> The Rose Way
>  by Carapace
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 01. Blue-Winged Miracle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Panicked screams filled the air. A mother sobbing, crying out as fellow ponies held her lest she try jumping after the foal bobbing helplessly in the water.

All around him, Rosethorn Seed could hear ponies trying to call for pegasi, the Merrieguard, Rosewater. Anypony.

They wouldn’t get there in time. Raindrop Dancer didn’t have time to wait.

His horn lit. Tendrils of fuschia snaked toward the water again, reaching as far as he could stretch his magic to try and hook them under the colt’s hooves. Sweat beaded down his brow. Seed gritted his teeth, ignoring the strain on his horn, and tried to push farther. Just a little farther …

The tendrils fizzled and died, dissolving into a pitiful pink mist before they ever had a hope of reaching the colt.

“Damn it!” he gasped, desperate for breath. Seed set his hooves on the edge and tried to lean lower. If he could just get himself a little closer. He heard Petal call out, no doubt cautioning him before she gripped him for balance. If he could close the distance a little more …

Fizzle.

Failure.

Horror flooded his chest like the Merrie’s swell during rainy season. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a realization sparked.

I’m about to look into my friends’ son’s eyes as he sinks beneath the surface, a voice whispered in his ear, even as he watched Dancer fight to get his head above the waves. I’m about to watch a foal drown.

Where the rutting hell was the Merrieguard? Where the rutting hell was—

The shrieking of wind being rent asunder sent a lance of pain through his ears. Grimacing, Seed looked to the sky, praying to the stars that he might see a glimpse of red armor.

His prayers were answered. Not by Merrie.

But Damme.

A bolt of blue lightning descended from the heavens, gaining speed with each passing second as it shot toward the water. As it drew near, Seed watched, eyes wide and full of awe. Time seemed to slow. He could see.

He could see familiar blue wings folded to the pegasus’s side, hooves outstretched, reaching. And a blue muzzle speckled with stormy gray dapples.

Something snapped.

The wind tore the helm from the pegasus’s head to reveal a set of gray-blue eyes that froze Seed’s heart in place. A glimpse that lasted an eternity in only half a second before the Dammeguard passed him by like a shot.

The backdraft nearly ripped Seed straight off the bridge. As he managed to right himself, he felt a presence near his right shoulder, and leapt to the side. A dull ker-clunk sounded out over the bridge like thunder.

None turned.

None could breathe.

Seed thought he heard the pegasus cry out, just as he pulled up. Blue hooves skimmed the surface, Seed pinched the edge of the bridge in his hooves and gritted his teeth. “Please. Please, please, please, please, please—“

The pegasus ascended at a steep angle and rolled over as he rose over the bridge, and in his hooves—

“DANCER!”

Raindrop Dancer hung limply in his savior’s hooves. Seed felt his heart lodging in his throat, even as the Dammeguard pegasus arched his back and headed himself toward the beach.

On the Merrie side of the river.

All around him, the crowd whipped into a frenzy. The ponies surged toward the Merrie end, eager to rush forth and hurry to the foal’s aid. Across the way, Seed could see Merrieguard—finally—skidding to a halt and turning about face to follow the Dammeguard pegasus.

At this distance, Seed couldn’t tell who was at the forefront. It looked like Kiss. It might be Kiss.

If it wasn’t …

He turned and made to run. His shin struck something hard and heavy, and metal. Wincing, Seed glanced down and noticed the blue helm of the Dammeguard, its strap torn free of its fastenings, rolling lazily on its side.

Stars above.

“Seed!” Petal yelled in his ear. “We need to get down there! Dancer—“

Seed snapped out of his stupor. Even to himself, his voice sounded like it came from miles away, “Yes.” In a flash of fuschia, the bridge vanished. His hooves settled on the sandy shores of the Merrie River. A hundred lengths ahead, he could see the Dammeguard pegasus, hunched over Dancer’s huddled form.

He could see the pegasus leaning down, pressing a hoof into Dancer’s back in a rhythmic motion to coax forth any water from his lungs and get him breathing properly again. Staying with the little tyke until he was safe.

Dancer shivered and shuddered, coughing as he curled into a ball.

But he was alive.

Alive was all that mattered. Dancer was alive, and a Dammeguard had saved him. Thank the Mare and every star in the sky.

Now Seed just had to make sure the Merrieguard didn’t arrest him for crossing the river for a rescue. Gratification would come afterward.

It would come.

Seed bounded across the beach, his eyes flitting between the Dammeguard and the Merrieguard in their rosy red armor, trying to see who was at the front of the pack. Kiss. Please let it be you, Kiss. Don’t let it be one of Roseate’s.

His hooves thudded against the sand, every step an effort not to slip and lose his balance as he tried to outrun the others. Anything to make sure they knew what happened. Anything to get to that pegasus first.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Seed knew that pegasus.

He knew those wings. Somehow.

Barely fifty paces away, he managed to get a decent look at that messy gray mane, the dapples running down the back of his neck and disappearing beneath the high, collar of his blue armor.  The satchel slung over his shoulders harkening to deliveries not yet arrived to their destination. One of the riverside rapid couriers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed finally got a look at the stallion leading the Merrieguard charge—Rosewood Kiss, thank the stars.

But then Kiss had to open his mouth.

The burly earth pony took the steps down from the road to the beach in a leap, staggering a step under the weight of his armor. His eyes found the Dammeguard again, and he called out, “Dammeguard!”

The pegasus’s head snapped up. He turned and caught sight of Kiss and his patrol, then his ear flicked and swiveled toward Seed. His eyes followed.

Those stormy, gray-blue eyes bored into Seed’s own. Intense focus now smothered beneath a veneer of mounting horror.

Mighty blue wings unfurled with a snap of wind.

Damn! No, no, no! Seed picked up the pace. His lungs burning, exhausted from his efforts to reach for Dancer and teleport to full range took their toll. “Wait!” he gasped. “Wait!”

“Dammeguard! Stop! Stop!” A desperate edge had bled into Kiss’s tone. “Dammeguard, stop!”

Seed was but ten paces from the Dammeguard. All he had to do was make it. He reached out, and cried, “Don’t—“

The pegasus pumped his wings once, and shot into the air like a bolt from a crossbow. The wind whipped around them, throwing sand and shells into the air, into the eyes of Seed and the Merrieguard around them.

Seed skidded to a halt, eyes wide and hooves digging divots in the sand as he tried to avoid kneeing Dancer in the face. He glanced up after the pegasus, then down at Dancer, and back again. Cursing, he dropped and leaned in close, pressing his forehead against Dancer’s to listen for his breathing.

What he got was the frantic, blubbering cries of a colt. Scared to death, cold, and wet. But alive.

Thank the stars. Seed held Dancer close to his chest. He laid his chin atop the young colt’s mane and tried to whisper words of comfort in his ear. Still, the stallion stole a look upward and felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

That Dammeguard pegasus was already back across the river, and still going, bound for the heart of Damme.

As far away from Merrie as he could get.

His ears flicked to the sound of Kiss coming to a halt, followed shortly thereafter by his squad. Cursing, he grumbled, “Damn it, why the hell did he run?”

Seed fixed him with a look. “Probably because he noticed Merrieguard running at him and realized he was on the wrong side of the river, Kiss.”

The earth pony’s ears splayed. “Oh.” He shifted in place, his expression abashed. A few of his squad mates shifted to hide behind him. “Er. Oops?”

“You nonce.”

“Sorry.”

Sighing, Seed busied himself calming Dancer. He could already hear the thunder of hooves. The crowd racing across the shoreline to check on the poor foal. The stallion cast one final look across the river, right over the crest of Damme’s neat, orderly skyline.

No sign of Dancer’s rescuer showed again.

Sand skidded and slapped him across the face as Raindrop Flowers dove upon her baby boy and clutched him tight as though he might dissolve should she ever let go. Her lovers surrounded her mere seconds after she appeared, the colt’s father merely had to send a pleading glance at Seed that he could take his place.

His ears twitched to the sounds of choked crying and sniffling breath. Seed looked to his friends again, and winced. They were all so huddled together. So desperate to hold Dancer.

Hemmed in by a ring of Merriers, and some Dammers, too. All just here to make sure.

Each spectator to a miracle.

He stepped forward and raised his voice. “Everypony move back!” he shouted. “Give them space!”

The ponies nearest tried, but the rest of the crowd was still surging forward. Seed grimaced. They were too frazzled, too concerned for Dancer.

“Get back!” he barked again. “Give him some room, he’s breathing! Give him air”

Some of the frontrunners turned to take up his cry, telling those behind them to listen and stop moving forward. Slowly, the circle around them widened, granting the family a small measure of sanctity amid the chaos.

He turned again, and there was Rosewater. Auntie Rosewater, after six years apart from the Garden, was here, at the forefront like their mothers would’ve intended. The leaders of the village. And, with her, Dazzle.

The question in her eyes was as clear as day: Is Dancer safe?

Seed made to open to assure her the poor colt was well, but had to sidestep when he noticed another mare, a midwife from the village, bustling forth from the crowd. She barely spared either Rosethorn a glance before she hurried to the family’s side, a testament to her devotion to her charge.

“What happened?” Rosewater asked.

“He fell,” Seed answered simply, just as Petal came to stand by his side. He flicked a glance toward the bridge. “He was trying to race his boat better, I think. He wanted to win.” He closed his eyes, looking tired. “I tried to reach him from the bridge, but he was too far by the time I teleported and reoriented.”

“You did all you could. Do you know who it was that saved him?” Rosewater nodded her head to the helmet Petal still held. “That’s his?”

“It is,” Petal said, clutching it tighter with her spell, then relaxing. “Can you get a scent from it?”

She could, and so could Seed. He drew upon his gifts and let his markings glow faintly. Musty stallion scent, sweat, and a touch of fear. Mixed with it, he noticed, were a couple scents rather interesting for a Dammer to wear.

Inviting, almost teasing. Orange blossoms and rainwater, blending rather nicely with a pegasus’s naturally cirrus-tinged musk.

What an interesting stallion indeed, he mused. From the ring of the crowd, he noticed Roseheath, garbed in her event helper’s tabard and with her doctor’s bags at the ready. Her eyes were focused on Dancer alone, even as Rosewater and Seed offered their thanks.

The mark of a good doctor. Her patient’s health took precedent over niceties.

Roselyn came bounding up with the rest of Dancer’s family—his father, Fertile Soil, and his second parents, Silver Drop and Rumble Wagon.

Good. Stars, they needed to be here. Even if all they could do was stand by, faces ashen, and watch Roseheath gently coax poor Flowers to part with their son so she could check him.

Which left him with one thing to do in the interim.

Seed reached out with a tendril of magic so he might gently tug the helm free of Petal’s magic and into his own. He offered her a smile, then turned so he might brush a gentle shoulder against one of Dancer’s mothers. “Silver,” he murmured.

Icy blue eyes met his, full of tears. Some had already stained tracks down her beautiful muzzle.

He pressed the Dammeguard’s helm into her chest, and guided one of her hooves to cup it. “Hold onto that,” he instructed. “You, Rumble, Fertie, Raindops, Dancer. Hold onto that until we can find him and give it back, okay?”

Silver Drop tried to speak. Whatever words she’d chosen died in her throat, choked by emotion.

Her grip on the helm tightened, though. She managed a stiff nod, firm and resolute. Just like those who came of Canterlot’s working class before her.

The familiar rattle of Merrieguard armor drew his attention to Kiss again. Kiss spared him a nod before turning to Rosewater. “My lady Rosewater,” he said, casting a glance toward Rosewine Bridge, where several figures stood on the Damme side. “We received an official offer of aid from Damme if any is needed. Lord Collar and Cloudy Rosewing saw the entire event from their vantage.”

And she without any momentum. She must be beating herself up for not leaping first. “Everything appears to be handled, but I should go meet with him and explain that the situation is in control now.”

“I’ll go with you, auntie,” Seed said, his voice low. “I should thank him for his swift offer. And offer our thanks to Dancer’s savior.”

“Of course.” Rosewater nudged him lightly with her shoulder and glanced behind. “Petal, can you handle events here if anything happens?”

“I’ll stay to help, too,” Dazzle said, glancing at the bridge, then back to Petal. “I have some first aid training. It won’t do much good, but I can at least assist Roseheath.”





Rosewater didn’t argue against his presence.

Instead, she simply spared him a nod and the slightest of smiles. Together, just as they’d been growing up, they followed the Merrieguard back to Rosewine Bridge, where Prim Collar, Damme’s protector and aegis against each of the Rosethorns of Rose Palace awaited.

If Rosemary were here, there would be a complete set. If only.

Four Dammeguards stood alongside him. Surprisingly, Collar didn’t seem to be sporting any weapons. Then again, if gossip held true and he really had managed a stalemate with Rosewater, perhaps he didn’t find need to carry anything but his wit and nature as stoic as the bluffs of Rosewine Hill.

Of course, the fact that a truce was in play might also have something to do with it.

So here he stood, side by side with his aunt. Looking into the eyes of a stallion everypony in Merrie knew and feared and, privately, admired. It was little secret that Primline Collar had been the most eligible bachelor in either city, prior to that date with Cloudy Rosewing that raised such a delightful stir on both sides of the river. And with such a figure, such vigor in his step, fire in his eyes, and a jawline like it was cut from marble?

Unbidden, a memory floated to the forefront of Seed’s mind. He could feel the heat readying to rise in his cheeks, a rare show of fluster. Oh. Oh, stars, don’t let him remember that night. Please don’t let him remember me tripping over my own tongue while flirting.

Rosewater spoke first, as was her right as Collar’s counterpart. “My lord Primline Collar,” she greeted above the rush of the waters below. “We would have treaty peace to talk. I, and my cousin have thanks to give.”

Seed let the memory recede from the foreground and focused himself instead on keeping his expression, even while his eyes flitted between Collar and his Dammeguards. Behind them, he worked to suss out any sign of faltering or inability to meet his gaze.

“I saw the aftermath,” Collar replied, his voice smooth and soothing. “Please, tell me the foal is unharmed.”

“He is.” The slightest telling of relief showed in his posture. Rational, reasonable. “Thanks in large part to your courier’s efforts, though he did not stay around to let his family properly show their gratitude. I think he was scared off by the crowd.”

Here, Seed felt that heat rise and refuse to be quashed. He coughed and ducked his head, a sheepish grin playing upon his lips. “Rose Seed, my lord. I, er, apologize for my people’s enthusiasm. And my own. We’re a rather close-knit community and, well, when somepony does a great deed, they tend to think about little things like comfort last.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed caught one of the Dammeguard rolling his eyes. A pegasus of the Primfeather line, a branch member, by the lighter gray dapples gracing his snout. Several shades lighter than the pegasus who’d flown across the Merrie.

Dapples. Could it have been a Primfeather? Of all families for a rescuer to come from?

He almost missed Collar fixing him with a quizzical look. “Rose Seed,” he said, brows furrowing just slightly. He blinked.  “Last year’s Autumn Gala in Merrie. You showed me around some of the sweets and pastry vendors. And, as I recall… rather a goodly few vintners as well.”

Oh. Oh just rut me with a pole right now. Seed’s ears flattened to his mane. He coughed into his foreleg, ignoring the amused sidelong look he felt sent from Rosewater. “Ah, aheh, yes. I recall I got rather … sauced.”

“Mayhap, yes, but I had a good time all the same. It was a refreshing taste of something different.” Collar smiled, bowed his head, and turned his attention back to Rosewater. “My lady, I would be happy to convey any thanks to the courier, should he be able to be found. He took off at quite a clip.”
 
Rosewater narrowed her eyes briefly at him, in a look Seed rather recognized. The same she wore when he or Rosemary tried to get one over on her, and she knew there was a bucket of water about to drop somewhere.

But then relaxed and nodded. “I barely caught a glimpse of him myself, my lord, I was hoping you would know his name. The family is grateful. More than grateful. He’s a hero, Lord Collar, and he would be well looked after for the day, the week, if he chose to visit.” She paused, her eyes meeting his firmly as she added, “I would personally ensure his well being.”

The Primfeather stallion snorted, and drew both Rosethorns’ eyes to him. And with their gaze, came Collar’s as well. He quickly skirted around behind one of the earth ponies, a rather stocky mare, and positioned her between he and the Rosethorns.

Well, that about matched most encounters of Primfeather nobles these days. But Seed put it aside to return his gaze to the others.

Who doesn’t want to be seen? A twitch of the ear here, an ill-timed flick of the tail or failure to meet his eyes there. Everything, everything had a meaning, as his mother would say. Who’s hoping they don’t have to talk?

He found Collar’s eyes again. It took an effort not to frown. The problem most Prims had with their own stoicism tended to come when talking about things personal to them, or secrets they held difficulty keeping.

Collar, though …

His words were just as slippery as any Merrier.

I sense your hoof, Rosemary. He flicked a sidelong look at Rosewater. And yours.

“My apologies and thanks at once,” Collar said, jarring him from his thoughts. “For my subordinate’s disdain, and for the offer. We were, of course, happy to save the foal, and no thanks is necessary. This conflict between us has nothing to do with the youngest of both of our cities, and it’s my wish that the young foal… what is his name?”

Seed stole a quick glance between the heirs of both cities. Okay. Let’s play along and see how well you do with Rose games, Collar.

“Raindrop Dancer,” he replied, offering an upturned hoof. “He’s a wonderful little colt, and he really does live up to his name. Every rainstorm, he’s outside, dancing to his heart’s content.” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he smiled broadly. “Little guy really brings up the vineyard’s spirits.”
 
“All the more reason I would wish for him, and his entire family,” he said, fixing Seed with a look he couldn’t quite place,  “be free of the conflict that so drives our cities apart. Please give them my thanks, and I wish I could do more, but we’re busy with preparations for the gala, but our city is open to them should they wish it.”
 
“My thanks, my lord. And speaking of the gala, we’ll be there, my Petal and I,” Seed said laconically, a lazy smile gracing his lips. “I would love to enquire more personably about the identity of the courier.”
 
“Of course, of course,” Collar chuckled, flicking a look at Rosewater, and receiving a slight twitching of her lips. “I would give you prime pick of real estate to set up, Rose Seed. If you would visit the palace oh, say in five days time, at around two in the afternoon? I have some free time.”

Rosewater gave him a curious look, but nodded and smiled at the end. “Do not forget, my lord, we have our negotiations that morning as well.”

“I have not forgotten, my lady. Your cousin has been a delight, as many of my guard can attest to, some more personally than others.” He bowed his head as Platinum’s ears went rigidly straight and her coat shivered. “Would that the rest of your family were so courteous.”

Rosemary, Rosemary, Rosemary. You could catch fish without a net.

“I try to set an example,” Rosewater said with a sigh, then rolled her gaze to Seed. “He is as good as his word, Seed. Should he find the pegasus and the pegasus be willing, you will have your name and I will do all I can to facilitate a meeting between family and saviour. I doubt he knows that he would be lauded and loved.”
 
Seed gave her a long, searching look, then nodded briefly. Prodding and poking could wait. For now. “Of course, my lady. He, er, also left his helm behind. The, aheh, the family said they wanted to hold onto it until they could give it to him personally. Not as a ransom, I assure you.”

Collar chuckled. “A padded helm makes a poor hostage in any case.”
 
“That it does, but they kept it because they want to show him how grateful they are. He would be a guest of honor at our table, and theirs, and his safety assured.”
 
“Doubly,” Rosewater added, fixing Collar with a firm look.
 
“Point well taken,” Collar said, raising a hoof and smiling placatingly. “I will do my utmost to ensure that he is found and that he knows just how much his actions are appreciated.” He tapped his hoof lightly on the ground before either cousin could start in on him again. “Now, I believe that we ought return to our cities and continue our businesses.”

Rosewater’s eyes flinched up to meet his, then away, and licked her lips. She was readying herself for something. “Of course, my lord. I have no doubt that little Dancer will want to dance, once he’s had a chance to warm up and take a nap. And we still have our dance tonight.”

Interesting. His brows raised, Seed settled in for a moment, curious at this byplay. He watched, his lazy smile firmly affixed, and took a moment to search another for tells.

There were some things one just couldn’t hide from family. No matter how much time was spent apart. Not when so much had been shared together in days gone by.

And to that end, he let this beloved auntie offer her invitation that Collar join them for a dance, and he convey his sincere want were it not for the risk. This sort of casual talk, an almost amicable tone to the conversation, that’s what ponies needed here.

Stars, if Rosewater was actually finding friendship across the river, anything was possible.

But this spoke to something more. Something deeper.

His ears twitched. Aha.

“Your safety would be guaranteed by the treaty, my lord, and myself personally, as I’ve done twice before.” There it was.

An offer bound by the treaty.

“I’ll accompany you, my lord, as added protection, if you truly wish to show our ponies that unity and cooperation is possible,” one of the Dammeguard said from his side, her eyes locked on Rosewater. “I admit to being intrigued by the event.”

“Then, let this be my formal statement of intent. I’ll be there for the dance tonight. I must arrange a few things with my parents and Cloudy first.” Collar offered a smile and bow of his head. “But I’ll be there before the festivities begin.”

Satisfied, for the time being, Seed bowed his thanks, then turned with Rosewater to make the return trip to Merrie. Back to where a crying foal and relieved family still lingered on the beach, if the distant crowd was any indication.

Seed counted in his head, waiting for the awkward silence to be filled.

Sure enough. “He is as good as his word,” Rosewater reiterated.

“I never implied otherwise,” came his reply.

“No, but I know that look.”

“This is my look.”

“It’s the same look you’d wear when Budding and I told you and Rosemary no sweets until after dinner. Don’t you try to pull that on me.” He could almost feel the glare of an old foalsitter boring through the side of his head. “Time, Seed. Give Collar time, and let him work on finding and persuading that courier.”

Seed hid a smile, instead heaving a feigned sigh to satisfy her expectations. “Very well, auntie, if you insist.” He cast his gaze skyward. “How long?”

That gave Rosewater pause. “The Gala,” she said, finally. “A show of good faith and unity should serve a fitting deadline, no?”

Now, that, Seed couldn’t argue. And it gave him a chance to concoct a little show as well.

Still, he had to hide that smile. His friendship is so important you’ve missed something so obvious, auntie? “The Primrose Gala, then. I put my faith in your hooves, and his.”

“My thanks.” With that, she let the matter drop, and shifted to a talk of care. Care for Dancer and how they might ensure this never happened again.

All the while, that little detail she’d missed went unnoticed. And Kiss let that lazy smile slowly turn into a devious smirk.

Yes, Auntie Rosewater had laid down the law and told him not to have cookies before dinner again. Were he feeling petulant and a pony’s mental state not involved, he just might have pushed farther. Still, there was an angle he could play.

After all, she never said he couldn’t smell the cookies while they waited in the jar.

It just so happened that the jar currently rested in the hooves of Raindrop Dancer.





He’d landed in a narrow alleyway. Where, he had no idea. Damme. Somewhere in Damme. Not Merrie.

Not Merrie.

That much told him it was safe.

For now.

A safe place that he could stop and catch his breath. And stop the scenes playing about in his head. A night full of Rosethorn scene mages, himself caught, struggling in tangle vines, and now …

Now …

Merriers. Merrieguard.

Rushing water.

A foal’s head slipping beneath the waves, ponies screaming.

He clutched his head in his hooves and squeezed his eyes shut, willing it all to stop. Let the noise leave, let the memories subside, for just a moment. Just a moment.

Too much all at once. Too many things.

Too many ponies.

All coming for him.

Rose Palace awaited. The Baroness and her daughters, just like that night.

A heavy fog. Darkness and silence. He tried to cry out, but his voice never passed his lips. He could see spell fire amidst the fog, flickering like lightning. The pegasus unfurled his wings and gave a mighty pump, shooting off toward the sky like a bolt.

Then a band of shimmering rose red caught his ankles and dragged him to ground, a pair of tangle vines exploded against his chest and side. He toppled over in a heap, kicking and flailing, desperate to escape.

A pair of mares emerged from the fog. One stern and resolute, the other fearful. The fearful one bit her lip and looked down at him for but a bare second, her horn lighting red.

The vines wrapped almost lovingly around his shoulders and began to bloom flowers, their pleasant scents filling his nose, coaxing him to relax. Just relax and look at the pretty mares, let them take care of everything and just—

Nonononono! his mind shrieked. He tried to kick the vines off his legs. He had to get free! He had to get to the palace!

The mare looked away and stepped over him, her tail quivering. Sound began to fill his ears again, he could hear his comrades crying out in panic, even as magic crackled and zipped overhead.

A silken wrap bound his mouth and covered his nose. The scents of roses filled his every breath.

The second mare looked down upon him like a vision from heaven. Her husky voice pierced through that vision in a stern whisper, and became his will, “Stop. Relax.”

Somewhere in the distance, another voice called his name. Stride huddled in on himself and shook. Her voice. Haughty, cruel, and full of wicked lust again. Those purple lights, like dancing fey, slithering toward him through the fog. Only this time, the Rose Terror’s spell wouldn’t set him free.

Collar wasn’t be their prize today. They were coming back. They were coming for him this time.

He’d crossed the river.

But the foal …

Questions. Collar had asked him those questions during training. He was a Dammeguard, risk and sacrifice went lockstep with the position.

Questions.

A life at risk …

A hoof touched his shoulder. “Stride?”

He screamed and leapt, turning and batting the hoof away as he backpedalled until he hit the wall. His eyes were wide, his chest heaving as he gazed into a set of worried eyes.

Eyes the same shade of pink as watermelons.

Rose eyes.

Cloudy Rose’s wings, green as grass, folded to her sides. She held a hoof out to him and spoke, but her voice didn’t reach Stride’s ears.

Another floated to him through time and memory.

The first of that grouping of questions Lord Collar had said were most important the day he was chosen for service:

How fast can you fly when somepony might be hurt should you not reach them, Prim Stride?
> 02. Together, With the Garden
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“But I wanna dance!” little Raindrop Dancer whined from his place atop Fertile Soil’s back.

“Roseheath said you need to rest, Dancer,” Fertile Soil chided. He’d recovered from the worst of his terror at the near loss of his son—as much as any parent could, at least—but he was tense. His shoulder muscless could have served as support lines for the large dance tents on Mare’s Night. “And you’ve only barely dried.”

The colt huffed. “But the dance, daddy!” He tried to lean up and nip his father’s ears, earning himself a stern look. “I always dance with Mistah Seed! Mistah Seed, tell him!”

Seed had been on the wrong side of such arguments with his own parents and dear aunties more than his fair share of times in his youth. Oftentimes right after he’d pulled some trick or pinched sweets with Rosemary as his partner in crime.

Now, he understood why Carnation and Rosewater never stepped in to undermine his parents. Even if they sometimes struggled to maintain stern frowns against their rising amusement.

He’d gotten Carnation to burst out laughing so much that she had to excuse herself once or twice.

Stars, he missed her so.

To Dancer, Seed gave a sad smile and nod. “Yes, we do have our fun jumping dance during the Garden Stomp, you and I. But—“ he tilted his head and offered a small pout. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Silver Drop watching, and knew he ought to try to head Dancer off before he got himself in too much trouble arguing ”—if you get too sick, I might not be able to dance with you at our winter parties. Won’t that be worse?”

The colt worried his lip, glancing between Seed and the dance floor in the distance. He huffed again, and then sniffled. “Don’t feel sick,” he groused. “I feel fine. Just still wet!”

Raindrop Flowers chose that moment to rear up and wrap a fresh towel around his shoulders. Her ears were flat to her mane and lip trembled now and again. She was still seeing her boy bobbing in the water.

“You feel fine now, honey,” she said softly, leaning in to nuzzle his nose. “But you’re wet, and the night air will grow colder still.”

“And then,” Fertile Soil took up her point, “you’ll catch cold. Roseheath said rest, so you are going to rest.” He glanced up at Rumble just as the larger stallion drew near to offer a comforting butt of his forehead against Fertile’s cheek, and returned it with a kiss. “Stars, we all need it after today.”

Dancer let a discontented whine sound from the back of his throat. He wanted so badly to dance and laugh with his friends, as he had each year at the Commoner’s Gala since he could walk.

Silver Drop’s hoof struck a sharp clip against the road. “Raindrop Dancer,” she warned, trotting over to stand with her bond mates so she might level their son with her irresistible gaze. The Dammeguard’s helmet, Seed noted, was still held against her chest in the curl of a hoof. “You’ve been told no, and you’ve been told by the doctor why. We’ve had this discussion before, you arguing when you don’t get your way, haven’t we?”

The little colt wilted. “Yes, mama,” he muttered.

“Do we need to have it again? In front of Lord Seed?”

“No, mama.”

She inclined her head. Another victory had been won, and with minimal effort. “Thank you. I thought not.”

Seed fought a grin. Yeah. That was me when I knew mom was actually mad at me too, little buddy.

He moved to bid his friends goodnight, holding they and Dancer tight just to make certain all five were present and accounted for one last time. To Silver, he whispered a request that she let him know if they would need anything, and that he would be there once asked.

Silver Drop nodded once and kissed him softly. “You have my word,” she whispered, her voice thick. “Tomorrow, we’ll … we’ll talk. About your meeting with Lord Collar.”

“Of course. My door is open. If you’re not by first thing, I’ll come to you.” With a smile, Seed leaned in to kiss her forehead, and whispered, “Go home and have a bath, all of you. Warm him up, and be together.”

Another nod. Her lower lip trembled, Silver clutched the Dammeguard’s helm tighter still as she turned to hurry after her family and see their son home.

Back in one piece, where they all belonged.

Thank the stars.

Seed took a moment to close his eyes and exhale a deep breath. Yes, he’d been quite like Dancer in his younger days. Frightfully so. He could hardly fault the little guy for trying when he’d done the same.

He’d have probably tried to sneak back. Worse, he’d have taken Rosemary with him, were she old enough and made Budding Rose just as irritated as Silver. He’d done it more than once. And, on occasion, Rosewater.

Rarely, at least.

Both had still hit him with what they called the “Rosethorn Mothers’ Curse” and stated their sincere desire that Seed have at least three just like him.

Right about now, he realized there was reason to worry at the prospect.

Once satisfied that he had calmed himself and felt his heart rate returning to a more normal, sedate pace, Seed turned and set out toward the dance area with a small smile upon his face. Though the day’s events had nearly ended in tragedy, heroism and the fraternity of ponies had won, and reminded attendees that the Merrie served as a divide between cities full of ponies who held a great deal in common with one another.

And now? Well, there was another little coup for them to enjoy. Courtesy of Auntie Rosewater.

His tail swishing gaily, Seed searched out Rosewater and Petal, scenting them rather moot in such a large crowd of ponies. Especially given they stood upon a wooden stage which seemed eagerly awaiting the many dancing hooves which would soon sound out a thundering cadence upon them. Just off to the side, the band had set about to make its final preparations for a night full of merriment and fun.

“Back to your side again, Pet,” he murmured, kissing her just below her ear.

Petal hummed her approval and turned her cheek up to brush against his nose. “How are they holding up?”

“As well as they can. Dancer is upset that he can’t join us dancing tonight.” Seed glanced across the stage to find Dazzle. Their love stood with Bliss, a smile on his face as he chattered with her.

He was doing well, even though Rosewater would be spoken for tonight. He understood their way, and knew where her heart lay.

Seed resolved to bring him in for a dance. And, if he were willing, to bed.

A stirring in the crowd told him the show had just begun. Seed hooked a hoof around Petal’s ankle and turned to watch as Prim Collar strode forth, with one of his dutiful Dammeguard by his side as promised.

Dazzle perked up when he noticed. He caught Seed’s eye and grinned, mouthing, “That’s Platinum!”

Ah, from the meeting he mentioned. Seed grinned back. “Introduce us!” he replied in kind.

Meeting Dazzle’s friends had been a delight not afforded to Seed and his loves. A product of the war and lingering distrust among some of the families.

Platinum, Seed hoped would be different. She seemed genuinely interested. Yes, the way she squared her shoulders and had her ears set spoke of a mare on duty, who was not to be trifled with if a pony valued all their pieces whole. Her eyes, though, spoke of intrigue and building happiness with each face she saw. Perhaps a few Dammers she knew?

The only thing that could’ve made it better? If Dazzle’s old partner might have been with them. The stallion would’ve been giddy as a foal on Hearth’s Warming Eve.

Rosewater looked positively delighted. If Seed didn’t know any better, he might think the mare was aglow—stars, her smile could have warmed a home in winter. The mare herself was stunning, having dashed to the villa to groom herself “properly” after the panic had frazzled her so. As it frazzled everypony. In her mane and tail, the clever mare wore a pair of ribbons the Dammeguard only just noticed:

Merrie red and Damme blue.

Their meaning was quite plain.

Platinum gaped.

Read her intent, Seed urged silently. He fought a want to snicker. Auntie Rosewater hadn’t acted this way in years. And why shouldn’t she?

Auntie Rosewater was courting again. Like a proper Rosethorn, a proper Gardener.

Almost proper, he had to remind himself. This secrecy ran in contrast to everything their way espoused, and everything she had been in her younger years when it came to her loves. Damn Roseate for turning the warm, loving mare who helped raise and teach and bare her heart to those around her into a recluse.

More importantly, though, was what he saw in Collar now.

Realization was setting in. A certain spark shone in his eyes, quickly hidden.

Not quite enough to escape Seed’s notice.

Perfect. His little scheme would go off without a hitch.

Platinum blinked, then rallied to fulfill her duties. “Good evening. I am here as an official government escort of Lord Primline Collar, heir to Damme’s rulership. I demand the promise of safety, and the bond of the treaty upon it.”

Ah, formalities. “Given, and freely,” he replied in kind, already presenting to her a scroll. “Our copy of the treaty sanctioned charter for this gathering, including all rights and requirements we, as hosts, provide to our guests. Guest rights we extend to you, my lord, as both the lord of these lands and as—”

“As the gathering organizer,” Petal finished for him, stepping up to greet Platinum formally as well. “It is a joint effort between us as both husband and wife, and as lord of the land, and lady of the winery that organized it.”

“I give my word, as heiress of Merrie that these rights will be upheld, and will speak so to a representative of the treaty. Collar will be well taken care of, and I will see to that personally.” Her attention, for the last sentence wasn’t on Platinum, but on Collar. And her tone, one of warmth. “You have my word. I won’t leave his side.”

Platinum stared at her for a long moment, then cleared her throat. “My lord, is that—”

“It’s acceptable, and I accept, my lady, your offer of escort,” he said in a rush, the corner of his mouth twitching. He knew how that sounded, but couldn’t stop. “Shall we get to it? It sounds like things are about to start.”

Good to see it wasn’t just Rosewater mooning after him. And with her presence in the Garden now so open, and with Merriers and Dammers alike seeing her true face, her stock was rising.

Faster still, with this show of unity.

“And me?” Platinum squeaked, a mite uneasy at the lack of direction. “What do I do, my lord?”

Fortunately, the three Roses present had already thought about her.

Hopefully it wouldn’t cause her too much alarm.

“My dear Platinum,” Petal murmured, “I think Prim Prism and Prim Tremor would like to do some catching up as well. They’ve been abuzz since Dazzle came back from your impromptu meeting.”

“Oh, I would certainly agree,” Seed put in, readily sidling up to her so he might offer a hoof and a smile. “And there’s a certain brat we three call a mutual friend who owes us a proper introduction rather than a mere recounting. Shall we?”

Platinum looked to Collar for approval and guidance, both given with a single nod.

Seed could feel the tension and worry in her grip.

He opted for humor to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry, Petal and I won’t bite.” With a wink, he added, “Dazzle, on the other hoof …”

On cue, Dazzle caught her in an embrace, grinning from ear to ear. And, shortly after, Tremor and Prism made their way over to greet their former comrade with warm smiles and words.

A happy reunion. Hopefully, a sign the night would be more cheerful than the day ended.





The laughter and good-natured cat-calls which greeted Collar’s claims of having four left hooves and an inability to properly sing, amplified with Rosewater calling, “The singing will be optional!” only served to make Seed grin broader.

It all fed into the goal. The more Rosewater showed herself, the more the image of her died in the minds of ponies, and was born anew.

He caught the playful look she shot her prospective mate, and then the stage whisper, “The dancing is not.”

Good mare.

The crowd’s intrigue swelled with their want to see it come together—the heirs, dancing with commoners. Dancing across city lines. Drinking with them, hopefully, as Petal called out to let them know that refreshments would be available for reduced price.

With that, it was his turn.

Seed cleared his throat and stepped forward to address the assembled crowd. His ears twitched, excitement gripping him just as much as it did the rest. “For the rest of you wanting to dance,” Seed called out, stamping out the start to the first song they’d decided on that night, “let’s start it high-stepping, with the Garden Square dance! Grab a partner, square up, and let’s have a hoof-stamping good time!”

Raucous cheers went up from the gathered ponies. Gardeners and Merriers with the regulars from Damme happily grabbed a partner or two and found themselves a little space to dance. Those who didn’t know the dance looked to friends and accepted offered hooves and promises to teach them.

Platinum laughed nervously, caught among Gardeners and former Dammeguards. “C-Come now,” she stammered. “Dazz, Prism, you both know I can’t—“

Prism nudged her forward. “We’ll teach you,” she said. “We’re dancing a fun little jig, not a full on ballroom dance. Here, come with me. Sweets, you too, and stop your snickering.”

Everypony had just about paired off together, the former Dammeguards eager to catch up and introduce Platinum to as many ponies as she could remember.

Seed gave them that time. They deserved it, all four of them.

He turned to Petal and smiled, tilting his head toward the stage.

“You know better than to ask,” she replied, rearing up to kiss his chin. “Come along, let’s show off for our new visitors.”

The Garden Square dance wasn’t just some heavy-stomping jig. The Garden was a village community which held fast to old traditions in story and song, and in this dance, that was made evident in the quick, upbeat tempo of the music filling the air and blending with dozens upon dozens of voices all joined together in song. It was a favorite of the village foals because they could stomp with the adults, all over the wooden stage.

And because, like many Garden dances, there wasn’t a rigid series of steps—it was all feeling.

Seed and Petal beamed at the crowd of little ones who dashed over to join them, eager to try to dance with the lord and lady of the village, and began.

Their steps were nimble, their motions flowing with the melody as it quickly carried them into the romping, frenetic pace with its spins and stomps, and periodic partner trading. Seed found himself dancing once with little Crawling Rose, bending low so he could guide her around, and with a few village friends.

Briefly, he found himself spinning with Collar. The Lord Heir of Damme’s breathing was heavy and his face flushed, but his smile genuine as he did his level best to keep up.

“Different from ballroom dancing, isn’t it, my lord?” Seed teased.

Collar bobbed his head. “Very,” he replied through a laugh. “Just don’t let my mother hear, or she’ll think to make me run laps with my father.”

“Only if you don’t tell my family how I acted while sauced when we last met.”

It took a moment for Collar to catch his meaning, but once he did, the he barked a laugh. “Done.”

“Then she won’t hear a word from me.”

The stallions shared a grin, then parted on the next spin. Seed turned and found himself partnered with Dazzle, the dear stallion grinning as sweat beaded down his brow.

He leaned in to brush his nose against Dazzle’s. “As fun as you remember?” Seed asked.

Grinning, Dazzle kissed him deeply. “Stars, yes!” he said through laughter, then nipped Seed’s lips. “It’s all come back, just like the first time we danced like this!”

Yes indeed. But a week after he made his decision to stay and join the Garden of Love, and reside in the villa, they had joined together and danced. And, afterward …

A welcoming night orgy. Exclusive to those in residence in his villa, a night they dedicated to the newest pony to join them in the Garden’s way of life, labor, and love.

Seed drew him closer, drinking in his scent. Musty stallion sweat, excitement, and a dabbing of firebird dahlia fragrance just behind his ears—Dazzle’s preferred scent for when he wanted his loves’ embraces.

He turned his head so he could brush his markings along his love’s cheek, a tender, loving gesture. “How do you feel?”

“Warm!” Dazzle laughed. “The cold is going to be a pain when we stop, though!”

Seed resisted an urge to nip his ear. “Not what I meant, love.” He drew back to look Dazzle in the eye, and allowed a bit of worry to show. “How are you feeling about …” he trailed off, instead tilting his head toward Collar.

Comprehension dawned upon Dazzle. “Oh! Oh, I’m fine.”

“Just fine?”

Dazzle fixed Seed with an exasperated look. “We talked. And I’d like to talk with him again, but I understand, and … I think he does too. I approve.” He leaned up to kiss Seed again, a wicked smirk playing upon his lips. “But I’m going to make him court her properly.”

His mind set at ease, Seed smiled and returned the kiss, replying, “Good. I’ll help.” He leaned in closer still so he might whisper, “Be with us tonight. Petal and me.”

Dazzle’s ears perked. “Seed, I’m okay. You don’t have to fret over—“

“I know.” He stole another kiss. “But we’ve missed holding you. Even if it’s just relaxing in the baths and then in the sitting room together on a couch, be with us.”

A fond smile playing upon his lips, Dazzle nodded once, and then they parted with a spin.

This time, he found himself partnered with Prim Platinum. The mare’s eyes widened in surprise.

Seed met her with a kind smile. “Just a dance, my dear Dammeguard.” He timed a jump well and let his hooves strike out against the wood. “I’m glad for you and them.”

“Glad? For us?” She only just mistimed a jump with his next, but her hooves sounded out like a clap of thunder.

“They’ve missed their friends,” he said simply. A stolen glance toward his loves, seeing their smiles, brought a light feeling to his chest and filled his hooves with vigor. Seed nodded toward them. “Spin your way over, Platinum. I’m about to go cause a bit of trouble.”

“Stars, help us all, if what Prism’s told me is true.”

“No, no.” Just Auntie Rosewater and your Lord Collar. “I choose specific targets.”

She shot him a disbelieving look, but didn’t argue further. On the next spin, she flounced off to dance with Tremor.

Leaving Seed to put his plan into motion.

He stepped past Petal and Dazzle, winking at his wife as he passed her by. She wasn’t privy to this part of the master plan. Her piece had been the same as his—get Rosewater some time alone with Collar, at the mare’s behest.

But Seed saw fit to turn up the heat, so to speak. Collar needed to show that glint a bit more.

He needed to feel his heart drawing him to act upon the attraction rising in his chest like a wildfire.

So, it was time to let bratty Seed out for a bit of fun.

His ears set in open tell of mischief in the making and a matching grin slowly spreading across his features, Seed trotted straight up to the band just as they let the last notes of the Garden Square dance fade into the night and asked, “Fancy a bit of a change of schedule?”

Rosewood Bow set his violin in his lap and fixed him with a knowing look. “What trouble are you about to cause, Seed?”

“And will we hear from Lady Rosewater when it’s done?” the trumpeter drawled.

Seed beamed. “Oh, absolutely! The best part, though, is that she can’t be mad about it!”

Bow’s brow arched. “I’m listening,” he said slowly.

He told them. And, upon seeing the amused smirks and shaking heads as they took up their instruments for the next song, Seed knew they were all in favor of it.

Next came the fun part.

“After that hoof-stomping, partner-swapping dance, let’s go a bit slower!” he called. He could feel Auntie Rosewater’s eyes upon him, she knew he was up to something.

Good. He hadn’t bothered hiding the set of his ears, just so she would get an inkling. A poor substitute for the communal ribbing she and Collar would be denied.

“This,” he said, already on his way to claim Petal for the dance, “is the Merrie Two-step.”

It was a dirty trick, hoof-picked to make sure Collar would spend the entire dance with her, drinking in her scent, feeling her warmth against his chest.

Feeling whatever desires he tried so desperately to mask swelling and clamoring for satisfaction.

Seed hummed a merry tune as he approached his dear wife, weathering the way she shook her head and sighed once he was in earshot. “You don’t want to dance with me?” he asked, his voice full of false innocence.

Her magic pinched his shoulder. “I would love to dance the Merrie Two-step with you, you big lug,” she chided, rearing up to set her hooves upon his shoulders and peck his lips. “You’re wicked.”

“Why, thank you.” Seed reared to take her hooves in his, his grin softening into a contented smile. “I only hope it yields fruit.”





