Princess and Pariah

by Taialin

Dissonance

Glass shatters.

I squeal and flail, kicking off the covers. My eyes are barely open when I reflexively cast a shield spell around me to defend myself against whatever.

"What in the—"

My thought is interrupted as I'm blinded by light and a thunderclap shakes the walls. I shut my eyes and shrink back at the noise instinctually. When I open my eyes again, shocked awake, I finally have a moment to get my bearings.

The sole window in my room has been smashed to bits, and a massive storm rages outside. Incredible wind batters at the mountainside, and another bolt of lightning arcs across the sky, briefly offering me a glimpse through the impregnable dark into the chaos. Trees are leaning with the wind, and some are only just managing to stay rooted to the ground. Branches, rocks and airborne items are silhouetted against the sky, frozen in time by the flash of light as the wind carries them away.

Laying against the opposite wall of my room is one such item, a young uprooted sapling, just small enough to crash through the window. I can make out its path from the window to the wall, and the line it traces is mere hooves away from my bed.

I gulp. The tree is dusted with dirt, and so are the curtains surrounding my bed.

I let out a breath and take two more, deep and calming. Don't panic. Don't panic. Bad decisions are made under duress. Then I light my horn and call for magic as calmly as I can, detaching my bed curtains and fixing them against the window (what's left of it) to stop anything else from coming in. The wind dies down and the sound of the storms diminishes just a bit. I let out one more breath and dismiss my shield spell.

Thank goodness I was on the bed and not taking a late night to study—that tree could have gone right through me. Sure, alicorns are pretty sturdy, but we're not impregnable, either. And if it was any other room and anyone else—

"Tempest!" I cry aloud, ashamed I had forgotten her for even this long.

I don't have a moment to breathe as I dash out of my room, through a series of hallways, and through the courtyard. While protected from the brunt of the wind, the walkways are still littered with the dust and debris the storm dropped inside. I make it to Tempest's room, push open her door, and peek inside.

Tempest is still sleeping, oblivious to the storm. Safe. She's on the opposite side of the palace and thankfully, downwind from the wind's unwilling passengers and the carnage that they bring. It's remarkable how much less chaotic the storm seems over here. You'd only know how bad it is by looking out the window.

Phew. My breathing slowly returns to normal. I turn, wondering who else or what else I should be checking on. And I jump a little as Rain Shine appears in the hall. I'm too startled to offer a bow.

She appears as imposing as ever, but the words she says aren't nearly so. "Are you safe?"

"A-ah . . ." I'm momentarily taken aback, the words and her voice in Celestia's image. "I'm-I'm fine, thanks. Something came through the window, but I'm alright."

Rain Shine frowns. "There was a west wind yesterday and clouds in the distance; I should have foreseen an incoming storm." She points to a room adjoining Tempest's. "I would ask you to stay here. Until I can repair the west wing." Then she turns to walk away.

"Wait! Where are you going?" I ask.

"To ensure the village is safe." She keeps walking, and before I can interrupt her again, she turns her head and favors me with one eye. It's so focused and severe that I can't help but look and listen. "Stay here," she declares again.

I look at her askance. It is a noble and selfless aim to put yourself at risk for those you lead, and I'm impressed Rain Shine would take this step. But there's a line where "selfless" becomes "irresponsible," and this storm feels very clearly on the wrong side.

I move to call after her, to protest, but words echo in my mind, and they stop me as surely as if Celestia were lecturing me with them at that very moment. Rain Shine can keep herself safe. You may get hurt if you leave. Stay inside. The stone of the palace will stay the storm.

I find myself reaching out my hoof to nothing; Rain Shine is already out of sight. I couldn't protest if I wanted to. I debate running after her, wherever she went, but again, stay here. I might get hurt if I leave. And . . . I suppose it's all too easy to jump in the lake to save a drowning pony without thinking whether you're capable of rescuing even yourself. I sigh and drop my hoof.

With nothing else to do, I go into the room Rain Shine pointed out and stare out the window at the driving wind and dazzling lightning. Somewhere out there is a village of kirin sheltering in trees held to the ground only by the strength of their roots. And somewhere out there is a kirin leader devoid of any protection, keeping herself safe by only the magic in her horn and the strength in her limbs.

Something tells me I won't be getting much sleep tonight.

