Princess and Pariah

by Taialin

Ashes

Word of what happened yesterday morning spread quickly through the kirin village. Rain Shine's own cry of despair also became a cry for help from her village. Many of them heard her, and all who did answered the call. What was one kirin embracing her became dozens gathered around her to offer what support they could. They didn't know exactly what had transpired, but the sight of their leader, normally so centered and wise now so distraught was enough to crack the hardest of hearts. Even Tempest's.

No one questioned; everyone only sought to help, whether it was by offering a comforting word or chasing away nosy animals or putting out the tiny fires that started when an errant ember inevitably managed to ignite something. The event also incidentally cured the kirin of their collective fear of their leader almost overnight; there was no other choice when one you perceived as mighty and vindictive appeared so weak and vulnerable. Even Fire Song spent precious little time vacillating before embracing Rain Shine, too.

And as Autumn Blaze correctly predicted, no one thought less of Rain Shine for the mistakes she made.

Today, Rain Shine was not there to participate in the morning song. I don't know how the kirin choose what to perform, but today, everyone chose to sing a simple lullaby with a repeating refrain, over and over. Even those who normally played instruments chose to sing today. As Fire Song later told me, it was the same lullaby Rain Shine sang to her daughter every night. Long had it been vaunted as sacred, one rarely performed because by convention, it could not be played, only sung. It was only after the events of yesterday that the village truly understood why. The morning song was always a ritual dedicated to kirin no longer among the living. And it was with this sacred song the village chose to dedicate their song that day to Overcast. Fire Song, always one to continue making music after the morning song was concluded, continued to sing to the heavens, eyes closed.

It's after the song that I sit on Rain Shine's veranda, watching the bustling village. Although "bustling" is somewhat hyperbolic—it's probably about as loud as it is outside Ponyville's library—but it's also a far cry from the village we arrived in and came to know in our visit. Kirin are out and about and speaking with each other. In quiet and hushed voices—Autumn's voice, as ever, carried the farthest—and not without some glancing around, like they were still worried about eavesdropping, but speaking all the same. It's the quiet murmur of a village of life.

"That's one thing that never changes around here," a deep and familiar voice behind me says. "The party."

I chuckle. "Tempest, I wouldn't exactly call this a party. And things have changed. Thanks to you."

Tempest settles beside me. "Maybe it's the music, then."

I sneak a glance at Fire Song again, still singing. Her eyes are still closed, and she's singing as beautifully as she ever played her lute, her delicate, reedy soprano floating over the village like a feather riding the wind. Maybe it's because the lullaby is a pleasant tune, or maybe it's because Fire Song is making music differently, but it almost seems like she's happier too.

"Tempest?" I start. She flicks an ear in response. As ever, whatever vulnerability she once had is thoroughly locked away, leaving the hard, unflappable Tempest as she's always been.

"I just wanted to tell you that . . ." I struggle to find a word Tempest wouldn't find patronizing or uncomfortable. As a pony, she never solicits nor expects praise. Not finding one, I surge ahead with the only word that fits. "I'm really, really proud of you. And for somepony who still didn't really know what friendship was even a few short moons ago, you've come a long way." I give her a smile.

True to form, Tempest barely reacts. She only responds back, "I was only thinking about what you would have wanted done and how to carry those orders out."

"Tempest, I'm sure you know by now that I didn't order you to do anything. Don't sell yourself short! You identified a friendship problem that meant a lot to you personally, and you used your experience to fix it. You're just as accomplished as any of the rest of my best friends."

"You would have done the same."

I shake my head. "No, I wouldn't have. And that's part of why I'm so happy for you. You heard what I said back then, that you have strengths that I don't. You can be as humble as you want, but don't forget that what you did today was something I just couldn't."

I sigh, thinking back to the argument. The argument I very nearly didn't want to participate in. "I don't have your experience in war. I don't have your perspective on conflict. I don't have nearly your personal philosophy with what makes a good and bad leader. And I don't have the initiative that you do. That courage to just . . . jump right into a new problem, neck deep, and learn to swim. I need to study things first."

I shake my head again. That sort of courage is something I'd normally call "foolhardy," but it seems to work for some ponies. "So . . . you did well, Tempest. What you did today just confirms to me that I was right in believing in you and giving you a second chance. Once upon a time, you were hated and misunderstood. And now look: you've really had an impact on the kirin. It'll be easier for them to make friends with each other, and others besides, like ponies and zebras and who knows who else. And we'll all be stronger for it. You've changed the world."

Of all the things I said, it's only the last sentence that draws a reaction out of Tempest. She sighs, not in disappointment but relief. "Good," she says. But there's clearly more to it than that.

She glances around in a familiar gesture. Here isn't nearly as private as where we normally talk, but Tempest also seems less bothered by it today. We are far enough away from the rest of the village so they shouldn't overhear, and getting up to find a room in the palace brings the curious issue that with Rain Shine missing and on the heels of a rather fiery quarrel, I don't know whether we're still welcome to her hospitality.