There was nothing Petal treasured as much as the chance to hold her husband or her loves close. Especially tonight.

Stars, from revelry to terror and back again. A different sort, mind, but still.

Now, the celebration was more than just a joining of commoners from Merrie and Damme with the Garden as a hosting site. It was that of heroism and fraternity, and a celebration of the ties which bound them all together.

She tilted her head to angle her cheek up, and allow Seed to brush his against hers. She could feel him shiver slightly as his markings touched her cheekbone, such a sensitive spot, and this gesture one of almost possessive affection.

Petal turned to kiss just beneath his eye, where his markings trailed down his cheek like the cuts which once marred the face of Rosethorn’s mother before the Mare bestowed upon her the gifts which would guide her son to shape their magic and way. She felt him suck in a sharp breath.

Then, he nipped at her ear. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you.” She smiled into his cheek. “How are you holding up?”

Seed swallowed. “Better now, I think. Having seen them home helped me.” He pulled her closer against his chest. With a turn, she felt his heartbeat hastening. “It helped just … know that he was well. Stars, he argued that he wanted to dance.”

Snorting a laugh, Petal rolled her eyes. Oh, didn’t that sound just like Dancer? Take a fall straight off the bridge into the rushing water, and he still wanted to dance around with Seed.

And his parents hadn’t heard a word of it. Stars, if it were her foal, Petal would’ve been apoplectic at the very idea that they should go anywhere but a warm bath and bed where she could hold him tight against her chest. Just to be certain.

Just to be certain her baby was still there.

Someday soon, she would have her own. A little filly or colt.

Petal held Seed tight. If it had been their foal to fall and be rescued …

“He’s home,” she said, closing her eyes to help calm the rise of nerves and anxiety. “Thanks to that Dammeguard, he’s home, and that’s what matters.”

“Mhmm.” Seed cast a quick look across the stage, smiling. “And given our Damme Lord Collar seemed receptive to the idea of letting us express our gratitude, and currently looks as though he’s struggling not to kiss my dear auntie right now …”

This time, Petal had to bury her face in his chest to hide a smile. “Wicked isn’t the word, you schemer,” she accused.

“For those I love, my dear, I can be quite despicable.”

Seed hesitated a step, his ears perking straight and a grin threatening to spread across his features. “Don’t look now,” he murmured, leaning in as though to whisper some sweet nothings in her ear. “But we’re going to need to run some interference for them.”

Reel him in, Rosewater. Petal let her tail hike to complete the image. “Tell the band to place something to get our blood moving and warmed, my love. The night air will have our ponies longing for closeness and movement soon enough.”

With a laugh, Seed parted from her, prancing in place for a step before he trotted off to urge the band to change to their next song.

If he stayed true the mood of the Commoner’s Gala, it would be something nice and upbeat, and draw everypony into the mix to share the love of good friends and companionship. The Harvest Step would be a nice choice.

One of Rosewater and Rosemary’s favorite dances, when they all were younger.

Hopefully, you two will be happy enough when you rejoin that you won’t regret missing it.

Three short bursts of the trumpet signified the start of the Harvest Step. With a grin, Petal turned to her loves, and invited them to join with a twitch of her ears.

They were just as much Rosewine Vineyard as she.

And, in them, she saw the Garden of Love’s hearth. From those born in the village to those who joined.

Even dear Platinum, laughing and sputtering denials as Dazzle and Prism coaxed her back onto the dance stage. Friends, too, belonged here.





Petal’s prediction was spot on, of course.

Years of hosting and dancing herself to exhaustion had given her an insight that newcomers from Damme and those dear honeymooners hadn’t fully appreciated—the cool autumn air could offer but a slight reprieve before a body’s heat began to steadily rise.

Her coat was matted with sweat as though she had spent a day at labor in among the vines. But her smile was bright and spirits high. The kisses shared with her husband and loves free and lingering, full of meaning and a want to express just how happy they were to share the night together.

Platinum had even allowed a couple upon her cheeks. Friendly kisses, Dazzle had assured her. Still the mare flustered beautifully and only wavered in gaze and a slight dip in her ears.

She was a sweetheart to be sure. A bit rough around the edges, and most certainly a tough customer for any who might think to test her, but beneath all that was a mare of great humor and a wit that made even Dazzle sputter hasty denials of her recounting.

“I was drunk!” he squeaked, his face a bright rosy hue as he sent a pleading look to his loves not to believe a word of what passed his friend’s lips. “I was pounding Watered Down’s swill for a bet! Trem, Prism, back me up here!”

“Don’t think to try!” Platinum grinned. “Trem was right there with him, yodeling and trying to balance atop a table!”

Roselyn and Bliss leaned against one another, tears of mirth streaming down their cheeks. “And Prism?” Roselyn gasped between peals of laughter.

All eyes fell upon the mare trying her damndest to hide by burying her face in Sweet Grape’s shoulder. It didn’t work.

Sweet Grape winked and dutifully coaxed her to face the group with a deft turn of his shoulder, and bent low to whisper something in her ears that elicited a keening groan.

Platinum, like any true friend, showed no mercy. “Prism, unfortunately, didn’t join in.” Her grin sharpened. “She was fast asleep under the next table, clutching a mop like a lover.”

“Oh?” Sweet Grape fought to withhold his snickers and nipped at Prism’s ear. “Should I meet this mop? You hadn’t mentioned a second lover, dear.”

Her eyes flashing dangerously, Prism drew back and glared up at him, her face aglow. “Not another word out of you!” she squeaked. “Or I’ll—I’ll—“

“Leave him for the mop?” Roselyn cried, and then toppled onto her side and kicked her legs in the air.

Their laughter was lost to the sound and song of the remaining dancers, still spinning and stomping together. These young ponies of the cities and village determined to enjoy this night to its fullest until Petal gave her speech. Among them, she could see Zephirine, necking with one of her friends as they took a moment to break from the dance and catch their breath.

She, herself, still leaned against Seed, swaying lazily to the song. But a few years ago, it would’ve been they who tried to dance the night away while the older ponies worked, only breaking to help disassemble the tents and load them into carts before they returned to finish out.

She felt his lips pressing against her cheek, then her jawline. Petal flirted her tail against his ankles in reply.

Seed gave a low hum. He knew it wasn’t an invitation for sex. Not tonight.

Not when Dazzle was wearing that scent.

 “It looks like they’re back,” he murmured, nodding in the direction Collar and Rosewater had disappeared earlier. “Shall we greet them?”

Petal answered with a nip at his chin. They broke away from the group so they could trot toward the returning heirs, Petal noted that the pair stood closer than when they’d left. In the flickering light of burning torches and faerie lights, she could see a hint of a flush in their cheeks.

Whatever happened between them had been good, then. Had he made a move, perhaps?

And one of Rosewater’s ribbons had made its way to Collar’s mane. A blue one.

Stars, the two of them! They’re going to give me a heart attack at this rate!

As they drew close, Petal arched a brow at Rosewater. “You had a good discussion, I trust?”

“We did,” Rosewater answered simply, a smile playing upon her lips. “He has something to announce ahead of it becoming official through the treaty office. And he agreed to bring Rosemary a memento of tonight, and tell her everything that happened.”

Seed’s brows went up at that, and he chuckled. “Good. Rosemary, I think, would have loved to be here tonight. She loved coming when she didn’t make it to the main gala.”

“She loved making trouble with you,” Petal grumbled. Several incidents came to mind. She’d been the victim of a couple of their pranks. “So, what is it you have to announce? Nothing earth-shattering, I hope.”

“Not at all,” Collar said with a laugh. “It’s something my parents and I were discussing as a thanks for Rosewater being so cooperative with negotiations, despite how long they’re taking.”

“And it should be announced tonight?” Petal asked, glancing at Rosewater. “To the public first?”

“Yes. Collar told me it would be made official tomorrow, but in the interest of further fostering the idea of unity…” Rosewater glanced over Petal’s shoulder.

Collar followed her gaze, his ears perking with intrigue. “Closing remarks are soon, right?”

“After this song,” Seed said, stepping back from the edge and giving Collar a more appraising look, his goofy mask gone The faintest of glows from his Rosethorn markings showed that he’d tapped into his gifts. Then Seed smirked, glanced at Rosewater, and winked. “Glad you two had a good—”

Petal knocked his ankle with a hoof and cut in, “Talk. It’s clear that it’s settled some concerns, so I’m grateful to you for taking the time to settle them, my lord. Rosewater has a tendency to over-worry on settled matters.”

She fixed him with a warning look. This wasn’t the time for his mischief. Not in that form.

He smiled and dipped his ears in apology.

Only in the sense that he knew that might not have been the right time or tone to make one of his remarks.

“I do,” Rosewater admitted. “I know you were going to give the closing remarks, Petal, but I would like to have a few words along with Collar on the spirit of friendship and unity.”

“I think, rather than my speech, which I can give any time, I’d rather have both of you speak. You’re the future of our cities, my lord, both you and Rosewater. To hear you both speak of friendship would do more than my little part of Merrie stating it.” Petal glanced at Seed, nodded briefly, and turned away to talk to the band.

“Especially,” she heard him say, “after that beautiful show of friendship today.”
 
Sometimes, one just had to let a brat be a brat.

Petal trotted to Dazzle’s side and brushed her shoulder against his flank. “Care to lend your talents, love?” she asked.

His ears perked. “It’s about that time?” he asked, his tail hiking in show of eagerness.

Dazzle did so love showing off.

With a smile and kiss to his nose, Petal nodded. “Yes, indeed, my firework stallion. It’s time for our speeches and your performance.” She nibbled his lips playfully, adding, “And then, I hear tell we get the pleasure of holding you together again.”

The only thing more beautiful than a flustered Dazzle was a grinning one. Especially when reminded that he had a place in many hearts.

He entwined his tail with hers and all but pranced with her to stand with Rosewater and Seed.

And Lord Collar.





Sometimes, Dazzle managed to make ponies forget that he’d been a Dammeguard. And a talented one at that.

His demeanor and magic didn’t necessarily make one think that he’d been one of the ponies who stood against Roseate’s raiders and even bedeviled a few of her daughters. Fireworks were pretty, but certainly not useful in a fight.

Anytime he heard some thinking along those lines, he’d smile and saunter off, teasing them like a Rose.

Petal loved that about him. The dear stallion loved life, and didn’t take himself too seriously. But he put his every effort into his work, whether it be on the vine or in his spells.

The beautiful shower of sparks and dancing bolts crackling in the night to the delight of all the foals dancing and leaping in the flickering light were a testament to that. In but a couple years, Dazzle had made his mark on this, a main attraction of the Garden and its influence on the region.

His fireworks were already tradition in their minds.

“Beautiful, as always,” Petal whispered in his ear.

Dazzle bowed his head. “Thank you,” he murmured. His smile was one of content, his eyes tracking the village foals still playing and those bidding friends from Damme, old and new, a sad goodbye. “I’m glad I could offer something to share my feelings with everypony. This place is … special to me. This event, too.”

The anniversary of his welcoming. Of course.

A fond smile spread across her features. Petal gave his cheek an affectionate lick. “I’m glad you chose to stay,” she said as she hooked her hoof around his ankle.

“So am I.” Dazzle moved as though to return the favor, but instead darted forward and raspberried her right in the crook of her neck and ran off, cackling like a mad fool.

“Primrazzle Dazzle!” Petal shrieked and gave chase, her eyes narrowed and a wicked grin promising repayment in full. “When I get my hooves on you! Seed! Seed! Head him off!”

Seed broke off a conversation with Cookie Crumble to see what the trouble was. He yelped, turned to give a quick apology while Cookie tittered and urged him on, and then moved to try to angle the former Dammeguard off before he could get into the Garden Villa and hole himself up in a room until they gave terms. Favorable terms.

Namely, those ensuring he wouldn’t end up completely at their mercy.

Of course, keeping pace with Dazzle was never easy. The stallion could move. Even two years removed from wearing his armor.

But Seed wasn’t one to play fair if he could help it. And, in this case …

Dazzle came skidding to a halt on the front porch. His horn sparked and magic fizzled around the handle, failing against the wards Seed had just flexed in reply. “Seed! You cheater!” he cried.

That was all he had a chance to say before the offending stallion caught him around the barrel with a band of magic and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“What,” Petal heard him growl in that heart-fluttering tone of his, “have you done that warrants this, my fireworks stallion?”

Dazzle squirmed for a moment, ducking his head to hide from Petal’s gaze. “Would you believe if I said I’m innocent?”

“Not in the slightest. Pet?”

Petal marched right up and hugged Dazzle from behind. “This brat,” she said, “ruined a heartfelt moment by planting a raspberry on my neck!”

Snorting, Seed arched a brow at Dazzle, awaiting his reply.

“It was funny!” Dazzle protested.

“I’m sure.” He leaned in and nipped the nape of Dazzle’s neck, smirking at the way the dear stallion’s back arched and hips thrust forward in reply. “Of course, as Lord of the Garden, I alone dispense ruling on law here. Petal, my love, what is your appeal?”

Petal smiled into the back of Dazzle’s neck. “I demand immediate relief,” she answered, her teeth nipping lightly at the tender flesh so she might savor how he shivered. “Time spent is the only acceptable repayment.”

“I find that reasonable.” Seed aimed a smirk at Dazzle and lowered his voice. “Any objections?”

Dazzle’s retort was cut short by a well-timed nip at his jawline. Petal felt his tail hike and flirt against her thighs, a tremor ran through his body as he pressed himself back against her. A heady hint of his musk wafted to her nose, a lovely fragrance coupled with his chosen scent of the day.

“None,” Dazzle replied after a moment to calm himself. He took a deep breath through his nose, releasing it slowly. “I would, er, really like to be held,” he murmured. “Like you did those nights when we first started courting.”

A brilliant idea. And, hopefully, the perfect thing to alleviate the nagging doubt nibbling at the back of his mind.

Petal cupped his chin in her magic and turned it so she could kiss him softly. “Come, then,” she whispered. “Let’s wash off this sweat in the baths, then relax together before bed. You boys may choose whatever scent you wish to fall asleep savoring.”

Dazzle beamed and returned her kiss before turning to butt his forehead against Seed’s chin. Then, his almost foalish exuberance returned to him, he nipped and nudged them inside and toward the stairs, eager to enjoy this night to its fullest.
> 03. Sunrises Over Rosewine Hill
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was said by Rosewine Rosethorn as she breathed her last. Words which rang as the hollow gripings of an elderly mare then, but like the very wines she and her family nurtured from their days as grapes on the vine until they were fit to mature in the casks, grew more true over time:

The baroness may sit upon the throne in Rose Palace, but Rosethorn’s will blooms brightest in my Garden of Love.

Two hundred years later, the heirs to her legacy, the Rosewines and the Rosethorns of the Garden, took her meager villa nestled at the foot and steppes of Rosewine Hill and the vineyard she crafted atop the rolling flatlands above, and nurtured it into an economic powerhouse the likes of which she could never have dreamed. Then, it had indeed been a small seed, ready to bloom into a wondrous rose.

Today, Rosewine Vineyards and the Garden of Love were a staple of the region, their wines the premier vintages of Equestria proper and most of her allies as well. Their bouquets brought in such notoriety and wealth, Rosewine’s vision of a modest vineyard for her family to own and bring flavored delights to the tongues of ponies far and wide expanded until a village of workers and hired hooves grew to surround the villa, taking its name. And with them, came the artisans and craftsponies. The Garden of Love was no longer a mere villa by the time Rose Seed inherited Rosewine’s dream as his own.

The stallion yawned into his beloved Rose Petal’s mane, smiling as she stirred in her sleep. Her supple flanks teased against his sheath and stirred a heat into his blood. On her opposite side, Dazzle gave a soft moan and nuzzled against her chest.

The perfect waking scene.

Seed rolled onto his back and blew a sigh through his nose. Blinking the bleariness through his eyes, he gazed up at the arching ceiling above, painted a fine dusty purple sometime in the last twenty years or so by his mother, Budding Rose, when she inherited the villa. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should consider having it repainted. Or would it be bad form to do so before his mother passed—a day he hoped would be years in the distance.

Would it be worse form to write her and ask? He snorted a laugh. Just imagine writing that letter. Hello, mother. I hope you and dad are enjoying your trip and that the sales are well. Are the Saddle Arabians hosting you well? Also, I hope it’s not weird to ask, but would it be rude of me to repaint the master’s chambers of the Garden Villa before you passed? All my love, Rosethorn Seed.

It didn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to know she’d twist his ears if he ever dared write something so flippant in a letter. And his father, Blue Rose, would laugh himself silly.

Seed idly lit his horn to let tendrils of magic trace their way through his lover’s snowy white mane. A fond smile played upon his lips as he heard her give a sleepy little moan and twitch of her tail against his thigh.

Petal deserved a good night’s sleep after yesterday’s stress and heroism.

The memory still loomed in his mind, fresh and vivid, as if he could close his eyes and be back on Rosewine Bridge again. Helplessly watching and praying that Dammeguard pegasus wouldn’t miss.

His good news died like a flame to water. Seed blew a sigh through his nose. He’d promised Rosewater and Collar his patience.

Unfortunately, patience was a rather difficult matter as far as Seed was concerned. Oh, he could wait for wine to mature, his lovely flowers to grow, or his lovers to whine and prance and beg until he knew they were truly ready for foreplay to end and transition to deep, passionate sex.

This, though … this rankled him.

Would you wait, mother? Seed wondered.

From the recesses of memory, her voice floated to him. The same words she would speak during his earliest days as a gardener, watching over his little planters of tulips, daisies, and poppies with a sort of wide-eyed rapture, one might be forgiven if they thought he feared he might miss the day the first sprigs sprouted from the dirt.

All flowers bloom in their own time, little Rose, she’d say just before playfully nipping his ear. Care for them, and they will return your love with beauty when they decide their time has come.

Seed closed his eyes, frowning to himself. Yes. That’s how she’d present her case, and it’s how Rosewater wished him to look at it, too. Certainly, Seed could wait.

The village, though …

He slipped his left hoof out from under Petal’s head, careful not to rouse his dear mate, and rolled out of bed. The Rosethorn stallion padded his way across the room, keeping his steps soft and slow on his bath to the balcony. With a little tug of magic, Seed turned the handle and slipped outside and shut it behind him. Petal could have a few minutes longer.

His favorite plush cushion beneath the balcony awning was calling his name. Complete with a prime position to look out over his ancestor’s legacy and consider how she might view the modern age.

The war had been anything but tenuous, in her day, Seed recalled from his lessons with Rosewater. Merrie and Damme openly fought and raided one another, the Primfeathers holding onto the last vestiges of their power while the Primilines gained more ground, the Rosethorns gleefully flaunting their own after supplanting the Rosewings, and the Rose Shadows and Rose Knights of old battling through the night in their secret war.

And then there was Rosewine Rosethorn. Powerful in her own right. The eldest of the main line Rosethorn sisters at the time, but not yet with foal. Uninterested in war.

So uninterested she decided she’d make her own way, her own fortune. A hoof in the eye of both cities.

Double so for Merrie when her mother tried to call up her hired hooves for the militia.

Yes, Rosewine would’ve waited. Impatiently, yes, but she would’ve given those who offered help time to prove truth to their words.

Seed laid on his side, watching as the villagers in his Garden of Love began to emerge from their homes, called by the first light of dawn upon their village paradise in the hills. Slowly, his typical lazy smile tugged upon his lips once more.

That would be the early-risers among Petal’s workers, along with the various artisans and crafts ponies and dock ponies. He inclined his head just slightly and sniffed, smirking to himself.

Below, he heard the familiar sound of hooves rapping out a rhythm upon the door.

It begins.

With a shake of his head and a fond farewell to any hope that he might be able to steal away a few hours’ laziness enjoying the fruits of his family’s legacy, Rose Seed hummed a merry tune and rolled to his hooves. A little burst of magic to straighten his mane later, and the confidence that his mother couldn’t possibly know that his mane was anything less than stellar, he trotted back into his room, bound for the foyer.

A voice like angels singing slurred, “Whazzah?” Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed Petal stirring. She rolled and covered her head with a pillow. “Whassamah?”

“Nothing’s the matter, my love,” he murmured. Seed pulled the verdant drapes closed with a tug of shimmering fuchsia. “Get your rest. Just a couple visitors to greet.”

She groaned. “Bedowninna—“

“You will not.” He guided the blanket up over her shoulders as he slipped himself out of their bedroom. “You need rest. Stars above, don’t make me get my tangle vines and use them for something other than making you scream, dearest.”

Though Petal protested his words with another slurred grown, she didn’t rise. He saw that hint of a smile upon her face before she succumbed to sleep once more—and thank the stars for that.

Seed trotted down the corridor toward the main stairway, passing by the various bedrooms of lovers and those co-opted for workshops—primarily Roselyn and Bliss’s doing, that—passed the splendid communal baths and portraits of the Rosethorn and Rosewine families and their lovers, past and present until he reached the wooden railing, carved such that it looked like rose and grape vines entwining together.

By the time he reached the foyer, one of his lovers, short, stocky earth pony mare by the name of White Rose was already there speaking in hushed tones with whomever was waiting on the porch. Judging by the sate of her tail—untouched by brush or shampoo, by the look of it—she’d only just rolled out of bed and hurried down the hall to bring the noise to a halt before it roused everypony.

The setting of her ears and squaring of those sturdy shoulders belayed her displeasure before her voice even filtered to Seed’s.

“Rumble, right now really isn’t the time—“

“Not a word was spoken of it last night! I’m simply asking what Lady Rosethorn and Seed learned from Lord Collar!”

“You may ask when he is available! I’ll not allow this after everypony dragged themselves home and nearly dropped in the sitting room from the stress’s taxations upon them!”

“Rumble, hush. White Rose, my apologies, however you must understand our curiosity,” Silver Drop’s cool voice came next. “I do apologize for contributing to the crowd.”

“I understand.” Here, Seed noticed White Rose’s head tilting upward to shoot a look at the others. “The rest of you should be at the docks by now! Or tending to the vines and gardens! Loitering on my lover’s front porch hardly does anything!”

A flurry of angry voices followed, each low, but still carrying that irritation. An unintelligible wall of noise Seed didn’t quite make out for words, but got the message.

A message punctuated by a stomping of Silver Drop’s hoof. “I believe their point,” she surmised. “Is simply that the village has … an interest. One of our own, as you well know, and—“

“The Merrieguard of Rosewine and Primrose Bridges have always been friendly to the Garden of Love,” Rose Kiss’s voice came next. “Look, it’s partially our fault that Dammeguard went running off. More mine than anything. I’d just like to know if arrangements have been made so we can set something up and what we can do to help ease any worries on his side.”

“That, I certainly understand, but banging on the front door this early in the morning is unwarranted!”

“That, I apologize for, but I do want to speak with Seed before he gets wrapped up in gardening or village paperwork.”

Against the rising tide, White Rose stood little chance. The benefits of being a lover of the village leader didn’t extend to any real power.

Seed sighed and kissed any real chance of a peaceful morning goodbye as he sidled up to her and nosed into the crook of her neck. He took a moment to enjoy her scent, the way she shivered to his touch, and whispered, “I’ll handle this. Go back to bed or go enjoy a bath, dear.”

White Rose turned a questioning look upon him, banished with a kiss between her eyes which made her give a squawk of protest and a grin across his face.

She so hated when he did that in front of company, as made evident by her attempt to rear up and bite his chin.

Easily fended off with a little nudge to her chest, though. “Go on,” he said, waving her off. “Thank you for being considerate.”

The look she shot him promised a some small repayment later, but held a bit of thanks as well. Good enough. White Rose butted her forehead against his chest, hiding a yawn, then turned to trot off for the stairs. The extra little turn she put into her hips, her own way of giving a playful thanks. Whether to bed or bath, Seed couldn’t say.

Just so long as she could get a bit of her morning back.

Humming to himself, Seed turned a look upon the assembled group. Sure enough, dock ponies, crafts ponies, gardeners, and vinters, a good mix of ponies. About twenty all in all.

Like they’d volunteered to collect and relay news to the rest of the village through its best network—gossip.

A Rose’s best friend.

He smiled. “Well, I know a few of you need to get to the docks before you get yelled at, a few need to get up to tend to the vines before my mate awakens and starts yelling, and a couple need to run along to the greenhouses before we start wondering why we’re still working at dusk.” Seed gave them a moment to enjoy a round of sheepish laughter and ducking of heads. “So for you lot, I’ll keep this brief and say that Rosewater and I did speak with Lord Collar on the bridge in the wake of Dancer’s fall and rescue. He didn’t give us a name yet, but has offered his aid. My cousin has vouched for his word’s worth, and I’m inclined to believe her.”

From the back, a younger stallion, Rosewood Leaf, one of Kiss’s cousins, piped up, “Did he say when he’d tell us?”

Seed shook his head. “Sorry, Leaf. Lord Collar stated that he didn’t know which of his Dammeguard rescued Dancer yet, but he’s searching. All I can say right now is that he asked for our patience,.” The sighs and flat looks that gained him earned a shrug. “Come on, now. There’s still a war going on. If he’d given that stallion to us on a platter without asking for assurances, I’d question his morals. And whether he’d presented us with the right stallion to thank.”

“And in the meantime?” Kiss asked. His brows raised, the implicit doubt plain on his face.

Him, Rumble, and Silver. They deserve the more thorough explanation. “In the meantime, we do what we’ve always done.” Seed shrugged. “We work through it. The day’s labors won’t wait for whimsy, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter right now.” While the workers again heaved sighs and muttered utterances on Dammers taking forever and a day, Seed gestured to his chosen trio. “You three, I’d like to have a word in my study, please. Since you’re all more directly involved.”

Showering and grooming would just have to wait until some questions were answered. Budding Rose would have been thrilled.





Like all things which came from the Rosewines and Rosethorns since the days of Rosewine Rosethorn’s founding of the Garden, the study in the Garden Villa was a blend of warm allure that promised both tender care and utter delight. Much like the manner in which their wines and flowers were produced and gave their clientele in turn.

Polished oaken fixings and flowery and vine imagery were evident in every bit of the décor—from the verdant drapes to the fine rug of crimson and green beneath the plush red cushions upon which his guests sat, it seemed to Seed that his forefathers and mothers wanted visitors to know this, not Rose Palace, was where Roses really conducted business.

Business and demonstration first. Play and entertainment, only after all inquiries were answered.

The Garden Villa was a place for professional and emotional appetites to be sated. It all just depended on what their guests wished to receive.

“Before we begin, I suppose I should offer tea,” Seed said, still standing beside his desk. “Would any of you care for a pot? I have several Rosewood family blends, and White Rose’s personal custom blends, if she hasn’t changed where she hides her stash.”

“No thank you.” Silver reclined against Rumble. “Would I be correct in presuming there is more you didn’t wish to share regarding your talk with Lord Collar?”

He nodded once. “Yes. I didn’t wish to share with everypony, but …” Seed let the sentence hang, and moved to take a seat on his desk, uncaring of the lack of modesty it afforded him. “And I’m telling you this in strictest confidence. I don’t want this spreading through the Garden or the Merrieguard.” Here, he sent Kiss a meaningful look. “I must stress that, Kiss.”

Kiss held up a hoof. “Understood. What is it?”

Sighing, Seed massaged his brow. He knew the headache was coming. “What I said at the door is true to a point.” He held up a hoof to forestall any questions. “Judging by the reactions of Lord Collar and his Dammeguards, I think they do know which of their number rescued Dancer. I’d be stunned to hear otherwise.”

Rumble Wagon fixed him with a hard look. “I thought you said you and Lady Rosewater trusted his word.”

“We do. Let me explain.”

“Please do explain how a stallion you believe to be lying should be trusted to keep his word.”

Oh, Seed could just imagine what his father might say. That a Gardener would get so angry about a lie.

Instead, he offered a smile. “As I said outside, there is still a war, Rumble. He likely knows, and I think Rosewater has a bit of a suspicion as well, if I’m reading her right. But think of it from their perspective.” He flicked an ear east, toward Merrie proper. “I don’t think either of us would like Rose Palace to pick up his name and try to pluck him off the streets, would we?”

Kiss actually blanched. “Surely, you don’t think Roseate would be that petty,” he protested. “She’s a rutting bitch and I’d like to tie a rock around her neck and kick her over the side of the Primrose, but that Dammeguard saved a foal.”

“Which is the one thing that means neither treaty office would let her try to call a violation. They’d laugh her right out the door and say such heroism and selflessness and care of another is done with Princess Celestia’s highest blessing. Making noise to complain might even get her attention.”

“You think, instead, she’d trick him into coming to the palace to accept a reward?”

Humming an affirmative, Seed gave a wan smile. “And I’m willing to bet that reward might involve a lure courtesy of one of my cousins. I’ll give good odds on it being Rosetail’s chance to prove herself, or Crown just to shut her mother up.”

A sobering reality, and one none of his three friends could deny.

The setting of their ears and eyes flitting to avoid his gaze served testament to that.

“What would you have us do, then?” Rumble asked. “Just wait and hope?”

A weak shrug was all Seed could offer. “Right now, yes. And trust me. I won’t undermine my cousin, but …” Here, he met Silver’s gaze and raised his brows. “Well, just because Aunt Rosewater says I can’t have sweets before dinner doesn’t mean I can’t inspect the cookies.”

Her ears twitched once. Silver furrowed her brows. “You know something?”

“I do.” Chuckling to himself, Seed brought a hoof up to rub his snout. “It’s silly, really, how things work out. I thought so once I took a moment to think on that Dammeguard’s appearance. A courier, I think.”

Kiss arched a brow. “What about it?”

Seed simply kept smiling and bobbed his head from side to side.

It took a moment before Kiss twigged on.

“You—wait.” He wrinkled his snout. “You know him?”

“Not personally,” Seed replied, quick to stop Rumble from demanding why he didn’t speak up sooner. “I’ve never had the pleasure. From sight, from distance. On our evening walks, we’ve watched him flit about the rooftops and admired him from afar. Petal and I, his physique, I’ll confess—“

Silver Drop snorted. “Cad.”

He bowed. “Roselyn as well. But dear Rosie Bliss is just enamored by his talent. Though, after yesterday …” The Rosethorn stallion let his playful air fade. “After yesterday, I daresay there’s not a pony in the Garden who isn’t an admirer of his flying.”

“And at least one in my group,” Kiss said, chuckling. “Rosewing Breeze was late taking off because we were dealing with a bit of a squabble near Primrose Bridge. By the time he got there, he said the tailwind that stallion made in his flight back to Damme nearly sent him spinning into the river.”

Rumble gave a low whistle.

Which left Silver to glance between the lot of them. “For those of us who aren’t quite as familiar with the implications, what does that matter?”

“The Rosewings and their rival Primfeathers produce the best flyers in the region,” her mate replied. “And they hate each other to this day, and boast loudly about their talents. For one to complement another pegasus says a great deal.”

Indeed it did. Bliss and Breeze, eh?

To think that little jackanapes would actually pay somepony a compliment without snark—well, Budding would never believe it.

It certainly roused Seed’s intrigue. The intricacies of flight were about as useful to him as a toothbrush to a jellyfish, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the skill.

Definitely a good reason to see if he might happen upon a chance to inspect those “cookies” he’d mentioned.

That in mind, he aimed a smile at Rumble and Silver. “How is Dancer doing this morning? Did he sleep?”

“Like a rock, thank the Mare,” Rumble said, sighing and shaking his head. A ghost of a smile played upon his lips. “Wouldn’t let go of that helm, though. I think we might need to pry it out of his hooves if we ever hope for him to dance in the fields after rain again.”

Seed chuckled. “Oh, stars, we can’t let that happen!” He shook his head. At least the colt had slept. Holding onto that helm only made sense—he’d probably have clung to that Dammeguard if he’d been able.

His thoughts turned to the helm again. Seed had certainly given it some thought yesterday, but asking permission to borrow it at the time would have been in poor taste to say the absolute least.

Today, though, given the circumstances …

“I wonder,” he ventured. “Would it be all right if Petal and I visited Dancer soon? I’d like to see how he’s doing.”

“Of course.” Silver bobbed her head. Then, she furrowed her brows. “You’ve got a look about you.”

“Do I?”

“You do. You may look lazy, but I know you, Rose Seed. What are you thinking?”

His smile gave way to laughter. Seed allowed himself a moment to cast off that lazy, half-asleep look so he might meet his friends with one of a Rosethorn scheming. “I did mention nothing was said about inspecting my treats before dinner,” he reminded them, tracing a hoof along the Rosethorn cuts framing his snout. “Fortunately, our Dammeguard hero left behind a trinket I’ll venture has his scent fresh and vivid for any Rose’s nose, let alone this one. And, yes, I did get a good sniff of it.”

Rosewater never said Seed couldn’t just happen to run into any Dammeguards.
> 04. Gossip
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

None could claim Budding Rose to have been a fool when raising Rose Seed.

Behind that lazy smile and sleepy eyes, she knew better than any, his mind worked and worked while everypony else teased and prodded him about when he was going to start acting like a proper Rosethorn. When his cousins would scorn and mock him, whenever Roseate sneered and voiced loud enough that he might hear that he was either touched or the product of some poor siring, he simply smiled and found interest elsewhere.

The hurt, he hid. His hatred for the family’s fractious nature boiling just beneath that sleepy look and occasional dozing against the fine columns of Rose Palace.

Tweaking their noses nowadays more than made up for those early years. Rosehip still seethed whenever he spoke of foreign contracts and sales he’d acquired, her temper visible in the way her magic would make her wine boil.

To which, he’d always turn his most innocent expression and note, “Cousin, dear, I don’t think you’re supposed to heat wine. Especially not a white.”

She’d down it out of spite, of course. But he knew her tells well.

The little twitch of her left ear always belied her displeasure.

Just like her mother.

Budding Rose knew how to occupy his mind when it worked through those problems, or when he came across some hurt or bother.

The heir of the Garden Rosethorns hummed a cheerful note to himself as he stepped out into the morning sun, finally washed and brushed such that sunlight shimmered off every inch of his resplendent pink coat. Today, he’d decided to wear his mane in a bit of a different style. A ponytail to keep it out of his eyes, a deep fuchsia inherited from his mother.

If he looked at it right or grew it out a little longer, Seed could almost imagine Rosemary needling him a bit. “Couldn’t find a good enough look for yourself, so you had to copy somepony with style?” she’d say.

Seed maintained his smile, a practiced effort since the news broke. Practiced effort, and the greenhouse his mother gifted him for his tenth birthday. Well, “gifted“—it had been her personal greenhouse, one she had only used to grow flora for her personal interest or scents, or for dear friends.

Now, his. Her way to occupy his mind.

It was either that or letting him stare at a wall, mulling things beyond the point which they should have been considered. Or scheming something.

The latter, really, she wished to stop if only for her sanity. “So long as your schemes do not impact me,” Budding would say. “I’ll be happy to talk.”

A fair point.

Rosewater could only wonder why she was never granted such exemption.

Nowadays, Seed’s greenhouse was his personal haven, much like it had been Budding’s. No flowers grown within were sold, not even to his friends or lovers. Putting a price on flora he grew as part of his own personal distraction or intrigue just seemed wrong, for reasons he could never quite understand.

Any which left this greenhouse were his to give as gifts, whether for their use in scents or just to show his affection.

The stallion trotted his way along the cobblestone path, his eyes flatting this way and that to take in the different arrangements dotting the property in circular gardens which appeared cut into the lawn. Or the flowering bushes along the tree line.

These lovely blooms would die soon, sad though it would be. The natural turn of seasons didn’t much care for the beauty of floral arrangements.

Still, there was always reason to find joy in such changes. A new year, the dawn of a new springtime meant the chance to clear out the remains of those old arrangements and create something new. Something beautiful.

Seed cast his gaze skyward, humming.

When was the last time Rosewater had say in the arrangements? That’d have to have been before Aunt Carnation’s exile.

An idea began to take root in his mind. All he had to do now was figure out a way to plant it in her head and let it gnaw at her a bit.

That’d be a fun little exercise. And Seed had an idea of just how he might slip that in, if he could get it right.

With a gentle touch of magic, he unlocked the latch and pushed open the double doors and stepped into his sanctuary of beautiful colors and fragrances. Rose Seed closed the doors behind him and took a moment to let his gaze sweep out over his greenhouse, a smile playing upon his lips.

His greenhouse was divided into five long planter benches—two set up back to back in the center of the greenhouse, two against either side wall, and one against a divider set up in the back which hid his tools for creating scents and the cloaks he and Petal wore on occasion to sneak around the cities. Plants and flowers of all colors and sizes grew in rich soil in their planters, some small trees and young flowering bushes sat upon the ground while hanging jasmine planters dangled from the ceiling.

 Seed ambled down the left side path to begin his inspection, his own little reprieve. He smiled, seeing the clusterings of bluebells and violets Prim Prism adored. Reminders of home, the colors of the Prim family and Damme, and her late grandmother’s favorite flowers. And two planters over, firebird dahlias and vibrant orange tulips for Prim Dazzle, a reminder of his own family from whom he stood estranged as a result of his choices.

A small, melancholic smile tugged at his lips. Neither he nor Seed nor any of their lovers intended that when they began their flirtations and courtship, but with the state of the cities, more families were starting to hedge toward the hardline stances as the war entered its natural death. And Dazzle’s was no exception.

He wrapped a tendril of magic around an empty watering can and lifted it to shoulder level. Dazzle and Prism always got a bit lonely around this time of year. Tremor, too, but flowers had never truly been a relief to him—he adored the vines and scents of wines.

A fact Petal would never let him forget.

The Rosethorn stallion trotted his way over to the water in the corner, just before the divider to his back room, and set the can under it. He began to hum to himself an idle tune as he worked the pump, and let his mind turn to Dancer and the Dammeguard.

And the helm.

The helm, as said on Rosewine Bridge, made for a poor hostage. If the smiths of Damme didn’t have a hundred in storage, waiting for an exchange of bits and thanks of service to the Dammeguard, Seed would trot inside and eat a sofa cushion. What it carried though, that was more valuable than Prim Collar could ever know.

Gleaning scents from clothing or equipment was a small task—stars, it was how he’d found Prism and Dazzle during their chases, that dear mare didn’t realize their scents betrayed her even when she used her talent until he and Petal caught and took an ear each in their mouths, their magic teasing the other ‘till they danced on their hooves for release. A little hint, just enough to let him see Dazzle through a crowd or hidden in the bushes, a whiff of Prism’s perfume.

He smiled, drawing the bucket away so he might begin his work. Seed cast his gaze skyward for a moment, as though he might see a glimpse of that Dammeguard flying through the tinted glass ceiling.

Not so lucky. The poor stallion would have to outfly the Merrieguard pegasi if he tried.

“Though, if Rosewings are complimenting you,” Seed mused aloud. “You’re not really in any danger of being caught in air, are you? I wonder if you’d fly circles around them just to prove a point.”

“I shouldn’t think I fly at all,” a mare’s voice replied, tinged with amusement. “I’m afraid I lack a couple necessary limbs.”

Seed flicked a dusty pink ear toward the door, a brow arching. He turned a curious smile upon the mares standing in the doorway. “How did you two know I’d be in here? I don’t think I ever showed you this greenhouse.”

Fervent Wish beamed. “Goldie and I were trotting over to see if you’d all mind if we joined you for breakfast and, er, caught up yesterday.” Her smile faltered a touch. Golden Glow turned gave her a gentle nudge of the shoulder to prod her onward, the setting of her ears telling of nerves. “We, er, were hoping you might have news of the foal. Rain Dancer?”

“Raindrop Dancer,” Seed corrected. He smiled at Golden Glow. “No need to be fearful of wanting to know, Goldie. If not for Silver Drop and Rumble Wagon’s visit this morn, I’d be like you wondering—and the rest of the village, no doubt.” Chuckling, he shook his head and made his way back along the bench to water and feed his flowers. “I take it you saw me leaving the villa and thought to visit?”

“Yes, exactly.” Fervent shifted. “Er, were we not meant to come into this greenhouse?”

The stallion shrugged his shoulders, his sleepy smile tinged with a hint of teasing. “No, but I don’t often get visitors in this one. It’s sort of my little getaway greenhouse.” He swept a hoof over the benches and planters, adding, “Not a bud of this is ever sold or given to any but my dearest friends or lovers. But … well, I’ve never been against any pony visiting. Petal’s the only one who does, the rest tend to leave me alone.”

“Oh.” Her ears splayed.

Beside her, Golden Glow ducked her head low. “I do apologize, Mr. Seed,” she said softly. “We really don’t mean to impose—“

He waved her off. “You’re not. And just Seed, please. You’re only concerned, as we all have been. As for Dancer, he’s well as one might expect.” His smile faded, Seed focused for a moment on a pot of tulips, and gave a bit extra fertilizer. Dazzle loved them bright and beautiful. “I hope to visit him, if his parents will allow me. Perhaps I should bring him something to help after that scare.”

The mares shifted, an awkward silence fell over them as Seed continued his work, methodically feeding and watering each of his children in turn.

Then, once he’d refilled his can and begun to take care of those hanging jasmine planters, Golden spoke again, “Is it odd of us to ask?”

Seed turned again, his brows furrowed. “No. Why should it be?”

“Well …” She faltered beneath his questioning look, and glanced to Fervent for aid.

Fervent offered a comforting butt of forehead to the shoulder, then turned to explain. “We’re not of the village nor do we really, er, know that family. So … I guess, in some communities back home, it would be impolite to ask about family business.”

Not for the first time, Seed had to wonder just what was so attractive of that insular nature he’d heard so much of from foreigners. It couldn’t be Princess Celestia’s want.

It almost seemed contrary.

“It’s said that it takes a village to raise a foal,” he mused. “You’re a friend of the village, you’ve been a part of it enough to know and respect some of our ways. It’s only natural anypony should ask about the wellbeing of a foal who nearly drowned.”

“To a point, yes, but …” Fervent fidgeted in place. “The family might like privacy?”

“From a concerned pony asking if they’re foal is okay a day after an incident like that? Stars take me, I should hardly think so. Silver and Rumble were happy to tell me he was well, all things considered.”

Still, their faces showed uncertainty. The notion quite foreign to them.

Just as theirs that Dancer’s family might not appreciate genuine concern was to Seed.

To that end, Seed finished his work and set the can on the floor, just off the path, and offered a smile. “Would you feel comfortable with me sharing your hope that he’s doing well when I visit them later?”

Fervent ducked to hide coloring cheeks. “Please. If it’s not too much trouble.” She made as if to say more, but hesitated, her tail flicking.

Unease and a want to ask more of him.

Seed took the chance to turn away and hum as he seemed to search for his clippers to trim and prune a few flowers. The extra bulbs would make for good supply for Petal’s wines, and their fragrances, and the tea leaves would be sent to Mountain Rose to be prepared for White Rose’s stores. He found them in the top drawer, right where he’d left them—oh, and there just happened to be two extra sets for his loves when they chose to join him here.

He flicked a look at Golden and Fervent. They were friends, and thus, loves of his.

It was a Merrier thing and a Gardener thing.

“Would you care to join me?” he asked, levitating the extra clippers in askance. “While we talk, of course.”

Golden’s lips twitched into a smile. “More labor to relax and enjoy life,” she said with laughter in her voice, even as she accepted the clippers. “Stars, you Gardeners make so many of the Canterlot folk look lazy.”

“We love our home and love our way of life. Any work to maintain both is a labor of love.” Seed winked at her, adding, “Think of it like maintaining a garden in your windowsill, only much, much bigger.”

The mares rolled their eyes, already used to some of his quips and wordplay with the time they’d spent exploring his village, and trotted around to the opposite side of the row he was about to start on and set to work.

They worked together, like the happy newlyweds they were, and so much like married partners here in the Garden. They stood close, their shoulders occasionally brushing together and eyes meeting in enticing looks which prompted the occasional stolen kiss, and one or two quick glances at Seed to make sure he wasn’t bothered.

He wasn’t of course, and he made sure to show this with a smile and uninterrupted humming of an old folk song he knew. Their love could be freely shared here, this was just their way of feeling things out.

Like a foal dipping a hoof in the steaming waters of the communal baths for the first time, they dipped theirs into this Garden lifestyle.