---

In the morning, the storm is gone like it was never here.

Well, no, that's not true. It was very clearly here—the ground is dusted with evidence. Branches and rocks are strewn everywhere, and there are more than a few trees lying on their side. Luckily, all of them seem either very young or very old, neither of which any kirin would choose for their home. At least, that's what I can see from the window.

The sky itself, too, is blue and marked with innocent white clouds. Even the eastern horizon shows nothing. The storm, for as swiftly and violently as it arrived, also made a swift exit.

These sorts of catastrophic flash storms are ones I've never seen in Ponyville or Canterlot. That's what pegasi and the weather teams are for—they manage the weather and let loose occasional precipitation so the sky can drop some of its stored moisture and "blow off steam," so to speak. That way, the sky never feels the need to grow angry and do something as dangerous as this. When unmanaged, this is what weather becomes. The fact that the kirin's homeland is at such a high elevation and the surrounding plains do nothing to temper the wind only exacerbates the issue.

"Good morning, Princess."

"Good morning, Tempest," I say, making out her mulberry form in the corner of my eyes.

She comes to my side and looks out the window. "A storm came through last night?" she observes.

I can't help but chuckle. "You don't know what you missed."

"Are you well?"

"Well enough," I answer. Rain Shine, though . . .

That's when I hear . . . sound. It's unlike any of the sounds I'm used to waking up to. It's not the bustling of castle staff. It's not the bugle of a guard trying to wake me for an early morning event. And it's not the breaking of a window as Rainbow Dash comes barrelling into my bedroom for the umpteenth time.

It's . . . pretty.

We look at each other, my expression curious, hers familiarly unreadable. In silent agreement, I walk out of my room and make my way to the courtyard, Tempest following close behind. As we walk, the sound develops. I first notice the high piercing melody of what sounds like a flute. It sings through the air like birdsong but doesn't come off as shrill. Then comes the sound of strings, but not bowed or plucked. It's not a sound I've ever heard coming from a pony instrument.

We make it out of the front door of the palace, and what we find is incredible.

It seems like every kirin in the village is outside their home, carrying various instruments and playing them to the same song. They're all seemingly oblivious to the mess of storm shrapnel around them. Some are instruments I recognize, but many more are foreign to me, bearing some resemblance to pony instruments but making very different sounds. No one is conducting them, yet they all know just what to play, coordinating with each other like a well-rehearsed orchestra. Some are playing the same line as the flute, but others are playing harmony or counter-melody lines.

Then, the voices join.

For a formerly silent species, the voices they have are stunning. Lilting but confident, and in perfect harmony. It's a haunting, beautiful melody they sing, one that doesn't disappear behind the instruments or overwhelm them but rather weaves in and out of each one in a musical ballet. I can't put words to what they're singing because I can't understand them. It's almost certainly the kirin's native tongue. That doesn't make them any less beautiful.

Loudest and most recognizable among their number is Autumn Blaze. She's not playing any instruments, but she appears perfectly happy singing to the music her fellow kirin are making. She's spinning and dancing just as she was trying to do at Rain Shine's home yesterday. This time, though, the kirin she bumps into don't chastise her or ask her to stop—if anything, they play and sing with ever greater enthusiasm.

"And I thought ponies were the only ones who spontaneously broke into song," Tempest remarks dryly. Her tone is unimpressed, but I can tell from the rare sparkle in her eyes that she's interested in the spectacle unfolding before us.

"I guess not!" I say, lifting my voice above the symphony.

This is so much more what I was expecting upon entering the kirin village—a community that expresses their feelings to one another and sees those expressions reciprocated. A community in harmony. The music in the air casts a spell, and it tempts me to join in the singing like any other song I've shared with my friends. It's almost like I know the words.

Another voice nearby does join in, but it's not mine nor Tempest's. I turn to see Rain Shine, not a hair out of place, seemingly no worse for wear for venturing out into the storm last night. She's standing tall, eyes closed, muzzle aimed towards the sky, with the most beautiful, resonant voice coming from it. She's not singing the same notes as Autumn Blaze and her entourage—she's complementing them with a dovetailing harmony. Even though she's the only one singing it, her voice carries through the whole village. It doesn't command attention or subservience by its presence; rather, it supports the rest of the village from below, a foundation essential for their fullness and letting them shine even brighter.