Tempest apparently comes to a similar conclusion because she asks no further questions and starts speaking again, more quietly. "Sometimes, I do miss the war. Not the killing or politics or questionably sane superior, but . . . everything I did mattered. Had an impact. There's very little of that to find when you're playing bureaucracy hoofball with the guard."

I don't miss the jab directed at me. Okay, I have to concede that I tried to keep Tempest in Canterlot for partially selfish reasons. She wanted to leave Equestria, but that would mean I'd scarcely be able to see her, if at all. And I did feel like that was a lot of work here that would appeal to her strengths. It's evident now that she's not content with just "finding work" and being another citizen. She wants to run at the forefront of history.

"Me among the mighty?" I murmur, quoting her.

"Something like that. Fame or infamy: either is better than being forgotten. After fate tried to erase her, Tempest Shadow will have a legacy." She stares off into the distance, a hungry look in her eyes.

It's also evident how dangerous that makes her even now, after her reformation. You can't truly understand a pony without knowing what motivates them. For the longest time, it was her horn. After the war, I don't think either of us knew what it was, and I was trying to help her discover it. Now, if it really is just "having a legacy," then nothing she's ever been motivated by is technically morally bound. It does confirm she was never truly a villain, but, as she conceded herself, she has a malleable moral compass. Now I know why. She's learned enough about friendship now that it'll always be a part of her, but she still has to be somewhere she can fulfill her purpose. If she can't find that purpose on this side of harmony, given enough time, she might not stay on it.¹

It also worries me how focused she seems on the "legacy" part of it all. It's like she's more concerned about how she'll be perceived after her death than what she does in life. It's that worry that prompts me to ask another question of her. "Did you plan for Rain Shine to try and kill you? Or did you trust her so much that she wouldn't?"

She glances at me. "Not so much. But I was calling her bluff. Angering someone during a battle causes them to do things they normally wouldn't. A good strategy to try should you ever find yourself in a bad situation, Princess." Her mouth twitches. "I wanted to see where her limits were. If she didn't kill, I'd know she couldn't threaten me, and I could push her wherever I wanted. And then, maybe I could win that argument. But if she did . . ." She shrugs. "My life was always one that would end in fire, not at a desk or helpless on a hospital bed."

I look at her incredulously. Does she really have that little concern for her self-preservation? Yes, I know when it comes to negotiations, you need to concede something of yourself, but never does that mean you should concede your life! If this were the first time she made this sort of comment, I'd brush it off, but no, I feel like it's been like this ever since we arrived here. And now she's treating her life like a bargaining chip, a disposable resource, seemingly not aware or not caring you can only dispose of it once. I can't think of any diplomatic response to that.

Then buck diplomacy. If Tempest is so familiar with saying things as they are, maybe I should try it too.

"Tempest, forgive me for saying this, but that's stupid! I'd rather you back off so you could try again later. Maybe with a less risky tactic? There are plenty we could have tried instead of . . . whatever that was. Do you not care about yourself at all? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Of course not," she says, though the answer gives me little reassurance.

"Then what are you doing? Why do you treat yourself like you don't care whether you live or die?"

"You ask that like it's a question." She turns to face me fully, once again fixing me with her intimidating gaze. "I'm going to die, Princess."

"Don't say that!"

"And why shouldn't I?" she challenges. "You know it's true."

"B-because you're being flippant about it! I'm talking about right now!" I cry, flaring my wings. "You deserve to live!" I huff and suppress the need to pace. Then I think about what brought us here, and I gasp. "Is this what your . . . condition is turning you into? You don't want to die slowly, so you'll die fast instead? I-I'll find a cure, Tempest, I will! If not here, then somewhere!"

"Princess," she says almost in a sigh, "you misunderstand. Sit down."

I blink and realize that I'm reared up, wings extended again, even as Tempest remains sitting, not even raising her voice to me. I fall back on all fours, chastised. This is personal to Tempest, and I ought not to be raising my voice to her, especially out in public. And I definitely shouldn't need Tempest to remind me of that. I'm supposed to be the calm and centered one—it's expected of me. I take a couple deep breaths to calm myself, then sit down, curling my tail about myself neatly.

Tempest continues. "It has always been like this, Princess, long before any of this happened. I sacrificed myself once for you already, at the end of the war. You recall?" I nod numbly, reliving the scene when Tempest jumped in front of us to intercept that orb of black magic. "I wasn't gambling that you'd find a way to bring me back to life. I decided at that moment I would give my life to save yours."

"Th-thank you?"

Tempest narrows her eyes, unimpressed. "Everyone's life in the military, even a officer's, is disposable. Your life does not belong to you—it belongs to those who command you and want something done, however it happens. You are always working to achieve something greater than yourself, even if that thing is something you do not and will never understand. I'm sure even your brother knows that. I sacrificed myself that day because, provided you came to no harm, you could do more good for the world that I ever could—and I did what I thought would give you the best chance to let that happen.