Seed procured a tray for he and they to set the specific flower bulbs he pointed out, noting their vibrance and fragrance, and, with permission, plying a light touch of scent magic so they could smell and savor what he did.

Now and again, he noticed how they shared looks, then glanced at him with a want to ask some troublesome question evident in their eyes and the set of their ears.

Rather than prod, he waited for one to speak up. When it came to newcomers, the Garden had its way of letting them come to terms with the lifestyle, strange as it seemed to them.

Like letting honeybees draw nearer to flowers on their own time.

Fervent shifted in place, lowering her gaze. “Could we perhaps trouble you to … sate a bit of curiosity, Mr. Seed?”

“I wouldn’t consider it troubling, so you may not trouble me,” he teased, unable to resist. “But you may ask, and I’ll happily answer as best I can. Or direct you to somepony who can.”

She flicked a stem at him in reply, and laughed when he caught it between his teeth and chewed. “You aren’t at all like the lords or ladies back home,” she mused. “In a good way.”

“Thank you. But you wanted to ask something?”

“Er. Y-Yes.” Again, she shifted. Her tail flicked nervously. “Could you … maybe tell us what it was like for you? Growing up in this place?”

Ah. Seed smiled. “Are you asking about the villa or the Garden as a whole?”

“Both. I think?”

“Both,” Golden confirmed. “It all seems very …” She poked idly at a vibrant blue passion flower, the perfect thing to make a fragrance to enhance an evening with all his loves, especially if Roselyn could make it into a candle.

Seed set that notion aside for the time being. He paused in his trimming so he might meet Golden’s eye and ticked his head to the side. “Different?” he supplied. “Confusing?”

“Both. Again.”

Chuckling, Seed snipped away section of a flowering bush and hummed, thinking of how best to describe it for them. “I suppose it would be best to share a bit of what my foal hood was like,” he said, after a moment. “I was raised in a rearing group with Petal and my … well, we were raised like brother and sister, so, my sister, Rosemary. And when we three were old enough, we would help out a little with my sister, Zephirine Rose. You’ve not met them yet,” he added when he noticed their perplexed looks. “Zephie has been a bit busy since the Commoners’ Gala.”

They stared blankly back at him, Fervent’s brows knitted together as though she were trying to work through some complex problem.

“Ah.” Seed dipped his ears in apology. “Where did I lose you?”

“Raised like brother and sister,” Fervent deadpanned.

“Oh, yes. Carnation Rose, her mother, and Budding Rose, my mother, were quite close. When we were all younger, Auntie Carnation would bring Auntie Rosewater and Rosemary over. We were like a big family, really. So …” He paused, laughing as he recalled his foalish reasoning. “Auntie Rosewater became Auntie Rosewater, but Rosemary, being younger, was my bratty baby sister. Then when my other mother, Tempest Rose, gave birth to Zephie, I had two bratty baby sisters. Does that help?”

She gave a hesitant smile and shake of her head. “I think … so, Rosemary is a sister in a … surrogate sense?”

Close enough. Seed bobbed his head.

“And you mentioned your other mother—doesn’t that make Zephirine a half-sister?”

She just missed it.

“No, full sister. My father, Blue Rose, is bonded to our mothers. He sired us both.”

Before Fervent could struggle further with the notion, Golden came to her rescue, nipping her cheek. “I think I understand that aspect,” she said. “You said something about rearing groups? Is that why I’ve seen foals grouped by age along with … teachers, no? And other foals, not quite adults.”

Nodding, Seed perked his ears. “Yes. The families here work to make the village prosperous, and the village, in turn, helps to raise its own.” A warm smile spread across his features as some such memories rose in his mind. “Rosewater helped with our rearing group. She helped my mother and Aunt Carnation teach me about gardening and scents, and I helped with Zephie’s for a time. Similar lessons, along with village law.”

He snorted a laugh, pushing to snip another leaf. “My time with them was cut a bit shorter than would be the norm. Same with Petal—we had our duties to learn as Lord and Heiress to learn and attend.” Seed let a fond smile play upon his lips. “I remember helping my mother to teach the pegasus foals how to fly. We would tie ribbons in our tails and have them chase us to work on their turns.”

The mares smiled. Perhaps they could imagine the sight. Or maybe they’d seen one of the rearing groups playing the same game.

“Learning through play,” Golden murmured softly. “And I’m sure they had a wonderful time.”

“They do. Chasing games especially are rather prevalent here.” Seed thought on Zephie and how she’d adapted her own. To say nothing of how Rosie Bliss used her talent for silent flight to swoop down on lovers and visit her affections upon them. “I still sometimes slip away to play with the foals. It keeps me … connected, I feel. Though I don’t yet have my own.”

Fervent snipped the blue passion flower bulb and set it on the tray. “An important part of the village life, being so connected to one another.” Her smile took on a playful edge. “I suppose there were prizes for the foals who could get one of your ribbons, and that you’d make it a point to give your sister a hard time?”

He beamed. They knew him so well already.

It earned him another stem thrown at him. This one, het let bounce off his nose before he caught it in his magic and popped it into his mouth. Seed sniffed and, smelling only a bit of tea on their breath, flicked a look toward the door. Toward the villa.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t properly hosted them in his home yet.

Time to fix that. Preferably before it could somehow make its way to Budding Rose’s ears.

“Would you ladies care to join us for breakfast once we finish this row?” he offered. “I believe Bliss was making blueberry pancakes this morning, and I’d be happy to share a meal with friends before I go pick up a little something to bring when I visit Dancer.”

Almost on cue, a low rumble gave hint to one pony’s stomach voicing approval. Fervent’s cheeks flushed, she gave a nervous laugh. “We may have wanted to hurry to catch you before you got too busy with your day,” she said in a hurried squeak.

“Then Bliss’s pancakes will be the perfect remedy. And I—“ he winked ”—can pester her for ideas on which sweets I can get from her sister’s shop for a very lucky foal.”





Seed held his smile in place, patient as a statue. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he said, his tone level despite a want to snatch his prize and flee. “I don’t have anything you don’t know.”

The pudgy mare stamped a hoof. “You must have something!” she huffed behind her counter. A hoof still held the pouch of sweets bound for little Raindrop Dancer, a pouch he could just as easily pry free with a loop of magic.

Oh, if only his mother’s lessons in manners hadn’t been so thorough.

Rosie Nights was a sweetheart of a mare. A pretty little thing, pleasantly plump and bouncy as a bunny through the field. And one of Rosemary’s friends, one who, with her mates, happily offered to pay the extra license fee for a fourth in their bond.

Her sister had been happy to confirm it for him.

Of course, the problem with both Rosie and Rosemary was the fact that they tended to gossip quite a bit.The former more so.

A boon for Roseate and her goons, even if she didn’t mean it.

Seed shrugged. “I don’t really know what you expect me to be able to say, Rosie,” he replied with an upturned hoof. “One minute, I was on the bridge, trying to reach Dancer. The next, there was a gust of wind like a wild storm, and that Dammeguard dove past us and pulled him from the water.”

She fixed him with a look of disbelief. Her tail flicked, agitated. “I heard otherwise.”

“Did you?” He lit his horn and looped his magic around the pouch, his smile straining. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Somepony seems to be telling tales.”

“Tales involving you meeting with Lord Collar.” Rosie raised her brows. “I hardly think that’s just nothing.” Very deliberately, she turned her hoof over to pin the pouch to the countertop. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

A sharp one. Though it made sense. Rosemary didn’t just go for a lover for looks. They had to be able to keep pace with her in conversation or debate. If they could do both, well, that was a boon.

They just had to be open-minded enough to see other viewpoints. Rosie, of course, was better for conversation than philosophical debate, her interests more in the social lives of friends and ponies in Merrie as a whole. But her attention to those details of gossip and inter-pony relationships? Or the implications behind certain ponies meeting?

Much like Rosewater’s with scents.

Sighing, Seed brought a hoof to his forehead. “Rosie, I can’t just be giving out tidbits for gossip,” he said, finally. “Not when it comes to village business.”

“That Dammeguard saved a foal’s life, Seed.” Rosie scoffed. “Come on. Don’t tell me you think that’s not going to warrant some praise and admiration in Merrie. Especially after all the mess going on.”

A fine summation, if rather diplomatic.

Rosie didn’t seem willing to admit that, presently, it was Rose Palace making most of the mess, while Prim Palace worked to keep the peace on their side of the river. Although, given recent events, it was only a matter of time before Prim Lace and Prim Collar decided to up the ante.

Stars help the raiders if the Dammeguard ever shifted from adaptive defense to entrapment and counter maneuvers to cut off escape as they had in the earliest days of the Lace Reformations. Or go after supplies again.

It hadn’t been so long that Merrie and her raiders had forgotten what happened the last time the old Rose Shadows had been able to slip in and start sabotaging gardens, scent crafters, and foreign supplies. Enough to leave them defenseless and panicking as the Rose Knights hurried to try and ward their Damme counterparts off from their latest attack.

And that had been at a time Merrie was economically prosperous. These days?

Well. The Garden of Love’s economy grew while Merrie’s slowly contracted. It wouldn’t be long before the common pony took notice.

Though they, like Rosie among them, wouldn’t until it started to truly hit their income. Or until Roseate’s transgressions were dangled before their eyes and they could connect certain threads.

In the interim, Seed shook his head. “I’ve told you that Lord Collar spoke with us about the Dammeguard. I don’t have anything else on that matter.” An idea sparked to life. “But, I may have something else for the gossip mill.”

The magic words had been said.

Rosie Nights’s ears perked. “I’m listening,” she drawled with the tone of a mare who expected to hear something good before she granted him leave of her.

Seed cast a quick glance toward the door like he expected one of Roseate’s goons to be listening through a glass cup, then leaned in and murmured, “Rosewater’s got her eyes on a stallion.”

Scoffing, Rosie shifted and fixed him with a look. “What do you take me for? There’s been talk of that since that duel with her mother before Rosemary was captured.”

She hadn’t noticed. Bingo.

He drew back, feigning surprise. “Has there been?” Seed asked, all the while slipping that loop of magic toward the side of the counter.

“Yes. She declared intent for Lord Collar, from what I’ve heard from gossip.”

Gossip, yes. But no real confirmation unless somepony went to the treaty offices. Not something most would bother doing to confirm something heard over idle chitchat.

The loop slipped off the countertop. Seed smiled at Rosie. “Yes, but gossip and talking to the mare herself are two very different things, no?”

Rosie’s eyes never left his. Now, she leaned forward, her tail swishing. “So it’s true?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I don’t know about it being Lord Collar,” Seed said, slowly drawing the loop around the side of the counter and to his belly. Almost there. Now, did he dare be really tricky about it? Oh, of course he did. “But I can tell you she’s got her sights set on this stallion and her tail does swish when she talks about him. Unfortunately, that’s all I have for you. You know how secretive she is.”

The stallion slid another loop into place just in time for Rosie’s hoof to come down upon the pouch.

“Nah uh. Not good enough, buster.” The candy mare narrowed her eyes at him, a look not quite as threatening as those of Rosewater or Rosemary, but not without an implicit vow of reprisal should he try to escape. “Dammeguard chat. Now. That’s the one everypony’s interested in, and I wanna know.”

Not as threatening, but definitely full of will.

No wonder Rosemary found her so attractive.

So he gave her what she wanted—the look of a stallion defeated, unable to outmaneuver her despite his efforts to distract. “Fine, fine,” Seed replied, sighing heavily as he readied a spell. He motioned her closer, then leaned in to whisper in her ear, “The Dammeguard stallion …”

He could almost feel her anticipation. “Yes?” she prodded.

“… Is a pegasus,” he finished bluntly, then teleported down the street, snickering as he pranced around the corner and hurried toward the Garden of Love.

Seconds later, right about the moment she realized the pouch pinned beneath her hoof was quite empty, swapped for the full one held in his magic, Rosie Nights’s voice carried to him on the wind, full of wrath and righteous indignation, “Rose Seed! You jerk!”
> 05. The Missing Messenger
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Much like the rest of the Garden of Love, Raindrop Dancer’s house wasn’t merely built atop or at the foot of a hill, but nestled into it. In fact, his grandpa, Rolling Fields, used to boast that his grandfathers had dug out with their own two hooves. 

Considering Rolling, himself, was a damn big stallion, Seed was quite inclined to believe him.

His hooves carried him down the winding roads, the cobblestones stained a rosy pink here and there by the vineyard’s rosy wines spilled upon them over the centuries, some by accident or leaky casks, others in jubilation as the villagers sang and danced and made merry on their holidays.

Others, still, by the power of the Garden Rosethorns and Rosewines, rising to defend their home against those who would disturb the peace. 

Seed forced a smile as he nodded to a group of foals, laughing and playing under the watchful eye of a bonded trio laying upon an outside lounge cushion. These days, defending the peace meant fighting his fellow Merriers rather than the old Rose Shadows or the Dammeguards, or merely trying to hold the terror Prim Lace could be back long enough for others to escape her reach and hinder her enough so her fabled “walks” took her away from the village.

Those days always seemed so terrifying and wild in history books. But, honestly, Seed wasn’t so sure he’d have preferred facing them rather than those of Merrie.

Some, at least. There were special cases.

His insidious aunt should have been born with tentacles rather than hooves, for she’d all but strangled every bastion of the softer side of Rosethorn’s teachings out of government, out of all the high places in the City of Delights and filled its veins with poison. That so many were happy to take the chance to let hedonism and power fantasies grant them control over those without the gifts of scent magic disgusted him to the core.

“Just how much would you rage at us if you came back to see?” Seed mused, not for the first time. “And how quickly would you join Damme in deposing Roseate and ending this war?”

Treasonous notions, probably. If he ever voiced them in Merrie. That much was plain enough when he’d learned that Kiss and others had been shouted and screamed at for swearing oaths to the city rather than Roseate herself.

“Hey there, Seed!” Rumble Wagon’s call snapped the stallion out of his musings. 

The Rosethorn stallion started and turned toward his friend’s voice, and found Rumble trotting through the modest yard, carefully skirting around his wives’ flower garden lest he incur their wrath for disturbing their ongoing joint project. A wise move, Silver Drop on her own was dangerous enough.

Smiling, Seed turned up the path to meet Rumble with a hug and a kiss upon either cheek. “How’s he doing?” came his question.

“He awoke an hour ago,” Rumble replied, his ears lowering a touch. He motioned for Seed to follow, and led him up the pathway toward their front porch.“Little tyke is still worn out. But he’s up and got some food in him, so that’s something. Has a bit of a case of the sniffles, but he seems well.”

“Something good, I should think.”

“Definitely. But …”

Seed swiveled his ear toward his friend, waiting for him to continue. 

Rumble seemed to hesitate. A rarity, for a stallion as bullheaded and forward as he. His lips pressed together and ears splaying flat, he trotted the path mostly in silence broken only with awkward attempts to speak again.

Only once they reached the porch did Seed finally stop and turn to face him fully. “Rumble,” he prodded. “We’ve known one another how long?”

How Rumble’s ears splayed further, Seed would never know. “Since we could barely walk,” came his answer.

“Exactly. So, whatever it is.” The taller stallion’s tail flicked. “Tell me. That colt is like a nephew to me, and I don’t have those. None of my kin in the Garden have foals themselves.”

That he didn’t give a damn about blood relations to those of Rosary, Rosewell, or Rose Powder went unsaid between them. What sane pony would claim any with those three?

Rumble blew a sigh through his nose. “Remember how I told you he was still holding onto that helm while he slept?” When Seed nodded, he said, “Won’t let it out of his sight. And he noticed a bit of scuffing on it from where it hit on the bridge, and pestered Silver about finding a way to clean it for when we give it back.”

“Why not let him? It’d be a nice gesture, and it’s perhaps natural he’d hold onto that as a bit of a safety blanket.”

“Well … perhaps. I can ask Kiss for his kit, maybe.” His old friend held up a hoof. “We had convinced him to wait just in case, but … well …” Another sigh. Rumble shrugged and trotted over to open the door, beckoning Seed inside. “It’s best you see yourself.”

His curiosity quite piqued, Seed followed, pulling the door closed behind them as he trotted through the modest living room and into the home Fertile’s family had, quite literally, carved out over the course of generations. He could smell all the distinctive scents of the family, Silver’s still fresh, a break in her routine trips to her forge. The metalworks would keep, Dancer, however, was one of a kind in her world.

Silver Drop’s head poked around the kitchen bannister, her ears perking when she saw Seed making his promised visit. She flicked a look back into the kitchen, the subtle sounds of a muted debate between parents and foal floated to them through the air.

Which meant it was a good time for every foal’s favorite silly adult to visit and check in on him.

Sure enough, as soon as Seed entered, he found the lucky colt and both parents seated around a table. Upon it, like a set piece that had been dragged close by an impetuous foal, that black Dammeguard helm rested. Little Raindrop Dancer had turned it so its empty face were facing him, and in between pleading looks and huffing submission before his mother’s tired sternness, he would splay his ears and slump in his seat, and then look into where the Dammeguard’s eyes should have been.

Interesting. Seed’s brow arched. Do you see his eyes beneath that helm? Or are you trying to imagine it? A more cynical side of him wondered if Dancer knew what that helm once represented to Merrie and Damme.

“It’s scuffy,” Dancer muttered words he must have argued a dozen times by now. The little colt paused to sniffle, then added, “And it needs cleaning.”

“Dancer, please give it a rest!” Raindrops Flowers groaned and covered her eyes, though not before Seed noticed the dark circles beneath them, telling of a stressful, sleepless night.

“But you always say Dammers can’t stand anything being dirty or unorga—orga—not always the same way, mommy!” The colt pulled the helm closer, pressing his forehead against it. Right against, in fact, where the worst of the scuffing showed its impact upon the bridge. “He won’t like having a scuffy, broken helm back!”

“Honey, his helm isn’t broken. Look. It’s just the strap. It’s just popped out.”

“He can’t wear it like that, though!”

Here, Fertile Soil came to his wife’s aid. “He’s not coming by today, little guy,” he said. “I’m sure we have enough time to wait and see what it is Seed wants with it.”

Tiny hooves clutched tighter around the helm. Almost like a security blanket, Seed realized. Oh, irony.

“But if it’s scuffy and broken, he’ll be sad and get in trouble,” came the colt’s last-ditch plea, complete with a rather admirable attempt at a quivering lip. “And he won’t even let me hug him thanks because Prims don’t like big cuddles—you both said so.”

Such a cue was too perfect to ignore.

“In my experience,” Seed mused, “Prims and Dammers don’t really mind cuddles, or even big cuddles. You just have to make sure they’re comfortable with them first.”

Raindrop Dancer jolted and turned, his little ears perked and eyes alight. A smile tugged spread across his features, coupled with a merry swishing of his tail. For a moment, the helm took a step back in importance. “Mr. Seed!” He hopped out of his seat, helm heavy and fumbly in his hooves, and wrapped the stallion’s legs in a hug. A painful one, thanks to that heavy metal thunking hard against his left shin. “Mr. Seed, did you find him? Is he here?”

Seed had to disguise a wince beneath a rather strained grin, but he managed. “I’m afraid I have to say no to both, Dancer. Sorry.” Before the colt could complain, he lit his horn and let the veil and scent shield around his bounty of sweets fall, and floated it near Dancer’s left ear. “But I brought you some sweets from Rosie Nights, and I was hoping you’d tell me how you were doing today.”

With a merry squeak, Dancer set the helm to the side, within easy reach, and plucked the offered bag out of the air with a rapid-fire chorus of gratitude before he undid the crimson ribbon bindings and bit into a sugar-crusted firebird dahlia petal. Sweet, but with a spicy kick, his very favorite.

Smiling as he watched the colt dig into his treats, Seed turned his gaze upon Fertile and Raindrops. “Would you mind if I spoke with Dancer? I’d hoped to see how he was doing.”

Fertile bit his lip. The setting of his ears told quite a bit of how he felt letting Dancer out of his sight for even a second.

Not unreasonable. Stars, forbid anypony think otherwise.

“Just a quick word right here, if that’s okay. I won’t bother too much.” Seed reached for the helm to set it back on the table, but stopped short. 

Dancer’s eyes had already snapped from his next candied petal to Seed’s, wide and full of worry, and a protest already on the tip of his tongue by the looks of him.

“Just putting it back up here for you,” he said softly, lifting it up and setting the one lingering trinket the Dammeguard had left down for him to see.. He affixed a sunny smile to his face, adding, “And you never answered my first question.”

The colt swallowed the sweets already in his mouth and thought a moment. He sniffled. “‘M okay,” he muttered. His ears flattened to his mane. “How come you didn’t find him?”

“Raindrop Dancer!” his mother warned.

Seed held up a hoof. “Lady Rosewater and I tried, Dancer. We asked Lord Collar, but he said he’s not too sure and he’ll have to look. You’ve met my Aunt Rosewater, haven’t you?” At the colt’s nod, he smiled. “And you know Lord Collar is a rather nice stallion, yes? I’ve met him a couple times.”

“I hear he’s strong and fights a lot.” Dancer flicked a look to his parents. “Is it true he doesn’t hate us?”

“Of course he doesn’t. His father is a Merrier.” A small tidbit most seemed to forget, and some quite deliberately. Seed gestured to the helm. “He said you were welcome to hold onto that while he looks, though, because I told him I thought you might like to give it back yourself.”

Dancer hummed and nodded, his ears still laid flat to his mane. “But shouldn’t he know his Dammeguards?” came his innocent prodding. “Lady Rosewater knows most everypony here, and she’s not been here long.”

Here, Fertile Soil gave his son a little nudge with his elbow. “Lady Rosewater used to visit a lot more, back when Mr. Seed, papa-Rumble, mommy, and I were all younger.” Despite his exhaustion, a playful smile tugged at his lips. “She used to foalsit for Mr. Seed, Miss Petal, and Miss Rosemary.”

“But he’s seen his Dammeguards longer! She’s been gone since forever ago!”

“Hey, just how old do you think we are, buster?”

Dangerous grounds. Seed should know, he’d been the one making those little comments around his mother and aunts for years. 

The angelic smile Dancer plastered upon his face worked about as well as it had for Seed back in his day, but it was a good try.

Chuckling, Seed patted Dancer on the head and said, “Yes, well, Lord Collar is quite a bit more involved in Damme’s running than Rosewater. But he’s nice, just like her.” 

Dancer didn’t seem entirely convinced. “How come he doesn’t know, then?” he asked again. “He had to have seen!”

Now, Seed felt himself stuck in a rather difficult position. Fertile and Raindrops, he knew would keep a secret to the grave if he asked. They were fine ponies, loyal to a fault.

The little colt sitting before him with that look of earnest upset plain upon his face, however, was a bit of a wildcard. He had a number of friends around the village, and they each tended to chatter.

A lot.

So he affixed a smile to his face and decided to tell a partial truth. “I think Lord Collar is worried somepony might try to hurt your Dammeguard,” Seed answered. “And I think he wants to make sure he’s not sending him someplace before he’s ready after he had such a fright with Mr. Kiss and the Merrieguard.”

“But why would somepony wanna hurt him? He helped.”

Damn. The problem with foals, especially those like Dancer, was they tended to be perceptive and thoughtful as soon as it wasn’t wanted. Merrier foals just had a way of twigging onto all the social ones.

He looked to Fertile and Raindrops for help. The poor mother gave a small shake of her head, a pleading look in her eyes telling that she didn’t want him to know all the intricacies of the war’s political side.

So, Seed sighed and said simply, “There are some things that I can’t tell you right now, Dancer. Because even some of us don’t quite understand yet ourselves.” He offered a small smile and nodded to the helm. “I wanted to ask if you might let me borrow this for a moment just so I could try to get your Dammeguard’s scent, so I can remember it the next time I visit Damme.”

Tiny ears perked up. “You’re gonna go look for him?”

“No, sadly,” Seed said with a shake of his head. “I promised Aunt Rosewater that I’d give Lord Collar until the Primrose Gala to find your Dammeguard. Until then, we have to wait.” He winked, adding, “But that doesn’t mean I might not run into him since I know his scent.”

It took all of three seconds before those coltish eyes sparked with understanding.

Dancer giggled, his tail swishing. “You’re sneaky, Mr. Seed!”

“I learned from the best.” Waggling his ears, Seed added, “Fortunately, mom’s not hear to twist my ears for tricking her, and I had her too distracted with early morning guests to twig on.”

The bag of sweets fell to the floor with a rustle as Dancer quickly hefted the helm in his hooves, a mighty effort for forelegs not quite fully developed.

“Here,” the colt said, sniffling for a third time. “Just to be sure.”

He wanted to be sure Seed got a good whiff.

Seed thanked him with a nod and leaned in, mindful of the colt’s attachment to the trinket. His Rosethorn markings, a deep red, barely a touch lighter than his aunt or cousins’ bloody crimson, began to glow as he tapped into the gifts passed down from Rosethorn the Wise himself. He closed his eyes, blocking out all distractions so he could breathe in and focus on each part of that scent.

And it was a strong one. The Dammeguard had worn it for some time, and worked hard at what he did.

The musty scent of a stallion’s sweat mixed with that familiar musk of pegasus, like that of cirrus and ozone before a particularly nasty storm. Rather typical of weather teams—in Damme, that could well mean one of the Primfeathers or their branch families. That heady dose of cirrus only added to the suspicion.

But then came something different. A citrus-based scent, more like oranges than lemons or limes from abroad. No, not quite oranges—stars, he could hear Rosewater chuckling and nipping his ears for taking an easy guess on a test. The scent carried that same tangy, citrusy kick, but with a bit of a floral touch, and a definite wafting of soap suds.

His ears perked. Orange blossoms, mixed with rainwater. Seed opened his eyes and stood tall, a smile playing upon his lips. Stars above. A Dammeguard who likes to smell fragrant, so he washes with orange blossom and rainwater based soaps and shampoos.

He motioned for Dancer to set down the helm, and tussled his mane. “Well,” he mused. “I can certainly say your rescuer knows how to pick a good fragrance, little one. I should think that one would be quite distinct, among Dammers, let alone Dammeguards.”

“So he’ll be easy to find?” Dancer asked, hopeful.

Seed gave him a chiding tap upon the head. “Remember, I’m not really searching until after the Gala, and only if Lord Collar doesn’t find him for us.” He waggled his ears. “I’m just going to take a few walks and see if we bump into one another. Totally different.”

“Semantics,” Fertile drawled with a roll of his eyes. “You and your loopholes.”

“A Gardener complaining about loophole exploitation? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“There’s exploitation, and then there’s abuse. Don’t think I don’t remember the ‘breeze knocked over the cookie jar’ incident.”

Chuckling, Seed stepped back toward the door. “A classic. Enjoy your sweets, Dancer. I hope to see you dancing in our gardens again in spring—ah! One more thing.” His ears twitched as the realization hit. The Rosethorn stallion aimed a pointed look at each of the family in turn, then pointed to the helm, all signs of play vanished from his face. “That. That does not leave the property, for any reason, until it’s time to return it to the Dammeguard.”

Raindrops Flowers started. “Such a shift, Seed.” She rose, tilting her head. “He wouldn’t go showing it around the city, I should think wearing it for play might be fine.”

“In better times, it might be.” Seed put aside pretense and raised the helm in his magic, turning it about so he could look into its empty face.

In it, he could see those stormy eyes, hardened in focus that still sent shivers to his tail. Then, fear dropped a weight into his belly.

He gave a faint snort. “You did have a striking gaze, Dammeguard,” he murmured. With a shake of his head, Seed banished the vision and set the helm atop Dancer’s head, smiling when it slid over his eyes. “I worry not that any Dammer will take offense or that anything might happen to a foal, but I would rather hold off questions about its origin as long as I can. To give us time to ensure his safety once he comes to retrieve it.”

For a moment, Raindrops seemed unwilling to believe it. She looked to Silver and Rumble for support, her ears splaying flat when she found two pained grimaces instead.

And in that instant, Seed knew, the Garden of Love’s neutrality would be tested once again.





The rest of the day passed with little incident of note. A small mercy after the previous and ensuing morning.

Petal, Bliss, and Roselyn had seen to Rosewater’s shopping, as he’d asked. It’d cost him a lengthy night, whether most would be spent on his back or with his hooves wrapped firmly around each mare’s waist in turn remained to be seen, but he’d at least managed to convince Petal to take his side on delaying repayment until after their meeting with Lord Collar.

It just wouldn’t do to show up actually being half-asleep. No matter how perfectly crafted that image truly was.

Tonight, though, would be a return to some semblance of normalcy.

Seed entered the living room with Petal by his side, and smiled at his lovers all gathered and laying together on the floor, on cushions, and on the fine chaises adorning the room. He took a moment to appreciate the sight and his own fortune to be part of their lives. And, for the trio of Prims present, he felt blessed to have had the chance to help them find a place to call home.

Once that moment had passed, he asked, “Would any of you care to join Petal and I on our evening walk?”

Several among them glanced up and then back at the lovers they cuddled with, their want to remain together plain even before they voiced a polite declining to his offer. But others rose and stretched and kissed those they chose to part with, promising affection upon their return.

“I could definitely use a good walk,” Prim Dazzle said, his crooked smile plain on his features and telling of mischief as he lit his horn. A second later, White Rose shrieked and tried to swat at his rear, her face a deep crimson. 

Prim Prism shook her head. “One of these days, Dazz,” she said, tweaking his ear with a little jolt of magic. “We’re all going to make you shriek yourself hoarse for that teasing.”

“Oh, please! You know that’s my favorite kind of night—ah-ahhh!”

On either side of him, a pair of smaller mares brushed their bodies along his, their gazes heated and smiles promising delicious fulfillment of that wish. Rosie Bliss’s magnificent purple feathers teased his scrotum between three delicate primaries, then ventured along his sheath.

“You forget, my sweet,” Bliss crooned, licking his collarbone. “That I can have you writhing in bliss with a mere feather teasing. But worry not. I’ll remind you this night, and our Roselyn Dream can lick you clean before we start again.”

Roselyn leaned up to nibble his jawline. “Mmmm, glazed stallion cock. I must’ve been a good little mare if Blissy’s letting me have my favorite dessert tonight. Anypony else having some or do I get it all to myself?”

A burly earth pony padded up behind Dazzle, his steps surprisingly soft for one of his size. Winking at Roselyn, he ducked low and nipped the mischievous unicorn’s dock, drawing a yelp and a jump. “Oh, I think I’ll share a bit with you, fire starter.” Sweet Grape grinned and laid his chin atop Dazzle’s head. “And I’d like a walk, I think. Slower paced, though, my hooves have been killing me since that last trip down from the vineyard house.”

Seed nodded. A nice, slow walk would be great after these past couple days.

And it’d serve his purposes well.

Once he and his merry band said goodbye to those who’d chosen to remain, they set out, each wrapping scarves tight around their neck, the Prim pair making sure to choose their familial blues and purples much to the traditional needling and playful efforts to switch them for Rose red and pink. The only exception, of course, was Bliss. Her natural resistance strong with her pegasus heritage.

“One of these days, I’m going to hide all your silly Prim blues and purples,” Petal mock threatened as they set out from the villa and passed through the archway of climbing roses. “And I’m going to have carmine roses sewn into each and every piece of fabric you both own.”

Dazzle and Prism shared a look, and then shuddered as one. “The horror,” he whispered. “You fiend, you know our poor Prim sensibilities won’t allow us to even look at a rose let alone smell or wear one’s color.”

An old joke, the oldest, in fact, between Dazzle and the Gardeners living in the villa. He’d been quite skittish himself, at first, still reeling from the death of his mother and caring for a younger brother and grieving father. His own grieving swallowed, buried beneath duty to family and liege lord.

Seed could only thank the stars he’d noticed the poor stallion on Rosewine Bridge during trade day, and decided to drop the lazy act to sidle up and offer him a drink and an ear for looking so down. What was that ridiculous one-liner he’d opened with?

Ah, yes. “Those lips of yours tempt me to ask for a kiss or if you’d like a glass. How about a bit of the former, and if you like it, we can forget bits and talk about the latter?”

It was stupid, but it worked. It filled Dazzle’s cheeks with a beautiful blush and tied his tongue so he stammered like a lovestruck teen as he tried to vocalize his acceptance, finally opting to just give up and nod shyly. 

A smile played upon Seed’s lips as the memory played out in his mind, even as he waved and smiled to neighbors, fellow villagers, and workers alike. He watched his loves all greeting them in kind, Dazzle actually exchanging a Merrier’s greeting kiss with a newly wed stallion couple he’d dined with the other night. 

They’d drank together and talked about anything and everything. From the similarities in how valued family was to Dammers and Merriers to the vast differences between Tussen Twee and Principes, a discussion which turned quite passionate, but intermixed with laughter and sincere intrigue, to even a hushed confession, whispered like Dazzle thought Lord Collar might throw him over the side and into the Merrie if he ever heard.

“I always thought Merrie looked beautiful at night,” he’d said, ducking his head. “Like something out of a book, prettier than Damme. And the Garden of Love in springtime, I hear, is beyond compare.”

Seed recalled leaning in close and whispering, “I’ll guarantee your safety if you’d like a tour.” And then, feeling daring, he’d slid his tail up Dazzle’s thigh. “And a warm bed, should you decide to stay over …”

That blush burned a deep crimson for a second before Dazzle ducked his head and murmured, “I-If I asked you to kiss me … and—and not just for that glass …”

The Rosethorn stallion drew himself forth from memory and turned to catch Dazzle’s lips in a deep kiss, just as he’d returned to their side.

Blinking, Dazzle hummed and smiled against his lips, nibbling softly before they parted. “What did I do to deserve that?” he asked, grinning. “I wanna do it more!”

“I was thinking about our first night together,” Seed replied, his voice dipping an octave. He ran his tongue along his lips like he was savoring some sweet taste. “And thinking about how fervently you whispered my name as I licked your shaft and took you into my mouth.”

Dazzle didn’t quite fluster like he once had, though his cheeks did color beautifully. Instead, he stepped closer and leaned against Seed, laying his head upon the larger stallion’s shoulder.  

A good stallion with a heart as big as his mischievous streak. Any he decided to settle down and mate with would be lucky.

And they’d probably need great patience so not to pull out their mane.

With Dazzle leaning against one shoulder and Petal chuckling as she brushed hers against his other, Seed led the troupe down the path, and as the cobblestones changed from wine-stained pink to creamy yellow, Rosewine Bridge and the sandy shores of the Merrie River came into view. 

A brisk breeze played through Seed’s long pink mane. He took a moment to smile and drink in a deep breath. Right now, he needed this. He deserved this small respite.

Once satisfied, Seed trotted down the steps, smiling as his hooves sank into the cooling sand, and turned to walk the beach toward Primrose Bridge. Their usual path. 

His horn lit, a fuchsia bubble shimmered around them for a moment. “Check the skies over Damme,” he murmured once certain the silencing shield was up and took hold enough to at least distort his words should Rose Crown be listening. “Casual glances, like normal.”

“Our messenger?” Roselyn asked.

He nodded once. “Broad wings and gray-blue coat, and flew like a bolt of lightning while the air shrieked. If it’s not him, I’ll proposition Rosejoy.”

His loves blanched as one. “Stars above, please don’t,” Prism groaned. “I just ate.”

“Sorry.” Seed let his shield dissolve into a warm pink mist, then turned to offer a sympathetic smile. “Let’s just see if that dashing pegasus of ours makes an appearance. These hooves could certainly do with an urge to prance again.”

Smiles joined with a couple throaty purrs, Bliss even gave her wings a little flexing and ruffling as if she quite hoped he not only flew this evening, but looked in her direction and found new reason to cross.

That would be most convenient. For multiple reasons. Only a few, Seed swore, involved a want to ply a bit of flirting to see if the Dammeguard might be receptive and interested in a bit of companionship. Only a few. 

He stole a quick glance himself, and sighed. Nothing yet, but mother would scold him and say good things came to ponies who wait, and good lovers came for ponies who bared their hearts and touched them tenderly. And then she’d wink and saunter off to find his father.

Come now, Dammeguard, he called in his mind. His rosy eyes flitting this way and that, searching out a glint of light off black armor. Prove me right. Prove it’s you.

With every step they took along the beach of the Merrie River, each second which passed without a glimpse of black armor glinting or those gray blue feathers, Seed felt an odd mix of conflicting emotions. One part, disappointment that he and his loves should miss a glimpse of their favorite messenger, and a point of fancy. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed took notice of a flash of black scurrying along the road before it dashed up the staircase spiraling around the outpost, rising to the top. 

His gaze lingered until he saw the figure appear atop the lookout post and touch its hoof to its peytral, then seemed to exchange something with the Dammeguard occupying it before it zipped back inside.

“Next outlook post,” Prism said.

Humming, Petal nodded. “Stole a glimpse of the path before—there they are. Bliss, can you tell?”

“Earth pony stallion,” came her reply. Bliss watched the stallion slink along, nearly invisible against the ominous black stonework which harkened back to Damme’s old defense structuresl. She folded her wings against her side, sighing. “Quick little devil. Though not as quick as our lovely pegasus flies.”

Dazzle snorted a laugh. “That’s hardly fair. Most pegasi aren’t as quick as that boy, nor as sleek.”

So Dazzle had been eying him too. It tracked well, he had excellent taste.

Every now and again, that Dammeguard would flit along the buildings. He would scurry along from stop to stop, his breathing steady even as he ran along. A testament to their conditioning and endurance training in the Dammeguard.

Any pegasi seen wore the traditional Dammeguard blue and purple. Not the defanged Rose Shadows turned messengers, then.

Bliss sighed and shook her head, disappointment shone on her face.

Roselyn brushed a shoulder against her. “What’s wrong, dove?” she asked, giggling as she accepted her well-deserved punitive nipping to her ear.

“You know better,” Bliss chided. “And I was watching each pegasus. Not a one is him. He’s not here.”

“You’re certain?”

“You can fake many things, but not flying technique. He’s not there.”

A slow smile spread across Seed’s features. Excellent news. This was absolutely fantastic, really.

He felt Dazzle nibble his shoulder. “What’re you grinning about, you fox?” the shorter stallion asked. “You adored watching that pegasus.”

“I quite do, yes. As did each of you.” He leaned down and took Dazzle’s ear into his mouth, and suckled it briefly in reply. Again, his horn lit, and they were engulfed in a quick privacy dome. “It means my suspicion has legs. Or wings, more to the point. Now.” His shield dissolving, he nodded onward. “Come along, we’ve still quite a way to Primrose Bridge.”

Never before had a meeting with the liege lord of Damme seemed quite so enticing. Tomorrow promised to be quite intriguing.
> 06. Meetings and Trailing Scents
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Visiting Damme nowadays brought with it a fair share of wrinkles. Chief among them, naturally, was the reputation of the Rosethorns thanks to Roseate and her ilk doing their damndest to mirror the Primfeathers’ efforts to drag things back to the worst days of the war.

That raid with her daughters, for instance, had Dammeguard patrols far more frequent, often in scent masks or with some close to hoof, and on the bridge? More in depth searching, especially if one had those Rosethorn cut marks like he.

In Petal’s case, though, an additional wrinkle presented itself, and didn’t stop on the bridge.

By the time they’d reached Prim Palace and stood on the steps before those ominous stone walls, Seed had to bite his lip to hide his amusement at her frayed patience and blossoming irritation with answering the same questions while searching spells trailed their statuc over her form.

“I’ve been checked by a half-dozen of your comrades,” she said testily, watching closely as the stallion checked her saddlebags, laden with envelopes, and seemed to mull tearing them open to check. Her snowy tail lashed and brushed across the burly earth pony mare’s nose, and earned a dirty look. “I’ve come quite naked of scents, my perfume is quite light today to be mindful and polite to Lord Collar during our appointment.”

“Then you’ll have no problem telling us again the nature of your appointment with Lord Collar,” the mare drawled, trotting around to her front and gestured that she lift and spread her mane to show any hidden phials. “And name the scent. It’s rather strong.”

“Stars above,” Petal muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, “It’s pink roses and vanilla, more mild and soothing. I like how it helps my mindset.”

The mare motioned that she could drop her mane. “And the nature of the appointment?”

Rather notably, Seed thought, none thought to demand Petal cant her tail and allow them to check if she’d hidden anything between her legs. How nice to see they weren’t painting all Roses with the same brush, despite Roseate’s treachery.

“He invited us to discuss the incident on Rosewine Bridge four days ago,” came her reply, bored, dull, and recited like she was reading from a script. “Perhaps you might like to check his schedule?”

The mare’s comrade, a unicorn stallion, snorted. “I think I won’t take advice from a mare who ensnares upstanding Dammeguards, Rosewine Petal,” he growled. “Whether or not your watch list investigation status is pending.”

Seed just couldn’t resist. “Wouldn’t that make her ensnaring alleged, then?”

The stallion shot him a dirty look, then jerked his gaze back toward Petal. His horn still lit, his spell buzzed in the air. “Step out wide,” he ordered.

That made their ears twitch. “I beg your pardon?” Seed asked.

“Step out wide, both of you,” he repeated. “I’m searching both of you fully for hidden scents and packages. Step out, now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed Petal’s nostrils flaring. She set her jaw and looked the stallion in the eye. “No. We will not.”

Both Dammeugards glared. “Step out wide,” the mare repeated her superior’s order. “Now!”

“No, I will not debase myself.” Petal stared straight forward, unflinching. She nodded once. “We were invited as representatives of the Garden of Love by Lord Collar, and I will insist you fetch him and let him judge if this is warranted. I understand your need for greater security and sympathize with the care you’re taking for your liege lord and your comrades, the leader of our city took actions I do not support, and I respect that. However.” Here, she turned her gaze upon the pair, her glare as cold as ice. “Though my heart is open to many loves, my body is my body. Get Lord Collar, so I may ask him myself if he wishes my mate and I to spread our legs for our Baroness’s sins.”

With her piece said, Rose Petal sat down upon the cobblestones and looked to Seed. He glanced at the Dammeguards, shrugged, and sat with her.

The Dammeguards looked at one another, equal parts confused and irritated by the defiance in her tone and action.

Finally, the stallion sighed and let his spell dissipate. “Sergent,” he said, waving his hoof toward the door. “Kindly go and fetch Lord Collar, and inform him that his guests are refusing to cooperate with a search.”

“And inform him just where the … Lieutenant? Ah, yes, I see the ranking.” Petal’s smile was one typically seen in venomous snakes. “Inform Lord Collar just where the Lieutenant was hoping to search. Thank you.”

Seed just chuckled and shook his head. Oh, I hate this war and all its stupid complications.





Collar, unfortunately, hadn’t been available. He was still locked in negotiation with Rosewater, so it fell upon Primline Coat, a cousin of his, to answer the call.

It came as some consolation that Coat had the grace to look chagrined when he came to retrieve them.

The setting of his ears, the way his tail flicked just as soon as he’d ordered the Dammeguards back to their post and turned to offer a bow just deeper than usual told of a sense of annoyance which had bubbled within him at varying points between his office and the doorway. Something told Seed that sergeant hadn’t bothered telling him about the locations her lieutenant wished to search, or annoyance might have beaten out chagrin and bloomed into ire.

Thankfully, of course, that was not the case.

“I must extend my sincerest apologies to you both,” Coat said, as he led them down the corridor toward Collar’s wing, turning past portraits of the old Primline lords and ladies who had once sat upon the throne. Among them, a much younger Prim Lace sat, regal and proud and strong, with a similarly aged Dapper Rosedown by her side. “I assure you, I’ll let Collar know of the rudeness you’ve endured today. The bridge search and a similar one at the door are expected, but that is not acceptable.”

“I would appreciate that,” Petal replied, offering him a smile. Coat was no stranger, he, like Collar, knew most of the vendors. Especially those on friendly terms. “Truly, I understand the want for extra security. But I am no criminal nor am I an enemy.”

“Certainly not. Allegations and watch list status are not an excuse for that treatment, you have my word.”

She nodded once. “An unfortunate reality, that some on either side of the river choose to act as such. Incidentally, I’d heard you wedded that stallion you were seeing. Congratulations.” Petal aimed a teasing smirk, adding, “I only wish you’d have sent an invitation. We’d have brought you a bouquet.”