At that moment, a huge smile breaks across Autumn Blaze's face, and she takes, with increasing vigor, to singing a colorful descant that floats over top the symphony of sound dancing underneath it. Despite the enthusiasm and speed in her dancing, her voice doesn't waver from carrying its sound over the hills.

The music is infectious. I sneak a glance to my side: Tempest still appears unimpressed, but, perhaps unconsciously, she's swaying to the music. Music transcends cultural lines, and it has the power to bring even the hardest of us closer to one another. I close my eyes and lean against Tempest. She doesn't seem to mind.

Soon, all too soon, the number ends on a long sustained tone. Once the last note of the last instrument gives way to silence, I stomp my hooves on the ground and cheer. It's a beautiful performance worthy of laud . . . even if I'm the only one applauding.

As soon as the music ends, it feels like a pallor of sobriety reasserts itself on the village. Most of the kirin silently return their instruments to their home, pretending they didn't just spontaneously participate in a fantastic performance. Even Rain Shine, as soon as she opens her eyes at the conclusion of the song, returns to her serious, studious demeanor, and walks slowly back to her palace. Only Autumn Blaze and a few of the kirin singing with her retain their enthusiasm, chatting about the music they just made.

I move to stop Rain Shine before she returns inside. "Wait! What was that? That was beautiful! I've never heard anything like it!"

"It is our morning song," Rain Shine responds with her usual staidness but also some small amount of pride underneath. "Every morning, we thank our ancestors for the life we have now and the opportunities we stand to see this day. Music transcends our world to bring positive energy to those no longer with us, so we are sure to offer our ancestors a song every day, just as our ancestors did with theirs.

"Different songs exist to celebrate the different blessings we receive. Today, we thank them for the good fortune they bestow upon us. Not one kirin was harmed in last night's storm." She pauses. "For the kirin of my village, their coming of age occurs when they learn to contribute to the morning song. Music brings harmony and peace, so everyone must learn how to make it."

"That's amazing!" I say. "And thank goodness everyone is okay. And that you are, too!" This performance is the kind of thing ponies would go leagues to see. If the kirin were interested in opening up their community to tourism, this is definitely something that would draw crowds. And for something that the kirin were doing every day anyways!

Except, just as the fever of music passes . . . I can't shake that feeling of unease.

What were they doing under the Vow of Silence? For however long the Vow ruled over the village—and it was a long time—this sounds to me like a tradition that goes back far longer, generations at least. If they were performing their morning song for generations and then forced into their Vow, what was happening during it?

I see two possibilities; both seem unpalatable for different reasons. If they did stop the morning song entirely, that suggests Rain Shine terminated a generations-old tradition, almost certainly older than herself, just to enforce her own personal edict of silence. That's putting your own desires over that of your community, and, from what it sounds like, your ancestors too. I can't imagine anyone would be happy with that—not that anyone would be in a position to complain about it.

And if they did continue the morning song without voices, then how was Rain Shine contributing to it? She sang beautifully today, but I didn't notice any instruments in her home she could have used instead. It seems massively hypocritical to require all kirin to contribute to an ancient tradition just for the leader to recuse herself because of an order she herself made. Not to mention the many other kirin today who only had their voices to contribute; what would they be doing?

It's like that old riddle: what's so fragile that it's broken when you speak its name? Silence and music just don't coexist easily, no matter how you accommodate them.

Tempest must have noticed my fading enthusiasm because she's looking at me suspiciously, eyes narrowed just slightly. She can tell I'm thinking about something, and I bet she probably guessed what it is. I'm also guessing she has at least a few sharp words or insults on her tongue, but she's deferring to me about what to say.

Do I say anything? Do I ask the obvious question? Do I probe Rain Shine's other decisions?

The sensible thing to do is remain quiet. After all, all I wanted to do in coming to the kirin village was get some help researching the Stream of Silence. Anything I say or do about this jeopardizes that.

At the same time, if Tempest were choosing, she probably wouldn't take the "sensible" option. For that matter, I don't know if I would, either.

I didn't become Princess to defend Equestria against a hostile world—I became Princess to bring the world together in harmony under the auspices and virtues of friendship. This includes Equestria, the kirin, and everyone who draws strength from these bonds. Might fades and becomes obsolete with time—history has proven that time and time again—but friendship is forever.

