She's lived through the loss of a loved one, but I haven't. What happens when I lose someone? What happens when . . .

We remain embracing for minutes, but a rustle in the bushes ends the moment.

Rain Shine is the first to notice. She stiffens and pushes against both of us. We separate, and it's now that I see Rain Shine has entirely reverted to her familiar sandstone-and-aquamarine kirin form for the first time. It's good to see her back to normal . . . I think.

"Autumn Blaze," she says in a slightly shaky voice. And that's all she says.

For whatever sense Rain Shine has, the bush rustles again, and Autumn Blaze does step out from behind it, looking chastised and a little ashamed.

Even then, Rain Shine isn't angry at her. It probably shouldn't surprise me that she wouldn't show anger outwardly, but she doesn't seem annoyed at the intrusion, either. If anything, Rain Shine appears the more chastised if her downcast expression is anything to go by. She simply says, "How much did you hear?"

Autumn Blaze scratches the back of her head. "Almost all of it, I'm sorry to say. I was just here to grab some water. Silent water is not great to drink, but the trees love it. When I saw you coming, I wanted to talk to you, but then Twilight and Tempest came too and I . . . hid." Autumn gestures awkwardly.

The Silence is deafening.

"I'll . . . banish myself again if you want me to," Autumn offers, looking unsure.

Before any of us can protest, Rain Shine speaks. "Or . . . rather you and the village could choose to banish me."

"Wh-what? No! Why would we do that?"

"Because . . ." She lets out a great sigh, and a touch of ghostly fire comes out with her breath. She looks at no one as she says her words, low and halting. "Because I have wronged you. I let my hatred for anger guide my decisions. Decisions that affected all of you. I let my own memories taint the life the rest of you live. Making decisions not for the village but for oneself—your Empress could commit no greater sin."

I don't envy Rain Shine's position, but part of me is glad some part of what we said finally broke through. Tempest, too, I can tell, is relieved. For however much of today she anticipated and planned out—I wager it wasn't much—I gather that Tempest ultimately wanted to break Rain Shine down to where she is now. It was the only way to break through her mask to the true self underneath. To find the truth and speak it back to her.

That's catharsis.

Autumn Blaze, too. She's probably never seen Rain Shine for who she was, either. But despite the dismal words, she smiles. "Are you kidding? I've never been more confident in who I want as our leader than right now, and I'm sure the rest of the village would agree, too. We know—well, I know, definitely—that while you are our leader, you're still just a kirin. A kirin who's seen more than most of us, but still a kirin.

"Yeah, in a way, Tempest was right about the village. Some of them are scared of you. They're scared because you've basically become a goddess. When she says 'don't argue, don't make noise,' you listen. She's been here longer than you, after all, and she's kept you safe for this long." Autumn rubs her head again. "I guess I'm different because I've never been afraid to talk, but that's not really normal, either. What I mean to say is, I don't think anyone would be upset if they got to know you as a kirin instead of just respecting and fearing you as a leader. Yeah, it means we won't be able to believe you're the perfect leader who's always right, but honestly? I don't know how many of us believed that to begin with.

"I'd rather know why you make mistakes. I'd rather know who Rain Shine is so I can get along with her, rather than the 'kirin who lives in that mountain over there and keeps the peace,'" Autumn says while air-quoting. "And knowing who you are and what you've seen makes it easier to forgive you." She smiles and shrugs. "I forgive you."

Rain Shine says nothing, but I can see her shaking. With anger, sadness, fear, relief, joy: I don't know.

Tempest walks a little closer to her. Having achieved what she set out to, she seems calmer now and less agitated. "Be angry," she murmurs. "Take it from someone who's been angry all her life. If Overcast Light died through an accident and by no one's hoof, you can be angry at nothing, too. Be sad. Be furious. Fight. Rage against the fate that couldn't care less about you and abandoned your daughter to die. Life is never fair." She looks at me briefly, and I catch a glimpse of the weariness and pain in her eyes. "And . . . we'll be here when you come back."

The words trigger something in Rain Shine, because the moment she hears them, three things happen at once. One, with a howl of despair and fury so anguished it brings tears to my eyes, Rain Shine transforms once again in a massive pyre of fire and a blast of painful heat. Two, an unseen force shoves both myself and Tempest several lengths back, away from the epicenter. I'm knocked over, but Tempest manages to keep her footing. Three, a kirin, faster than I've ever seen her before, bolts in, horn still glowing from her sudden shove. She captures Rain Shine in a bone-breaking embrace, heedless of the fire and heat that clings to her body.

Rain Shine roars and screams and sobs words of anger into Autumn Blaze's shoulder, clutching her like a barrel in a storm, making sounds I've never heard from her before. She speaks in a language I can't understand, emotion clinging to every word. Autumn Blaze responds in kind, murmuring words of comfort back.

We don't know what they're saying, but the meaning expressed through emotion alone transcends language and makes itself known to those who care to listen.

It's the sound of healing.

---

1. What makes this especially tragic is that this is a well-worn story in Asian families. The Eastern family dynamic revolves more around respect and deference to parents than strictly getting along with them. That doesn't mean the love isn't there.
2. This definition of "tragedy" is mine. But the word is of course subject to interpretation—half of the Wikipedia article on "tragedy" is focused on defining it. One area of discussion that is relevant to Fimfiction is what the "tragedy" tag actually means. It comes paired with the "sad" tag so often (a much easier tag to understand) that they're often taken to mean the same thing—this character experienced a bad thing, and they and their friends are now sad. It's why "tragedy" without "sad" is one of the rarest tag combinations on Fimfiction. You may, therefore, want to ask the question: why is this story tagged this way?

Comments

[Stahlseele]

That was a beautifully written chapter.

[protator]

And this is why Twily is going to be a good ruler. She still lacks the confidence and boldness to crack cases like this on her own, she still needs a blunt tool like Fizzle at her side to pave the way a little, but she's clearly improving.
Great chapter.
Poor Rain ... something must've gotten into my eyes when I read the last couple paragraphs, can't have been the feels, nuh uh.