Coat’s cheeks colored. “My apologies, again. We had to step carefully so not to offend the Primfeathers.” After a beat, he glanced between the Gardeners, and asked, “Er. A bouquet of flowers or the special occasion wine type of bouquet?”

“Yes,” both answered, grinning.

The smaller stallion ducked his head to hide a flattered smile. “Perhaps we might join you at one of your winter tastings as penance,” he offered. “I would be delighted to introduce Thistle to the Garden, and to you as my husband.”

Seed made a mental note, certain to see that an invitation did indeed find its way to their letterbox. Again, he nodded his thanks. “The Garden of Love and Rosewine Vineyard will be all the more fortunate to host the pair of you.”

As they walked, Seed drew in a deep breath through his nose. Prim Palace, at least, held some rather lovely fragrances. The gardens wafted sweet scents of orange blossoms, jasmine, and bluebells, even a couple rosebushes to give Baron Dapper a little bit of home to call his own. A gift, no doubt, from Lace.

But then, among those scents, another reached his nose.

His ears stood erect. Orange blossoms, rainwater, cirrus, and the musk of a pegasus stallion. Distinct and fresh.

Seed fought to keep his perpetually lazy look in place. He’s here. A thousand curses flew through his mind. Of course he’d be here. Of course, right now, when he had to behave and follow exactly the plan Lord Collar laid for him lest the Dammeguard suspect that his allegiance was with Roseate, Dancer’s rescuer would be in the same building, waiting to be found.

But not all was lost, he realized. Yes. This could work. He could take this several ways, this could help him put a little pressure on Lord Collar. Stars, if the stallion remained, well, anypony might excuse an accidental run-in. If he left …

He licked his lips. Seed had already made a little plan for himself to take a walk sometime soon. Now, he knew his first would be today.

Petal will understand.

They turned the corner, and Seed felt a block of ice drop into his stomach.

There, seated upon a pair of chairs among a half dozen outside of what could only be Lord Collar’s office, Wing, Lord of the Primfeather House, and a younger mare of sunny coat and fiery mane sat, waiting. Wing took one look at Seed and Petal, and sneered as though they were slime beneath his standing.

Coat affixed a smile as sincere as fox’s. “I apologize again,” he murmured, low enough that Wing didn’t hear. “He managed to find time for an appointment days before that poor colt fell.”

“Hardly your fault,” Seed replied in kind. “It’ll be an exercise in patience and minding out tongues, I’m sure.”

The Gardeners bowed to Coat and parted with him, trotting over to select their seats. Wing eyed them every step of the way, and shifted his seat away as they chose the ones which gave them a good view out the window facing the city. Before Seed could put himself in the one nearest the Primfeather patriarch, Petal slipped into place and fixed him with a stern look.

With a roll of his eyes, Seed sat in the one on her opposite side. Right, he snarked to himself. She’s the one who’s threatened to drown Rosejoy in a wine cask, but it’s my temper we’re gonna worry about.





Days off had been a rarity since the raid, which made the few Prim Note was afforded a rarity he cherished like a Rosewine vintage.

Seated on a bench in Prim Prance Park with a scarf of deep Prim blue adorned with his cutie mark, a Prim blue musical note set upon a scroll, he had situated himself with a makeshift temporary desk—a polished piece of wood attached to jointed legs—so he might work on his latest novel. Around him, a nigh-invisible wall of sound chimed like a piano’s reverberations, an ingenious little work of accoustomancy he’d invented himself to allow him to block out external distractions and similar aural mage tricks to listen in.

Typically, it served as a protection against spies. Now, just a shield to ensure his thoughts would not be turned from his work. This one, he knew, was quite the risk. A stark contrast to his usual works.

A not insignificant part of him fretted dearly that this, at last, would be the experiment his readership decided they could not abide. Even though he knew a sizable chunk to reside in Merrie.

He chewed on the end of his quill while he stared at the title scrawled across the page. A foal hood habit he’d never been able to kick. The words called, but the emotion, the setting.

Well, they too, called. Like a siren’s song.

How fitting, given the mare who’d stolen his muse’s attention and inspired him so.

And she, herself, was a muse. The muse.

Thus, did the words The Muse of Merrie stare back at him and wonder just when he’d finally put pen to paper and stop fretting over the little details. Were she to know of this secret project, she and her book club would certainly chide his marriage to things like rigid outlines and timelines set in stone.

“Consider an affair with the verve, dear Note,” she’d tease. “The lone weakness with your writing, splendid and gripping that it is, is that I know with one read through you’ve sat down before ever letting your characters live and decided their lives in their stead.”

A muse indeed. He could hear her words as though she’d sat herself beside him just now and nipped at his ear before whispering them.

Or cast her own bit of aural magic to fill his ears with her song and let her spell’s phantom sensations deliver the sting as he slipped into her embrace.

That lack of planning, though, coupled with this idea, was the problem.

Note’s eyes flitted between his own notes and the first page. This wasn’t quite the roadmap he preferred, but damned if he wasn’t committed after that comment.

Rose Crown had a way of sparking that. Honestly, she didn’t even need her enchanting song.

As the thought played through his mind, Note felt an aural spell probe against his shield, drawing an arching of his brow and a marshaling of his defenses. He waited to see how the other mage tried to slip through, holding in his arsenal a response which would see their ears ringing for days. If they tried piercing, they’d get it in kind.

Instead, the spell slipped in between the melodic tones protecting him much in the same way a lover might duck beneath another’s chin. It trailed around his head like a playful bird, and brushed against his left cheek before another tendril slipped in and visited the same upon his right. Both reached up to tease his ears. A static touch only an aural mage of great skill would recognize.

He smiled and set his pen down, and with it, his defensive spell. In its stead, Note altered his shield so it would only allow sound through the connection shared by the spell around his ears. As almost an afterthought, he readied a newly modified aural filtering spell. Tuned to her last song, so to avoid being left a blushing mess again.

But he waited to slip it over his ears. Crown always gave the sign to tell him they were playing, and that he should test himself against her.

It always came with the first notes.

And as the first trills of her voice, sweet and melodic, like a chorus of angels had blessed one mare with all their talent, Note closed his eyes and smiled, waiting for the sign.

Sure enough, his chest filled with warmth not unlike that which followed the first sip of a freshly brewed cup of tea, or a warm body sliding against his while they huddled beneath a blanket on reading night with the book club. The stallion drew in a shuddering breath through his nose as he felt the ghost of a kiss press into his neck and linger for a count of three, before a phantom muzzle slid up his neck and jawline and a second kiss was visited upon his cheek.

Crown cut her prelude and released him from her spell. A promise made and kept, so the game could be played and enjoyed to the fullest.

A promise of delight, one way or another, which required discipline to quash the stirrings in his loins. Stars, mare. Note licked his lips, his composure faltering beneath nerves. “I’m in the park, if you’re not watching me through a spyglass,” he said, sliding his filter into place. “So, I really hope you’ve not chosen or written an indecent song.”

The spell made her chuckling sound as though it came from right beside him, the slight dipping in octave and a throaty hum trailing afterward made that struggle all the more difficult.

Dramatic flair, he realized. Like she had to decide whether or not to grant his plea.

After forcing Note to endure that small eternity’s wonder, Crown drew in her breath and began to sing. She sang of a young mare, trapped by the misfortunes of birth and circumstance and caged by elements beyond her control, her only respite in her younger years the company of books and song and poem, her thoughts like a clear sky for a little robin despite the dark days plaguing her life. One by one, this mare was joined by others, mares and stallions alike, who shared her love. Their own robins rising to fly alongside hers on their journey through fantasy.

A journey taken together, even as days grew darker and the ponies around her offered their light to her life and let her live this dream for a while.

Lights all fighting against the darkness she felt encroaching closer and closer to her haven with each passing day.

But from that darkness, another from gave his own light. Another lover of word and song who let his imagination soar like a bluebird, each flap of his wings spreading forth words which wove together to form words spanning fanciful worlds which could grip the mare and her companions like none other. A stallion they’d only known from afar, a name and portrait, with only his words to spark their fancy and warm their hearts.

Note sucked in his lips, a dusty pink began to creep into his cheeks and bled into the nape of his neck. He swallowed and glanced about, praying no pony saw him in such a state of fluster.

She knew.

And Crown fully intended to move in for the kill with this one, for her final verse spoke of their meeting, a chance to meet that stallion who crafted such wonderful words and worlds and extended a hopeful hoof, that he might join. That his bluebird might join the flock of robins frolicking through the sky.

As her last notes trailed off in a warbling croon, Note could do little but cover his snout with a hoof, and swallow heavily.

He drew in a deep breath. “You,” he said, his throat tight. Damn it. “You tried an alternating resonance.”

Somewhere across the river, Crown laughed. And that beautiful sound reached his ears, full and clear as she were pressing against him now. “You fenced well,” she mused, a note of approval to her tone. “What spell was that you used for your filter base? It’s not one you’ve yet used against me.”

Note managed a smile behind his hoof. “Trying to gain the upper hoof for next time? Cheater, you know you have to figure them out yourself.”

“Rosethorn,” she corrected. Then, a sly smirk bled into her voice. “Yet you shan’t escape admission so easily, my dear. You were mine.”

The stallion shook his head. “Never fell under, I’m afraid.”

“No, you did not.” He could almost feel her smiling into his neck before she sang, “And yet …”

Crown let her words hang in the air, a silent prompting.

Now, Note covered his face with both hooves. “You have my heart aflame and fluttering, and my ears aglow! Are you happy now, you wicked mare?”

No doubt, behind those glasses, her rosy eyes danced with glee. Again, she gave that throaty hum in his ears. “Delighted,” she purred. Crown drew in another breath, sighing in content. “Would that I could enjoy your embrace now. It’s been too long since you last visited.”

Since before she was sent on raids, yes. Note let his hooves slide down his snout until they clasped together. “How are you holding together?” he asked. “How are they?”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“I am well,” she answered, finally. The teasing gone from her tone. “We held a book club two nights afterward, their insistence that I not wallow. Your presence went dearly missed, both by our friends and our loves.”

A shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t miss the significance.

Nor Crown his hesitance, the perfect chance to add, “They asked that I send their love when I left the house.” He pictured her laying on her side, her chin propped upon the back of her hoof. The flirtation was back, and her pain buried.“And Crisp Corner, a wish that he might hold you under wing again soon.”

So she wasn’t singing from her balcony, but another spot. Note ran through some of the more romantic sittings in Merrie, and realized he’d need a full day to count them all. A fool’s errand.

And one impossible with that little prodding at his nerves at the whole matter.

Courtship in Merrie was, naturally, a monumental matter to all parties involved, and the community in which they resided.

At last, Note swallowed and said, “G-Give them mine as well. And, er …”

Another silence. Crown didn’t give him an easy prompting.

He had to say it.

His tongue ran along his lips. “Tell Crisp … tell Crisp I certainly missed his wing during the last of the fall storms.”

“I most certainly shall.” Satisfied, Note fancied she merely closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Then, she sighed again. This time, it seemed mournful. “When can we hold you again, my dear?”

Note smiled at a group of foals who happened by while they kicked a ball. Inwardly, though, he longed for something a bit … more than ‘my dear’.

This was her way, though. How long had they been lovers in that casual, friendly sense Merriers had before she confessed to him that her love for him was deeper. As deep as his for her?

It had been while she sat in the Gilded Cage. Months after their first meeting—he’d come to read to her, to discuss philosophy, couching it as a curiosity to any who asked why he should go visit her. A brilliant poet and singer, he’d always wanted to pick her brain again after that first meeting at one of her reading events. In a café she had some hoof in …

Even now, Note felt his heart soar at the memory. The way her rosy eyes shone as she cupped his cheeks and drew him in for a kiss …

“Is it safe for me to come?” He grimaced, realizing the poor wording. “Wait. Is it safe for you all to have me there?”

“One way or the other, we will make it so.” Her tone was firm and resolute. “When will you return to us? To my hooves?”

Oh, how every fiber of Note’s being longed to rise and tell her he’d walk over immediately. But she, Gilded Page, Crisp, and the others would want to prepare something.

The book club as well.

“Talk with our—“ Note pressed his lips together. The words just seemed to stick. “Talk with them. Our—our loves. See when we can all be together after the Gala.”

“So long?”

“But a few more days.”

“The Gala, yes. But longer still, by your words.” He could envision her earnest look. Neither pouting nor wheedling, not if he didn’t wish to incur the full force of her educational teasings. “Leave it with me, join us that night and the following day.”

A dozen-odd ways that could go terribly, terribly wrong raced through Note’s head. All of them ended with their lovers and friends in the book club hounded by Roseate’s agents, and Crown sinking back into that nightmare she’d been trapped in for the past four months or so, robbing her of that vitality she’d shared with him during the early days of their relationship as it bloomed from anonymous friendship to courtship.

All it would take, though, would be the right disguise, and Roseate would be none the wiser. Most intelligence he and Priceless had been able to suss out indicated she’d somewhat tucked her tail between her legs since Collar’s spell and her own daughter’s open rebellion in defense of her mate to be.

A night and day with Crown and their lovers. Together. Rut me, I’m a besotted fool. Note closed his eyes, nodding. “If they can be kept safe, my love, I’ll be yours night and day.”

“You already are, my dear Note,” came her reply, tinged with naked glee and mirth. “And they will be. And you won’t know a moment without our affection, many months overdue.”

Something told him the others would be certain to take the inch he’d given and make of it a mile.

Another shiver. Anticipation refused to be stifled.

Crown laughed. “Quite. Now, the Gala. What will you wear?” She gave a derisive sniff. “Please tell me something other than that ghastly blue.”

Now, it was Note’s turn to smirk. “As an officer of the Dammeguard,” he drawled. “I am, in fact, obligated to wear my dress uniform—and the word for which you search is noble, my love. I will be wearing a most noble shade of blue.”

“And the word for which you search is cursed, my dear. You are cursed to wear that ghastly blue dress uniform.” A heavy sigh came through her spell. “I shall have to balance it accordingly, then. But, first, I think I’ll find you a scarf of a proper color—a nice rosy red with pink to mark petals, I think—to replace that blue one ‘round your neck.”

Got you. “Ah!” Note grinned, his ears perked. “So you are watching me through a spyglass.”

He heard Crown suck in a breath through her teeth, not quite enough to mask the clink and dull smack of metal slapped down upon sand. How he longed to see her now, so he might try to spy a glimpse of blush coloring her cheeks again.

Once she’d composed herself, Crown muttered, “I will not be shamed for missing you these months.”

“I should hope not, for I am not shaming you.” Note took up his pen once more, and jotted a note in the margins to find something blue for Crown, just to tweak her a little. “I’m flattered beyond belief.”





“… And, really, I do understand the need. The Garden offers its sincerest sympathy, Lord Collar,” Seed said with a wry smile. “But I don’t much appreciate the treatment we were dealt as your guests.”

Collar seemed to draw in a deep, calming breath. His displeasure was clear as day. “You have my sincerest apologies, Seed. And you, Rose Petal, doubly so.” He gestured to a pair of cushions before his desk, offering them a place to sit. “Though I am quite aware of the accusations leveled against you and your status on the watch list, alleged crimes do not hold a verdict of guilt until investigation is complete.”

Again, Seed was faced with the realization that he quite liked Lord Primline Collar. And not just because the stallion had a jawline chiseled from marble or hips and rear toned such that he bounce a bit off it and knock out another stallion at a half dozen paces.

The stallion had heart and a deep respect for Merrie culture.

In better times, Seed fancied Collar and Rosewater would be toppling the legislative errors of the past that kept the sister cities and ponies apart, rather than whatever came fate demanded they play to make that dream so.

Petal, at least, had the grace to give a small smile in reply. A skill picked up from years of running the family business. “I understand and appreciate your position, my lord,” she said as nodded and accepted a cup of tea from an attendant. “Though, I would ask, when will the Dammeguard’s investigation be finished? I find it rather upsetting to be labeled in such a manner because I flirted with our loves and some chose to leave your fine city for us.”

Collar arched a brow, an amused half-smile playing upon his lips at her little tease. “I can make an inquiry with Captain Pink,” he replied. “Unfortunately, I cannot say I’m prepared to comment on it at this time.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Petal took a deep sip of her tea, eying him over the rim. “However, that isn’t what you invited us here to discuss.”

“No. No, it is not.” The heir of Damme set his own cup and saucer upon his desk, and leaned forward in his seat. “How is the foal? Raindrop Dancer, I believe you said his name was, Seed?”

The Rosethorn stallion nodded, smiling. “Yes. He was able to sleep, though he was quite attached to that helm when I visited yesterday and brought him sweets from Rosie Nights’s shop.” Idly, he peered through the steam spiraling upward from the surface of his tea at Collar, observing his features with care. “You’ll be pleased to know he is quite adamant that he find some means to clean the helm before he returns it. Apparently, he fears his rescuer will earn your ire if his helm is ‘scuffy’ upon return.”

Collar gave a hearty laugh and shook his head. “Oh, to the training grounds for remedial training with him indeed!” His smile was genuine, the setting of his ears sincere. “If that’s the worst thing to come of this, I assure you, he’ll hear no complaint from my lips.”

You don’t miss a thing. “You hold the same concern as we, then.” Seed breathed in the scent of tea, and a hinting of that distinctive orange blossom fragrance. Save that.

To his surprise, Collar’s smile broadened. “Yes, he was here,” the stallion said, as though commenting on the weather.

Seed froze in place, stunned. “Er.”

“I’m afraid Rosewater and Rosemary have given away the signs of a Rosethorn trying to sneak a bit of scenting. It’s the eyes, they flutter just a little as you pick out all the individual components, even before your markings glow.”

Well, there’s all four of my hooves in my mouth.

He licked his lips. “Which has shown it more often?”

“Rosemary.” Collar hesitated and turned away for a moment. “She plays a game with us, several try to fool her as to who is at her door.”

An ear flicked, its tell plain.

Seed’s brows nearly disappeared beneath his mane. You and Rosewater, Rosemary? Oh, he must know he’s a doomed stallion.

Petal shared a knowing look with him, then coughed. “We’re getting a tad off subject, I think,” she said smoothly. Her ears twitched expectantly. “So you’ve found him, then, if he was here recently.”

“I never needed to find him.” Collar faced them again, and took a sip of his tea. “I’ll ask that you not tell the rest of your village quite yet. As a favor to me.”

Visions of ponies on the front porch of the Garden Villa, all glaring expectantly at him, danced through Seed’s head. He grimaced. “I’m … going to have to ask for more than that, my lord. My aunt and I have promised our protection, and I’ll take personal responsibility if that would ease your worry.”

Chuckling, Collar leaned back in his seat and gave a wan smile. “I appreciate that, truly. But there are … other factors.” He let his cup hover in the air, turning it about in his magic. “I trust I need not tell you that, in better times, he would likely be celebrated in our cities. Our cultures, though differing, both place value upon the family.”

“You do not. Rightly so, he should be.”

“And were it so, I would have named him on the bridge and only asked your patience before I could present him officially.” Another sip. Did he need it to calm himself? Just what had Prim Wing wanted? “Unfortunately, though Roseate has been quiet since her latest raid with her daughters, there are significant political ramifications.”

Seed blew a breath through his nose. “You suspect, then, as I do. That my aunt would see value in attaching our village’s hero to one of her daughters?”

“Given her … previous attempts upon myself, I find that phrasing quite apt.” Something flashed in those Prim blue eyes. “Please forgive me, but I’ll not let her have one of her daughters lure that stallion and use his heroism as political coin in Canterlot. His only crime, frankly, is nearly braining my bride-to-be with his messenger bag.”

Unable to resist, Seed gave a sly grin and decided to help a mare. “My lord, I must correct you. That bag fell nowhere near my Auntie Rosewater.”

The young lord leveled him with a flat look, a brow arching.

Seed held his hooves up. “Only teasing. You two just take your time, don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” he added with a flick of the ear toward a most amused Petal.

“I’m almost certain that list is frightfully short, but we’re moving on.”

“Pity.” Petal let a vulpine smile spread across her features. “I’d happily offer you pointers to help you keep up with her when you share your first time together.”

Even Prim Collar’s impressive self-discipline couldn’t hide the faint pink hue which colored his muzzle. Seed hid a triumphant smile behind another sip, and made note of things progressing.

Fitting that the son of a Merrier would not be quite as rigidly against the Principes as others might think. This, I think, can work well to all our benefit.

“All that aside, I must ask.” Petal tilted her head to one side, her snowy bangs falling to cover one of her eyes. “Do go on. I believe you had more to say.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, yes.” Now, Collar let a bit of weariness show in how he ran a hoof through his mane. “He’s going to be turned into a political figure no matter how his name comes to light, that much is obvious. What makes it more troublesome is his … difficult mental state.”

A diplomatic choice of words, Seed knew. And one which he wouldn’t let pass without further comment. “Please, how do you mean?”

Collar shook his head. “He’s been through a lot these past few months, personally and with respect to duty. Some of it, I confess, my doing through your cousin, Rosemary, to broaden his horizons. It’s gone well, happily, but unlearning what one’s parents taught causes quite a bit of internal struggle.”

Humming, Seed gave a nod. “It may be … too forward of me to ask, but …” He took a deep breath. “When can we expect to meet him? Petal and I, and perhaps my loves at the Villa. I can attest to their discretion.”

The stallion seated opposite him took a moment to chew the inside of his cheek, mulling it over. “With all due respect, I hesitate to push him further,” came his answer, his words slow and deliberate. “I’ve already asked much of him. However, I plan on making an announcement at the Primrose Gala, recognizing his deeds. This is where I must ask your patience.”

He sighed and folded his hooves atop his desk. Collar met their eyes and said, “I ask that you afford me the chance to judge his state myself. Let me get him to attend. If I feel him ready to meet you, I will give a sign to Rosewater that night. And she, then, to you.”

Seed pressed his lips together in a thin line. He could guess just how the Garden would take the news that Collar hadn’t delivered, even if his reasoning was valid.

Silver, alone, would ream him.

Still, Seed couldn’t press his luck too much. Not when Collar could’ve simply told him to stuff his wishes up his ass and complain to Roseate if he didn’t like the fact that the Lord of Damme wasn’t feeling much in the way of kinship with the denizens of Merrie or the Garden these days.

And so, with a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to merely sniffing around at the cookies until the Gala at the very earliest. “The Garden of Love places its trust in you, my lord,” he said finally. “Thank you for your consideration. Ah, wait.” He gave a sheepish smile. “There was one more thing.”

Collar arched a brow once again. “Go on.”

Petal reached into her saddlebags and retrieved two bound stacks of letters. “Words of thanks from the village foals and others,” she explained, floating them over to Collar’s desk. “Dancer is … a dear friend to many, and a joy to a number of adults. If you could pass them along.”

The stallion’s brow settled, a smile spread across his features. Collar nodded once. “I’ll see to it he receives them. Thank you both.”
> 07. Strange Friends
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Disappointment was hardly a new experience to Rose Petal or Rose Seed. They were, after all, Gardeners, a vintner and a florist, to be specific. 

Sometimes there were bad vines, sour grapes, foreign plants with little recorded husbandry, or just a pesky loose pane of glass in the greenhouse which resulted in the untimely death of several of Seed’s darling plant-children in early winter. Disappointment was normal and rational.

Still, this was another sort entirely.

Heroes didn’t exactly grow on vines or spring forth from the ground with a bit of fertilizer and water.

As Seed trotted alongside Petal, both following Coat through the palace once again, he considered this flavor of disappointment, and decided he liked it just about as much as he did his aunt, Roseate. Fittingly so, given she was the bloody root cause of Collar’s hesitation. To a point, the heir of Damme might be considered downright magnanimous even giving thought to the notion of recognizing the Dammeguard in public fashion, let alone giving his name.

Not enough, unfortunately, Seed could only lament. The value of family in these cities will make the Garden buzz impatiently while speculation of his identity becomes honey to the gossip mills. His lips twitched into a smile. Exceeded only by your courtship with Collar, Auntie. 

The thing about this disappointment, though, and the deal Collar had made with them, was that it still didn’t stop him from sating his curiosity. Nor did Collar think to close off that avenue, for whatever reason. Perhaps he simply missed it.

Or, Rosewater’s voice drawled in the back of his mind. He’s well aware you’ll go sniffing around, and he’s waiting to see how far you’ll push the bounds of his terms.

His ears twitched. What a sly stallion indeed. No wonder Rosewater had her eye on him.

But if Collar was going to give him an inch, Seed would make use of every bit of that inch for the time being.

The Rosethorn stallion drew in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes fluttering just as Collar had noted. That distinctive scent of orange blossoms, rainwater, and cirrus floated through the air to meet him and walk the path they followed.

He smiled to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed Petal fixing him with a sidelong, expectant look, awaiting his word.

With a wink, he mouthed, He’s left too.

She nodded her understanding. Were Petal not still on the watch list, she’d be joining him on his little walk.

Her case couldn’t be resolved fast enough, for either of their sakes.

Now and again as they followed Coat, Seed would draw in a deep breath to make sure their mystery hero had indeed walked this path toward the door. Sure enough, the pegasus had. And recently. With Rosemary’s scent as well! 

Some time after Rosewater walked this path in the opposite direction, it seemed. How interesting.

Imagine if they meet and she can only try to work with tells, not scent. Seed smiled. Stars, I’ll have two over on her.

Coat stopped at the threshold and gave the slightest bow of his head. “It was a pleasure to host the pair of you today, and I hope we might again.” The shorter stallion paused, adding, “For more pleasant reasons, perhaps.”

“Hopefully so,” Petal answered with a bow of her own. She flitted a look at the Dammeguards still posted by the door, her lips twitching. “Perhaps the next might be when I’m finally removed from your watch lists.”

A wince made evident how well her barb hit, but Coat rallied. “We will all hope for a quick review. And in the meantime, you’ve given us a bit to consider as well.”

Now, the Dammeguard posted by the door let their worry show in the setting of their ears. Yes, those pegasi had come home to roost, and just in time for a most frigid winter. 

Seed knew enough about Collar that he didn’t envy what they’d be in for once he found a slice of time to devote to them.

To Coat, he bowed and dared to step forward and dot a kiss upon either cheek in proper Merrier’s farewell between friends, family, and lovers. An act that made him start, but he didn’t recoil. Rosemary’s hoof, again, was evident. “Give our best to Thistle,” he said. “And tell him to expect our invitation to both winter tastings. I’m afraid you’ll find me quite a pest on that matter.”

His cheeks coloring, Coat ducked his head. “I’ll—I’ll be sure to let him know. Thank you.” He turned and skittered back in the direction of Collar’s office, back to the safety of his cousin’s side, and away from the good-natured teasings of the Gardeners.

Petal tittered into her hoof as they trotted down the steps, toward the front gate and Damme proper. “You’re terrible,” she said. “You know he still frets those niceties.”

“If he ever wishes me not to greet him as a Merrier, all Coat need do is say so.” Seed smiled to himself. “I am happy for them.”

“Me too.” The little mare leaned against his side, sighing fondly. “They’re good stallions.”

Together, they walked a few more steps from the gate in relative silence broken only to spare a smile and nod to the Dammers, anything to try to dispel a tidbit of fear held for those gifted with scent magic and Rosethorn’s lineage. Then, Seed cast a fanciful look at their surroundings and drew in a deep, contented breath, as though smitten with the sights.

His eyes fluttered.

Orange blossoms and rainwater floated to his nose like a gentle kiss. You didn’t fly.

“Well?” Petal murmured, low so her lips almost didn’t move.

Seed smiled. “Fresh, undisturbed save by hoof traffic. He left by hoof.”

“Thank heavens for small surprises.” She stepped in front of his path and turned so she might rub noses with him. “Bring me home something sweet,” she asked, loud enough for natural conversation, loud enough to be overheard. “I’d love to stay, but …”

“I know, love, I know.” Seed kissed her, his tail swishing to her taste and the chorus of scandal around them. When they parted, he said, “Make well your selection. I hope to see if we can’t make dear Lord Collar’s eyes spark when one of your wines passes his lips.”

Her eyes flashed. The next words uttered, both a part of their act and acceptance of his subtle challenge, “Oh, I think I have just the thing for his palate. Plan to see that boy dance at the Gala, my love.” With a kiss upon his nose, she turned and sauntered away, tailed, he noticed, by a rather loose formation of three Dammeguards making certain she followed the law.

Leaving Seed amidst a crowd of Dammers in the market, with a fresh scent to tail.

Don’t push too far beyond what was given, he reminded himself. Run-ins, no pony would fault. Open stalking, Collar would throw me straight in prison.

And all the work Rosewater was doing, likely, would go into a fire straight afterward.

So, Seed walked, his steps carefully casual and breathing easy, even as he made sure to scent the world around him. He would be mindful. He would not press his luck.

But he had to find that stallion. 





The unfortunate truth of their mutual roles, even if his beloved Crown did not yet know his, was that Note had to take great care not to break a certain routine. Or, at least, if he did, it should be returned to shortly thereafter so not to garner too many questions.

However, he did so long to remain in Prim Prance Park and listen to the love of his life, the vitality finally returned to her voice, and a hint of that happiness, however faint, back. If he didn’t know better, somewhere in Crown’s heart, she longed to crow over her mother’s failures.

Then again, perhaps not. Crown wasn’t the one to crow, but to take the chance to finally be free of her cage. Her victory would be not in any cry, but in the freedom to live and love.

Note considered this as he awaited his drink, seated at the bar of Prim Tap and Lager’s pub, one of the ritzier establishments of the pub scene and rather conveniently located such that regular Dammeguard patrols passed it day and night. The perfect place for a stallion of his profession to sit, dine, drink, and consider the many twists and turns in his life.

And the uncooperative story begging him to find the means to write. The pages before him, still quite maddeningly blank save the title.

Prim Tap set a mug of cool Dammerale down upon the counter, and left him without a word. Their usual arrangement. Note didn’t much care to engage too many in conversation if he could avoid it. It helped keep his thoughts organized if he kept the world around him quiet, whether with spell or not.

“How does one open a story of love and struggle to accept oneself?” the stallion mused as he lit his horn a dull pewter and brought the mug to his lips. “When he struggles to decide the heading of his own heart?”

The lines came from one of her poems. One of her less salacious ones, more on the side of romance and longing. Crown had published it some time ago, within her debut poetry collection, which swept through libraries and bookshops in Merrie, Damme, and abroad like wildfire. It had been on a book signing in Merrie, protected by the Treaty’s commerce clauses, where Note had first come across her work. Another Merrie-born author had gushed over it, and all but swore she’d never speak to him again if he didn’t pick it up.

So he did.

And he was enchanted, more than any who had heard her song.

Like a stallion dying of thirst, Note searched out more of the reclusive mare’s writing. Sometimes, that meant donning a disguise and sneaking into Merrie off-duty, and searching out which of the multitude of cozy poetry clubs and teashops she might count among her hangouts. Others, he could trade in on his name and appreciation of the arts to grant a bit of leeway at the bridges, that he might take in a night of poetic fancy. Rose Kiss, in particular, teased that he might come across somepony who would strike his fancy each time the Merrieguard ushered him across.

How ironic that a couplet among the first of her words to charm his heart could fit him so well today.

A quick jerking open of the door and creaking of hinges managed to pierce through his thoughts much like his aural spells. Note slicked his sensitive ears back, and cast a glance to find the offending party. A crowd of pegasi, Primfeathers it seemed. Mostly branch members. 

Oh, delightful. That lot.

Then, a shadow of gray-blue shifted along the far wall, nearly blending in with it, were Note’s eyes not so keen. Another pegasus of the Primfeather family, this one of the main line. And, mercifully, not Gale or Gust.

Not with that want to avoid attention made so clear in the way he snuck in with the crowd, and then searched out a good spot to be alone. Better still, he didn’t merely hang a quick right for that side table just out of view of the window.

Stormy gray eyes found a darker corner of the bar past Note, well out of view of the front door, and those hooves moved well to guide their owner through the crowd, weaving like a river cutting through mountains along his way. His only failing in his quest to go unnoticed, a slight stumbling as he shuffled about a mare rising from her cushion, and brushed the edge of his wing against Note’s back.

“Sorry!” Prim Stride hissed without breaking stride until he was safe and sound in his hidden seat.

Note watched him a moment out of the corner of his eye. An amused half-smile played upon his lips. So you’re the one who dove for the foal?

He slid the blank pages aside to reveal a small cluster marked and riddled with notes. At the top, Primfeather Stride’s name was written, alongside a small portrait. Required for the Dammeguard upon enlistment.

Stride’s tale was an interesting one. One of the three who’d earned Lord Collar’s favor, he, evidently, through his willingness to listen and change after a slight he’d dealt to Cloudy Rosewing upon their meeting. Subsequently, he had been trained with Cloudy and Coat, though he had stalled while they excelled.

And he drifted from posting to posting. His lengthiest and most successful, interestingly enough, was with the more modern Rose Shadows—oh, of course that wasn’t recorded anywhere, but his father’s efforts to ensure the youngest Primfeather son didn’t get his Dammeguard blues back made him stick out like a sore hoof. He was a good courier and shadow, able to fly higher and faster than all save Cloudy Rose herself, his only equal. All in all, Stride should have been at least a sergeant by now, were it not for his flaw.

Every posting change came with a tag documenting his mental state. His anxieties, they said, always made him skittish. Not something the Dammeguard could accept in an officer.

Most officers, Note amended. Most.

He’d somehow done it, after all.

Still, Stride had talent, and not just in speed. A talent even Note hadn’t realized until a certain mercantilist pointed him out the other week, during a clandestine meeting in one of the seedier backrooms of the Bridgewater Bilge.

So Note watched and assessed.

And scrawled a few coded notes in the margins before he buried it beneath his blank sheets and returned to his latest literary endeavor. 

With great trepidation, he brought his pen to paper and tried to do as Crown urged, and gave in to the verve.

Knowing and understanding are distant bedfellows.

Note leveled the line with a flat glare and slashed his pen across it. That’s so trite.

The gaps between us—

Another victim slain before his slashing pen. The only tell of his irritation the slightest flicking of his tail.

It can be said—

“No,” Note deadpanned as he put just a little more force into striking his latest from literary history. He shook his head, and drank in a deep pull of his Dammerale. “Definitely not.”

His thoughts wandered into treacherous territory. Crisp Corner would have picked this precise moment to sidle up and steal a peek, and then, just as soon as he saw the title, the needling would start. And he’d make certain to catch at least one of Note’s oh-so-sensitive ears in his mouth and suckle until he either submitted and told everypony or climaxed.

A pleasant shiver rippled through his body. Oh, wouldn’t Crisp just dance if he knew the effect the thought had?

And wouldn’t the rest?

The door opened again, and a new figure entered the pub. All conversation ceased as though another aural mage had just thrown up an area dampening spell.

For a bare moment, Note thought one had. He stayed calm, turning only slightly as he marshaled a counter spell and another to send their equilibrium for a loop. 

The second he took to spare a cursory glance around the room told him that, no, it was not the spellwork of an aural mage, but rather shock and no shortage of rising bile at the sight of … whomever this newcomer was. The lighting combined with that of the noontime sun made for quite the challenge.

A stray whisper, snarled between patrons, reached his ear. “—rutting Rosethorn stallion think he’s doing here?”

Note held onto his second spell, watching to see what the newcomer did. Ah, yes, there were those Rosethorn cuts. Red, lighter than the Lady Rosewater or his beloved Rose Crown, but still vibrant on his cheeks. The stallion seemed to glance about, his eyes flitting this way and that before settling on the Primfeather group.

Mhmm. This isn’t a happy crowd, friend. The aural mage let his spell fizzle out as the newcomer found himself a table in the middle of the room. He was a big one, taller than most unicorns save Lord Collar or Lady Rosewater. But he didn’t seem too interested in causing trouble.

None save the sum total of the effect of his entrance and that of the way he smiled so brightly and made eye contact with one of the server mares so he might ask for a drink menu. Stars, the poor mare nearly melted her face turned so red.

Note returned to his drink and work, but kept his ears swiveled toward the stallion. Being a Rosethorn in Damme wasn’t a crime. But if Note heard the faintest pop of a stopper or whimper of another falling under a scent, he’d act. Quickly.

And if the Primfeathers caused trouble, well, he’d have to do something about that too.

So much for a nice, quiet working lunch.





His luck ran into a wall made not of bricks, but of feathers.

Primfeathers, to be specific.

Seed was no stranger to walking into awkward crowds or dealing with groups of unfriendly ponies. There was a damn good reason Roseate didn’t bother sending any goons to harass the Garden, even if Budding Rose had been traveling on a foreign sales trip for the past several months.

Budding Rose’s son wasn’t the prodigy Collar or Rosewater were, nor anywhere near the level Rosemary could become if she buckled down and realized her potential. Stars, by comparison to those three and the Baronesses, he was a modest talent.

But his tricks? Oh, they were nasty.

Ponies tended to wake up in rather compromising situations, not remembering how they got there when they came to bother his Gardeners.

That, of course, was in Merrie and the Garden of Love. Things were quite a sight different in the heart of Damme.

For starters, Seed couldn’t just go snuffling around other ponies in search of a specific one. Not with the red markings on his cheeks and patch upon his breast. In Damme, that was more than a bit outside of societal norms, and with his heritage, it could be taken several unsavory ways and certain ponies were unlikely to care to listen to any explanations.

Thus why a crowd of Primfeather pegasi in Damme made continuing his not-search rather difficult—the scent trail didn’t go around them, it went directly into their midst. Which, incidentally, led directly to the second problem with this wrinkle to his plan:

That distinctive orange blossom scent was now drowned beneath a torrent of rainwater, cirrus, and whatever tripe the Primfeathers thought passed as fragrance. The trail had gone cold, by mere proximity to a crowd.

Seed kept his smile carefully in place as he sipped at his Dammerale. It was quite good. Not his drink of choice, of course, but a definite jolt to the palate.

Oh, he noticed the glares. But Seed had a rather special ability to not care about all that. Primfeather glares, especially branch scion, didn’t hold a candle to Roseate’s. Let alone the sickeningly sweet smiles she gave when she thought a pony might be of use to her plans.

Still, he’d need to leave soon so not to arouse too much suspicion. If he tailed that pegasus now?

Well. He’d have to hope the Primfeather civilians kept the treaty in mind before depositing him in the Prims’ infamous Gilded Cage with a few bruises to express their displeasure.

Right about then, he noticed one of the stallions’ sneers grow a bit too venomous for mere silent disdain. Sure enough, he turned to face Seed fully and, armed with righteous fury and a contingent of his fellows at his back, led a march to the lone Rosethorn’s table.

Surrounded in seconds, outnumbered, and with plenty of powerful pegasus wings to dispel any scents. Even if Seed wished to enthrall, he’d stand more of a chance if he just tried whacking one with his mug.

Well, this isn’t how I’d hoped my day would go.

With a sales stallion’s smile, he greeted the leader, “Hi, there, friend. Can I offer you all a round?”





A wise move, staying seated and not showing a hint of magic. 

Grudgingly, Note gave the newcomer a solid eight for the performance, docking points for the way the setting of his ears belayed no small feeling of nerves. Then again, if Note were a Rose of any color himself, he’d probably stammer his way through an insistence that he just wanted a quick drink and then he’d pay and be on his way right about now.

Slowly, gently, he set his pen down and waited. His ears perking, Note reached out with his aural magic and spread it over the group like an umbrella, the other side snaking around his ears so he might listen in.

“—have some bloody nerve coming in here, Rosethorn. After what your whore cousins did with our Lord Collar.“

“Please,” the Rosethorn stallion said. “I’m not here for trouble. I was actually invited by Lord Collar to discuss—“

“Lies!” the stallion snapped like a bolt of lightning. His wings arched off his back. “Typical Rose lies! You and yours have done more than enough to the good ponies of this city!”

Another bared his teeth. “Probably another bloody raider or one of her spies, here to see how they can cause trouble before the Gala.”

“Actually, I’m of the Garden Rosethorns, sir.” Was that a note of ire in the stallion’s voice? “I’ve visited your fair city many times, never to raid.”

As one, the pegasi wrinkled their muzzles. They hadn’t considered this. Or, more likely, they were figuring out what they knew of the little village nestled in Rosewine Hills, and the Rosethorn stallions living there.

Note put a name to his face just as one growled, “Rosethorn Seed.”

Rose Seed gave a slight bow of the head to the speaker. “That’s right. Leader of the Garden of Love.” He raised his brows, adding, “Like I said. I’ve never raided your city.”

“No?” the leader asked, his lips now curving into a mocking sneer. “I recall hearing of another Rose in your Garden, Rosethorn. Your Rosewine mate, Petal, finds herself on the Dammeguard watch lists for her luring of five of their number. Three still held!”

The angry rumblings forced Note to dampen the volume on his spell. Intelligence said otherwise. Rose Seed and Rose Petal were business ponies. They had clients and friends in Damme, and lovers from the city, yes.

Five Dammeguards had crossed. All enticed by flirtations and words, never by scent. Two returned and spoke of a fey place, where love and labor entwined and created a life of order that nearly called them from duty. The only scents encountered, the ones they’d asked and those delicate enticements Merriers made for lovers to express the feelings in their heart.

Note had yet to experience it. While Crown’s gifts in accoustamancy were quite unparalleled, her scent magic was nonexistent. She would not make him a scent, but a song.

A song she yet saved for a special occasion. What sort, she refused to say.

She’d simply smiled. The last smile he saw in her before she was forced to undertake her first raid.

His thoughts turned to the other three Dammeguards. Dazzle Primrazzle, Prism Primlight, and Tremor Primstone. The first, his old partner. A dangerous, talented stallion whose smile made most raiders quail.

What scents did they craft for you, Dazz? Note wondered, idly. What did Seed and Petal craft to let you share in the feelings within their hearts?

“I assure you, they are not held.” Seed’s voice drew him back to present matters. “Not in any way they do not reciprocate—wait! Wait! Wait!”

The worst possible thing to say.

Table legs scraped against the floor, mug fell and shattered, and voices rose to a furious roar. 

Note cursed and turned to find one of the Primfeathers, Slipstream, had grabbed Seed by the neck and drawn him half across the table so they were nose to nose. His snarl telling of his intent even before he pulled a hoof back.

Through the aural spell, Note gave a loud, demonstrative whistle. A warning shot that still sent their ears splaying to precede his first words, “Gentle stallions!”

The Primfeathers and lone Rosethorn froze in place. As one, they turned to find the stallion at the bar leveling them with an icy gaze as he rose from his seat and faced them.

“If that hoof does not release that stallion’s neck this instant, Slipstream,” Note warned cooly, “I assure you, you and yours will enjoy the Dammeguard’s finest accommodations this evening.”

Slipstream ground his teeth, releasing Seed with a shove back into his seat. “Siding with a Rosethorn, Dammeguard Note?” he thundered, pushing through the crowd to stand nose to nose with the unicorn. Note’s smaller stature quite evident in this interaction. “Even one with his crimes, the same who took your partner, if I’m not mistaken!”

Note simply arched a brow and waited. 

Slowly, Slipstream realized the social faux pas he had just committed and took a small step back, out of Note’s personal space.

“Alleged crimes are simply that, Slipstream. Alleged.” Note flicked a look to Seed. “And if that stallion took Dazzle Primrazzle by his lonesome and managed it without suffering the effects of his firework spells, then I urge you to consider what luck an untrained civilian will fare?” 

“Alleged crimes that everypony knows true, Dammeguard!” the pegasus spat.

Time froze.

Note blinked slowly, waiting for Slipstream’s fury to falter as he looked every deliberately down at the spittle now marring his chest, and let his other brow raise. 

Around them, the Primfeather pegasi shifted uneasily. There was snapping, and there was insulting. One did not insult the protectors of Damme, especially if they were a noble house who owed their safety from raids to those ponies.

The unicorn drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Oh, dear. How very rude of me, spitting all over myself,” he said, letting each word hit Slipstream like a pebble between the eyes. He lifted his gaze and asked in a tone as frigid as a blizzard, “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a kerchief, sir?”

“Er …” Slipstream’s gaze flitted about, and came up empty.