The kirin must have existed long enough for ponies to create legends about them. Certainly long enough to create relics like the shield I have. For as long as the kirin lived under the Vow of Silence, when considered on the time scale of civilization and culture, it's actually not that long. This tradition is certainly older than that, and it's proven it's capable of bringing harmony to all kirin, sound or no sound.

The more I think about it, the more I'm suspicious that this whole "nirik cause widespread destruction and must be suppressed at all costs" thing is a Rain Shine problem, not a kirin problem.

I wish I could ask Celestia for help. I've tried once or twice: she always sends back my queries unanswered, save for some general advice. I understand why—she warned me that she wouldn't offer me further guidance when I took over as sole Princess of Equestria because I needed to find my own path in leadership. She refused to use me as a figurehead for her own continued governance. It's a noble philosophy and very Celestia. But when I'm dealing with others, everypony is expecting me to have the same level of easy expertise and boundless wisdom as she did. I'm constantly being tested on subjects I've never studied for but for which others depend on me knowing the answer. When that happens, all I can do is guess.

And right now, I know I guessed wrong. I've spent too long thinking—Rain Shine has already left and the rest of the kirin are busy tidying up the damage from the storm. Only Tempest is left beside me, looking unreadable as she always does. Even so, I can feel the disappointment radiating from her. Tempest doesn't wait for things to happen—she's a mare of action. And I, with a problem Tempest is clearly passionate about, did exactly the wrong thing. I made a choice; I chose not to act.

Tempest acts; she snorts and walks into the village. I follow half-heartedly behind her, not having the heart to stop her even if I wanted to. It's only when we stop that I realize where she wanted to go and why she went here.

There's one kirin who didn't put their instrument away, the same one we saw playing when we first entered the village. Dusty gray with a shocking red mane the color of cranberries, striped through with pink strands. They're still playing their lute, a delicate sound coming from it that doesn't disturb the birds in the trees above. Their eyes are closed, but the flicking of their ears tells me they're aware that we're approaching. Tempest stops a respectable distance away.

"Hello."

She was never particularly good at small talk. Like before, the kirin doesn't respond to the greeting. They do open one piercing green eye to study us, though, so at least they're engaged.

"Can you speak?"

The question is so frank I'm not sure I would have answered it. And having two strange creatures you've never seen before ask invasive questions is not the best way to get someone to open up. Exuberance the level of Autumn Blaze seems very much the exception compared to most kirin. But they do eventually answer with a careful nod.

Could have fooled me-it's pretty clear they'd prefer not to speak. But whatever Tempest is planning, it clearly doesn't involve interpreting Angel-speak. For that matter, maybe that's why the Map sent Fluttershy here in the first place.

"What is your name?"

Once again, they take a lot of time before responding, but to their credit, they do. "Huo Yinyue. For you, Fire Song," she says in a tiny whisper of heavily accented Ponish that would probably make even Fluttershy strain her ears.

"Fizzlepop Berrytwist. Charmed."

I look at Tempest. I've scarcely heard her ever introduce herself by that name—I know she prefers Tempest. Maybe she's trying not to intimidate the kirin?

"What do you think of your leader?"

To this, Fire Song doesn't respond. She closes her eye again, glisses across the strings of her lute, and keeps playing. This question, it seems, she won't answer.

"How has she been treating you and your neighbors?" Tempest presses.

Still nothing. Fire Song doesn't respond and plays on.

Is she just . . . ignoring us now? I guess we'd deserve that, seeing as we're foreigners who never really tried to get to know them. The fact she's engaged us this far and hasn't visibly taken offense is miraculous. Of course, Tempest is asking difficult questions, too. It's hard to tell whether she won't answer these questions specifically or if she just wants nothing to do with us. I wouldn't blame her for either.

Tempest shifts her weight, clearly losing patience.

I finally find my voice and try a different tactic. "I hope you weathered the storm alright. It was pretty crazy last night. Were you hurt at all?" I ask gently.

She shakes her head ever so slowly but doesn't open her eyes or stop playing.

So we can communicate, kind of.