"Same concept today. I had a mission to save the kirin from a corrupt leader. And I did what I believed needed to be done to make that happen. The cause comes before the individual."

You didn't have to carry out the mission, though, I want to say. I don't say it because I know what Tempest would answer with. And I can't ask her not to do: she's made that very clear many times.

In the end, this feels like an argument we've had once before. Some lessons need teaching twice, as it were. She won't stop taking bone-headed risks in pursuit of what she believes is right—it's part of who she is. And I won't stop being concerned for my friends and protecting them, even from themselves—it's part of who I am.

Tempest must realize this too because she relaxes a bit and says quietly, "If you don't like it, give me an order."

Your life does not belong to you—it belongs to those who command you. What she just said echoes in my mind for the responsibility it entails. For however much it's true—Tempest is far from the only pony who'd give her life if I ordered it so—I still don't like it. I don't want this responsibility, to own a pony's life and be able to command them to their life or death. But then, I also do: if I didn't, what would she become? A pony without guidance who wants to leave a legacy, whether for good or ill. She'll find a way; she always does.

Power unshackled and with nothing to lose: the most dangerous force in the world.

Whatever the case, Tempest is offering herself at my heel, as her leader. An offer that only stands for as long as she gives me the privilege. I sigh. "I order you to . . . be careful. Don't wager your life for anything again, okay? At least not without talking to me. It's not worth it."

Tempest stares at me a moment longer, then slowly raises a hoof in salute.

I sigh again. "I'm sorry for arguing."

Tempest scoffs in amusement and smiles just a bit, an exceptionally rare sight on Tempest. She looks back out on the kirin village. "Don't be. It's how we learn."

To that, I smile too and shuffle a little closer to her. One way or another, she's still my friend.

The village has quieted. Fire Song has returned to playing an unnamed musical line on her lute, and most other kirin, save Autumn Blaze, of course, have returned to their homes. She's still prancing around, approaching the kirin or even the animals she finds and engaging them in conversation, for however much they want to talk. She finds one such animal, a parrot in a tree overlooking the village fountain, nibbling on safflower seeds. Autumn appears to chastise the bird like a mother would, and lights her horn to lift the seed shells from the water and deposit them outside of the village.

Dry leaves crunch behind us.

We turn around. There's Rain Shine, regal and beautiful as ever. She looks very much like she did when we first met her—dignified, serious, and unreadable. There's only one difference—a deep-seated weariness in her eyes.

"Your Majesty?" Tempest says, resurfacing the style she first used with Rain Shine. Challenging her to be worthy of it. She doesn't respond.

"H-how are you feeling?" I ask, going for a more informal tact.

Other than a twitch of the ears, she doesn't respond to me either. She studies Tempest long and hard, just as she did when she first met us. Tempest matches her gaze effortlessly.

Now that Rain Shine has had some time to gather herself, now that she's back to being the leader of the kirin village, I don't know how much of what happened yesterday will stick. Certainly, this is the same kirin who could have killed Tempest and threatened to do so a few times. It's also the one who finally found some much-needed emotional release thanks to her.

Rain Shine makes no motion to strike or hug Tempest. They continue to stare at each other. Two unbreakable souls who will never admit defeat to each other.

Finally, she speaks. "I do believe we will never be friends, Tempest Shadow."

Before I have a chance to protest, Tempest responds, "Likewise."

No one blinks.

"Violence is not appreciated here. It will never be appreciated in my village. A being of war will find it difficult to reconcile themselves in such a place."

"But conflict? Will you tolerate conflict?"²

Once again, Rain Shine doesn't respond. Instead, she produces three things. One, the encyclopedia volume I first asked her to translate. Two, a small hoof-written item that reads History and Magic of the Stream of Silence in Ponish on the front. Three, a stoppered wooden decanter. She offers them all to me but keeps her eyes on Tempest, and I take them in my magic. Carefully, I remove the cork from the decanter: the sudden feeling of pressure against my ears is all I need to know what's in it.

Before I have the chance to say anything or even thank her for her gifts, she turns and walks away.

"W-wait!" I call after her. Rain Shine does not turn around, but she does stop.

"Overcast Light's funeral will be the evening of the next new moon. Under the ginkgo."

She keeps walking.

---

1. A pony's purpose is represented by their cutie mark, right? So what's Tempest's? The movie, the show, the figurines, the mobile game, the comics, and even the card game (yes, that exists) are all frustratingly determined to keep that particular detail unknown. So screw it; this story is also going to conveniently not give an answer.
2. Tempest, as ever, has been rather culturally insensitive in this story. Most East Asian cultures do not ascribe nearly as much value to confrontation as Western culture, and I make no judgments as to which approach is "right." Being unable to confront is a different matter.