“Um …” Rose Seed’s voice cut in, and drew all eyes to him save Note and Slipstream’s. “I, er, have my napkin if that would suffice, sir. If you’ll allow me to levitate it to you.”

“Could you? So kind of you to offer.”

Note took his time in thoroughly cleaning off his chest, humming the same melody to the song Crown sang for him just a short while prior. As if he hadn’t just been nose to nose with an indignant pegasus.

Once he finished, he leveled Slipstream again with that piercing stare. “Unless you wish to enlist in the Dammeguard, you are not to take the war into your own hooves. Nor the law of this city. Oh, and it’s Lieutenant, sir.” His nostrils flared. “When you leave, be sure to tip the nice mare well as apology for the trouble.”

The quailing pegasus bobbed his head so quickly, Note fancied he might hear his brain rattle in his skull. Slipstream ducked his head low and slipped around the unicorn, his ears splaying flat, and found himself a comfortable seat to quietly enjoy the rest of his drink. The rest followed in short order, none seeming interested in meeting his eye.

None, that is, save for Rose Seed.

The de facto Lord of the Garden of Love exhaled and gave a nervous laugh. “Stars, thanks for the save, friend!” He grinned. Then, he started and corrected himself, “Er. Lieutenant, sorry. Let me buy you a round as a show of—“

“I appreciate the gesture, but it’s quite unnecessary.” Note gave the slightest bow of his head. “You are a civilian and a business pony. Should he strike you without cause, he would have lost the protections the treaty affords him as a married stallion.” He sniffed, adding, “And I can only watch a stallion trip over his own tongue into trouble while trying to explain himself for so long.”

Seed had the grace to splay his ears. “Guilty there. Sorry.”

“Quite all right. I appreciate you, at least, trying to de-escalate things.”

That grin became sunny. In it, Note could see what sent Dazzle tumbling head over hock. “Hey, I’ll put up a fight if it means protecting a love or my village. But I’ll not throw the first hoof over a misunderstanding.”

Just the last, his eyes said.

A sentiment, a stallion Note could respect.

How to convince Crown to re-evaluate her opinion of her “lazy, always perpetually sleepy” cousin enough to go to him for help?

Or, better still, how to get her to accept the chance to flee?

Considerations for later. For now, the task was clear. 

Note nodded once to Seed, and said, “Though it pains me, I must ask you to pay your tab and make ready to leave. I will see you to Rosewine Bridge myself, lest you encounter any further aggression.”

The Gardener’s ears flattened to his mane. “I … of course.” He licked his lips. “Am I to be barred?”

“For nearly being assaulted? Heavens, no.” Here, Note allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile and gathered his pages, pens, and makeshift desk. “But I think I’d rather ruin your day of idle exploration than watch my comrades attempt to fend off Dazzle’s temper should somepony lay hoof upon you.”





To his credit, Rose Seed didn’t argue or sulk. Well, he didn’t sulk for more than a step or two before he bounced back. His reasoning unclear until after they’d quitted Prim Tap and Lager’s and began to make their way for Rosewine Bridge.

What came first and lasted until Note guided the merry Rosethorn east, away from Primrose Bridge. Right about the time Seed put a little bit of a prance in his step.

Enough to draw a snort of laughter, despite Note’s efforts to keep stoic.

“Ha! Dazzle was right!” Seed nickered and grinned at the smaller unicorn, his ears waggling. 

Note’s ears twitched to the blatant bait, but he couldn’t resist. “How so?”

“He said his old partner only liked to act like he had a block of ice where his heart was, but could never resist a smile or snort at his acting up!”

Not for the first time did Note roll his eyes and send a curse at Dazzle Primrazzle. The smug goofball.

From the back of his mind, buried beneath things like duty and practiced stoicism and fretting over his own goals and shortcomings, a question floated forth. Multiple questions, really, but among the lot, one grabbed his face in both hooves and screamed that it mattered most.

Licking his lips, Note glanced at this companion out of the corner of his eye. “Might I trouble you to answer a couple questions of personal curiosity?”

Seed blinked. For a moment, he looked like Note had hit him between the eyes with a snowball. “Stars, you’re a formal one, aren’t you?” he asked with a hesitant laugh. “Sure. I certainly owe you that much after you made sure I wouldn’t go home to Petal sporting a couple bruises.” 

Well good, they were on solid starting ground, then.

“My old partner, Dazzle.” In his mind, Note readied to take careful record. “You spoke of how he was held in the pub, he and the other former Dammeguard.”

“Oh.” Seed’s ears lowered. “It was … rather insensitive of me to play a joke without telling you how Dazz is doing, wasn’t it? That’s … I really must apologize. Er.” He coughed. Now, it was his turn to hesitate, though he because he felt the need to choose his words carefully. 

Note opted to offer a modicum of aid. “The only sensibilities of mine I ask that you mind are those concerning your—“ Crown would laugh at me hedging ”—physical passion together. “

The Rosethorn stallion bobbed his head. “Yeah, thinking through the wording. But …” He sighed. “I meant what I said. In both meanings of the phrase, Dazzle isn’t held in any way he doesn’t wish. Nor are Prism or Tremor, and nor were Kittyhawk or Redwood.”

“The pair who chose to return.”

“Yes. I’ll confess, I was … sad they didn’t stay.” Seed sighed. “But they visit still. We walked them to Rosewine Bridge ourselves, for what it’s worth.”

More than the stallion realized.

Aloud, Note said, “They said much the same, upon their respective returns. They spoke highly of you all.” He watched Seed’s ears perk back up. “Kittyhawk said you, in particular, were quite gentle and patient.”

Laughing, Seed shook his head. “She always thanked me for being patient with her. Like she thought any of us would be upset when she just wanted a hug and a kiss rather than pleasure.” If he noticed the color bleeding into Note’s cheeks, he paid it no mind. “Is it selfish of me that I hope they miss us enough to return?”

Visions of Rose Crown, of her—their lovers floated through Note’s head. All of them close, bidding him farewell with such sad looks of longing it pained him even now.

None more, though, than those times Crown’s own mask of stoic detachment failed her and she caught him before their parting, before he could slip on his disguise and leave them again.

“I could keep you here, safe,” she’d whisper words he knew she didn’t truly believe. “We can figure it out. If she asks if you’re mine, I’ll just … we’ll just … we’ll trick her. Or—or you could leave Damme. J-Just make it public and she won’t question a thing …”

A fever dream, and both knew it. There were certainly ways to opt out of the war, but short of taking everypony and fleeing, Crown wouldn’t escape her mother. Not even if she and Gilded and Crisp married to cement their bond.

Note felt a ghost of Crisp’s teeth upon his ear. “Forgetting somepony?” his voice whispered.

The stallion rallied and shoved that rogue fancy back in the bottle. Their courtship, his and Crown’s, had only begun a few months prior. Stars above, he’d only just returned one of Crisp’s kisses the month before Crown was forced onto that first raid!

And if any marriages happened, Crown would still have to take her loves, her book club, and flee. Roseate wouldn’t let her remain without hounding them as punishment for her daughter’s defiance.

Because love and a want to be loved was defiance. In Roseate’s eye.

“I should think not,” he answered after that long moment’s lapse into memory and fantasy. 

“No?”

“You’ve not worked to undermine anything they do to find happiness outside your villa, have you?”

Seed shot him a dark look, affronted. “I thank you for your aid and respect you as Dazzle’s old partner and friend, sir, but I’ll not suffer an insult like that!”

“Exactly my point. Which is why I don’t find it selfish at all.” Note snorted a laugh, muttering, “You would make everypony longing the company of a former or distant lover selfish, fool stallion.”

“Ah. I see.” Abashed, Seed swallowed and looked away for a moment.

The awkward silence between them held fast. Note pressed his lips together, cursing himself now for using rhetoric to answer a question like that.

He knew quite well how most Merrier’s felt about taking and forcing. Their whispered utterances when they crossed into Damme and thought no pony was around told the tale.

As they reached the bridge, Note sighed and decided to bite the bitter pill. “Where do they live?” he asked. “Where does Dazzle live?”

At his side, Seed started. “I’m sorry?”

Note cut in front of him and met his eye. “Where does he live, Rose Seed? I want to know that my—“ he pressed his lips together. “Is Dazzle safe?”

Seed opened his mouth, closing it again. “Er. At the risk of offending you by prying, were you two—“

“No. Stars above, no.” Chuckling to himself, the smaller stallion shook his head. “I’m not even fully certain I’m interested in stallions as well as mares, but if Dazzle and I ever tried? Oh, I’d have given him a shove off Primrose Bridge.”

Of all things, that seemed to be what affirmed a connection between the two stallions. 

Seed burst out laughing and stomped his hoof twice upon the ground. A fond smile and sigh preceding his turning an affectionate look upon the distant Rosewine Hills.

“Sometimes, he is a troublesome buck. Lovely, but troublesome.”

“Indeed.”

“As for where he lives …” The Rosethorn stallion nodded toward the hills. “He has his own bedroom in my villa. At the risk of offending your sensibilities again, I have the pleasure of waking with him in my hooves or between Petal and I on many occasions. Though, lately—“ he gave a meaningful waggle of his ears ”—he’s been a frequent bedmates of my dear Auntie Rosewater.”

Note stared. His ears twitched back and forth, telling of his mind trying to solve the complex calculus equation Seed had just laid in front of him. A multi-variable one, the unkind stallion.

And before he could question it, Seed held up a hoof. “Before you offend my sensibilities again, he approached her first.” His eyes softened. “Stars, he listened and let her into his heart quickest of them.”

That tracked well.

Dazzle was a terror in battle, his grin a foreboding omen for raiders. But he wasn’t without a heart.

One just had to find it beneath the trouble he liked to cause.

Everything went straight into Note’s mental scribblings. He smiled and bowed his head. “They’re all in your villa?”

“Prism might marry a foal hood friend of mine. Sweet Grape.” Those fuchsia eyes misted. “Tremor? Well, he’s a bit more willing to expand his circle, but he’s got several in the village he finds regular companionship with outside our villa.”

Our villa.

This stallion was a threat? Only if somepony was afraid of being propositioned and gifted some of the finest and most exotic flowers in the region.

So, half of the nobility.

Yet here he was. Walking around like a tourist and sharing drinks, and doing his level best to avoid fights with Primfeathers.

“Safe and happy in the Garden of Love, in the Garden Villa no less.” Repetition seemed to ease his worried heart. Note let his shoulders relax with a contented breath. “Thank you. It’s … it’s very reassuring, knowing where he actually is and actually hearing it spoken freely by one I knew to have charmed him so.”

Before him, Seed ducked his head. The Rosethorn markings on his cheeks graced with a slight pink flushing. “I—well, I’m glad he chose to stay, but as highly as he’s spoken of you and others …” He blinked, his ears ticking once as an idea blossomed with a smile. “I can do better than tell you how he’s doing.”

Note could already imagine the piercing look Priceless would give him. Each time he snuck in for Crown was already a risk, but openly crossing?

Seed must have read him like a book. “If it’s safety you’re worried about, have no fear!” He touched a hoof to his chest. “I’ll guarantee it. Stars, Petal would guarantee it for them, to say nothing of Dazzle himself!”

Temptations. Stars, how those words tempted him so. Fitting for a business pony and a Rosethorn, and a charmer as he was rumored to be.

It’s been a year, and their cases are open. Note bit the inside of his cheek. If I can verify their being of sound mind, we can arrange to have this closed and get two economic leaders on friendly terms. Friendlier, stars, he spoke with Collar on the bridge about Prim Stride. And so amicably.

Unfortunately, hesitation and long consideration in the presence of a Rosethorn had a way of giving them the perfect chance to sweeten the deal. Or, in this case, show Note what nightmares would await those who tried to test his guarantee.

“No harm will come to you under our protection,” he pressed, daring to lay a hoof upon Note’s shoulder. “Think about it. Send a runner to the Garden Villa, and we’ll arrange something. Okay?”

“I’ll do that.” Best to give it full thought, and consult Priceless. “Thank you, I—“

Seed leaned in and kissed him on either cheek in the traditional Merrier greeting and farewell. Seeing Note stunned, he waggled his ears. “Any friend of my loves is treated as mine, Prim Note. I mean that. Be well.” He patted Note on the shoulder and turned to walk away, but then, as he set hoof on the bridge, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Note?”

The Prim stallion blinked. “Yes?”

“When I talk about safety, yours and theirs, I’d like you to really consider something for me.”

“That is?”

Rose Seed’s smile was full of deadly nightshade. “Remember, Rosewater is of the Garden again. I’m not even the scary one anymore.”
> 08. Angelic Voices, Dark Omens
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It probably made Seed more than a bit of an oddball to be happy after a run in with a Dammeguard after the mess Roseate and her daughters caused with their attack on Prim Collar. Stars, forget happy, he’d bypassed that and skipped straight to downright prancingly giddy once he and Note quitted that pub and the name registered in his head.

Already, he could imagine Dazzle’s face. His joy would start with perking ears, then light dawning in his eyes. And his smile?

As bright and handsome as his firework spells, or his face in the throes of passion.

This, though. This would be different.

Brighter, more vibrant. And it would take an effort of will not to kiss the stallion silly for showing that sort of joy again. The same, Seed wagered, as the night he’d hesitantly confessed.

“I, er …” Once again, the teasing pest was a stammering, blushing stallion, just like their first night together, and again the night Petal had first invited him to mount her.  “I … don’t want to go home.”

Seed remembered looking at Petal, a glass of Prancing Petunia Passion hovering halfway to his lips while they three dined and looked out across the Merrie.

Petal had smiled. “We’d love you to stay.”

Rosewing Breeze shot him a look as Seed passed by the guards positioned on either side of the invisible line separating the two sides of the bridge. “Stars above, Seed,” he groaned. “Save a little bit of happiness for the rest of the world, eh?”

Snickering, Seed snapped a bolt of magic across the pegasus’s shoulder, and ducked a swipe of his wing. “You keep groaning and bellyaching like that and I’ll make sure Kiss knows you don’t want an invitation to the next big party.” A waggle of his brows preceded his next, “I hear he’s looking for volunteers for a nice, long night shift!”

The glare which came in reply could have scorched his hindquarters. Neither meant it, of course. Breeze just liked to be contrarian.

Which made it all the more fun when Seed got him in the Petal Game, and rode him for each and every one of his little comments.

Just as Seed set hoof on Merrie soil, the rosy cobblestones stained with wine spilled from merriment, leaky casks, and the occasional fallen bottle during a dance, a melodious voice of incomparable beauty rose in song and floated to his ears.

His eyes widened. A familiar voice. An entrancing one, should she put her will into it.

Seed felt his muscles tensing, he let his eyes scan the beach, checking over each group of ponies clustered together as they walked along the river and tried to enjoy the last weeks before the winter chill made it an unbearable location. Among the groupings of social loves and bonded ponies and friends merely enjoying a night of relative peace, he saw her.

Seated on the west side of the bridge, right at the edge of the water so she might enjoy the way the noontime sun danced upon the water’s surface like flecks of golden fire, his cousin sat with a spyglass laying by her right flank, her posture straight and chin raised to let her voice carry to listeners on either side of the river.

It was the perfect atmosphere for Rose Crown to sing another masterpiece of matters of the heart and passion.

Rosy eyes met. Behind her glasses, Crown winked. A flick of her ear beckoned him to come and sit by her side.

So, not just here to be a romantic. Sighing, Seed altered course and headed to the beach to meet his cousin. Please just be asking when your invites to the winter socials can be expected. Or pry about Petal’s latest project. Don’t be here for her.

Her song trailed off to a chorus of applause from her audience. Graciously, Crown turned to bow her head in thanks before turning her gaze upon Seed, still standing a couple paces away.

“If I knew you did free shows,” he mused. “I think I’d have asked you to start singing at our winter socials years ago.”

She tilted her head, an invitation to sit. “I’m afraid I do not,” came her reply, coy as ever. “But should the mood hit at the right time, perhaps. Incidentally …”

Seed rolled his eyes skyward. “We’ll be late sending out invitations, unfortunately. Complications.”

“I understand. Crisp asked first, before you fix me with that look.”

Feeling just a little cheeky, Seed did anyway. And earned himself a sigh and minute shaking of her head.

Crown was an interesting one, to say the least. There were about half of Roseate’s daughters, his cousins alongside Rosemary from Roseate’s sister, who were actually good ponies. Decent ponies.

Just held beneath her iron hoof, through some means or another.

“So,” he continued. “If you don’t do free shows, might I inquire as to whom you just sang? Or is this your verve calling you to fill the air with beauty?”

“The verve calls me to sing for my loves today,” came her answer, coupled with a contented smile and sigh. She closed her eyes. “And one, alas, I must coax along that he finally bloom for us.”

Seed raised a brow. “Really? Singing to help a flower bloom? I might advise water and feed, cousin.” 

“As a matter of fact, I water and feed him quite well when he is in my hooves.” Her smile grew, and told of fondness. “But I’d read that song encourages plants to grow more beautifully, and I believe his will be a most beautiful bloom indeed. So, I shall see if I can make it so, that my loves and I may behold it together.”

An analogy Seed could support. Stars, why couldn’t she have become a Gardener before Roseate brought her to heel?

Still, a question entered his mind and demanded its voice. “Does this flower of yours have a choice whether or not he might bloom for you?”

Crown’s gaze snapped to him, her rosy eyes sparking with fury. “Each of my loves chose,” she whispered slowly, deliberately. “Each chose to bloom for me, and the choice is his as well.”

Seed held up his hooves. “My apologies, but I had to ask.” He licked his lips, avoiding her eyes to escape that glare. “After she leaned on you to join those two raids, I wasn’t sure she wouldn’t push you on that next.”

The younger Rosethorn eyed him a moment longer as though she wished to find a hint of falsehood to his words. After a few seconds to consider them, she heaved a sigh and faced forward.

“Not yet,” she murmured quietly. Crown drew in a deep breath, her eyes trained on somepony or something across the river. In the same tone, she added, “She’s heard about the Dammeguard.”

“Hmm? Which one?” Seed feigned ignorance. “There’s quite a number—“

“You’re not a fool, Rose Seed, and I’ll thank you not to think me fool enough not to see what others miss thanks to your little act.” A sharp glare forestalled any further effort to feign ignorance before Crown returned her attention to other side of the river. “The gossip reached her ears this morning. Only a short while after your visit to Prim Palace.”

Which means I’ll hear about acting within my rights again.

With his lazy smile plastered carefully across his features, Seed sighed and looked to the sky as if to find that pegasus. “I suppose she had to eventually. I hope she took it well.”

“No,” Crown answered simply. “No, she did not.”

A furrow creased his brows. “You can’t be serious. She can’t honestly be upset about that, can she?”

“That it was a Dammeguard who rescued the foal rather than a Merrieguard? Rather than one of her Merrieguard? Yes. It breaks her narrative she’s been writing about us versus them.”

“I see.” Curious, the stallion stole a look at her face, watching for any tells. “And what narrative, pray tell, would you write about him?”

Her expression didn’t waver for an instant. “For once, non-fiction.”

Stars above. Seed had to fight not to turn and face her, to meet her as family and offer her aid. “Dangerous words to utter aloud,” he murmured.

“Perhaps.” Now, her lips twitched. Only slightly. “If my watchers weren’t so bewitched by that little verse about sunlight on the river.”

Not much time then.

“What would you propose I do, then?”

“Nothing but what you would naturally do.”

“Unfortunately, your mother seems wont to complicate that. I’m asking what you imply I should do regarding her intrigue?”

Crown flicked a glance at him. “You? Nothing.” She hummed a note, as if finding her next tune. “I expect the Lord Heir of Damme will counter any intrigues she dreams up. My sister also appears wont to disappear at odd times and make no mention of whence she’s gone, then reappear with as little fanfare. Make of that what you will.”

Leaning more on Collar and Rosewater until we’re ready for him. Or he’s ready for us to receive him. Seed feigned a boisterous yawn, and said, “How ever will I have time to make anything of that? I am, after all, merely sleepwalking with my eyes open, in your mother’s words.”

Another look, the same as her previous chiding, spoke volumes. 

They were both learning quite a bit about one another, it seemed.

Seed closed his eyes, dreading what he knew would come next. “I suppose you’ll tell me now that I’m to expect a summons?”

“That’s actually the reason I’m here.” Crown hummed again, working on that pitch. “Since you won’t allow Rosejoy anywhere near the Garden of Love, mother sent me. For which, I’m quite grateful. The mare has been strutting about, acting as though she could ever be a noblemare. As if she could ever be more than muscle, with the way she drinks and sniffs herself into oblivion each night.” Pausing to allow Seed a moment to chuckle and shake his head, she added, “And since this is the one place I can come to find a goblet of wine so delicious, I’m less liable to be sent away for want to stay in your good graces.”

“Mm. I see. And the chance to voice your wonder as to when you’ll receive your invitations is entirely coincidental, I’m sure.” 

He didn’t bother dodging the snap of magic across his shoulder. That one, he’d deserved.

With that, he knew, it was time to get going.

Seed rose and stretched his legs, grimacing. “What time?”

“After breakfast.”

“Very well then. Summons received, and all that. Always a pleasure.”

“Always.” She flicked her left ear. Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed a necking couple a dozen or so paces away jolt and shake their heads. “Now if you’ll excuse me …”

He smirked. “Happy, aha, gardening.”

The cousins shared mutual bows of the head before Seed turned and trotted back to the path. Over his shoulder, he heard the first notes of Crown’s song rise upon the wind.

Hopefully she got to see that stallion bloom bright for her and all her loves.





How exactly could one enjoy the many, many perks of being born daughter of the Baroness Roseate, ruler of the famed City of Delights, when setting hoof in Rose Palace would garner a venomous scolding and reminder of her failings?

Rosetail pondered this question quite a lot in the weeks following the failed raid, their failure to entrance and take Primline Collar and effectively force Damme the submit to Rosethorn victory. Thanks to some strange spell he’d dreamed up to make himself …

Unstoppable. Unbothered by scent or glamour. 

And then, there was Rosewater, happy to intervene.

On behalf of the Lord Heir of Damme.

The stallion she’d claimed would be her mate, bound to the Rose Way. Ruined, thanks to her.

Leaving her younger sisters to suffer in her stead.

Right now, it gave her something to think about while she kept rhythm with her chosen bedmate for the night. She could feel his grip tightening around her barrel, a sharp nip at the back of her neck coupled together with his hot, ragged breath playing across her shoulder. Roseate’s youngest daughter arched her back and rolled her hips, pressing her buttocks flush against his eager thrusting.

Quiver Quill was his name. The son of a merchant who sold almost exclusively to Roseate and her supporters, followers of the Rose Way despite the lack of real nobility to their family name. Himself, Quiver had aspirations to join the Merrieguard.

He had aspirations to be a part of Roseate’s victory procession through Damme, straight up to Prim Palace.

His wings traced her thighs in practiced, teasing circles. Routine for him. A little play he so delighted in visiting upon the mares he bedded when he neared his climax, and failed to realize how bedmates talked and shared.

But what he lacked in creativity, Quiver made up for with the vigor of his efforts. Rosetail could almost close her eyes and use the sensations of a stallion’s cock plunging into her depths, his balls slapping against her buttock and the lustful groan building within his chest to spur a fantasy of her own.

A fantasy for herself.

In her mind’s eye, Rosetail fashioned for herself a vision of a gorgeous pegasus, just taller than she. Just enough so she might trail herself beneath his chin whenever she wished to drive the dear boy to distraction and tempt him toward nights filled with passion and pleasures of the flesh.

His wings would be broad and powerful, his shoulders too, honed by years spent laboring to corral the wild storms which descended upon the region. Or by the iron hooves and whiplike tongue of the guard, honing his body into a sleek form, begging for a mare’s touch and caress. And when he displayed his feathers, spreading them wide so she might moon over them …

Her eyelids fluttered. The young mare’s lips wrapped around words never fully given voice, her heart racing as she felt the ghosting of her fantasy stallion’s touch laying over Quiver’s. From nothing, she gave him a voice, that he might whisper his addiction and need for her in between breaths.

Quiver lurched and gave a jerky buck of his hips, a ragged gasp tearing from his lips as his cock flared and spilled hot seed into her.

The vision of a pegasus cried out her name in ecstasy and rode his climax until his breath failed him.

In dream and reality, the paths diverged further.

Quiver Quill drew his hips back slowly, his cock sliding free of her glistening slit with a shiver which rippled through his belly. He gave Rosetail a light bump of the nose to her shoulder, and then released his grip on her barrel and rolled over to his back.

Letting Rosetail stay with her breast laying against the mattress, her rump still elevated and legs splayed.

“Stars above!” he moaned. A satisfied smile spread slowly across his lips. Quiver gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes glazed with the pleasures still playing through his body after a full release. “Hoo! Needed that after a long week, Tail. Thanks.”

Her eyes clenched shut. Rosetail blew a breath through her nose and let her hind legs slide out from under her so her body fell to the mattress with a flop and a creaking of springs. “Mhmm,” she muttered into the pillow, a deep sense of disappointment filling her heart.

She felt him shift over and bump his snout against her cheek. “Look, I’m sorry we wouldn’t come by for a bit, all right? Is that what you want me to say? But can you blame us?” Quiver snorted and rolled back over. “Your mother was on the bloody warpath! Mom was sure business would struggle if I came, and you know Morning Glow’s got her little shop—“

Excuses. Always excuses when she was left wanting.

And always empty rutting and angling otherwise.

Rosetail’s horn lit, filling her modest bedroom in Silk and Vine’s home with the vibrant, rose pink glow of her magic. Teasing static traced along the edges of her lower lips like a devoted lover’s tongue, a touch she so craved, yet could never find.

Not in her bedmates.

Not in mother’s approved friends.

Her visionary pegasus, though, made sure she didn’t want for anything. When he withdrew himself from her depths, he held her tighter and pitched forward, his chest pressing against her back as he hissed against the cold. Even still, he didn’t leave her.

He laid her down upon the bed with a loving turn of his hooves, his touch turning her that she laid upon her side. Rosetail blinked her bleary eyes as he gave the tired sigh of a lover sharing in the afterglow and turned her over with a gentle nosing against her shoulder, a wing upon her left leg coaxing her to splay it wide that he could lay upon her and let his cock settle against her slit.

While Quiver Quill chattered away, this stallion cupped her cheeks in his hooves and rub his nose against hers. His tongue flicked along her lips, a deep, satisfied hum rolled in the back of his throat. Rosetail watched his wings unfurl slowly, as though drawing back the curtains upon the lead performer of those delicious pegasus dancers.

“—Oh! Uh, so, I have news!” Quiver’s voice managed to pierce through her fantasy long enough to spare him a sidelong look. “Mom was finally able to get me an audience with your mother, and I told her I wanted to join the Merrieguard.”

Rosetail gave a noncommittal hum while she dreamed of a lover proudly displaying his feathers for her. A sign of the way she filled his heart with adoration and need.

“Yeah! Matter of fact, she seemed rather pleased. Said she was glad to see another young, loyal Merrier willing to stand up for our way against the Prims. She must see something in me, right?”

The young mare allowed her daydream to be put on hold while she regarded her bedmate and compared him against the Dammeguards she’d seen the night of their raid. Even surprised, even off-balance, they’d fought ‘till they fell to tangle vines or scent magic.

In her mind, she set Quiver against her vision, the stallion now garbed in Dammeguard blue and purple, his head bowed in surrender as he and his fellows submitted to Rosethorn rule and swore new allegiance to Merrie. 

Solemn and resolute, a far cry from the distant sneer and preening of the one in her bed.

Notably distant.

“Mm. I can’t say what mother feels.” Rosetail affixed her gaze upon the ceiling for a moment, and gave her vision a mental prod to resume its phantom affections. She closed her eyes, adding, “But, personally, I suspect you’ll serve as well as you service a mare.”

She could hear the grin in how he snorted a laugh. “Yeah, probably. Thanks, Tail.”

Idiot.

The stallion in her vision shook with silent laughter.
> 09. Letters for a Damaged Hero
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

How fast … How fast …

Dammeguard! Dammeguard, stop!

I need to know …

Stop. Relax.

Will you fly to reach them?

A gentle hoof touching his shoulder jerked Primfeather Stride out of darkness and mist and cold water spraying across his face, and back to present. Back to the safety of Prim Palace.

Eyes the color of angry storm clouds blinked owlishly. Stride shook himself and looked up to meet Collar’s gaze. “Huh?”

His liege lord’s brow furrowed. “I asked how you’re doing this morning, Strides,” Collar repeated, his voice low. He cast a quick look across the small circular table, meeting eyes with his intended mate and future Lady of Damme, Cloudy Rosewing, and then back. “Your ears aren’t betraying nerves near as much as they were yesterday.”

Stride drew in a slow, deep breath and forced a smile. “Just not sleeping well, my lord,” he replied. He glanced toward the opposing door of the lone prison cell in Prim Palace—a cell in name alone, in reality, a guest room repurposed to house a mare guilty only of being pressured into service. 

The younger stallion shook himself and returned his attention to Collar. If the mare wanted to take a bit to freshen herself up for a surprise visit, it was only polite he not stare like an impatient minder. Still, he had to wonder why he’d been summoned to the palace on his day off.

Does it count for her game if she let out a squeak and fled for the bath and told us to wait around the table before calling out our names? Stride’s left ear twitched thoughtfully. Though she did scold Collar for not telling her I’d be visiting earlier than usual …

When he noticed Cloudy eying him, her feathers giving an expectant twitch, he added, “I’ve had trouble for the past couple nights.”

Cloudy’s ears flattened. “Strides,” she said, barely avoiding a slight growl to her tone. “Come on, don’t make us pull every detail out of you. How long have you slept the past two nights?”

He winced. “I couldn’t say.” Stride found interest in a slight circular pattern in the woodwork at the center of the table. A little piece of the world away from those piercing rosy eyes. “Three hours each? Maybe? I don’t know.”

“In a row?” she pressed.

Another wince, this time coupled with a shrug.

The table circle really was nice.

Cloudy reached out and touched his shoulder with a feather. “Are you sure you’re okay in that house of yours?” she asked. The edge to her tone had gone with his answer, replaced by a softer note.

Glancing up at her, Stride offered a hesitant smile. If their roles were reversed, she’d have scoffed and swatted his ear with a wing and told him not to mollycoddle her.

A lesson he’d learned the first time he tried sparring her.

“My house is fine. It’s quiet.” The house wasn’t causing him to see or hear those things again. Stride drew in a deep breath and forced the feeling of vines playing teasing games across his coat to subside, though not without a slight shiver in his shoulders. 

They both noticed.

Stars, they’d have had to be blind not to see.

Collar shared a quick look with his love, his ears ticking just slightly. “Why don’t I send for some tea?” he offered. “It’ll help soothe your nerves a bit.”

The look his lover shot him suggested, even to Stride, that wasn’t quite what she had meant to convey with her gaze, and one of his ears would be chewed for that. Stride certainly didn’t envy him.

The heir of Damme did it regardless, a polite gesture. A Prim gesture.

One he knew would give Stride something to latch onto and hold tight.

“The nightmares haven’t left you, have they?” Collar asked. His brows knitted together, concerned. “The ones that started after the raid.”

Another shiver. The visions rushed forth to grab him by the throat and held tight.

He shook his head.

“They were … they weren’t as bad. For a couple days.” Stride licked his lips. He could feel his feathers bristling, his wings itching to fly for safety. “Then at the bridge …”

The pegasus blinked once.

And he was diving, diving toward the frigid waters of the Merrie River. The screams of ponies below filled his ears along with the shrieking of wind pulling at his face, his mane.

His helm.

A prodding hoof jolted him back into Rosemary’s room. Stride gasped and clutched his chest. His wings, he realized, were just slightly unfurled.

Diving position.

Cloudy’s eyes held him in place, held his such that he couldn’t look away. 

Every pegasus knew that posture.

He licked his lips. “It’s just me,” Stride said, giving a smile he didn’t quite feel. “Just all up here, you know? Like everything you used to kick me around for.” Raising a hoof, he prodded the side of his head. “And ever since … ever since that night …”

When he blinked again, Stride felt his breath hitching in his throat as he gazed up at a mare wreathed in a rose hue of starlight. She leaned down and whispered to him.

Stop. Relax.

A dumb, complacent smile spread across his lips then. The tickle of silk upon his mouth matched in pleasant feeling only by its lovely scent, and that of the flowers blooming from the vines hugging his shoulders.

This time, Stride shook himself free and stole a glance toward the door. Stars, how long did it take Rosemary to bathe and groom in the morning? And why so long when he needed rescuing?

He released a shuddering breath. “I just remember going under. And then … and then, a voice through the fog. Her voice, and purple lights. And then—“

Cloudy laid a hoof upon his ankle. “No more,” she murmured, and gave him a minute shake of her head. “You’re hurting yourself, reliving it like this.”

If only he could just stop so easily. But his mind could be such a treacherous devil, it seemed.

Especially these days.

Fortune smiled upon the young pegasus, for he was spared further prodding the clicking of a latch. The bathroom door opened to reveal a beaming mare with a coat the same pink as carnation petals, and a braided main of flowing gold which shimmered in the morning sun.

“Much better!” Rosemary smiled, the crimson Rosethorn markings upon her cheeks dimpling in a way that almost begged one to nuzzle and kiss to tease further joy from her heart. She fixed Collar with a look of mock severity and huffed. “That was mean, my lord! Not telling me you and Cloudy were going to bring my favorite little debate partner as a surprise today!”

Collar returned her glare with an innocent smile. “Well, I just thought since you’d been a good little mare—“

Both pegasi snorted, earning themselves an arching of her brow and a smirk. 

Stride had to duck his head and look down to hide the smile threatening to spread across his features.

“—I might bring you a couple pegasi to play with,” Collar finished. After a beat, he added, “And for the record, he was my Dammeguard before your debate partner. In fact, I’m the one who set that up, so I get first pick.”

“So you think!”

“Oh, really? Fine. Stride, let’s adjourn to my office and—“

Rosemary found herself the seat to Stride’s immediate right, and caught the hoof Cloudy left free. “Sorry! Pretty mares have claimed a hoof each!” She waggled her ears. “The Hoof Law of Merrie clearly states he can’t leave ‘till we say so.”

“I am quite certain you’re making that up.”

“Ask Baron Dapper!” Those rosy pink eyes of hers danced like twinkling stars. “He’ll take my side.”

The flat look Collar sent in reply gave a rather clear indication of just how much he trusted his father to give an honest answer when the chance to cause mischief was presented. A look betrayed by the slightest twitching at the corner of his mouth. 

Three knocks sounded out against the door. Their tea, no doubt.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll grant you a victory.” He winked before turning to open the door. “Just this once.”

“Hardly! And it’s Coat! I’m still undefeated!” Rosemary gave a deep, meaningful sniff, grinning as she brushed her cheek against Stride’s. “And my not calling your name doesn’t count against me, Stride. I knew it was you. So you quit chewing those cheeks to hide a smirk, or I’ll coax forth that blush I so adore.”

Stride laughed quietly. “I figured that by the way you dove into the bathroom and yelled at Collar.”

She turned, her nose tickling his chin. “I did not yell. I scolded. Cloudy, back me up here.”

Laughing, Cloudy shook her head. “Nuh-uh, keep me out of this. You two play nice, and don’t make this boy fall faint before we take care of some our actual business today. Enforcing Hoof Law is my only part in this one.” She brought Stride’s hoof up and gave it a little waggle. “Making him squirm and preen is your job once that’s done.”

Now, Stride had to duck his head. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Your options are her doing it or Coat doing it. He’s married, so you’re out of luck.” Cloudy nodded in greeting to their comrade, accepting her tea with thanks. “Unless Collar wants to, but that’d be a first with a stallion—oh, quit making faces, I know you enjoy Dammer’s Tea, you brat!”

Rosemary stopped pretending to gag just long enough to stick her tongue out at her. A spirit of liveliness and joy shone bright in her heart, as it did every day.

A balm against the trials of the last few weeks.

She’s worried for all of us too. Stride watched her laugh and banter with Cloudy for a moment, fondness bleeding into his smile. She’s got space in her heart for half the world at least, and she was up worried about all of us that night and then me after the bridge.

Tea brought with it a nice sense of calm to the morning. Albeit one which required some stammered pleas for release of his hooves that he might partake in tea himself and another for Collar’s aid in negotiating terms when Rosemary coyly offered to levitate it to his lips.

Mercifully, Collar showed the firm, fair ruler he would be when the barony was his and managed to secure for Stride a temporary Stay of Hoof-Holding order—Rosemary insisted he use something other than execution—in exchange for his vow that he would not order Stride to join him elsewhere for their business and Stride’s that he would, at some point during winter, join her to discuss Merrie’s Hearth’s Warming customs.

Considering it might help him avoid his family a little longer, or even give him something to tweak their feathers a bit, Stride came away feeling he’d won out on that deal.

Once they’d all finished their tea and settled into their respective cushions, Collar looped a band of shimmering silver magic under the table and lifted a bundle of letters into view.

“I knew I smelled musty paper and ink,” Rosemary mused with a smile. Then, she blinked and perked her ears. A more pegasus sign of intrigue than typical Rosethorn. “Though, that’s not the normal scent.”

Stride fixed her with a look. “You’re gonna tell me paper has a distinct scent now?” 

“Yes, but the scent of the paper isn’t what I meant.”

He dared to flick a chiding feather across her shoulder. “Uh huh. Quit tugging my feathers.”

She turned so they were nose to nose. “Oh, don’t tempt me to really start tugging, dear Stride.” In a low, playful purr, she added, “Or we’ll see just how well those dapples of yours glow.”

The months he’d spent acting as one of her guards had taught Stride better than to doubt her word. In this area.

Rosemary was earnest, but a Merrier. Word games and double-meanings were her stock and trade, her actions told the story and gave a real glimpse into her heart.

Wisely, Stride pressed his lips together and dipped his ears in submission, earning himself a gentle nip.

“Good boy,” Rosemary teased. Returning her attention to Collar, she fixed him with that curious look. “I know those scents well. Grapes from Rosewine Vineyard, and the hills and flowering community gardens. The air around Garden of Love carries those scents.”

Collar flicked an ear. “Right in one. One day, Rosemary, we’ll find something to fool your nose.” He then offered a slight smile and glanced at Stride. “They’re for you.”

Stride blinked, his ears ticking back and forth. He stared at Collar for a moment, then Rosemary. Then, he said, “Why? I don’t know anypony in the Garden of Love.”

“You know me,” Rosemary teased, bumping shoulders with him. “I may not be of the Garden, but I was a regular guest when I was younger. And sporadically over the last few years.”

“I didn’t—okay, fine, but you didn’t live there before all this did you?” When she shook her head, Stride raised his brows. “So I’m still right.”

Rosemary rolled her eyes, then gave him a little shove. 

But she couldn’t refute him. Thus, Stride managed to claim a rare victory over his silver-tongued friend, and let it show in the slightest fluffing of his feathers.

It stopped once he noticed the crinkling near her eyes and the smile tugging at her lips, and realized this victory would come at cost.

Collar coughed to regain their attention. “Hoof law doesn’t apply to his attention, by the by. And don’t grab them, you two, he’s going to need those.” He pushed the bound stacks of letters across the table with a little nudge of magic, nodding to Stride. “Just delivered yesterday by way of Garden representatives.”

“Ah.” Stride let his ears flatten. “Why?”

To his left, Cloudy sighed. “Gee, I wonder, you lunkhead,” was all the warning she gave before he had to duck a swipe of her wing. “Why might ponies from Merrie send something to you, Strides? What did you do two days ago?”

A ghost of cold water sprayed across his face.

Stride shivered, his feathers bristling against the cold.

Cold that wasn’t here.

And a foal who wasn’t in the water. 

Will you fly …

“Ease up, love,” Collar chided. To Stride, he offered a smile. “That colt you saved was of the Garden, Strides. Their leaders and Lady Rosewater tell me he has quite a lot of friends, and is beloved by many of the adults. So, they wanted to send these to you as thanks.”

Almost automatically, Stride slid an envelop from the stack, holding it so he could turn it over in his hoof. Rosemary’s previous words sparked curiosity in the young Primfeather. He sniffed, and even he could smell a hint of flowers.

Though he couldn’t say which.

“For me,” he murmured. “It does smell nice.”

Rosemary brushed her cheek against his and gave the letter a sniff, her eyes fluttering. “Tiger lilies,” she answered his unasked question.

Humming, he thanked her with a tilting of his head into her touch. His eyes, though, hadn’t left the envelop.

Stride looked up to Collar and Cloudy. “Why? I crossed the river in uniform. That’s—“

“Against the treaty, unless there is dire need,” Cloudy finished in his stead. “Stride … you saved that foal’s life.”

“And I can tell you right now, Firelight Spark would laugh anypony trying to claim breach of treaty for that out of his office.” Collar’s smile was … warm. Proud. Stars, was it proud, in his gentle way. “Strides … Strides those are letters to a hero. Open one.”

Something in his head stuck on that word, and wouldn’t let go.

A hero?

Cold water sprayed across his face again. A tiny body hung limp in his hooves.

Ice ate the back of his neck. Stride set the letter atop the pile and pulled away from Rosemary, rising. “I think I need to take a walk,” he murmured, already stepping past Cloudy.

She caught him by a foreleg. “Strides, hold on.” All trace of teasing or scolding had left her eyes. In their place, concern.

With a gentle tug and circling of his hoof, Stride freed himself of her grasp. Just like she’d taught him. “I need to take a walk,” he repeated. “I just need … air.” 

A hurried shuffle carried him out of Rosemary’s makeshift prison, out into the halls of Prim Palace. Air. Air was the best cure for everything which ailed a pegasus, whether it be illness or some affliction of the mind.

Like the one gripping Stride like a python does a rabbit.

The young pegasus knew his destination even before his stormy eyes gazed out the windows to see the splendor of the Prim Palace gardens. A small tribute to Dapper’s heritage, a place of calm and healing.

Healing, like what Rosemary and Cloudy had done to help him the other day. After Cloudy had got him to stop shaking in that alley.

With a shaking hoof, Stride pushed the door open and scurried his way toward the orange tree standing tall and proud at the center of the garden, its blooms open and flowering in defiance of the coming winter. Its own last ditch effort to grant the silly ponies below a hint of its zesty citrus fragrance.

It had been in the shade of this tree that Rosemary had sat with him so patiently while he tried to get his mind untangled.

His ears flicked and swiveled to the sound of another pony’s steps thumping against the grass. Stride looked back over his shoulder, his ears flattening when he saw Collar approaching.

The larger stallion bumped shoulders with him. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Stride grimaced. That wasn’t an easy answer. Not in the slightest. 

“I suppose that’s as much an answer as I can ask.” Collar’s tail flicked. After a moment’s silence, he spoke again. “They want to meet you, but I’ve asked that they be patient while we let you …” He met Stride’s gaze briefly, then looked to the orange blossoms adorning the tree. “Recover. From the frights you’ve had.”

“I, er.” The pegasus swallowed. “Thank you.” Ducking his head, he added, “Or we could just … pretend it didn’t happen and let the storm blow over.”

Collar smiled and shook his head, laughing. “This isn’t blowing over, Stride. Sorry.”

“Ah. I see.”

Another bump of shoulders. “Don’t act like it’s a sentencing to prison. You did the right thing. The next part is just … going to take a little time for you.”

A long time, hopefully. Long enough for those Roses dwelling in the Garden of Love to find something else to become their focus.

“But,” Collar said, drawing him from those thoughts. “There are a couple things I need to ask you. One’s a bit of a favor. Or, rather, your blessing for something.”

Something about his tone, the way he seemed to try to soften his words as if readying to deliver a blow, made Stride splay his ears. “What sort of blessing?” he asked.

Primline blue eyes met Primfeather stormy gray.

“I’m planning to say something about the bridge at the Primrose Gala. I understand you’re probably not comfortable with me naming you—“ he grimaced ”—not at all comfortable, I should say. But I’d like to say something to give credit, and I wanted to ask before you heard through the grapevine.”

Sure enough, there it was.

Stride bit the inside of his cheek. He could just imagine it, a crowd of Roses listening to Collar’s speech, waiting for some hint to what stallion dared cross the river in Dammeguard armor.