"That's good to hear. We're sorry for interrupting your beautiful music," I say, though considering she never stopped, it's not much of an interruption. I lower my voice to match Fire Song's delicate playing. "It really is nothing like we've ever heard, and we're very impressed with you and the rest of your beautiful village." It's not exactly what Tempest—or I—wanted to talk about, but we do need to get a hoof in the door first. "Could we ask you a few questions?"

It's a little late to ask now, considering we've already asked her five—six, including this one. But it's not kind or courteous to ask questions and demand responses when she clearly wasn't expecting a conversation or interrogation. Neither is prior conversation permission to continue. Tempest probably wouldn't have asked this; she isn't used to asking for permission. Military commands to subordinates are not words to a peer, though, and I give her a little shove with my rump as a reminder.

Fire Song opens an eye but doesn't respond. I wait patiently while urging Tempest to do the same. She's not studying me like Rain Shine was—she is looking at us, but past and around us, too, like a chipmunk surveilling for predators. It's several minutes of uncomfortable silence before she finally offers a slow nod, complementing her motion with a quick run across the strings of their lute.

"Thank you!" I say, and I give Tempest a gentler nudge.

She clears her throat. "Were you allowed to continue playing under the Vow?"

Another nod.

"How do you feel now that you're free to speak and feel freely?"

Right back to the difficult questions. She stops playing for a moment, then resumes, but the song is different. Not by much, but the pulse between notes becomes muddled and inconsistent.

So . . . she doesn't want to answer this question either? Granted, it's not a yes-or-no question, so maybe she can't answer it. But no, her eye is still open, and she's not ignoring us. She did respond . . . she just didn't speak.

Tempest tenses up again, and I can feel her getting impatient.

I listen to Fire Song's music again. It's . . . honestly not easy to listen to. The melody itself is there and beautiful as ever, but it's hiding behind a terribly affected rhythm, if you could call it that. It's not a drunken rhythm—that's still a rhythm, albeit one more like the rocking of a ship. Here, there's no discernible pattern at all. I can't anticipate when the next note is coming. It makes me feel . . .

"Unsettled?"

Fire Song blinks, once.

I'm honestly impressed. Talking with Angel is impossible; I have no idea what he's saying. And while I can't necessarily say I'm "talking" with Fire Song, she's very good at evoking emotions with her music, and those emotions "talk" for her. It works. Considering the few words exchanged in the kirin village even now, "it works" is more than I was expecting.

"Could I ask why?"

Immediately, Fire Song closes her eye, adjusts her lute, and starts playing her previous melody, looking exactly like she did when we first entered the village. Before I have a chance to interpret what that means, Rain Shine walks by, heading towards a rope bridge hanging by only one end. She nods at a kirin standing in the nearest tree, and they bow. Rain Shine lights her horn and lifts the bridge, reattaching the loose end to another treetop. The kirin remains bowing even as Rain Shine walks off to clean up some other storm debris.

Only then does Fire Song open one eye again, just a sliver.

Is that . . is that really the case? Just as I try to confirm my suspicion, Fire Song opens her mouth and clamps it shut quickly.

That much I can understand, and I acquiesce to her unasked request. I point my muzzle in the direction of Rain Shine.

She blinks again. Her eye, I notice, is following her, not me.

I frown. Talking with kirin—most kirin, at least—still requires a great deal of interpretation and filling-in-the-blanks. If only she could speak and say exactly what's on her mind—which she absolutely can!

But won't. Because of Rain Shine?

I think back. Autumn Blaze, for as talkative as she was, was also cowed and silenced quickly by Rain Shine's mere presence. And what she said about it was that it—sound—was a sensitive subject. Autumn Blaze curbed her tongue because Rain Shine was sensitive to displays of emotion. It seems to me that everyone in the village is aware of this proclivity, and they're also holding their tongues because of it.

I wait until Rain Shine is out of sight—if not for my sake, then Fire Song's. When she's gone, I start whispering. "We ponies have a . . . different philosophy. Speaking is important to us! It lets you tell others not just when you're happy, but sad or disappointed or angry. And then others can help you feel better! Being unable to speak—being unable to feel—how do you make friends that way?"

Fire Song changes her music again, but this time while I'm speaking. Just as I finish, she hiccups—her music stops entirely for a moment.

One more puzzle to solve. What does this mean? It's harder to listen to someone while I'm speaking—Pinkie Pie does that all the time, and I definitely can't understand her when she does. If she's interrupting now, why? I'd never describe Fire Song as rude, but if they're now doing the marginally rude thing of "speaking" over me, it has to be for a reason.