His shoulders tensing, Stride gave his head a negative shake.

Collar ticked an ear. A slight frown played upon his lips. “I’ll keep it vague, Strides. Not a word or hint.”

“I-I do appreciate that.” Stride licked his lips. “And while I understand this won’t, er, blow over, I’d rather not feed it.”

Now, the unicorn chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, were it that simple.” He bumped Stride’s shoulder again. “Pretending it didn’t happen or hiding it and not reacting just makes it seem like I’m hiding something important, Stride. I can’t do that. And …” For a moment, Collar hesitated, flicking a thoughtful glance at Stride.

One could almost imagine gears turning behind that calculating gaze.

“Another favor,” he said, turning and sidestepping so they were face to face. “Hear me out, let me talk to you about another aspect. The diplomatic side of things.”

Blanching, Stride almost recoiled. “Diplomacy with—with Roseate, my lord? After what she did to—“

“No. No. Not Roseate. I’m not going to entertain her on this, and she’s not even important right now.” 

“Then … who is?”

Collar laid a hoof on Stride’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “The Garden, Stride. The Garden of Love.”

His blank stare must have given away how high over his head the point sailed.

“The Garden is … unique. It’s both a part of Merrie, yet not. Thanks to a bit of crafty wordplay Rosewine Rosethorn slipped into the deed proposal when she ceded her competing claim to the throne to her twin and her mother granted her the land to the east of Merrie until it reached the Deerkin Forest. More importantly, though, it’s a good chunk of Merrie’s economy.”

“Okay …” Stride tried to draw connecting lines between economics and the bridge. Slowly, it clicked. “And you think announcing what I did at the Gala will help with something between Damme and the Garden?”

Collar gave the slightest shrug. “It might, it might not. But if there’s one thing I have learned since I started lordly duties, it’s that you never say no to the chance to make an ally out of a friendly stranger.” He squeezed Stride’s shoulder again, his smile earnest. “So, what I’m asking is if you’ll help me try to do that, Strides. You don’t have to do anything right now, we can delay big introductions for a time. In the meantime, the city gets the chance to affirm closer ties with their village, and we get a bit of a … softer look in Merrie. A friendlier look.”

It took a long moment for Stride to even begin trying to wrap his head around why they should even want that.

A friendly look with the ponies of Merrie, so soon after Roseate’s attempts against Collar? First and foremost, the nobles would likely scoff and do everything to scuttle the effort at home. Or at least to put pressure on ponies outside their sphere of influence to refuse new trade.

But what about the common ponies?

What about ponies in Merrie who were just like Rosemary? Or Cloudy?

Or any of us? Stride realized.

“For the commoners,” Stride murmured under his breath. “And—and the business ponies who are on the fence, right?”

“Close,” came Collar’s soft reply. “More for the ponies who worry that if the war ends in our favor, we’ll deny them their lifestyle. I don’t—Strides, I don’t want that, you know that, yes?”

He bobbed his head.

“Good. Good lad.” A third squeeze. “Will you allow me this? Will you trust me?”

If he couldn’t trust Collar, who could he?

Drawing in a deep breath, and then nodded.

Collar grinned and took his other shoulder in hoof, and gave him a gentle little shake. “Thank you, Strides. This helps.” He released his embrace and set his hooves upon the ground. “All the little things like that start to add up to big things. You’ll see.”

“I h-hope so.” Stride took a second to swallow the lump which threatened to close off his throat. Finally, he couldn’t bare but ask, “The colt, though. Is—Is he?”

“He’s well, Strides. They told me he’s alive and tired and scared, but well.”

An oppressive weight was removed from his shoulders. At least that, he could take solace in. “Thank the stars …”

Humming an affirmative, Collar moved to stand by his side to face the orange blossom tree, and sat. Still taller by a good half-head. “Yes. I quite agree.” Blue eyes flitted and caught his. “There is … one other thing, Strides.”

Stride breathed a laugh. “Another favor?”

“Mm, not quite.” Something in those eyes glinted in a way almost suspiciously like Rosemary when she had a trick in mind. “What are you doing the night of the Primrose Gala?”

Blinking, Stride furrowed his brows.

Honestly? Nothing. Maybe a drink at Prim Tap and Lager’s, if he could spare the extra bits. Otherwise, a long night at the Bridgewater Bilge with pisspoor Dammerale before he staggered his way home and hoped when he dropped, it would be onto his bed.

So, he told Collar. 

That smile told him he should’ve probably made up something about an appointment. “I see. In that case.” A hoof snaked around his shoulders. “I’d like to propose a slight alteration to those plans … incidentally, do you have anything formal in your closet?”
> 10. The Summons
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A visit to Rose Palace should have inspired feelings of hope, warmth, and security in visitors. The very air around it should have been filled with soothing scents, the planters filled with a myriad flowers and colors which made any seeking shelter feel at home.

The teachings and words of Rosethorn the Wise should have been honored in every inch of that bloom rising from the city like a monument to his guidance and strength. A rose in bloom, lit with their faerie lights, to guide ponies in need of healing to his descendants’ hooves.

Instead, the sight made Rose Seed feel bile rise in the back of his throat. 

Unlike Damme, where it was all solid black stone masonry, Rose Palace was an alluring marvel of marble and high curving windows and archways that seemed to imitate the alluring curves and supple bodies of the Roses who inherited his mantle. A tempestuous little trick of architecture to draw the eye, heart, and mind and invite as seductively as a lover’s whispered call to bed.

He stepped past the two Merrieguards stationed by the door with little acknowledgement. These, he knew, were Roseate’s. Their loyalty and fealty was to the mare, not the city, and their love of the power she promised and disseminated among them like trinkets, a full-blown addiction.

Stopping short of raw hedonism. 

It only served to disgust him further.

Memory guided his steps and steered him toward his aunt’s office. A distant aunt, he reminded himself. Quite distant.

Not enough for his tastes. Although, if it were greater, would he be so close to Rosewater, Rosemary, and Aunt Carnation?

Three poor mares. Hopefully, fate stopped dealing the first two such terrible cards soon, and had the grace to send his dear, gentle aunt to a place where she might find happiness.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice crooned, setting his blood boiling with suppressed fury. “The sleeping florist managed to stumble his way to the palace. Though, he does present such a wonderful figure for us this morn, doesn’t he boys?”

Rosejoy.

Seed flicked an ear to the sound of her studs’ snickering. “Awful quick to pass us by,” he called mockingly.

“Like that cousin of his,” said another. “Shunning that he wants what we have.”

Rosejoy laughed and gave one a playful swat. “Now, boys, put those tongues away or get to work on one another. Let Joy, handle the Garden stud.” She trotted up behind him, and visiting a sensuous brushing of her shoulder against his flank as she came close and traced her snout beneath his jawline. 

She knew he couldn’t touch her here. Not until she did something.

His aunt’s favorite pet goon lipped his chin. “How’s my dear Roselyn Dream?” she purred. “The boys and I miss her so, how she’d dance and sing for our touch …”

Seed let out a deep, projected yawn, and didn’t bother covering his mouth. Fitting for his reputation. As it faded, he spoke in a sleepy slur, “G’morning, Rosejoy. Up early to practice for ballet with the boys?”

The way she tensed and recoiled, how her stallion playmates sucked in sharp breaths and watched—oh, he could feel those startled glares upon the back of his neck—was almost sweet enough to make him understand.

It almost made him understand why they so loved the power they plied against their own Merriers.

He turned a sleepy smile upon Rosejoy. Oh, that was quite a quiver from nose to tail. She remembered his little dance lesson trick well. 

Good.

Another yawn, coupled with a wave served well as his exit. “Have a good morning, then. Gotta run along and speak with the Baroness—oh. That reminds me!” Seed turned, his eyes, his smile now sharp. He winked. “Work on your pirouette, my dear. I hear tell it needs practice.”

Satisfied that he’d left his love’s former enabler a seething, frightened mare, Seed continued on the last leg of his trek toward the Baroness’s office. The stink of rutting mare curled his nose. Despite himself, Seed sniffed and grimaced. Stallion come, and recent.

So she’d entertained herself before his visit. Not an ounce of tact or propriety. Stars, no wonder visits always made his mother’s coat bristle.

Delightful.

Seed pasted that lazy-eyed look upon his face and rapped the back of his hoof against the door. “Rose Seed, answering a summons,” he slurred.

He could almost imagine the flash of disdain across her features before Roseate spoke, “Enter.”

His horn lighting a deep, bubbling fuchsia, Seed coaxed open the door and stepped inside. Unable to help himself, he let his eyes flitted about, surveying the ever-shifting arrangement of furniture cushions and papers to try and cover the stains of her own revelry and lust for her own power and influence.

It gave him a little longer before he had to lay eyes upon her, and feel the memory of twenty-five years of snide comments and cutting words bringing that bile back to burn the back of his throat.

Seed bowed his head. “Baroness Roseate,” he greeted formally.

The smile she gave made his skin crawl. “Rose Seed, nephew mine.” Roseate flicked an ear toward the cushion resting before her desk, just slightly to the right. “Come, sit. We have much to discuss.”

Another bow, and Seed moved to sit as requested. He offered Roseate one of his lazy smiles. “I confess, I was surprised when Crown came to deliver your summons. Such an early meeting, I can only wonder to what I have the pleasure of discussing with you, my lady.”

“The usual trappings of the Barony, I’m afraid.” She actually managed to look somewhat rueful. “The cities finances are … a task, I’m afraid. What with the continued war effort and the current tariff situation.”

Which come as a result of your raids. “I can imagine. Though, I should think they wouldn’t be too trying after recent cutbacks in certain areas.”

Her ear flicked. The words like a swat of a scroll across her nose. “A regrettable necessity,” she demurred. “In the face of Prim aggression and saber rattling, certain steps must be taken to ensure our way of life endures.”

Seed hummed. “I understand, my lady.” He feigned like he had something to add, then stifled a yawn. “My apologies.”

“Accepted, nephew. I do hope your wife shares your understanding and support.”

“I can tell you with certainty, my lady, that she has read the words of Rosethorn and knows the virtue of protecting one’s loves, and the right to share in those bonds of support and joy.”

“That, dear boy, does my heart well.” The crimson Rosethorn markings on her face dimpled. “Such a beautiful thing, the Garden has become. Especially these past years.” Sighing, she circled her hoof over one of the many scraps of paper littering her desk. “It truly is a shame, though, that our families had such a falling out during Rosewine’s time.”

Seed opted to keep his blank, sleepy smile and pretend the offered laurel merely bounced off his face. “Words said in anger, and written in anger, but—“ he held wide his hooves ”—in the here and now, do our ponies not mingle and dance and lay together on Sowing Night?”

“Indeed.” 

Across the table, Roseate’s eyes gleamed as they bored into his. Rose hues of pink and fuchsia engaged a subtle battle of will. The same which had played out between Rosewine and her mother, and Budding Rose and Roseate before he’d taken his place in the game.

“I am so glad you feel that way, truly.” That hoof ceased its circling. Roseate leaned forward and propped her chin upon the back of the other. “I only wish your mother felt the same. The wounds of two hundred years … stars, the nature of we Rosethorns can be a difficult one when our dander is raised.” Her brows raised minutely. “What say you, nephew mine? Can we not put to rest old offenses and tear down the walls separating Merriers and Gardeners?”

The deed contract Rosewine had authored was endorsed by both treaty offices. Any move to undo her play would have to come at the hoof of her heir, the leader of the Garden of Love, a minor lord or lady of a smaller barony in all but name.

 The younger Rosethorn offered a pained grimace. “If only, my lady. But, as you protect Merrie, I too must protect my Garden of Love. And my ponies prize high our neutrality in this conflict.”

Another flick of her ear, but Roseate did little more than sigh. “Of course. Though it pains me, I understand. That clever mare, Rosewine.” Her hoof began to circle again. “I will not deny, though, I had hoped you might consider it, but …” Those eyes pierced into his soul, and made Seed feel as though he could never cleanse himself enough. “Perhaps, I might propose another way we might affirm relations. If you’ll allow it.”

“I am here to hear, my lady,” he said, perking his ears and smiling at his little joke. 

The Baroness lit her horn a brilliant gold, sliding a slip of paper from within one of the piles of disorganized clutter. “Given the difficult situation we find ourselves in at this point in the war, I must admit, Merrie does not have the same depth of coffers as our adversaries in Damme. And though we are close—“ she looked as though she might lick her lips ”—quite close to victory, it would be of great help if we might draw aid from our friends in your Garden of Love.” Here, Roseate raised her brows. “I do apologize for the necessity of our cuts to contracts with Rosewine Vineyard, and others throughout Merrie, but the war requires sacrifice. And … I hear tell of several new contracts from foreign buyers.”

Ah. There it is.

She wanted a slice of the pie Petal had managed to craft from the load of manure Roseate had dumped on the steps of the Garden Villa when she sent word that Rose Palace would be canceling this year’s contracts. 

That had caused some immediate panic, but Petal’s silver tongue managed to pull them out of the fire. However, Seed wondered just how Roseate thought winter celebrations without Rosewine Vineyards wine would be. 

Or perhaps she thought the mare would donate casks in hopes of currying favor and future business.

He wrinkled his snout. “I suppose Petal’s gotten a good few in the last few months. I confess, I don’t know the figures, you’d have to ask her for the specifics.”

Flickety-flick went that ear. So Roseate knew Petal’s answer to that question would come with multiple stacks of paper to justify refusal. A polite denial.

“I had hoped we might handle this as family, nephew,” came Roseate’s reply. “Two Rosethorns, seated across from one another in Rose Palace. There is nothing two of our blood cannot overcome.”

Seed nodded. It was a fair play, he had to admit. And, to a point, she was right.

There was nothing a Rosethorn couldn’t overcome to protect those dearest to his or her heart. Two? Let any who stood in their path tremble.

The same could be said, however, of the Primlines.

Collar, for example.

But it was an expected play.

He made his move with a heavy, remorseful sigh. “Then, I must work only with what I know, my lady, and say that I cannot offer any further aid than our obligatory taxes.” Seed let the set of his ears suggest contrition. “Without the contracts to Rose Palace, we can only work based on what my wife’s estimations for this year without foreign contracts. Much as you have Merrie to protect and see fed, I must protect and feed my Garden.”

The gold shimmer around that sheet flickered and died as disappointment flitted across Roseate’s features.

With a sigh, she slid it back into its pile. “Regrettable. But, ponies must eat and feed their families.” That point, at least, she could put aside. “Perhaps with the new year, the vineyard’s profits will bloom. Do pass my best to your wife.”

Seed nodded his assent. Easy request down. Now, for the real politics. He gave another yawn and shifted just slightly, as though to rise. “If there’s nothing up, Baroness—“

“As a matter of fact,” Roseate cut across him with that faux sweet tone he loathed. “There is. Pardon my interruption, but thinking on your village did remind me of another tidbit.”

The Rosethorn stallion blinked and perked his ears, settling back into his cushion. He sent silent thanks to Crown for the warning, and, outwardly, tilted his head again.

Attentive and interested in what she might have to say next.

Another sheet of paper was drawn forth from one of the stacks. Roseate spared it a quick glance, then folded her hooves upon the desk. “It has been brought to my attention, through no small amount of gossip, that there was a rather unfortunate mishap on Rosewine Bridge. At the Commoners’ Gala, I believe you called it?”

Humming in confirmation, Seed gave another nod. “Yes. You’ve heard correct, my lady.”

“I feared so.” Roseate tilted her head opposite his. “The foal is well?”

“As well as one can be after such a fright.”

“Of course. The poor dear. How old?”

“Five.”

“My, so young. That a tragedy was averted is truly a blessing, I should think. And that poor family …”

Lies spilling forth from her lips like venom flowing from a serpent’s fangs. Not one ounce of sincerity in her words. Not a shred of real decency or concern for her fellow ponies. 

Through it all, Seed nodded with her. And kept his smile while he watched her face for tells.

He found one in the razor’s edge gleaming in her eyes as she offered a smile like a hungry vixen.

“I wonder, then, if the other part of the rumor surrounding this tale of …” Roseate rolled a hoof through the air. “Near tragedy and miraculous rescue. I wonder if that might be true as well.”

Seed rubbed at his cheek like he needed to wake himself up. “Which part might that be? I’m afraid I don’t much keep an ear for town gossip.”

That smile seemed to grow. “The part that it was no Merrieguard, but a Dammeguard pegasus who crossed the river to rescue the foal from drowning.” Here, her brows raised. “And brought him to Merrie’s beach to recover.”

There was little use lying or playing dumb, oafish stallion beyond a certain point. And with this, events that an entire community and whomever joined from Merrie and Damme had all witnessed together, any such effort would be foolhardy. 

And would tip the hoof he played alongside Collar’s.

“Ah, that. Yes, I can confirm it.” He allowed himself a genuine smile. “I witnessed his rescue dive myself, and went to him on the beach. Or, tried, rather.”

“Tried?” she pressed.

Seed shrugged. “He fled when he saw the Merrieguard and I approaching, no doubt thinking the worst due to the—ah—tensing of feelings in recent days.” That flick of her ear, he quite enjoyed. “Unfortunate that we startled him so. I should have liked to thank him. The family longs to.”

“Mm. Of course they do. What parent wouldn’t?”

You, his inner voice spat in harmony with his mother’s, with Aunt Carnation’s, with Aunt Rosewater’s, and with Rosemary’s. You, you horrible witch.

His lazy smile, though, never faltered. “You’ll be pleased, then, to learn that Lord Collar of Damme has offered his aid in locating our mystery rescuer and letting us host him at the Garden.” Now, his own markings dimpled. “With considerations for his safety.”

A dark look crossed Roseate’s face, gone in an instant. The reminder of Primline Collar’s continued defiance, a sore spot.

“I would caution you in trusting him, nephew,” she said slowly. “That stallion mixes poison with fanciful sentiment, just like his mother.”

“Perhaps, but …” Seed bobbed his head from side to side. “I would like to think in something like this, something in the spirit of Princess Celestia’s treaty, I grant him the chance to let us thank the stallion and put old offenses aside for a time, if brief.”

“A wonderful desire, to be sure.” 

Oh, how thin could that smile be? It must have rankled her so that the treaty office had given the diplomatic equivalent of a stern ahem when she tried to voice complaint against Rosewater, and asked about that implied request to treat for a captive’s release to lure Collar and his bride to be into an ambush.

The ice she danced upon grew thinner and thinner, and Roseate just loathed knowing that.

Whether or not she actually understood it was another matter entirely.

But the mare did rally well to school herself into that false smile, albeit with a tell of faltering patience. Quashed with a deep breath through her nose, and then gone.

“I wonder if you might permit me to ask that you consider an alternative,” she mused.

Here we go. “An alternative to what, my lady?” 

“You offered to receive him in the Garden of Love. I would like you to consider Rose Palace.” Roseate’s smile, now, had lost that tightness. The troubles and obstacles in her path, banished from focus for now. “I would like, nephew, that you consider allowing our ponies, Gardeners and Merriers, to receive him together.”

Around the board, chess pieces moved. This play, Seed knew, would not be easily fenced.

“I should think the Garden could certainly receive him adequately,” came his reply. “He would be an honored guest at our table.”

Roseate laughed and fixed him with a look of pitying amusement. “Do we not all value family, my nephew? Who would not offer a seat at their table for this?”

“Touché, my lady. Though, I did already offer, and the Drops are old friends of mine. I would look—stars, I would feel myself a terrible friend and leader if I didn’t extend him welcome myself.”

“I understand entirely.” He could imagine the vixen watching from her hiding place, waiting for a small rabbit to hop into her path. “But would it not show our ponies the strength of the culture we share, the value placed in our foals’ lives, if we welcome him here together, you and I?”

Knight took pawn. Damn it. “I cannot deny, there is an appeal to that notion.”

The vixen’s eyes gleamed. “Allow me to sweeten the deal, oh sales pony nephew of mine.” 

Seed feigned a laugh. “Selling me? Stars, my lady, you sound as though you’ve listened to Petal wooing patrons at a wine tasting!”

“Given her reputation in business,” Roseate mused, chuckling with him. “I think we should both thank our lucky stars she chose that over politics. If she could sell her word as well as her wine, this region would be under her spell like a siren’s song. But yes. Let me sell you on this, Rose Seed.”

The younger Rosethorn made a show of reclining in his cushion as though he were the patron and she were entertaining him. If she wanted to play games and banter like they actually were a family, Seed could play right back.

And stole the knight in return for his pawn.

Roseate reclined herself, steepling her hooves as she regarded him through half-lidded eyes. “The boy is already the subject of whisper and rumor, a sort of commoners’ hero, if you would. And, as you say, his actions will warrant praise abroad, should they be raised.” Here, she arched a brow. “Political coin, dear boy, which Lord Collar of Damme will almost surely exploit to curry favor in Canterlot.”

And you’d use just the same, if you could claim him a Merrieguard. Seed pretended to chew the inside of his cheek in thought. He couldn’t deny it, or tell her it was warranted.

Not without appearing to be a sympathizer.

A bishop fell to hers. “That … I mean, that is a good point, my lady. If a bit calculated.” He gave a rather earnest look. “Lord Collar seemed genuine on the bridge, I’ll say.”

That pitying look returned, its implications quite clear.

His only reply was to sigh and bow his head, his ears flattening. The very picture of a stallion cowed and abashed by his own foolishness.

“Oh, my dear, sleeping nephew.” She tutted, shaking her head. 

A mournful sigh blown through his nose completed the illusion he’d woven for her. 

The vixen tensed in her hiding place. Roseate’s smile was that of a patient old teacher dealing with her most inept student. “You take more after your father, Blue Rose, than your mother. Your heart lays with your greenhouses and the flora you nurture within them, not in the political games played between our cities.”

She sprang, certain her prey would satisfy her needs.

Seed raised his head to meet her gaze. “I suppose, then, you’ve thought through what this could mean for …” He hesitated, his shoulders slumping. “For Merrie and the Garden?”

“Of course.” Roseate leaned forward and set her forelegs on her desk. “Dear nephew, we are presented with great opportunity. Each pony raised under Prim rule who finds their heart opened to the Merrie lifestyle, the Rose Way, we score victory, and vice-versa for those who scorn ours. But a stallion who saves a Gardener’s foal, the product of our way, plays at the hearts of ponies in both our cities, and those in Canterlot. More to the point—“ she raised her brows, hinting ”—an ancient one who authored the treaty.”

“I … think I understand what you’re saying.” Licking his lips, Seed asked, “You want to use this chance to let him see and choose?”

A hum and inclining of her head confirmed it. “You yourself have seen it, nephew. How their eyes and faces light when given the chance to share in the hearts of lovers aplenty. What, then, if the foal’s rescuer does the same? What, Rose Seed, if he should find himself in the mores of love, pleasure, and the security of loving community our ancestor gave this world?”

A lie confirmed. The great lie of Roseate’s tenure in Rose Palace.

Us versus them. Tussen Twee or Principes. In Roseate’s world, in that of her supporters and the Primfeathers and theirs across the river, there could be no peace until Primline or Rosethorn submitted and their way faded from the region.

Stars, do you weep or rage at your houses?

The chastised stallion from the Garden of Love pulled a face like he was trying to follow strands of spider’s silk in the blackness of a moonless night. “It could make ponies see our way isn’t so foreign or bad,” he admitted.

“Mm, yes. Or more.” Roseate extended an upturned hoof. “It could turn favor upon our way, and cast a judging eye upon the houses that seek to destroy it.”

In the days where the Primfeathers ruled Damme, or even when Prim Lace’s father occupied Prim Palace, this would have been a winning strategy. This would be a coup worthy of Rosethorn.

Now?

With the Lace Reformations, all it would see done was the continuation of the war, by way of artificial fueling. All she really wished, was to fuel the fears of Merriers long enough that she or her loyal daughters could find some way to capture Collar.

If not him, then their children would capture his.

And on and on without end.

The same as had been since Rosethorn and Prim Clothesline had been laid to rest, and their children erupted into conflict.

“Then …” Seed let his ears flatten, then perk. Comprehension, to her, had only just dawned. “I see. We would like him to find himself here and show him blossoming in our way.”

Roseate nodded once. “An apt analogy for our family.” She brought her hoof back to touch her breast, right beneath the crimson Rosethorn heart upon her coat. “Who better than the Rosethorns, Seed? Let us greet him here, you and I, and all of our ponies. We can tend to him like a gentle seedling, and coax him to bloom full in our garden. Merrie.”

She was good, Seed had to admit.

He could understand why so many fell to her sway, and bit hard on her lies. The mare drowned you in fear of the old history and that of the chance it might repeat, and then fed you hope’s sweet nectar from her promises of liberty with Rosethorn guidance.

If only that guidance wasn’t based in a lie, a twisting of Rosethorn’s words.

“By my hoof?” he asked.

“I think not, nephew mine.” She shook her head. “You have your garden to attend. Let my daughters tend to this seedling with their hooves. A gentle touch and enticement will see his heart opened for us.”

Her eyes said more.

Enticement, she knew, was no issue. Perfume, song, smiles, a swaying of hips, a flirt of the tail against a lover’s thigh, these were all enticements.

Her eyes said lure.

Seed sighed, but nodded solemnly. “Let me … consult with the family,” he said, rising from his cushion. “They should have say.”

“Ah, of course. Let those affected most guide our hoof.” Bowing her head, Roseate seemed to consider the matter settled. “Do carry with you my best to their foal. Poor little dear.”

Bowing his head, Seed gave his assurances that he would indeed carry her tidings back to the Drops. He turned and trotted for the door, his visage of that big, dumb, easily cowed stallion Roseate knew since his foalhood pristine even as the mind nurtured by Budding, Carnation, and Rosewater’s hooves worked.

The Rosethorn stallion had just wrapped his magic around the door handle when Roseate called to him again, “Oh, nephew?”

An ear swiveled to the sound of her voice. Seed turned, his head already tilted curiously. “Yes, my lady?”

“I hear tell my eldest has been spending quite a bit of her time in the Garden recently.” Her eyes, now, were cold as ice and the smile upon her face, one which threatened to break his façade and draw a shivering fit. “I wonder, with whom might she be most?”

Seed blinked and kept that dumb look plastered upon his face. “She has dined at my table, but other than that, I couldn’t really say.” He shrugged. “I’ve never really had reason to mind her too closely, Rosewater has always respected the Garden’s way.”

“I see. Well, do tell me if any names should come to mind. A mother does so worry about her children, even during times they stand apart.”

With a bow and renewed assurances that he’d keep his eyes peeled, Seed slipped from the Baroness’s office and did his level best to maintain a sedate, casual pace as he left Rose Palace. Internally, he seethed and worked to control his breathing.

Roseate wouldn’t get a damn thing. Not from him, not from his Garden of Love. The rutting bitch could curse him ‘till her voice failed, just as she had his mother.

Rose Seed would bend no more than Budding Rose had. No more than Rosewine had to her own mother or sister. How unfortunate that Roseate had neglected to consider some of the lesser known Rosethorn proverbs.

His personal favorite, the last words Rosewine Rosethorn ever spoke to her mother, said in the frigid tones of a winter storm the instant the treaty office’s wax seal had dried on the deed:

Beware the Rosethorn who does not play the game, for you have already lost.





Sunny days were always something to cherish in the dying days of fall, especially this far to the north of Canterlot. For Rose Seed, they meant he had a secondary measure to combat his worries or moments of temper.

They meant he could pull out his favorite outdoor lounging cushion—a lovely little piece of furniture fashioned almost like a chaise, but a bit bigger, perfect for a pair or trio of lovers to embrace upon while they enjoyed the fresh air.

Better still, Petal had managed to carve out from her work readying for the Primrose Gala an hour to lay with him, held tight in his hooves, while he drew in deep breaths and savored her scent and warmth to help calm him. She knew well how Roseate taxed him.

She knew well he needed those moments of comfort. And these days, her efforts were rarely taken alone.

Dazzle’s snout pressed into the back of his neck. “You did well fending her off,” he murmured.

“Did I?” Seed muttered into Petal’s mane. “I now must put my hope in Crown’s assessment, and Collar delivering our rescuer before Roseate’s lackies manage to dig him up, and keeping him safe in the meantime.”

“I think you’ll find Collar more than capable of that.” Dazzle nipped him gently, adding, “And after that last raid, I think we’re all about to see the Dammeguard show that we are no mere lambs.”

Petal snorted a laugh. “We?” She turned an amused look upon Dazzle. “Are you leaving us to take up the armor again?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think I’m needed right now.” His eyes, blue with a hint of orange around the edges, sparked like his fireworks spell. “I’d like to hope Prism, Trem, and I won’t have to, but …”

It went unsaid. They would if they felt their loves, their village was threatened.

The three former Dammeguards hadn’t abandoned their regimen. They’d only altered them to fit the needs of the Garden and Rosewine Vineyard.

“Anyway,” Dazzle’s teeth stung Seed out of another line of consideration. “If I know Collar—and I knew him decently well, back when I was an officer—that stallion’s either coming here, or he’s on a cart or ship somewhere far away from her grasp. He’ll flip the board before he willingly gives one of his pieces to her.”

Seed thought back to the meeting with the Lord Heir of Damme. He recalled that look in Collar’s eyes quite vividly, his tone as he vowed he would not see Roseate use his Dammeguard’s actions for her own gain.

Have you already considered alternatives if he can’t be safe here? 

“I won’t deny,” he said, aloud. “I’d be a bit upset if he did.”

“But?”

“After this morning, I’d loan him the cart and provisions.”

Snorting, Petal turned her head up so she could look back at him. A frown played upon her lips. “This entire thing is ridiculous,” she whispered. “Stars, my grandmother held a grudge against the Primlines for their raids, but even she would’ve found it so.”

Seed hummed his agreement. Both their families had in that day. Rosewine, certainly, hadn’t had an ounce of love toward the Primlines and Primfeathers, but she knew when to swallow that to pry free a few bits from potential clients.

The bridge only came about later in life. Her effort to offer a laurel and look to the future, despite her own caution.

Past dealings. One could only wonder how they’d shaped the region now. “Just as a weed’s roots cling tightest when we pull them from the soil,” the Rosethorn stallion said. “So, too, do those who trade in fear and animosity when the embers begin to fizzle and die.”

“Mm, not that I disagree, but I’d rather you wax poetic on something more positive.” Petal winked. “Our firework stallion’s climactic performance splattering upon our coats, perhaps?”

Seed felt Dazzle bury his face in the back of his neck, his faux angry huff hot and teasing. “I try to be supportive, and you tease me,” he groused, his twitching lips betraying his amusement. “Well, it’s not working this time, because it’s not flustering me—I’m offended. So there!”

Snickering, Seed bucked his hips backward. “Which is why I can smell your arousal and feel you stirring against my rump, I’m sure.”

“Shush, you!”

“I will not.” He turned and licked Dazzle’s nose. “Brat.”

His ears twitched to the sound of familiar laughter. “That you have the audacity to call anypony a brat is astounding on either side of the river.”

Seed sat up, grinning. “Auntie Rosewater!” he greeted. With a sly smile, he waggled his ears. “Haven’t seen you more than a minute since that date with Fervent and Goldie. How was it?”

The look Rosewater fixed him with would’ve sent a younger Seed hiding behind his mother’s legs. But it wouldn’t have done anything to stop his grinning, just as it didn’t now.

“It was a lovely time, thank you,” she replied slowly. 

So she hadn’t yet heard what he’d gotten up to in Damme or with the Dammeguard’s helm. Good. 

Rosewater trotted past the climbing rose archway, across the yard to meet them, and greeted Dazzle with a smile and a nose to his cheek before turning her gaze upon Seed once more. 

The mare chewed the inside of her cheek. “I hear you’ve had quite the eventful morning.”

Oh, stars, not this now. Seed fixed her with a chipper smile. “Nothing to worry yourself over, Auntie. Here, there’s room for a fourth if you want to help us bully Dazz.”

Her ears lowered. “Seed.” Those rosy eyes pierced his own, searching out any sign of stress or blame. No, not searching.

Expecting.

His decision was made in an instant. 

“She asked if I’d mind giving her a cut off the top of the vineyard’s new contracts,” Seed answered, honestly. “Told her we couldn’t as far as I knew, and told her that a big part of that was because of the contracts she canceled, and she backed right off that.”

“Mm.” Her snowy white ears twitched. “And the other things she wished to discuss?”

Damned if she almost never missed a trick.

Almost.

With a heavy sigh, Seed shared a thorough recounting of Roseate’s angling, her efforts to sell him on a united front between the Garden and Merrie in hosting the Dammeguard. Dancer’s Dammeguard, as the foals had taken to calling him.

Once he’d finished, Rosewater closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “That’s … not unexpected, I admit. An inelegant substitute for full victory, trying to acquire the means to put pressure on the Primlines.” She cast her gaze skyward and exhaled heavily. “If that were their stance.”

“I mean, she’s got the Primfeathers pegged,” Dazzle quipped.

She leaned down and nipped his ear, drawing a squeak. “You’d be surprised. By a few, at least.” Rosewater shifted and flicked her tail in thought. “I would put more stock in trying to solidify her base in Merrie, and perhaps garner support here, should she ensnare him. Political support in Canterlot, if anything, might yield some trade, but …”

 “Hard to read the future there.” Seed looped a band of magic around her foreleg and gave a tug. “Seriously, Auntie, relax with us. My neck’s gonna start aching if you make me look up like this.”

He felt the static tingle of her magic pinching the tips of his ears a half-second before Rosewater gave them a sharp twisting. Seed grimaced, smiling through the pain.

In reply, Petal leaned up and nosed into the Rosethorn mark upon Rosewater’s breast. “Join us, Water,” she coaxed, playing on an old nickname. A dirty trick. “You’ve run all over to negotiate and rejoin us socially, and in advocating on behalf of the Garden. Join us in relaxing now. Like the gazebo.”

Oh, a masterful play. Delightfully dirty, in fact. The caressing hoof Petal traced along the left edge of that mark, like a lover trying to entice another back to bed on a chilly winter morning.

It was all Seed could do not to draw her into a kiss and praise such perfect application of coaxing guilt.

Enough to make Rosewater actually worry her lip before her ears dipped in silent submission. She’d acquiesced even before she moved around the cushion to slide on to join, her hooves wrapping around Dazzle from behind.

Seed smiled into the back of Petal’s neck. This felt right.

His Garden was whole.
> 11. Chance Near-Meetings and Family Gardening
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every so often, wants and needs trended beyond those of physical passion and into a realm in which Rosetail had little experience.

The heart’s wanting was weakness. Roseate had been quite adamant of that. A proper Rosethorn did not merely want or sit and pine over something as silly as love like some besotted fool commoner or the Garden Rosethorns. She laid claim. She brought ponies into her garden and tended to them that they never think to want to leave.

But sex with Quiver and the rest of her bedmates could only quench her thirst so much before her heart and mind joined to nag at her.

With them, her visionary stallion turned traitor and reclined atop a building in Damme, his smile one of amusement. Amused at her.

Tease. Rosetail couldn’t be mad at him. He might be destined to submit to Rosethorn rule with his fellows, but her fantasy stallion would certainly know how to play games back. Or start them.

It would make coaxing those wings to unfurl and display all the more sweet.

Despite her mother’s efforts, Rosetail had clung to one piece of rebelliousness. Her heart’s call could not be ignored, whether it be a wanting for love or a moment to watch ponies and daydream over what their manes and tails would look like, styled and tended by her hooves coaxing custom shampoos and conditioners into them. Or their coats, how they could sheen with every touch of the sun’s gentle lights.

I could almost bottle a Rosethorn’s natural allure for them, she’d think with a wistful sigh.

If only mother wouldn’t demand she stop wasting such things on commoners. Her efforts should be focused on her lures, on enrapturing a mate and, then, Dammeguards to help win the war.

So Rosetail would just have to make his figure as splendorous as theirs. Ponies would think Rosethorn magic rubbed off onto their mates once he was under her care.

In her vision, her pegasus’s cheeks filled with a roses and his wings twitched as though to cover himself.

Now Rosetail just had to find a real stallion to make hers. One decidedly not like Quiver, and at least a little like the one she’d conjured in her mind’s eye.

A touch of hoof and magic would see to the rest.

Her horn lit, and Rosetail wrapped a Veil around herself, donning her favorite disguise. In her place, a gorgeous mare of eggshell white coat and shimmering blond mane styled in flowing waves stood, her figure svelte and just a touch taller. Her eyes, though, she left that alluring rosy pink.

Some things should be left untouched. Pink eyes were a rarity in Merrie anyway.

Rosetail flicked a glance back into Quiver’s bedroom, wrinkling her snout at the bodies entwined and the scents of come and sweat, the remnants of their hedonistic fervor. If Quiver and Petunia Petals and whoever else in that room could go on and neglect her in times of trouble, then they surely wouldn’t mind if she treated them the same as she might a common stable pony from a brothel.

The left corner of her mouth twitched to the thought. At least stable ponies don’t brandy about why they’re putting their faces between your thighs.

With a snort of barely-restrained laughter, she coaxed the door shut and padded her way out of Quiver Quill’s home, past the hedges trimmed and styled like rising spirals, all bought and paid for with money granted from his mother’s business, one he would work, likely, until his induction into the Merrieguard. Stars above, Quiver Quill the Merrieguard.

If he didn’t strut around either in armor or tabard for a week afterward, Rosetail vowed she’d trot herself across the bridge and give serious consideration to the benefits of Tussen Twee.

Okay, maybe that was a bit much.

She’d at least try her best not to laugh at the idea of him coming face to face with Prim Collar. Surely trying counted for something.





Slipping into Damme during the early evening hours, even just after sunset, took a bit of a different skillset and manner of trickery than infiltrating in the dead of night under a veil as Rosetail had with her mother and sisters mere weeks prior.

For one thing, the streets were still a mite crowded. Ponies, local and tourists from afar, ambled about with lovers, spouses, and foals, some entering fine restaurants or slipping into a café before it closed for the night, while others made their way into the pubs. Notable among the latter crowd, a good cropping of prospects.

Dammeguard builds. Stars, they were troublesome and insolent in the way they defied the Rosethorns and jailed raiders, but Lord Collar of Damme and his subordinates knew how to forge their ponies into the yummiest dishes!

Cloaked in her disguise, Rosetail fluttered her lashes and flirted her tail, a delicate brush of the tip upon ankle or thigh of the pegasi who sparked a fancy. Among all others, they happened to be her favorite for their broad shoulders and breasts, and how expressive wing and ear could be in their kind.

Their reactions, though, were a little less heartening.

Affronted looks, a couple stern glares and side-steps away, and one or two who moved closer to a friend and watched her with a suspicious eye every step she took on her path.

A quick glance in a shop window showed that her disguise was well in place. Little more than Dammers’ silly misgivings and discomfort toward expressing desire then.

Not at all what she wanted in her stallion. Those sorts of looks, they weren’t exactly the sort that hinted at fun and pleasure once she got them to open up.

If anything, they seemed more likely to look for one of their on duty Dammeguard friends to blow a whistle the instant she hinted at taking a little walk on the Merrie side of things.

The stallion of her fantasy and his whomever she found to be his counterpart shouldn’t be like that at all. No, no, he would be curious at least. Adorable in how little he knew and needed to learn in order to properly devote himself to the Rosethorn beauty he loved. Oh, there would be so much to teach him!

So many ways to put color in those cheeks and hear her name whispered or whimpered in need.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosetail noticed a flicker of movement through the crowd. Another pegasus, his stature a tad shorter than her vision, but still taller than she. Just right, in fact, that she might duck under his chin and trail herself from crown to tail. How she could just imagine finishing the motion with a gentle flirting of the braided tip from chin to nose, and let his eyes cross at the teasing sensations.

And the intoxicating fragrance she wore.

To her delight, she could see a hint of tone to his figure, even in the dim light of Damme’s street lanterns. His shoulders were broad and his body sleek, though his mane was a bit messy for her taste. But with each mental box he ticked, Rosetail set him beside her own fantasy and let her ears waggle.

At last, he came near, headed in the opposite direction, and passed under a lantern just as she did. His face, shadowed by a play of light across his mane, showed a young stallion, nervous and wary, but cute.

She shifted to present her affection with a brush of the shoulder to his, and a flirting of her tail across his chest.

The stallion gasped and glanced back at her, just in time to catch her winking at him. His face glowed rosy red, and he turned to hurry along his path.

He’d do nicely.

Rosetail counted another five steps, then made a show of twitching her ears and turned, her tail swishing and her lips curving into a smile like that of a mare spotting an old friend in the crowd.

Only then did she notice the pair of stallions in Dammeguard blue armor watching her, each with their scent masks ready to slip over their muzzles. A unicorn and a pegasus, the latter’s wings just arching, ready to send a gust through any scents she might conjure up.

A gust, she knew, which would shred her disguise. And then, her problems would really begin.

Over their shoulders, she saw her pegasus duck into a pub and out of sight. If Rosetail followed now, she’d have to really ratchet up an act to convince them she belonged.

Or, at very least, that she’d met the stallion somewhere before and hoped to sit and chat a while. It would’ve been a nice idea.

If only she knew his name.

Rosetail offered a nervous smile and ducked her head in submission, her ears splaying flat in a gesture of apology for any offense. She dared to flick a hopeful look toward the pub in silent askance.

The Dammeguard pair moved toward her through the crowd, the pegasus fanning out into the street until he was almost out of her peripheral vision, just out of reach of the subtler application of any scent clouds, while his partner stopped two paces before her. The unicorn leveled her with a critical eye for a moment.

“Fancy a late night visit?” he drawled.

With a nervous laugh, Rosetail bobbed her head. “A bit lonely and wanting for new sights on my walk,” she replied.

He hummed. “I see.” The stallion flicked an ear toward the pub. “And him?”

The young mare ducked in apology. “I thought I recognized him as an old friend,” she said, a hint of an inflection giving implication to the sort of friend Dammers didn’t try to ask on further. “We always used to play these games, if I could catch and tease him first, he’d buy drinks. I was hoping …”

Her eyes flitted to the pub door, full of hope and longing.

His face might as well have been the outer walls of Prim Palace for all that meant to him. The stallion hummed. “Well, you’ll have to write him a letter saying he owes you a round then.” He turned and angled his head toward Merrie. “Go home. We’ve had about a half-dozen ponies complain you’re getting a bit too forward.”

“But—“

“Unless you’re going to tell me they’re all stallions who remind you of the one you play this game with,” he cut her off without missing a beat. “Go home, miss. And don’t return until you can take care to mind your manners while you’re a guest in our city.”

Temper flared within her breast. Rosetail forced a contrite smile and bowed her head, inwardly fuming that they should deny her so.

Even still, trying to enchant them wouldn’t work. Dammeguards were no pushovers, especially not when paired and ready to maneuver like these two.

That pegasus was just itching for an excuse.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sighing sadly. Her fantasy pegasus offered a rueful shrug and a nuzzle to her shoulder as she stepped past the Dammeguard. “Have a wonderful night, sir.”

He nodded once. “Likewise, miss.”

Rosetail could feel their eyes following her down the street, ensuring that she didn’t suddenly veil or double back the moment they turned their back and continued on their patrol. The Dammeguard were wising up, keeping closer tabs.

Damn.

Her fantasy stallion nuzzled softly, his comforting touch joined by that of his counterpart in real life nuzzling her opposite shoulder, the newcomer’s face obscured by shadow. A little mystery in her life. Mysterious, but dutiful.

That, at least, brought a wistful smile to her features. Such a shame she hadn’t gotten closer. The dear boy’s scent would’ve made finding him later a breeze.





Seated on a comfortable plush couch in his modest home on the northwest side of Primline Park, Prim Note drew in a deep breath and eyed the parcel laying on the polished oak coffee table before him.

His gift had been chosen with great care, the intent both to flatter and spark a bit of trouble clear in the design and coloring of the pattern he’d requested. Rose Crown would love it to bits, of course.

Which would put him in even more trouble for that little bit of defiance.

Good trouble, as father would call it when mother would fluster and swat him with scrolls for the fancy gifts he sprung upon her after long business trips.

To love is to accept being in trouble for the right reasons, he would say to a young Note, smiling even as mother tried to look angry. Should you find somepony with whom you share your heart, you will realize that little gestures of love are worth all the scrolls battering your face.

Note wasn’t so sure Crown would assault him with an onslaught of scrolls, but he got the point. A stern glare would certainly follow and, with it, he hoped to see his secret lover struggling to smother one of her beautiful smiles.

A pleasant shiver traced down his spine much in the same way a touch of her magic or hoof might. With it, a flurry of phantom kisses and nips traced his jawline, carving a tender path toward his ears.

He could feel her smile blooming into a vulpine grin as she blew a cool breath across the tip.

The stallion cleared his throat, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. Note rolled to his hooves and trotted to the kitchen, a fresh pot of tea would help calm his nerves.

And ensure memory and promise of your affection doesn’t have me pining enough that I let my guard drop again, my dear Muse of Merrie.

He turned his mind to Crisp and Gilded, and the others. It would be quite rude of him to neglect to find something for them as well, would it not? Merrier relationships, those following the Principes, were still so strange and complicated, even with the understanding that each relationship would be as varied and colorful as the ponies entwined together.

Dammer mores would insist he did something for each of them. Or at least something for the group, so they didn’t feel he’d forgotten or didn’t care.

An idea took root and drew a perking of ears. A second followed.

Note made a quick detour on his path, instead turning to cut back through his sitting room so he could fetch pen and paper from his secondary writing desk. Quick as a flash, the stallion penned two letters—one to Rose Seed, an order for two bottles of his wife’s finest, to make the trek via runner on the morrow, and the other to Prim Priceless, departing by way of spell tonight.



Priceless,

I’m having a bit of trouble with my latest work. I was wondering if you’d like to come by for tea two days after the Gala so we might discuss.

All my best,

Prim Note

P.S. Interesting times lead to inspired ideas.



He sealed it and sent it on its way in a flash of pewter. Priceless would get his meaning—a talk behind wards.

Rose Seed had given them a boon. The perfect chance to close three case files and strike an innocent mare’s name from the watch lists. If that stallion truly made Dazzle happy, if he and his could bring a smile to Dazzle and the others, then Note owed him.

A thought flashed through his mind. The stallion added a quick addendum to the letter to Seed before he sealed it shut:



P.S. Please ask your wife, for me, which of her vintages she would recommend for a reunion of lovers. Merrier lovers.

And tell her they happen to be rather artistically inclined.



Hopefully, Rose Petal could fetch him a fine vintage with those tidbits.





As it so happened, Rose Seed had a letter in mind as well. Though this one, he knew, would take quite a while to get to its recipient.

Damned if he didn’t wish there was a way to send word quicker. Damned if he didn’t wish he could cast some spell to go back to the first thawing of last winter’s snow and tell his parents to skip out on the sales trip this year. Something big was brewing. Monumental, in fact.

Rosewater had finally come home.

Stars, it only took half a lifetime.

The stallion stood apart from his loves and cousin, they still seated around the table with the remnants of dinner evident on plates and bowls and serving dishes. A glass of Cordial Cabernet hovered aloft in his magic’s bubbling glow, drawing near to his lips as he watched and leaned against the wall, just next to an arching window which looked out across the Garden’s splendorous grounds.

Though the darkness and dim moonlight of early evening did steal away the kaleidoscopic beauty of the Garden Villa’s expansive grounds and the community gardens dotting them like rosettes upon a pony’s face, there was a sort of calming grace to looking out to view everything tucked away in slumber to await the sun’s light the next day. Especially those oldest patches, some originally planted by Rosewine herself, and replanted by the loving hooves of her descendants and villagers in the years since.

It certainly brought him back to happier times. Seed let his eyes flit back to Rosewater, smiling at her seated between Dazzle and Bliss, and across from Roselyn. Three relationships with her, he could say came as a blessing. The latter of the three, hopefully, would help draw the mare farther and farther from Rosejoy’s hold.

Every day she spent out of it was one of defiance.

Seed watched his aunt’s tells, the way she smiled and faltered when she would glance up at him, or how her hooves would shift almost imperceptibly together as if to rub the edge of a hoof against her shin. Right over left, telling of stress and nerves.

His mind conjured for him a vivid memory of early springtime. A sunny morning in which he and Rosemary, raised at that time as though they were brother and sister, listened with rapt attention as Rosewater guided them through not merely planting seeds. But planning them.

Our first arrangement together. The stallion closed his eyes, fighting back a welling of tears even as he smiled. Stars, such a disorganized mess, but our mess.

Hopefully, next spring he could cajole another out of her. Stars willing, Rosemary would be freed and returned to them, and they could all join together for the first planning and planting. They, his loves, and he.

A notion crept into his mind. And how about you and your bride to be, Lord Collar? If I’m right about how things are trending. And perhaps I might inquire about our mystery stallion as well, if this potential relationship between Prim Palace and the Garden blooms brighter.

Seed knew how to play a fool, but he didn’t grow the Garden’s economic hoof print by merely sitting back and letting Petal control everything—just the vineyard, that was her domain. The village as a whole was theirs together.

Friends in Prim Palace would certainly draw ire in Rose Palace, but the Primlines had significantly deeper coffers. Their views on love and respecting cultures also aligned with the Garden’s since the Lace Reformations.

The more business-savvy side urged him to consider the possibilities if the Garden should earn Collar’s favor, not to mention that of a possible relationship with Rosewater, a Rosethorn of the Garden in all but name—stars help him if Seed wouldn’t fight to make her see it after all these years.

Stars help him, indeed. For Seed put that side to rest for a moment just to think of what it would mean to have her and Rosemary back.

And what it would mean to Budding Rose.

Bliss shifted closer, pressing her muzzle up to trail along the underside of Rosewater’s jawline. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

Dusty pink ears flicked and swiveled in their direction. Seed opened his eyes a crack, just enough to watch his aunt for another tell. He found it in the slightest lowering of her ears.

Then her eyes met his, searching again.

Perhaps she didn’t miss that trick after all. Seed feigned a yawn to hide his displeasure. Damn it.

It came just as it had the day she refused to quit Rosefire Estate for the Garden after Carnation’s exile. The eve of her duel with Roseate.

An exile only just recently ended with her move to the Garden.

The pain flashing across her face as she turned to nose against him, and then drew back, near the same. “I’m … troubled, admittedly,” she murmured.

Bliss gave her a hurt look. “I’m sorry. Am I being too—“

“No.” She kissed her nose softly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been affectionate and tender, and caring, Bliss.”

“But—“ she chewed her lip. “What’s wrong, Rosewater? What’s bothering you?”

“My meeting with Roseate,” Seed interjected before she could try to couch it. He let her see the hurt in his eyes, hurt he’d bottled for six years. Every bit. “Auntie, don’t do this. Please, not again.”

“Do what?” Rosie Bliss drew back, her ears splaying flat. She looked between the two Rosethorns, confusion written plain upon her features.

Seed set his jaw, pushing off the wall so he could approach the table and set his glass down. He nodded to his aunt. “Auntie, don’t do this to yourself again. Stars, don’t do this to me again, after I’ve only just got you back.”

“I’m not proposing that,” she countered, rising from her cushion. For a brief second, that stern countenance he knew from foal hood was back in place. “I’m merely saying that given her usual means of—“

“I’m quite aware of how that bitch’s mind works, Auntie. I’ve dealt enough with her little trollop hounding my lovers, and several of the ponies here are Prims, if that’s escaped notice.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Rosethorn Seed.”

“Don’t get melodramatic with me, Aunt Rosewater.”

“Excuse me! Hi!” Bliss stood, flaring her wings wide. Her eyes flitted between the pair. “Some of us would like to know what the rutting problem is. Share, you two, we’re all friends and lovers here!”

The Rosethorns eyed one another, neither willing to falter first.

Neither willing to give an inch in the midst of their argument.

Petal sighed through her nose. “After Carnation’s exile, Budding and Blue Rose invited Rosewater to bring Rosemary to live permanently in the Garden Villa,” she supplied. “She declined. Rosemary, you all know, has visited on and off over the years. She’s even played with the foals. Rosewater stayed away because of Roseate.”

“Because of what she would do to the ponies here.” Her eyes bored into Seed’s. “To you.”

His ears splaying flat, Seed stomped a hoof. “Has it occurred to you that we were willing to shoulder that, Aunt Rosewater? That’s what family does—real family! Not—Not what the Rosethorns have been since—“

“Since Rosewine’s own mother pressured her to surrender legitimate claim to the throne.” Rosewater raised her brows meaningfully. “And long before that, even.”

Another stomp. Damned if she didn’t have him there, but damned if Seed would let her justify this.

Not again.

Half a lifetime’s worth of birthdays and holidays and festivals without his beloved Auntie Rosewater flashed through his mind.

Seed swallowed. “Why don’t I ever call you Rosewater?” he asked.

Rosewater opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated. Confusion flickered across her face. “I beg your pardon?”

“I never, ever call you Rosewater, do I? Or even cousin, like the rest of your sisters. Ever once?” His tail lashed, his anger and hurt clear. “Why do I call you Auntie? Or Auntie Rosewater? Or Aunt Rosewater when I’m frustrated at how stubborn you’re being? Why do you think that is?”

Her eyes fluttered. Then, Rosewater lowered her gaze and, with it, the wall she built around her heart.

She drew in a deep breath. “That was … that’s not fair,” came her muttered reply.

A tight smile made its way across Seed’s features. “A young mare once told me that the day a Rosethorn played fair would be a sad day,” he joked. “Take it up with her.”

Rosewater snorted and turned to try to hide a smile, only a second too late. Shaking her head, she fixed him with a mock glare. “You,” she growled without heat. “You are a twenty-five year old brat.”

“I am.” Seed raised his glass in salute. “I’m a brat who’s happy he finally has his Auntie Rosewater back in his life, and doesn’t want to see her sneak out of it again.”

Unwilling to be a mere spectator, Dazzle stood and padded over, rearing up so he could nuzzle Rosewater’s chin. “And I’m a brat,” he murmured, “who wants a former lover and friend to know, whatever that bitch is doing and whatever she’s feeling, that she’s welcome here among friends.”

The perfect play. Heartfelt words and affection Rosewater hadn’t felt or expected—stars, Seed had to fight a grin as he watched Rosewater try to find some semblance of a response.

He decided right then and there that if she gave in, Dazzle would get the longest, deepest kiss. And a night of loving however he pleased just as soon as all this craziness surrounding the Primrose Gala ended.

As those emotions started to play across Rosewater’s face, Dazzle slid his hooves around her shoulders and pressed their muzzles together. “Prism, Tremor, and I are Prims, Rosewater. Former Dammeguards. She already hates us three. And the Garden’s cast out her goons before.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “I’ve done it for my city, I’ve offered to do it for my village. I’ll gladly do it for a lover.”

“Seed and I have,” Petal said without hesitation. “I’ll do it again for a friend.”

“For my family,” Seed said firmly.

Around the table, similar voicing of agreement went up, from the former Dammeguards to Rosie Bliss and Roselyn. Even White Rose, the dear foal keeper, offered support and a look better suited to keeping a naughty foal from trying to slip out for play in the rain.

That sort of thing wouldn’t work on Rosewater, of course, but it got the point across well enough.

Don’t turn inward. Don’t leave. Don’t be alone.

More importantly, they conveyed a message Rosewater dearly needed to hear. One which had been denied to her by her own anxieties and her mother’s poisonous whisperings in the ears of the common ponies:

You belong.

Rosewater’s shoulders trembled, a tiny shiver. The emotions she’d locked away in her heart played terrible games when they managed to escape.

She licked her lips. “Very well,” she conceded, her voice thick. “I won’t do as I’ve done these past years. I’ll … be here, wholly like—” her eyes squeezed shut, she choked on her next words.

A tear ran down her cheek.

Dazzle, dear stallion, leaned up to lick it away. A slight touch of his hoof to the line of her declaration for Collar, but in full view of several mares in waiting. “Let it out,” he urged.

Years of pain and self-torment played out across her face, the setting of her ears. Even in the way she reached up with a trembling hoof to cover her mouth. “When we … we were younger,” she forced herself to say. Words, feelings she’d hidden away came bubbling forth with the tears now flowing down his beloved auntie’s face. “With Aunt Budding and—and with … with Carnation and Rosemary …”

Seed squeezed his eyes shut and slicked his ears back, but nothing could drown out the sounds. Nothing could protect him from that of her allowing herself to fall back on her rump and let those long years alone out, agonized sobs filling his ancestral home as hooves moved and ponies drew close to give comfort.

Years. Happiness. Love and sharing. All of it stolen from his family.

Stolen from this mare.

The stallion forced his own pain down his throat, and with it, his fury. Seed trotted over to his wife’s side, murmuring a quick word that he’d be right back before he leaned over to plant a kiss between Rosewater’s ears, and then slipped out of the kitchen.

His shoulders shook. One night. Belonging for one night did this.

There would be more than one night. Perhaps not at first, no. No, Auntie Rosewater, lovely mare and teacher and friend that she was, could be a rather stubborn mare when she got her mind set to something.

So could he, though.

And so could another mare they both knew. Another mare who lost not just her cousins and niece, but one quite like a sister.

Seed took up pen and paper from a small desk in the foyer, meant for writing quick letters for runners. This one would never see a runner’s hoof, for it was far too important.

This one, he would see to the docks personally. The harbor’s effects on the Rose Nose be damned.

Budding, Tempest, and Blue Rose would know their niece had returned.



Dearest mothers and father,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you’re all enjoying your trip to the fullest. I write to you this night, to tell you of a great many changes between the cities and the Garden …



He did his best to summarize quickly, everything that had happened. Rosemary’s imprisonment, Roseate’s raids and misplaying her hoof in her zeal to win, the Royal Guard’s ire raising and warnings issued to Rose Palace, the Dammeguard’s flight across the river. His writing was quick, messy, eager to get to the last sentence.

Words Budding Rose, his dear birth mother mother, had so longed to see become reality since Carnation’s exile:



Auntie Rosewater has returned. The Rosethorns of the Garden are nearly whole again.

Your loving son,

Rosethorn Seed



Seed blew upon the ink to dry it, then folded and sealed it into an envelop. Flicking a look toward the kitchen, he sparked his horn, and teleported it to the locked drawer in his desk up in the study, then trotted back to join the group.

Auntie Rosewater was back.
> 12. Sweetest Notes, Promises Kept
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seed had to admit, though he wasn’t too keen on playing this game of secrecy and patience with the identity of Dancer’s rescuer—necessity quite understood, of course—Prim Collar certainly knew how to soften the proverbial blow. That blow, of course, being the understanding that tonight might not be the night he presented the courier to them.

The Lord Heir of Damme had granted Petal prime real estate among the catering parties of Merrie and Damme, their table situated near the center of the wall opposite the entrance, right in the line of sight, and right along the invisible line of demarcation which was certain to divide Prim and Rose guests much like their cities. A bit of a helper, he realized.

No Prim would need to venture too far into “Rose Territory” on the dance floor in order to sample Petal’s fare. Which, naturally, meant their Dammeguard courier might just feel a little less skittish.

If he should feel a bit curious and want to try something new.

An expert move. Collar was certainly a stallion after Seed’s own heart. Such a pity he hadn’t seemed interested that night, but oh well.

He would look quite handsome by Rosewater’s side anyway. Seed hadn’t missed how those cheeks colored when he’d teased about the courier’s bags falling nowhere near her—nor the denials which didn’t sputter forth from his lips.

A sting of teeth upon his cheek made him turn, smiling as he found Petal falling back on four hooves to glare up at him. Seed rolled his shoulders, showing off his pink tux. “Benefit of these sleeves, dear heart,” he teased. “You have to rear up to get me.”

Those verdant eyes he so adored narrowed, but Petal couldn’t fight back a smile. The night promised too much excitement, even to scold him too hard for his lapses. “You quit your fooling around,” she warned without heat. “And help me finish the setup. I still need you to shovel ice in the wine chillers. Unless we want my new vintage to flop.”

“Ah, heavens, no.”

The stallion set about setting up a quartet of wire stands fitted with buckets made from shimmering gold filigree. He stopped ice from the chests so thoughtfully provided by their hosts, and filled each chiller three-quarters of the way, just as Petal and her father, Rosewine Cabernet, had taught him when the pair first started helping with the hosting duties.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed a mare about a decade or so older fixing Petal with a baleful look. He took note of her coat, a pale periwinkle like maturing grapes, and silvery mane, her eyes, he couldn’t quite see from this distance, but her cutie mark belayed the reason behind that glare.

A pair of wine glasses clinking together, flanked by a tall blue bottle.

Prim blue, of course.

Seed turned away, hiding a smile. “Oh, dear,” he murmured, just low enough that Petal could hear. “I think the matron of Primyard and Vine is trying to scorch a hole through your head, Pet.”

Snorting, Petal glanced over her shoulder at the mare. “Probably just angry that we have such a fine location,” she mused, winking at her family’s old rival. “And that she and hers don’t have the gumption to come a little closer to the Rose side of things.”

He didn’t need to look to know how the Primyard matron’s glare intensified like a roaring inferno. The stallion could feel it upon his coat, trying to scorch through his hide.

Leaning over, he murmured, “Let’s not antagonize her too much.” Seed nipped at her cheek, and gave the incoming Prim guests something to whisper about. “Not when Lord Collar has extended us a friendly hoof.”

“Of course.” Petal turned to brush her cheek against his. “I can at least revel in tempting virgin palates though, right?”

“Darling, if you didn’t, I’d worry you’d taken ill.”





The butterflies which so loved to flutter about in his belly refused to be denied this night. In fact, they brought an entire bloody swarm along for the fun.

Across the room, Baroness Lace spared a moment to greet a pair of nobles from the Prim Mane house, Note stole a moment to adjust his dress uniform for what felt like the dozenth time.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sunrise muttered out of the side of her mouth. The mare was in her armor and helm, on duty for the night. Note certainly held rank, but right now, fidgeting wasn’t helping anypony.

The guests of honor—dubious though it was for at least one of their number—were yet to arrive. The Dammeguard were on edge, treaty sanctioned event or not.

Sanctioned? Mandated was more apt.

The Primrose Gala was required. No action could be taken this night.

Not unless anypony wanted to witness the combined might of Firelight Spark and Wandering Star before they called a violation of terms and summoned Princess Celestia to pass verdict on both cities.

“Apologies, Sergeant,” Note replied with a bow of his head. “Habit.”

Sunrise hadn’t missed the hint. Her ears lowered a touch. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Just … tense lately.”

He offered a thin smile and nod. You don’t know the half of it. “Try to relax,” he advised, contrary to the whispers rising to nibble at his ears. Nibbling on how he hadn’t seen her in months, hadn’t held her or been held, hadn’t felt them in so long. Much could change in four months. Note swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “And just try to enjoy a peaceful night.”

With his piece said, the stallion busied himself with trying to obey his own urgings. His hoof itched to reach up and tap against his right breast pocket, worrying that his gift had been forgotten or somehow slipped out.

It wouldn’t have. It hadn’t the previous four times. The last he’d checked had been mere minutes ago.

That had been about the point Sunrise originally asked if he was feeling well or needed to go ask leave to be dismissed home for the evening.

What he needed was to feel her cheek against his, and her warm body in his hooves again. And, in a few hours, their lovers’ embrace.

All Note needed was that physical touch to bring him back to ground and let him feel that their hearts were still open to him, and their love still strong.

Stars, he didn’t even care if the next two nights passed without sex. Two nights of cuddling after four months apart would be like a balm. The stallion swallowed both nerves and need, and let his gaze wander the road ahead, searching the coats and manes of the coming guests in search of his love.

Coat appeared by his side and leaned in to mutter, “Lord Collar needs us. Come along.”

Curious. Note’s brow furrowed. Typically, once sent to escort, he was left to his own devices. What could Collar need him for now?

He followed Coat to the main entrance, where Collar was still greeting visitors.

His eyes found, briefly, a visage of utmost horror. Roseate Rosethorn, in all her insidious glory, striding toward them, a wide berth around her despite all promise of protection afforded by the treaty—and for good reason.

She’d broken its spirit recently. A failed effort, but fresh.

Naturally, the witch did not come alone. As always, two daughters joined her. One, Silk Rose, a formidable scent mage who bound hers to silken bonds and wove them around snout and limb to ply her magics upon unsuspecting victims. She had chosen to make one of her custom dresses, adorning herself with her namesake and utilizing it to style her mane into a rather impressive coiffure.The other—

His heart leapt and took residence in his throat.

No amount of training or stoic will could have spared him this.

In four months, Rose Crown had surely learned the means to capture all the allure of a siren, physical and vocal, and deigned to test his will against this new offensive. Her carmine mane had always been styled in lovely, bouncing curls which gave an appearance so like her namesake, and her coat, vellum, such that it almost reminded him of a bit of froth around the ridges of a cup of coffee.

Tonight, they glowed. Those curled tresses seemed to shine a dusty red to deepening carmine with the loving caress of dancing torchlight. A matching dress flowed forth from her left shoulder, affixed by a pink broach, to skirt just above her ankles. Around her waist, a pink sash wrapped around her like a lover’s embrace, a subtle tease of one he’d craved for months.

One she’d craved in kind.

Stars above, were it not for propriety and secrecy and the mere fact that his fellow Dammeguards would surely fall upon the pair of them and haul him to a hot box to sweat out a lure, Note would have happily left his place and met her in the middle of the courtyard, greeted her with a brush of his nose against hers and a whispered …

A whispered what exactly?

Note realized in that instant that his tongue had quite cheerfully knotted and glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

The first thought which managed to pierce through the momentary haze her immediate presence conjured was that his love was, indeed, a most wicked mare. The second …

Well. The second was that if they and their loves ever got to the point of one of those chases he’d read about in various bits of Rose lore they’d pushed into his hooves, Note had the distinct feeling Crown would play unfairly and bring this or some similar visage back so she might ensnare his eyes even before her song rose to fill his ears.

The smile she gave Collar wore warm and friendly. Just like herself, when not firmly suppressed beneath her mother’s hoof. For once, unguarded.

Though not nearly so much as the look she sent Note once certain her mother could not see her eyes beneath her tresses.

Collar continued along with some line of comment he’d been in the middle of making when they’d approached, “… We’ll make sure she’s well cared for and has no cause to complain to Firelight during his inspections. And… Silk. That is a lovely dress. I hear tell through the whispering birds that you made your sister’s as well?”

Silk raised her head to meet his eyes. There was a flicker of movement, between he and her mother, before her eyes betrayed a sort of softness Note hadn’t expected. “I did. Is she here already? I really would like to see how the final fit came out.”

Roseate stiffened before Collar shook his head.

Note filed this away for later thought. And, perhaps, a question for Crown.

“She is not. I believe that’s her just behind you, crossing the courtyard.” Collar lifted his head to look over them. “Coat, Note, could you please accompany these lovely mares to the ballroom? I’m afraid I can’t leave my post until later.”

“If I may,” Crown said demurely, the slight twitching at either corner of her mouth betrayed a hint of mischief, “ask a diversion first? I wish to find the title of a book I started, but did not finish, when I was in your custody.”

“Of course. Note?”

“It would be a pleasure, my lord. Lady?” Note asked, beckoning her forward with far more gravitas than he felt.

She stepped forward that she might walk beside him, her shoulder and hip brushing with his as they began their walk. A silent crowing that she could see the excitement in her lover.

And a vow that it would be rewarded later on.

A book? A book? You wicked, crafty mare! Note bowed slightly, as expected. “Yes, my lord.”

With her nod, he turned about on his hooves and led her by a half-step into Prim Palace like a proper Prim gentle stallion. His heart hammered in his chest. Four months apart. Stars, he felt every day in an instant.

Note couldn’t resist.

He looked, hoping he a look alone could tell her how he’d longed to be this close again.

That she could see in his eyes how much he loved her.

The Rosethorn mare ducked her head, a dusting of pink bleeding into those cheeks as she peered over the ridges of her glasses. With the heat rising in her cheeks, he could smell the sweet fragrance she’d dotted behind her ears and the nape of her neck floating to him.

Bluebells and roses.

So sweet.

Stars, if he didn’t long to just take her in his hooves and drink it in.

Once they were out of earshot, Note went to work. He reached into the ballroom with his magic and set a spell in place, then wrapped around them one of his thrumming privacy spells, this one tuned to a light piano melody. “A book, my lady?” he murmured out of the side of his mouth.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll not be shamed,” came her reply. “I’ll not be shamed for longing to play our games together and see what I do to you, my dear.” Those rosy eyes danced. Once they’d turned the corner, Crown drifted close and flirted her tail against his rump. “From our loves.”

“O-Only from them?” Note managed to tease.

And fell right into her trap.

Crown brushed a shoulder against him. “Patience, dear Note. I’ll see that tongue tied in short order before we return to my Librarium.”





Rose Petal was in her element, her smile radiant as she levitated a bottle in the shimmering green glow of her magic and spoke to a quartet of Prims, “… Perhaps I might tempt you to try a vintage named for a dear friend of mine? Rose Cordial, a fine stallion and tender hoof on the vine. I think you’ll detect a rather pleasant hinting of springtime blooms will help warm us for the dances. Much needed, after that chilly walk, I should think.”

While his wife buttered them up, Seed let his eyes flutter shut as he drew in what, to most, must have seemed merely the beginnings a contented sigh.

The benefit of ponies only just filtering in and migrating toward the various catering stalls was, naturally, a chance for Petal to work her silver tongue on the braver Prims or few Roses who didn’t favor her vintages. Yet.

Even fewer could say otherwise once she’d tempted them enough to let her work her magic and select from her arsenal a vintage among those she’d brought that would surely light their eyes.

In Seed’s opinion, his wife didn’t need any sort of scent magic talent to entice—and she did have notable talent, even lacking Rosethorn heritage. She was like Rosemary in her own way.

Her word, her presentation of herself and her wares, and that little dabbing of white rose and chocolate perfume behind her ears were all the enticement she needed.

Was it any small wonder, then, that some of the more hardline Prims honestly felt she’d lured their Dammeguard lovers? Stars knew Dazzle and Prism loved to tease and needle her with claims themselves under her spell whenever her wine tastings were in swing.

Of course, there was a secondary benefit to the current state of the ballroom, yet unfilled, but slowly progressing toward the expected crowd. Less ponies meant he could pick out individual scents a bit more readily. Without tapping into his gifts and unnerving the Prims with his markings’ glow.

So when Seed breathed that contented sigh and smiled at a young stallion from a minor Prim house as he accepted a glass of Cordial Cabernet, not a pony among them was any the wiser that he’d casually scented them. They must have though him reveling in her success.

Practice kept the smile on his face, despite another wafting of disappointment.

Not a hint of orange blossoms among the myriad scents worn by the Roses and those halfhearted efforts of the Prims.

Come on, Collar. You gave your word. Where is he?

He could just imagine Rosewater chiding his impatience. Oh, she would smirk at him and probably delight in a brief snippet of a lecture. Just enough that a few friendly caterers might hear and get a chuckle or two at his expense.

Which was why she could sit and goggle when he revealed he’d caught the stallion’s scent days ago. That’d teach her.

Still. It would’ve been nice if their mysterious courier just trotted up and served himself on a proverbial platter at the start. Unwittingly, perhaps. But at least they could get a look before things got too bound by formalities.

Easier to get a read on him that way.

Petal winked and floated a fresh glass of Springtime Jubilee, a lovely blend of fruit and rhubarb joined together with some of his own red roses. A celebration of the village’s bounty.

He accepted it with a gracious nod and a kiss upon her cheek, and aimed a smile at that young stallion now sputtering on Cordial Cabernet. Poor dear wasn’t quite ready for that.

When Seed turned to face forward, his eyes met those of another Rosethorn. Another of his cousins.

It had been years since Silk Rose stood taller than he, but Seed now angled his head just slightly downward to meet her gaze. His own height inherited twofold from his parents’ lineage. The mare shifted, her splendorous silk dress trailing with the slight motion of her shoulders. Surely a tempting sight to track for any curious eye.

“Cousin,” she greeted softly, and offered a bow of her head.

Seed returned it in kind. “Silk,” he replied, drawing a wince.

They weren’t at odds, but neither were they exactly amicable. Seed tended to be politely distant these days. She and Vine garnered invitations to tastings, but were kept at hoof’s length.

Still, it was a far sight better than his relationship with Rosetail and the rest of their little brood, and Rosewater vouched for her.

So he offered a laurel.

“You’ve outdone yourself again,” he mused, flitting a look toward the doors. “I believe Crown was coming, no?”

A smile, a genuine one, tugged at Silk’s lips. “She wanted to make an impression on somepony,” she answered, her voice low as she nodded. “I can only hope that she has.”

For but a moment, Seed wanted to ask.

He wanted to just be a family like he was with Rosewater and Rosemary.

Instead, he merely raised his glass in salute. “She mentioned something similar before. Tending to a love she hoped would bloom, I believe,” he quipped. “Happy gardening, no?”

“Happy gardening indeed.” Silk shook her head and drew in a breath, her ears twitching once. “That vintage has a lovely fragrance,” she mused, daring to flick a look to Petal, who, presently, was cajoling a young pegasus stallion she’d managed to catch sending a curious glance before he slipped into the crowd. “May I? Two glasses, please?”

“Oh, we’ll leave her to another palate to tempt, I think.” Seed wrapped his magic around the bottle and a pair of nearby glasses. “If I can sleep while standing, I’m sure I can manage to pour wine.”

Another wince. Damn.

He’d only meant it as a joke.

Pressing his lips together, Seed blew a sigh through his nose. “Silk, I’m—“

“It’s fine, Seed,” she said, cutting him off with a wan smile. “Past wounds do sneak out in humor sometimes, no?”

Yes, that much was true enough. Still.

Still.

Damn Roseate and her machinations.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed a flicker of blue. Something nibbled at the back of his mind, lost beneath a lamenting at the state of his family. The stallion extended two glasses of Springtime to Silk and dipped his ears in apology.

“Enjoy, cousin,” he murmured. A token gesture, but one he hoped would take a bit of the heat from his words. “We look forward to seeing you again this winter.”

Silk Rose returned it with a smile and bow of her head. She took a sip, her eyes lighting as she took the chance to savor the taste.

For a bare instant, the mare let her guard fall, even with her mother looming somewhere in the ballroom. “My compliments to your wife and her vineyard,” she murmured, giving another bow before she turned and began to trot off to her mother’s side again. “And all under her employ.”

A short glimpse into what could be. What, stars willing, would be once Rosewater supplanted Roseate and restored honor to the city and the Rosethorn name.

Rosewater and Collar, he corrected himself, returning to his glass and drawing in a self-satisfied breath through his nose. Once again, that lovely scent brought warmth to his chest, and restored a sense of—

Orange blossoms and rainwater.

His brows disappeared beneath his bangs. Deep rosy eyes flitted about, searching out each and every pegasus he could find, armored or not. One of them, one of them was the right one!

The stallion turned and drew close to Petal, leaning in to hiss in her ear, “He’s here.”
> 13. Whispers and Searching Gazes
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

How fast can you fly when somepony might be hurt should you not reach them, Prim Stride?

The pegasus pumped his wings with all his might, arcing across the sky over the Merrie River like a bolt of gray-blue and black shot forth from a crossbow. Toward the Rosewine Bridge, where a crowd of ponies, Dammers and Merriers alike, had gathered. Some big party, he knew. Hosted by a vinter and her mate.

Does it matter who they are? Will your wings fly true, or will you hesitate?

He could hear the wind shrieking in his ears, as if protesting against his efforts to climb and hit the peak of his arc in time. The timing had to be perfect. Every Dammeguard pegasus who could fly worth their feathers, each of them who might be posted near the river had run through this drill a thousand times.

But never in the river itself, always in a pond or a canal.

Never with an actual pony in the water.

A nightmare. Both for the Dammeguard and the Merrieguard.

I need to know, Strides. You’re the fastest. Cloudy knows it, even if she’ll never, ever say it. If only by a nose. I want to be able to put you there, but I need to know I can trust you.

Through the rushing waters, a tiny figure bobbed and thrashed about. A foal. Born of Merrie.

A foal in the water.

He reached the peak of his ascent, time seemed to stand still. Below, the ponies gathered at the edge of the bridge, all reaching, all crying out. The unicorns sought desperately to cast tendrils of magic to try to snare him. It wouldn’t work.

Stride knew it. There were, perhaps, two with such reach. Neither were on the bridge.

And none save they could ever hope to muster their magic against a mighty current like that.

With a quick prayer to Celestia, the Mare in the Moon, and any star in the sky listening, Prim Stride arched his back and folded his wings tight against his sides, and dove straight down, hooves outstretched.

Prim Stride, tell me, honestly, right now—if a foal falls in that water, even if it’s one born of the Rosethorn line, will you fly to reach them?

Faster.

He’d been the best at this drill. The technique was as instinctive, as habitual as walking. Stride set his body in a straight line, like a javelin, and angled himself just slightly off-center. He needed to sweep up and hook the foal, not plunge straight into the depths. But he had to be careful where he pulled out of his dive. Too early, and he would miss entirely.

Too late, and he’d be lucky if he just skipped off the surface of the water. Worst case, they would both be in, and he in armor.

Faster. Ten seconds.

Stride felt the wind ripping along his body, like a thousand hooves trying desperately to slow him. It clung to his shoulders, his snout, it even hooked in through the openings of his black helm and began to tug against the chinstrap. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

The only thing he could see was the foal’s head, bobbing just above the surface of the water. Drowning.

If he didn’t make it, there would be nothing for the parents to bury.

Five.

He would make it. He simply would. The foal had no other hope.

His head sank underwater.

Four … Three … Two …

The chinstrap snapped, his helmet went flying backward, ripped clean off his head the very instant he passed by the bridge, all those ponies watching as his messy gray mane spilled out.

Two tail lengths away, Prim Stride screamed, “Reach up!”

A pair of tiny hooves thrust forth from beneath the surface in one last, desperate effort. Stride pulled up, and caught them tight in his own.

You can trust me, Lord Collar.





In the corner of Prim Palace’s ballroom, the pegasus snapped back to present, blinking owlishly as a phantom spray of cold water played across his face. Just as Prim Collar finished his proclamation honoring the unnamed stallion who’d flown across the river to save a foal.

Him.

The whispers which followed, then, were like the first huntings of a storm playing against his feathers. Eyes of Rose and Prim hues flitted this way and that, searching out this mysterious rescuer. Culture, the value of family, those were things shared between cities.

Which among the Dammeguard, those gazes wondered, could be that stallion?

It was a mistake to agree to this.

It wasn’t difficult to feel out of place in Prim Palace, no matter how many times Prim Stride had been placed on guard duty.

He wasn’t tonight, thank heavens. Prim Stride shivered at the thought. The poor Dammeguard who drew the misfortune of watching over this evening’s festivities deserved the next week off, in his opinion. His eyes flitted about the dance hall, the noble blue and purple banners of the Primlines hung alongside the seductive, passionate pink and crimson with that pink rose with crimson highlights on a white field which the Rosethorns favored for the lone night the families gathered every year under universal truce.

A truce mandated by Princess Celestia herself some two centuries prior, angered by the warring families from the sister cities situated upon the Merrie River.

Truly, the décor was the only thing indicative of any semblance of unity.

Prim Stride hid himself in the far corner of the ballroom, a glass of wine held in hoof as he watched the nobles of both feuding cities smile and feign politeness, the eyes and clenched teeth from some of his own distant cousins and the lustful gleam and smirks of their age-old rivals betrayed the accusations and battles fought in darkness and economic might. Enchanted candles and charms lined the hall, nullifying even the most potent of the Roses’ scent magics.

Even the Rose Terror herself couldn’t do more than flutter her lashes and try to entice some mare or stallion like a common pony, and thank every star for that!

He closed his eyes and only just resisted a want to thump his head against the stone wall. Rosewater. Rosewater. Rosewater. Lord Collar and Cloudy have spoken to me about that. Rosemary would be hurt if she ever heard me call her that. Rosewater felt far too familiar, far too informal though.

For a mare who had, in the past, lured Dammeguards to hold for the herdgild. Lady Rosewater. That would be fine.

Formal, polite, and distant. And respecting her power and standing.

Right about now, though, that power she held seemed to pale in comparison to another’s.

To her counterpart’s, ironically.

His sky blue feathers bristled, a wrinkle of his snout made the spattering of the Primfeathers’ typical storm cloud colored dapples which trailed from nose to tail scrunch, granting him a rather coltish look. On second thought, maybe he should have told his lord, Prim Collar, that he’d come down with something and stayed home. A night in with the doors locked and a book would be far more preferable than this.

This den of vipers. All of them alert, their tongues waggling and eyes darting about after Collar made his little announcement. So vague, so very ceremonial having done so immediately following the traditional opening greetings between the Baronesses. Stars, this was exactly what Stride wanted to avoid.

The Lord Heir of Damme had just enticed an entire room full of the most influential ponies in both cities with a tale of bravery and heroism, a move one might be forgiven for calling Roselike. So many of them, Stride knew from reputation and word of mouth, were responsible for this stupid war’s continuation—directly or otherwise.

And if one could find a pony who hadn’t bitten like a fish does bait on a hook, Stride would buy them a round at Prim Tap and Lager’s.

Which left him the task of doing his very best to appear as dumbfounded and unassuming as possible so not to be the odd pony out.

He hadn’t nearly enough alcohol to prepare himself for such a feat.

Out of the corner of his eye, Prim Stride could see his parents and their more hardline friends huddled against the wall opposite their counterparts on the Rose side of the room, their eyes carrying venom and barbed words muttered only to one another as unpleasant as the looks worn upon their faces. Whether at Prim Collar’s enticement or the idea that a Dammeguard had flown across the river to save one of them, well, the jury was hung.

And they all wondered why this feud never seemed to end.

How could it?

Prim Stride opted to throw propriety off a cloud and tossed his head back to drain his glass in one gulp. An act, no doubt, which would send his mother, Prim Down, clutching her over-expensive pearls if she noticed.

Oh, she had. And she’d even taken a break from glaring daggers at a cluster of three Rose nobles—bonded, by those pendants around their necks—so she could clutch her husband’s foreleg and swoon against him.

The young Dammeguard turned away to hide a smile, swishing his stormy gray tail in a way that brushed against his smart silver tux. “Give you something to gossip about other than them or Lord Collar and Cloudy for once.” His smile faded in an instant. “You prissy old nag.”

He sighed and looked down at his glass. He’d need more to get himself through the night at this rate, he could already feel a Prim Down and Prim Wing-sized headache coming on.

Which meant it was time to venture back into the lone slice of Damme that was Rose territory for the evening.

They always did make the best wines. Such lovely floral taste and fragrance. Rosemary had been right. Again.

And she wouldn’t let him hear the end of it until the next item of debate was won in her favor.

Stars curse him if it wasn’t delicious, though. But there were other flavors. As many, he imagined Rosemary or Cloudy would tease, as the flowers adorning Merrie’s hills or the parks he so loved.

A good thing, too. The mare behind the table looked … familiar when he’d first walked in and dared venture over, enticed by her voice, the way light shone off her bottles and glasses, and her eyes—verdant green, piercing deep into him.

Yes, she was familiar. Watch list familiar.

In the back of his mind, a name nibbled at him. Wasn’t there a mare who used the fragrances of wine and grapes blended with flowers for her lures? Stride was certain he’d read of her.

Prim Stride offered a reserved half smile to the less-involved Roses. They weren’t all bad, of course. Only the hardliners, really, especially those who fell in step with Baroness Roseate. Being in the Dammeguard gave a rather interesting look when defectors crossed lines.

Still, it didn’t spare him a few stray tails and wingtips flirting against his hips and shoulders, smoldering looks and smiles which promised his delight should he take a turn toward the bridge with them when the festivities ended. Mares and stallions alike, typical of the Rose lines. And quite a few were beautiful—oh, who was he kidding?

They all were. The Roses had that in spades.

But much like their namesake, each came with thorns.

As Stride sidestepped a pair of mares of the distant Roseroot line, their smiles winning and inviting and eyes lingering on his wings as if to call them around their shoulders for the night, he glanced down at his empty glass again. The colors were nice, just like the mare said. Especially when he’d given them a little swirl like she’d shown. Whatever purpose that served.

The young pegasus happened to glance up just as a heavy hoof clapped his shoulder, and found himself met by a grinning Prim Collar, those deep blue eyes shining. “Strides!” he greeted merrily. “You look good! Enjoying the start of festivities, I hope?”

Stride offered an uneasy smile. So far, the pair of glasses of wine he’d had were the highlight. And the only thing he’d really partaken in—the second, a glass pressed into his hoof by the grinning stallion before him with a wink and utterance of its name.

He’d at least not teased when Stride sucked in his lips and hid a blush.

“Certainly an interesting time,” he replied evenly, mindful of the eyes and ears around them, watching to see if there might be any sign of tell. “Thank you for the invitation, I didn’t think I’d be off-duty.”

His young lord and mentor swished his tail gaily. “You work hard and serve well. Everypony deserves a chance to enjoy a night like this.” Prim Collar cast a glance around, his easygoing smile fading as he took in the sights and sounds of the families mingling.

A rarity.

One only afforded at such events.

“Yeah, everypony does,” Prim Collar repeated. He shook himself, then clapped Prim Stride’s shoulder again. “Especially you, with all you’ve been through in the past month. You deserve to be here, I’m proud of how you’ve grown, especially these last months.”

Prim Stride felt his throat tightening as the memory flashed before his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. Not again.  “You’re too kind, my lord.” He splayed his ears and tried to force a smile. The praise was welcome. From Lord Collar, it was always welcome.

The memory it conjured was not.

He licked his lips and added,  “I’m just glad you and Lady Rosewing gave me the chance. Anypony would be.”

Collar’s father, Dapper Rosedown, fixed him with a look of gentle chiding. The old stallion tended to act more like a doting grandfather to those closest to Collar, especially those under his tutelage. “You assume much and do yourself equal discredit, young stallion,” he said. “Taking the time to examine oneself and make changes is no small feat, and is telling of character. You have a good heart within you.”

A good heart. Wasn’t that one of Rosemary’s big points when they spoke on his shifts?

He barely understood her ideals or Cloudy’s attachments to Merrie. Not without having them set before him, or some of the old transgressions of both cities and their alternating patterns through the centuries of conflict. Like the coming and going of the tides.

But he’d read those books Rosemary put before him, debated philosophy with her, or drank and bantered and argued merit with Cloudy at the pubs. And he listened to them. Every word, no matter how they made him squirm to consider.

Slowly but surely, they helped him unwind the trappings of his parents’ words and old hardline justifications. They let him see what others missed.

And they let him decide himself what he felt and held true.

What he changed or didn’t, then, was his decision.

Stride swallowed. “Er, y-yes, Baron Dapper.” He glanced down at his empty glass, and then up. He blinked thrice. “What did I come over here for again?”

Those interested glances and swiveling of ears died, and the search continued elsewhere. This was clearly just a young Dammeguard collecting some token praise. Little of note.

Thank the stars.

“Good question,” Collar replied, smiling brightly. “But, now that you’re here. I thought we might share a drink.” With a nod toward the Merrier vintner’s table, he added, “After you, Strides.”

Dapper nodded. “Y’know. Take advantage on the tariff exemption. Not a bad idea.” He chewed the inside of his cheek in thought, then pulled a face.  “I should like to get a few pretzels first, I think. Drinking another on an empty stomach isn’t advisable, it’s been ages since I’ve tasted a Rosewine vintage.”

“Good call, dad. I’ll walk you over.” He glanced toward Stride and raised his brows. “How about you, Strides? That vintage I got for you to your liking?”

Stride took a moment to process his reply. Rosewine, Rosewine, he definitely knew that name. There was definitely a name featured on the watch list, and he just knew the name Rosewine from old matron Primyard’s rantings—yet another old rivalry, this one, mercifully, one of commerce.

A Rosewine mare, he remembered. She’d allegedly lured five Dammeguards with her wines, two of whom regained their senses and returned. Or so his father and his ilk claimed.

Allegedly is not definitive, he reminded himself.