While I'm still pondering, Tempest steps in. "How do you make friends?" she asks, not bothering to whisper.

And once again, her music hiccups just as Tempest finishes her sentence. Just as she says the word "friend."

"Do . . . do you know what the word 'friend' means?" I ask, afraid of what I might get in return.

Fire Song shakes her head.

Someone . . . someone doesn't know what a friend is. The kirin don't know what friends are. I start breathing faster.

Now I understand. Now I understand what the "peace" was that Rain Shine was spreading across her village. Fear. Rain Shine was so afraid of the conflict that came with anger, no matter how it arose, that she was willing to suppress it, and every other emotion that could lead to it, and replace it with "peace." She would erase the concepts of debate, discussion, relationships, friendship from the kirin lexicon. All so anger and niriks would also be precluded from their being.

True emotional relationships with others are what friendships are built on. No emotions, no words, means no friendship.¹ Friendship is the bond that networks the world, that keeps someone around long after they're gone. They're the engines that create society and culture. What kind of society can the kirin have without it? How long can their culture last before it's lost to silence too?

Courtesy and non-confrontation and peace make the kirin appear friendly, but it's only a facade placed in front of the real feelings that always are kept in a cage. That's why Rain Shine would still work with us and Fire Song would answer all our questions. Not because they're happy to. They just won't get angry. They don't want us to get angry.

But then, how many times have I gotten angry at my friends? More times than I can count. It's not always in good faith that I do, but I remember those times just as much as the happy ones. More. I couldn't imagine being friends with anyone if I didn't—couldn't—have those memories. Massaging the ups and downs of any healthy relationship and flattening it to nothing but a plane of unremarkable "peace."

"Princess. Breathe."

Tempest is in front of me, holding my shoulders, fixing me with an intense stare. It's only now that I notice her.

I try to get my breathing under control. Deep breaths in and out. Just like Cadance taught me. I'm a Princess. Be centered. Be regal. Be at . . .

Peace?

"Let me handle this," she says.

It's all I can do to sit down and try to find myself again. The Princess of Friendship. That's where my center is, not peace. Not peace. Numbly, I nod.

---

1. I am well aware that mute persons can have friends too. Bear in mind that Twilight is . . . not entirely in her right mind at this moment.

Comments

[Draco Dei]

When the tree missed her by so little I though to myself what if Rain Shine is keeping secret the fact that HER destruction is both more powerful, takes a different form (or can take many forms, AND can be triggered by even the slightest ripple in her serenity. Being challenged could have had a delayed effect as it percolated in her subconscious. Like Realty Check's* theory in "The Great Alicorn Hunt" about Twilight's misfortunes in "Feeling Pinkie Keen", she could have been aiming her powers with subconscious frustration/fear, regardless of what her conscious mind would wish.
*In case anyone cares: Reality Check now keeps his stories out on Archive Of Our Own rather than here.

I move to call after her, to protest, but words echo in my mind, and they stop me as surely as if Celestia were lecturing me with them at that very moment. Rain Shine can keep herself safe. You may get hurt if you leave. Stay inside. The stone of the palace will stay the storm.

Sounds like she needs to study her brother's shield spells a bit more... and maybe some "I am one with the wind and sky." lessons from Dash to know where gusts will happen or something?

She isn't JUST a ruler, she is also an archmage. Seems to me that neglecting one for the other may be an error. Sure, Celestia sat on her throne and deligated for the most part, but Chrysalis got LUCKY that Shining Armor's love was such an extreme power boost and even then Celestia recovered quickly.

It seems like every kirin in the village is outside their home, carrying various instruments and playing them to the same song. They're all seemingly oblivious to the mess of storm shrapnel around them. Some are instruments I recognize, but many more are foreign to me, bearing some resemblance to pony instruments but making very different sounds. No one is conducting them, yet they all know just what to play, coordinating with each other like a well-rehearsed orchestra. Some are playing the same line as the flute, but others are playing harmony or counter-melody lines.

So an instrumental heart-song. Obvious in retrospect I should think?

As for the ending, I am reminded of Sugar Belle in her first appearance asking the Mane Six if their friendship was ending when they had a bit of harsh words with each other.