No more than his being a Primfeather meant he couldn’t be friends with a Rosewing or a Rosethorn. Or enjoy a Rosewine’s vintage.

“It was good,” he muttered, flicking a look to the table.

The mare had brought more vintages than he could count, their bottles all different colors ranging from deep greens and vibrant pinks and reds to almost midnight blue. And their designs varied with them, differentiating each even further. Clearly, she knew some fine glassblower.

Perhaps the stallion who’d been by her table? One had been with her, chatting with another mare at the time. Where had he gotten to—oh, there he was. A Rosethorn stallion by those dark red, near crimson, markings.

He could almost imagine Cloudy giving a low whistle should the stallion enter one of their haunts. Dang. That’s a big boy, she’d no doubt mutter, then jab him with an elbow. You get him if any of these idiots start a brawl. This mare’s only getting crushed beneath one stallion, thanks.

In present time, Stride watched them pouring wine and chatting with ponies. Their smiles, and those of the Roses who frequented their table, and those Prims they managed to coax and cajole into their company to try their wares, were radiant. The little mare, in particular, seemed like she couldn’t be happier.

Unbidden, his tongue ran along his lip. Stride made to take a step forth, but hesitated and stayed his hoof. “Though, I’d like to try another just to see …” He glanced up at Collar, hoping he could send his request with look alone.

By the ticking of Collar’s ears, he understood well. Unfortunately, the Lord Heir of Damme chose not to provide escort into a Rose’s company.

He found this one of his teachable moments.

“Well, you’ll not find yourself wanting for delicious wine with Rosewine Vineyards’ vintages,” the stallion said, offering a pat on the shoulder and a gentle, coaxing nudge to start Stride on his path to the table. “Let me know if it’s one that gets your feathers rustling, I’ll have to give it a try myself.”

Stride stumbled that first step in his taste to try and stop and keep balance. He glanced between Collar and the table, and then, only then, did he notice the imposing figure just a step or two out of his path.

Her snow white coat and rosy pink mane coupled with her height to separate her from any crowd, though nothing could do nearly as much as those deep crimson Rosethorn markings gracing her cheeks and breast. Belying her talent and depth of her ancestor’s gifts.

Not that Lady Rosewater Rosethorn needed anything else to help her command attention.

The memory returned again. Purple lights slithered through the fog and sank into his skin. Stride shivered, but managed to tear his gaze from her and sent a renewed plea for escort to Collar via shared look.

For a moment, he dared think that thoughtful look which crossed Collar’s face might mean he’d changed his mind.

Then Collar drew him in close to whisper, “Take a deep breath and relax.” He squeezed Stride gently. “Enjoy the night, Strides. Make a couple new friends. In fact!” He grinned and raised his brows. “I have a new assignment for you! A personal challenge, actually.”

It took an effort of will not to wilt before him. “Yes, my lord?” Stride asked.

“By night’s end, I want you to spend some time talking to somepony you don’t know.” He held up a hoof, already dashing any notion to slip on technicalities. “Somepony not of Damme—and, no, ordering more wine doesn’t count. Not unless that starts an actual conversation.”

Stride blanched and took a step back, his ears flattening to his mane. “You … er …” A nervous laugh escaped his lips. “You don’t give easy tasks, my lord.”

Chuckling, Collar patted his shoulder. “I like to challenge ponies who meet my expectations.” With another squeeze, he added, “Or surpass them. Remember, relax, enjoy yourself, and talk to somepony from Merrie by the end of the night. Something to regale our guest with in the morning, I should think.”

Which meant she’d know to ask. Or simply that Collar knew she’d ask and then set upon him should he not make new acquaintance in Merrie, and then it would only be a matter of whether she decided to make good on teasings of merciless tickle torment and ear gnawing.

Stars help him on the latter.

On instinct, he brought his hoof and wineglass to his chest in salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Good lad. Off you go, and let me know how the next tastes. Remember, I’d like that friendlier look.” Here, Collar cast a look to Rosewater, and offered a slight smile.  

The small sort which said, I’m doing my part. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I wouldn’t.

The matter had been quite settled. Emphasized as Collar patted his shoulder, then turned as though to trot off with his father.

Stride swallowed and faced forward. For the briefest of moments, his eyes met with Rosewater Rosethorn’s, and the ballroom seemed to fade to background.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The Heiress of Merrie winked, then broke their shared gaze like she’d given him leave to … well … leave her presence.

Not an urging he needed to receive twice.

Only manners drilled in by his nag of a mother and his friendships with Collar and Rosemary kept him from scampering off like a frightened kitten, but Stride made damn certain to weave his way through the crowd as swiftly as his hooves could carry him, never stopping or deviating until he was safe and sound before the Rosewine Vineyards table.

But when those eyes of verdant green and deep, deep rosy fuchsia fell upon him and he realized himself quite alone between the pair, Stride felt his wings itching.

The stallion wore a look of amused mischief all too similar to Rosemary’s.

Stride did his best to ignore the warning shiver down his spine and set his glass upon the table. “Another, please,” he said softly. “Er, a different vintage. If you don’t mind.”

“Didn’t like my Rosemary Reverence, sir Dammeguard?” the mare asked, pouting and fluttering her lashes. A tease, of course. She’d been playful like this when they’d first met. “I all but promised Lord Collar that would be to his friend’s taste when he came for two glasses.”

He didn’t bother asking how she knew. She could probably smell Collar on the glass, or his touch lingering around Stride’s shoulders. Or, stars, simpler—she’d just seen them talking and connected the dots.

Not everything had to be so overly clever.

“No, I quite enjoyed it,” came his honest reply, coupled with a nervous smile with how his feathers betrayed his effort to understate. It had been tasty. Sweet, but with a kick of spice. Like Rosemary herself. “Just, er, hoped to try another. A friend has paid compliment to the vineyard, and, well …”

The empty space was obviously filled. His curiosity coupled with his enjoyment, clarity enough for both Roses.

The stallion’s eyes flitted between Stride and the rest of the party for a bare instant, then his nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath, like Rosemary playing her game. Scenting him, Stride realized. Part of meeting a Rosethorn, she’d told him.

His brows raised. Bemused, the stallion tilted his head, a smile and look of intrigue spread across his features.

“Well,” the mare mused, turning her eyes toward the ceiling in mock consideration before she winked at Stride. “For one of the few Prims bold enough to return to our table twice, I suppose I could make a personal recommendation.” The way she managed to wrap her lips around the word personal was like a playful kiss beneath the jawline, more than enough to make anypony’s heart flutter. “Hmmmm, for a pegasus like you, strong wings and handsome, I should think—“

Now, her stallion companion laughed and leaned down to nip at her cheek. “Petal, my love, don’t tease him so!” He cast a grin at Stride like they were old friends. “Let him have his wine without your playing games with his heart and palate.”

Petal drew back from him and glared. “You hush, Rose Seed! Don’t you begrudge me tempting a virgin palate, especially one so ready to actually try something new!”

Her name clicked into place. Rosewine Petal. That was the mare on the watchlist.

The heiress to the Rosewine name and head of Rosewine Vineyards, a prodigal vintner, if rumors were true and matron Primyard’s rantings held any water. The passage of control from Rosewine Cabernet to his daughter had resulted in what could only be described as an explosion of growth, a little mare who cast a big shadow.

Rose Seed, though, was another familiar name. And with those markings and their coloration.

He wasn’t of Roseate’s line, certainly. Stars, though, he was near enough that his heritage showed so vibrantly.

Still.

A mare allegedly responsible for luring five Dammeguards. Talented Dammeguards, at that.

Allegations weren’t definitive though. Not until proven.

Seed, for his part, merely grinned at the smaller mare then turned to Stride. “My dear wife does love to tempt each and every new palate she can, sir Dammeguard. Dammers especially, if only so she can give a taste of ‘a proper vintage’—her words, not mine!”

“The truth!” she urged. The slight tugging at either corner of her mouth betrayed enjoyment of their banter. Petal shook her head and met Stride with a long-suffering look. “You have the looks of a stallion who suffers my Damme competitor’s vintages, much as I must suffer my lump of a husband’s mockery.” Here, she tried to hip bump him. Seed didn’t so much as move, merely laughing. “You see? You see what I deal with?”

“Er, if you say so, ma’am,” Stride replied. He’d learned well how Rose mares played their games. Or at least well enough to know to keep himself out of trouble as best he could. Whether Rosethorn stallions could be as wicked remained to be seen, but …

Well. If Dapper Rosedown was any indication, that was a definite yes.

And the glinting in his eyes, another.

Chuckling, Seed stole another nip to her cheek. “Perhaps I’ll give you a hoof then, love.” He turned that smile back upon Stride and asked, “What say you, sir Dammeguard? Would you be willing to join us for more of a game style of tasting? A bit of fun to it.”

The pegasus chewed on the inside of his cheek. His nerves failing him, Stride gave his wings a telling rustle and flicked a look over his shoulder. Collar was nowhere in sight, even less likely to swoop in to make a quick social save.

Much like his other assignments on Merrie culture and social norms—some portion had to be his own.

This just happened to be the first in which his conversational partners weren’t known and vetted ponies. But they were here, and Collar had given them patronage. And asked him to share a vintage recommendation if he should find one to his liking.

If nothing else, Stride could take solace in that. Tonight, at least, some of these ponies could be called friends.

Alleged crimes were still only allegations until proven, also.

Despite years of his parents and grandparents’ sermons on the vulgarity and duplicity of Roses and Merriers, Stride offered a half smile and bobbed his head. Collar’s guidance hadn’t failed him yet.

Nor had theirs.

Breathing a sigh, Stride murmured, “I’m willing to listen, at least.” He dipped an ear, adding, “I can’t promise I’ll be any good. I’m more a Dammerale stallion.”

“That,” Rose Petal teased, “we’ll correct in short order.” She glanced up at her husband and tilted her head. “A simple one, rather than adapting, I should think.”

“Oh, of course. I was thinking the sampling game.”

“Ah! Yes, yes, that would do nicely in this setting.”

The couple seemed to share a quick look, then trapped Stride beneath their gaze again. Like their eyes could seed and coax tangle vines to grow ‘round his ankles and hold him fast.

“The game is actually quite simple,” Seed said. Then, he held up a hoof. “And don’t worry about being good at it—the only skills of yours required are an open mind, trust, and your sense of taste. Your, ah, palate for wine.”

Petal took up where he left off. “The challenge is actually ours. For your part—“ she gestured to him with a wave of her hoof “—you simply close your eyes while Seed and I each select a vintage, any you see before you.”

Another sweeping gesture, this time over the table and wine chillers, drew his eyes to the myriad colorful and artfully crafted bottles. The only constant he noticed between them, naturally, was the vineyard name and emblem of a white rose outlined in gold filament, blooming from a vine wound around another of grapes.

“Once you’ve tried each of our selections,” Seed continued. “You let us know which you preferred. If neither or if you like them equally, we select again. Until we find one which suits your fancy.”

An interesting game, certainly.

One Stride imagined might feature well at some of those parties he’d heard of, the same which always seemed to foster curiosity in commoners and lesser nobles and entice them to cross and meet their counterparts in Merrie. Right about now, he could see why.

And, with Collar’s urgings, was there any reason to refuse save his parents’ fury?

His mind was made up with that last thought.

Stride ducked his head. “I’ll play.”





The Prim Palace library was, similar to its counterpart in Rose Palace, the oldest and most expansive of those in the sister cities. Its writings including those penned by Prim Clothesline himself, and those of his heirs following to demonstrate the shaping of Damme through the centuries.

Prim Note couldn’t say he’d ever been to the Rose Palace library. Roseate and her eldest daughters lacked the goodwill Collar demonstrated, and rumor had it the Baroness summarily refused to allow ponies to see the words inscribed by the likes of Rosethorn the Wise, Rosewine, or Roseline. Not in their original form.

Preservation of history, she called it. Their original works should be preserved and kept safe, let the Rosethorn baroness and her daughters guard over their ancestor’s legacy as they guard over our right to love freely.

The subject of more than a few rantings he’d heard.

He shook himself from these idle musings and turned his attention to the love of his life, smiling as he took in the delight worn free upon her face.

Stars, how he’d missed seeing her so happy.

Those rosy eyes flitted to each polished bookshelf, wide and eager to take in everything. She stepped forward, toward the center of the reception area, and turned about on her hooves, her smile radiant. Her lips moved to form the names of the lords and ladies displayed upon the walls in fine paintings. Many Prim, mostly Prim.

But a few Roses who’d honored themselves and their ancestor’s way with their courage and valor.

In one, a battle between the Rose Knights and Rose Shadows ended with the ponies of both sides barely standing, exhaustion evident in their posture as they looked at one another from across the bridges, flanking their respective leaders. At the center, Flowering Rosebush and Malestrom Primfeather met, the latter baring his face against all tradition of the Rose Shadows, and bowed in salute to one another.

At the bottom of the frame, a golden placard dedicated its participants and named the portrait, Last Dance of Knights and Shadows.

“The last battle between the Rose Shadows and Rose Knights,” Crown whispered breathily. “As Prim Lace took the throne from her father, and ushered in the Reformations.” She flicked a look to him. “She commemorated a stalemated rivalry?”

Note inclined his head. “I asked her once,” he murmured. “She told me that she commemorated ponies who fought and demonstrated in the last moments the respect she hoped to see between our cities, and the kinship in the way Flowering Rose and Malestrom returned to their leaders and urged leniency.”

“Not quite the way we are taught about Malestrom.” The corner’s of Crown’s mouth thinned. “But, given what we’re taught of my ancestor’s way …”

Her horn sparked with a sudden rosy hue, and Crown’s magic filled and expanded out over the room like a bubble. For a bare second as it passed over his ears, Note heard naught but dead air, the oppressive blanket of silence.

She settled it around the room and turned it outward, a ward so none but those within the library could hear what went on within. “I trust what she says of Malestrom as much as I trust her to keep the promises made to force our action,” she finished, flicking an ear.

Note took that as prompting to cast his. So she hadn’t missed his trick on the walk in, and she knew he’d have another ready to go.

He ducked his head, smiling to show he accepted his being caught, and reached out with his magic to slither a pair of spells between her aural shield, and set one just on the outside. A clever little invention of his he’d used a few times to keep an ear out for interlopers when he wanted privacy. A personal spell.

With the other, he searched out and took hold of the magic he’d left in the ballroom and connected it, carefully, and settled it within their shield. The sounds of idle chatter and hooves upon the floor filtered into the library.

Crown blinked, surprised, and flitted her gaze about. “You cast Far Whispers in Prim Palace?” she asked. “Against these wards?”

His cheeks coloring to the unspoken praise, Note stepped away as if he might like to peruse the shelves. “Not so much against as with the wards,” he replied. “Breaking through would be nigh impossible, working with was difficult enough with how deceptively elastic Primline magic tends to be.”

He felt her eyes upon the back of his neck, searching him. Appraising him.

Reevaluating his talent.

Sensitive ears twitched and ticked to the sound of slow steps, stalking, circling wide so she might move to cut off his playful attempt at escape. “Oh, don’t dare dangle that before me, my dear,” she purred. “How?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say.” Note tugged at the shoulder of his dress uniform, drawing her attention to the magnolia etched among Damme symbology. “Lest you use it to hear of all the lascivious things we discuss behind wards in this place.”

Crown gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, hardly here, my dear.” Those eyes danced, the pair had come to a stop on opposing sides of a long row of staggered shelves. “My interests lay somewhere several blocks up the street, hidden to my spells.”

Now, his cheeks colored brightly. Note sucked in his lips and found interest in a copy of Prim Stitching’s work left out for re-shelving. “A-Ah.” He licked his lips, and moved to continue on his walk. “Y-You used your walk to search out my home. Tricky mare.”

She followed on the opposite side. “Me?” she asked with an angelic flutter of lashes. “When you found way to force my searches to route against my command? I strain to probe the shield ‘round your home in no small part because you make me traverse distance, my dear. Or need I fetch Gilded Page so she might titter with you over how I dragged myself through the door to the couch the first time I tried?”

The nape of his neck joined in burning to her praise. They passed a shelf, losing one another for that brief second before they rejoined again like shutter frames.

Tantalizing glimpses. Stars, why had he walked this way? She had to know what she did now. “I have to keep up with you somehow,” he replied, cursing the fluster which bled into his tone.

“Merely keep up with me? Truly?”

“Of course. Yours is a prodigal talent among those of us who lay claim to the gifts of the Sirens’ Kiss. Pray, your gentle hooves in handling me in this game have been a mercy.”

“A mercy?” She disappeared behind another shelf, then reappeared again, now fixing him with a look of calculating amusement. “Or did a rare show of Primline trickery and deceit score you an unfair advantage?”

Note brought a hoof to his breast and shook his head. “Accusing me of deceit, my lady? A minor noble such as myself, deceiving a Rosethorn lady? Tricking her! How ever should I manage the feat?”

The wrong defense.

Her smile turned vulpine, her eyes flashed behind her glasses.

His heart fluttered as he felt phantom lipping and tonguing against his ear, a memory of her last effort to bring him to heel when he dared use his wit and word to tease.

And then the whisper that she would expect more.

That brief lapsing of his attention cost him dearly. For when Note dared to look back across the aisle at his lovely Rose Crown, he found naught but empty space. Just as he’d stolen the chance to fine-tune his wards for a talented aural mage when their friendship and games began, she had stolen one the instant his focus faltered.

His only warning to her next move was a cool breath across the tip of his ear, enough to draw a shuddering gasp and fluttering of his eyes before her magic caught his chin and held him fast. Crown reared and wrapped her hooves around his shoulders in a loose embrace, then moved to press her lips against his head, just beneath the same ear.

“Wicked stallion,” she whispered, lipping along the edge. “Leading me to think you to be a minor talent, a master of but a few little tricks you’d mastered through practice, when you yourself share the blessing of the Sirens’ Kiss.” Teeth stung his ear and tugged gently, her warm breath teasing his tender flesh. “How strong is yours?”

Note fought down an urge to dance on the tips of his hooves, he bit his lip hard to swallow a moan. Stars! In the middle of the library! “Strong enough!” he gasped.

Another kiss pressed against the back of his ear. An unsatisfactory answer. “My equal?” she prompted. Her magic’s warmth engulfed the opposite ear and thrummed, a gentle, tingling caress sent shivers down his spine.

He managed to give a jerky shake of his head. “C-Crown! Love! Please, we’re in the library!”

Laughing, she nosed his cheek. “Then it’s in your interest to answer honestly this time, and quickly. Are you?”

Sucking in his lips, Note managed another shake of his head. He drew in a deep breath and hissed, “C-Can’t enchant, but I can reach far and alter quickly!”

“Ah.” He felt her smile against him. “My, my. I see now. Your shields, your offensive spells, even the wards ‘round your home and hidden in your neighborhood. Polymorphic, no?” At his nod, she dotted another kiss beneath his ear, then another upon his cheek. “Near then. I’m not certain if I should punish you this night for your deception, or sing joy that our games will grow more interesting, and our chase, more enticing when the day comes.”

Another shiver. Note couldn’t fight it any longer.

The poor stallion squirmed and danced on his hooves. “Crown, please! My ears—“

Crown plied a hint of tickle to the tip, then let her spell dissipate. Though not her embrace.

The Rosethorn mare simply shifted about so she could stand nose to nose with him, the markings framing her cheek dimpling with a bright, contented smile. No teasing, just delight.

She brushed her lips against his nose. “Aglow from the nape of your neck to the tips of those lovely, vulnerable ears,” she crooned. Her eyes flitted to his dress uniform, then back to his face. “It matches that ghastly blue, and suits you well.” Crown lit her horn and withdrew a thin pink box hidden within her sash. “Speaking of which, I believe I have just the thing to correct this issue and expose you to a more appropriate color.”

Note took a moment to regain his breath. He blinked owlishly as he tried to recenter himself and process her words.

Curiosity and amusement rose to join fluster. Note fixed her with a wry look, accepting the box in his magic. He unwound a bow of shimmering gold ribbon and removed the top, and let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. From within the box, he lifted out a fine silk scarf, carmine like her mane, with the emblem of the Rosethorn house woven into the ends. But with it, a musical note.

Symbolic, and meaningful.

So soon after it subsided, that burning in his cheeks returned in full. Stars above!

“You!” Note shook his head, grinning despite himself. Who wouldn’t? Who couldn’t? “You are going to have me in so much trouble!”

Her eyes dancing, Crown leaned in to nuzzle him. “Mmm, perhaps I like that idea.”

“Do you? I’ll have the rutting Primfeathers and Primmanes saying I’ve been lured and need confining in a hot box!”

“Oh, my. Such a shame I don’t use scented lures.” She stole a kiss and hummed against his lips. “Put it on for me, my dear,” Crown whispered. “Let me see how you wear it.”

Note cast a quick glance back over his shoulder, just in case. Once satisfied, he dipped his ears in submission and took the scarf in his magic, and wound and tied it around his neck. As he guided it through the air, a hint of roses and bluebells wafted to his nose.

He blinked and ticked an ear. “But—wait, how? You’re not a—“

How those dimples seemed more pronounced with her mounting glee. “My older sister, Silk,” Crown replied, her voice as warm and sweet as her magic’s touch. “She helped me pick it out and sew in our house emblem with the note, and I asked that she help me weave my scent in so this night might stay with you.” She moved, turning nimbly on her hooves to sit and press her back against his chest, her snout tracing his jawline. “So you’ll remember our first night together after months apart, and savor it as I shall.”

Her markings, he noticed, began to glow. Crown drank in his scent, the cologne he’d worn tonight, the magical talent afforded by her heritage strong enough that she still could. Enough that she could draw in every fiber of his fragrance.

A striking talent, a more striking appearance.

A mite frightening, but alluring in her.

“You look handsome in our colors,” she murmured. Glancing to his uniform, she pecked his chin. “If only we could replace ghastly blue and purple with the red, pink, and white of our Merrieguard’s dress. You would look the picture of a stallion belonging to a Rosethorn daughter then.”

Unsaid between them was the requirement that he serve under her mother to make that notion reality. And, only then, with his mind bound—either to Roseate or one of her daughters. Crown, only if she felt a mite of morbid humor.

Dark tidings neither wished to broach after so long apart.

Note licked his lips nervously. “I-I got you something as well,” he stammered, eager to steal away some small measure of control for himself.

At last, it was Crown’s turn for surprise once more. “Did you?” She rose, teasingly flirting her tail against his neck when she turned to face him.

In those rosy eyes, he caught a glimpse of excitement. Romantic gestures exchanged were so tantalizing to artists such as they—and she, a poet and songwriter herself, doubly so.

He reached into his uniform pocket with a loop of magic, and withdrew the rectangular black box he’d held all night. The butterflies in his chest whipped into such a flurry they incited a second swarm to drive a quaver in his belly as he offered it to Crown.

She bit her bottom lip as she so often did to hide her delight, her horn lighting as she removed the top and gazed inside.

Delight washed away, and in its place, a thin smile, the product of an effort, he knew, to appear stern despite herself. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“You,” Crown said. “You are a terrible, wicked stallion, Prim Note.”

Note only just managed to stifle laughter. “Do you not like it?” he asked, his voice full of false innocence. “I was certain you’d adore such a fine pen case. And look.” He lifted it from the box and turned the top toward her. “Adorned with hoof-painted roses, my love.”

That drew quite a fun response.

Crown fixed him with a wry look. Her smile, now, was one he’d learned from his mother. The same which told him his father had, indeed, gotten himself into good trouble and would suffer consequences.

She wrapped her magic around the box and, with gentle coaxing, took it from him and turned it about so the face showed to him.

A face indeed adorned with roses. But …

“Roses,” she said slowly, amusement tinging her voice. Crown closed the distance between them, pressing her nose against his. Her eyes promised he would indeed suffer consequences, and gave hint to just how full his evening would be once they made away across the river to her Librarium. “Roses of Prim blue. You wicked trickster.”

He couldn’t help it.

The grin finally won out and spread across his features.

“I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers as he turned his head.

She turned hers opposite, her eyes fluttering. “And I, you.”

Together, they reared on their hind legs and caught one another in a tight embrace, and shared their first real kiss in months.

In Note’s heart, his own muse sang with hers.
> 14. Tempting Tastings
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Remember,” Seed teased, his lips mere inches from Stride’s left ear. A sort of sly mirth tinged his voice.

“No peeking,” Petal finished in his stead, stinging his shoulder with a light jolt of magic. “Or we’ll have to see if we can’t convince our mutual friend in Lord Collar if we can’t find some suitable punishment for rigging games.”

A shiver ran down his spine. “I-I keep telling you,” Stride whispered, fighting against a smile. “It was accidental! I heard the crowd and couldn’t help it!”

“I believe that,” she teased, “like I believe a Gardener foal with crumbs ‘round his lips that he hasn’t been digging in the cookie jar.”

The game itself was simple enough. And, honestly, who would possibly complain about such a delightful impromptu wine tasting?

Stars, was this the sort of life led in the Garden of Love? 

Stride swallowed what tasted a bit too light to be a cabernet, but most certainly not any sort of white wine or rosé. Those tastes, Stride knew well enough from dalliances with Primyard and Vine vintages at some of his parents’ holiday affairs.

This one had been Petal’s choice, and she’d proven herself quite a fiend at this game, her selections enough to make his feathers fluff at will. Even the headier wines, those with the slight hint of tart aftertaste which he typically avoided managed to play just right on his tongue. Well, not quite tart. More almost a tang.

Seed, though, did well to keep up with her. He’d actually managed to take a lead with a rather sweet sauternes which carried with it a delicate strawberry and cream taste, a clever choice. One he tried to follow up with a bit of port wine.

Unfortunately, that had been his downfall. Hardly his fault.

How should he know Stride didn’t favor the nuttier wines?

Running his tongue along his lips to clear off a lingering drop of wine, Stride considered its sweet, fruity taste. Mulled wine?

Not his usual flavor, but certainly good.

Mindful of the rules he’d already broken twice, albeit unintentionally, Stride held out his glass for one of his hosts to relieve him of, then awaited their command to open his eyes.

“Okay,” Seed said, a smile evident in his voice. “Now.”

Stride fixed him with an apologetic smile. “Point to Rose Petal,” he supplied softly, flicking an ear toward the victorious mare. “You couldn’t have known I’m not much of a nutty wine stallion. I barely eat them unless I’m at a pub.”

The stallion let his shoulders slump, his ears splaying against his wife’s smug grin and prancing. “Damn,” he muttered. Seed breathed a sigh and shook his head. “I should’ve gone back to the sweet ones with a kick, I’d been doing great.”

“Too much kick can be a bad thing.” Petal winked at Stride, adding, “I almost had him on my father’s old Zinfandel. I knew he’d preen for me if I gave him something fruity right then and there.” Here, her grin turned teasing. “Something sweet as the stallion drinking it.”

“I was thinking something warm for the way he colors, myself.”

At very least, they’d let him swallow before teasing. And hadn’t let him try to polish off the rest of a glass just before. That had been an experience. One he didn’t care to repeat.

Still, Stride couldn’t deny this was fun. A rather familiar sort of teasing and flirting, and he suffering it with an awkward smile and rustling of wings while he tried to look away to hide the color bleeding into his face. An effort in vain, of course, but part of the whole game.

A slight fuzzy feeling began to creep into his mind. He blinked thrice. Four glasses for tasting, two for his own enjoyment. Not the worst he’d ever had in terms of getting sauced, but wine had a way of sneaking up faster than Dammerale if consumed quickly enough.

Were those glasses properly filled, Stride might have been singing and dancing like a Merrier at this point.

“Well, the bad news is that we’re all tied up,” Seed mused. He eyed Stride a moment, the teasing edge in his smile fading for a moment, and left him with one a sight more genuine. “And we may need to slow you down anyway. So, I think this next will be the finale. For all the rose petals, as it were.”

Petal hummed her agreement. “Let this be our tiebreaker, then. If our dear Dammeguard friend is willing to suffer us another round, of course.”

Stride felt himself trip mentally over her wording. Had he not given his name? After all this time drinking, playing, and being teased?

Stars above, Rosethorn and Rosewine or not, there were proprieties to be observed!

He ducked his head in apology. “It’s, er, Stride, sir. And ma’am,” he said with a sheepish half-smile. “Primfeather Stride.”

The Rosethorn stallion’s brows raised. “Well, well, I’d thought so with the dappling, especially that shade of gray,” he mused. “A Primfeather, a Rosewine, and a Rosethorn.” Chuckling, Seed waggled his ears. “All we need now are a Rosewing and a couple Primlines and we can have a little cross-section of history right here before our table, no?”

“You, er, don’t mind?”

“You paid bits for your glass,” came Seed’s reply, followed by a gesture toward his markings. “And I’ve yet to hear a word toward my heritage or my wife’s pass your lips, save that of politeness and a openness to play a game. Should I just because you have dapples on your face rather than these cut markings?”

Stride couldn’t help but duck his head at that reply. When put like that, well, it seemed rather silly of him to even ask.

He dipped his ears in apology, the nervous rustle of his wings telling of his hope that he hadn’t offended with his presumption. “Well, er, thank you. I’m willing—to do the tiebreaker, I mean,” he explained, his laurel offered. “I’m only fuzzy, not fully gone yet.”

“Fuzzy is fine, but a good place to stop at an event like this,” Petal replied with a nod and small smile. “In any case, yes. I think I have mine quite in mind already, so if you’ll be so kind, Stride—“

She cut off and flicked a questioning look toward the Damme side of the room in the same instant a hoof hooked around Stride’s foreleg.

When Stride turned, he found himself face to face with his eldest brother and heir to the Primfeather house, Gale. “Excuse us,” he said without so much as sparing the Rose couple a glance, and drew Stride away from their table.

“Hey! Gale!” Stride squawked as his brother frogmarched him a few steps out of earshot. His feathers bristling, he jerked his hoof out of Gale’s grasp and fixed him with a glare. “Do you have any idea how rude that was? How bad that makes us look?”

Gale scoffed. “To Roses?” He flicked his tail and gave a derisive snort. “Like anypony here who matters cares how we look to them. Do you have any idea how stupid you look?”

“For what? Being polite? Partaking in a bit of a wine tasting game? Shock and horror abound!”

The eldest of the Primfeather siblings fixed Stride with a stern look. “You know exactly what I mean,” came his reply, his voice low so it was almost a warning growl. “Chatting up a Rosethorn is enough, stars forbid, but you’re telling them what you enjoy! Do you want the pair of them or some of their fellows—“ he waved his hoof wildly toward the opposite side of the ballroom “—to make a lure meant for you? One of their customized fragrances? If so, do carry on! I’m sure they’re picking out the components of the wine you’ve just sampled for one right now.”

“The entire bloody purpose of the Primrose Gala is to try to foster relations anyway!” Stride hissed back. “Not everypony is that—“ he flicked a look to Roseate, then back, quickly “—not everypony in Merrie falls in step with her anymore than everypony in Damme with you and dad!”

That drew a flinch, and a glare. 

It was no secret how the Primfeathers loathed their dying influence in Damme politics. The success of the Lace Reformations in the days before Roseate took power all but cemented their status, but modern times left small cracks in that faith.

Small, but present.

“Then you don’t pay attention,” Gale said, calling him back to present. “That mare, Rosewine Petal—she has lured—“

“Allegedly,” Stride cut him off with a stomp of his hoof. “She’s allegedly lured five Dammeguards, and two have returned to Damme saying otherwise. Free of any influence of lure.” He fixed Gale with a sickly smile. “It took a minute to recognize her on sight, but yes. I know the name and the list. Of the three of us brothers, I’m the only Dammeguard.”

Again, his comment drew a flinch. This time, one more abashed than pained by a shot at family pride.

Gale shook his head, turning away. “You’re a bloody fool.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Stride, and sighed, almost disappointed. “You were already fool enough to befriend that Rosewing, if you’re fool enough to chat up a wanted mare and a minor lord of a village of ponies who indiscriminately rut and drink themselves into a stupor, be my guest. Oh, and Stride?” His brow arched. “A Dammeguard should know just how much Roses love tempting ponies who shy from social life. Makes them easier to miss. Food for thought.”

With his piece said, Gale strode through the throng of Prim nobility, bound to return to his parents’ side like the dutiful son he was.

Leaving Stride to stand alone, bristling amidst a crowd of curious Prim nobles awaiting to see if there might be a furthering of hostilities. The evening had been rather dull, save Collar’s announcement. The second act should begin soon.

Just because Stride had a bit of trouble and stumbled over socializing didn’t mean he completely shied away—it just meant he picked his spots! He picked a nice, small circle.

Quite small.

Now that he thought about it, most of his circle were Dammeguards like himself. Not a whole lot of variety.

He shook himself. Gale was just digging at him. Needling him for not following Wing’s way to the letter.

Still, that comment about Seed being a lordling warranted some examination. After they finished their game.

Stride drew in a deep, calming breath and steeled himself. This was going to be awkward.

Stars help him when Rosemary’s freedom was negotiated and they could be friendly in a more public forum. This would be trouble enough.

He turned and did his best not to look to frazzled or nervous as he returned to the Rosewine Vineyards table, a sheepish smile worn plain upon his face. That fuzziness tickling the back of his mind died beneath the old familial embarrassment. “I cannot apologize enough for my brother,” he said with a little bow of his head. “It, er, seems he’s somehow forgotten himself and any sense of manners this evening.”

Seed, to his credit, cocked his head, his own smile similar in feeling. “You can’t choose family,” he murmured softly.

Petal turned to bump her nose against his shoulder, a comforting gesture. “If I judged ponies for their families’ idiocy, I’d never have married this lug,” she mused, flicking a look to Stride. “I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t seem too happy. Are you well?”

“As well as I can be, thanks.” She didn’t seem to be playing an angle. No more than she had while choosing wines for him to taste.

He flicked a glance at Seed, considering him. Collar had mentioned the Garden leadership wanted to meet him, to talk with him about that day on the bridge. 

Could these two really be the leaders of a village? A pair who would stop and play and tease a random pony at the Primrose Gala like this was one of their normal wine tastings?

“Perhaps we should return to happier things,” Petal offered, raising her brows. “The game still begs completion, if you feel up to it.”

It took an effort of will not to glance about to search out the eyes Stride felt upon them. Three sets, at least, belonged to his family. He could almost feel the scandal in his mother’s eyes, and the baleful glare in his father’s.

So he’d give them something to really enjoy.

Stride bobbed his head. “I’ve flown home in worse condition,” he replied.

It earned him a hum he just knew was one of disapproval, the sort one kept unvoiced, but made certain to ensure it was known. Still, Petal smiled genially and said, “Very well, one more round of our game.” A sly glint shown in her eyes, she looked to Seed and smirked. “Winner gets to first dance with our new friend?”

“Certainly. Stride, would you accept those terms?” Seed asked.

Already, Stride could envision the volcanic eruption in his father’s head the instant he accepted a dance with a Rose.

Such a shame he didn’t know more than four decent ones, counting these two, or he might think about filling his dance card for the night—think about it, not actually pull it off.

There were limits, even to fantastical notions of sticking it up Prim Wing’s ass.

He bobbed his head, then took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes.

A slight disturbance of air brushed across his face. Rose Seed testing to see if he was cheating, no doubt. An approving hum drew a flick of his ears, he could hear the stallion take a step closer and murmur something in Rose Petal’s ear, then a sharp intake of breath.

Stride cracked an eye, just to see the look upon her features. That coy, sultry smile had vanished, and in its place, the slightest glare. She whispered softly, her soft, luscious lips betraying an utterance of “that was my choice,” and Seed’s a merry grin which just screamed “I know!”

He squeezed his eye closed a mere instant before the pair glanced over and caught him looking. The telltale sound of tinkling bells, her magic joining in song with Rose Seed’s, was punctuated with that of the stopper plucked from the bottle, then joined with the trickle of wine.

Just a round or two, the pegasus told himself. That’s all he’d agreed to. If anything, he was just entertaining two lesser antagonists, one he couldn’t even recall from Lord Collar’s files.

Air shifted before his nose, the static energies of magic made his coat stand on end. Then, a warm snout brushing against his ear. “Your first,” Seed murmured softly. A hoof covered his eyes as he tried to open. “No cheating, Prim Stride,” he chided, amusement tingeing his voice. “Try.”

Stride felt the rim of the wine glass tease his lips. He let out a snort of laughter and took the glass in hoof, then tilted his head back to drink. A floral fragrance wafted to his nose first, familiar. A flower he knew, but couldn’t quite place. Light, sweet, and reminiscient of times spent flying around the garden parks of Damme.

A smile played upon his lips. He tipped the glass, drinking slower than the last so he could savor the taste, the sweet delights of floral nectar and traditional Rose wine made his feathers fluff. Cold, too. She’d chilled it.

A rosé of some sort, then. How fitting.

As the last drop rolled into his waiting mouth, he felt Rose Seed’s magic slide around the glass again. He released it without prompting to allow the stallion to hover it over to the mare for her selection.

Another chime of magic’s bells rang out, then the glass returned to his hoof.

“And there’s mine,” Rose Petal purred. “Enjoy.”

His tail swished. That tone and the scents of Rose wine enough to make a stallion’s mind wander. Prim Stride drank deeply, his breath hitching. This one came a bit stronger, headier, yet not so much as a red wine. A white, perhaps? There was a slight citrus taste to it, like orange blossoms in spring. His favorite flower.

How ever had she known?

When Stride finished, he drew the glass away and opened his eyes to find both Roses watching him expectantly.

“Well?” Petal prompted, laying her chin atop a hoof as she leaned over her table. Her eyes piercing his with a half-lidded gaze. “Which do you favor?”

They were both delicious. Both just perfect. Who could possibly choose one over the other?

The pegasus let his eyes fall to his glass a moment. “The easy answer is both,” he admitted with a weak laugh, trailing a primary along the rim. “But that doesn’t exactly match the game, does it?”

“Yes and no.” Seed touched the tip of his hoof to Stride’s chin and gently coaxed him to raise his head and meet those enchanting pink eyes once more. “If you like both or neither, we can offer others. If, as Petal says, you feel so bold.”

“I certainly hope so.” Petal turned her head, her tail swishing in concert like some hypnotic dance. Fittingly so. “He would make a wonderful wine taster. A virgin palate to nurture and test.”

Her words filled his cheeks with heat, and threatened to send it to the very tips of his ears. “I, er …” Stride’s wings rustled. “W-Well, that is, it’s not that I don’t favor one over the other, but they’re both delicious.”

“But,” she coaxed.

His ears burned. Stride’s eyes flitted between the pair once, then settled upon Rose Petal. “I heard you mention the first was going to be your choice as well. So, you were both right.” He turned to raise his glass at Rose Seed and raised his glass in nervous salute. “To the victor, as it were.”

Seed’s long, pink tail lashed in triumph. He retrieved the glass from Stride’s hoof with a warm smile, then turned his gaze upon a pouting Petal and said, “You heard the stallion, my dear. No hard feelings?”

She rolled her eyes, but returned his smile and leaned up toward him. “Only if you kiss me as sweetly as he speaks.”

“Now there is a challenge.”

Damme mores demanded Stride find something else to occupy his eyes while husband and wife kissed one another over the table before him, but lessons and teasing with Rosemary kept his focus somewhere in the general area. So he managed to return his attention to the many bottles lining the table, the colors and shapes all so gripping he felt almost like a foal in a candy shop.

Or perhaps that was the fuzzy feeling talking as it crept back into his head.

A stallion’s low chuckle drew his attention to Seed, now parted from that kiss shared with his wife. “Stars, such proper Dammer manners,” he teased with a waggle of his ears. 

“But open to play a little,” Petal mused. With a heavy, obviously feigned sigh, she waved Seed over to him. “Go have your dance before I decide to steal it, you sneak.” She leveled him with a glare. “You’re going to pay for that trick, by the by. That was dirty.”

Seed gave a sweeping bow and grinned like a fool. “A price I shall pay with joy.” He stole a quick nip to her nose, then danced out of reach before she could reply in kind, though not quite quickly enough to avoid a stinging spell across his backside. 

His grin never abated, though. Seed held out a hoof in offering to Stride and beamed. “May I have this dance, friend?” he asked warmly.

Somewhere, Stride was certain his mother was suffering the beginnings of illness.

Which meant it was time to kick her over the edge and straight into a heart attack.

He returned Seed’s smile with a shy half-smile of his own, and accepted the offered hoof. “Only if you don’t expect me to be good at this either,” came his reply.

Laughing, Seed squeezed his hoof, then turned to guide him toward the dance floor. “I’m quite certain,” the larger stallion said, “you’ll dance as well as you play. Perhaps as well as you sample wine, by the joy in my wife’s eyes.”





Dances of reunion in fiction tended to be splendorous, high-energy affairs, in Note’s many years of experience consuming art across the various mediums. Always in the middle of some big to-do, a pause from some old family feud or war, when the lovers just threw caution to the wind and danced before their seething parents.

Note, personally, felt the authors needed to actually experience a centuries-long war between feuding houses before they should write about such things. Better, let them experience the same pain Crown and he endured, loving and longing for one another from afar.

Right now, he felt content with this.

This private bit of rebellion as he held Crown around her waist, and she looping her hooves around his neck so she might bury her muzzle in his chest while they danced a slow, lazy amble, merely rocking one another with a simple foalish two-step as the first notes of music filtered through the spell he’d bound to the ballroom door. In this, Note found joy.

Joy shared by his love, by the smile he felt pressing against his collar, the way she trailed her snout up his neck and kissed his chin.

Stars, this was perfect. Note almost wanted to cry.

But he corrected himself. It wasn’t quite so. Almost.

At least two more ponies should be there for him to call it a truly perfect night, but they would be. Soon.

Close enough for now. Note rested his chin atop Crown’s head and murmured, “You’re perfect.”

Crown tightened her embrace. “Flatterer,” she murmured into his neck, hiding her smile. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll think you mean to disappoint us tonight.” The mare let the notion, and its consequences, simmer for a moment before she hummed and kissed him again. “Or that you’re hiding something.”

“Says the Rosethorn to the Primline.”

“Says a Rosethorn to her lover.”

She drew back to fix him with a knowing look, her lips curving into one of her teasing smirks which promised to find answers one way or another. 

The blasted mare even let him mull it and shiver in the midst of their dance.

“Mm, definitely hiding something.” Her eyes dancing, she leaned up to press her nose against his. “What secrets are you keeping from me, my dear?”

Immediately, both his surprise and the story vexing him so leapt to the forefront of his mind. A lapse betrayed by the slightest ticking of his ears, all the would need to know if he tried to hedge or pretend otherwise, to take hold of them in spell or mouth and tease until he danced on his hooves and sang his secrets to her.

And yes, she would insist that he sing. She had when he’d tried to keep her birthday present under wraps.

Licking his lips, Note glanced toward one of the shelves to escape her gaze. “I-I may have set up a bit of something for a surprise tonight. For all of us.” He noticed her fixing him with a prompting look, he ducked his head, adding, “Please. It won’t require any detour. Although—“ he glanced down at his scarf, and offered a sad smile “—I’d like to put this in my home before we go, rather than chance bridge inspection.”

Her ear flicked, a concession. Bridge inspection might take issue with Note carrying a scarf obviously touched by scent magic, even if benign. And if he spoke of who’d given it to him …

Well, that would be the last he’d ever see of that scarf.

Note tried to pretend he didn’t notice the hurt in how her ears dipped. Though she would agree, though their secrecy was in no small part her necessity, it was well within the culture of Merrie and the heritage of the Rosethorns to let all know that a pony or several were theirs—friends, lovers, or mated, sharing in the kaleidoscopic love preached by Rosethorn the Wise in his words and writings.

So he drew her in close, turning her head so she laid it against his chest, and dared to nuzzle her ear before whispering, “I may also have finally started on another project.”

Crown sucked in a sharp breath, her ears twitching. The Rosethorn mare fixed him with a triumphant look and said, “I knew you were up to something in the park!”

“It’s been giving me a bit of trouble, so I came out to see if fresh air might help spur something along.” He held up a hoof, already anticipating her next question. “It’s still in planning.”

She hummed. “I’ll expect more detail than that, once we’re in my Librarium.”

“Oh, come now! Let me have some mystery before I’m interrogated!”

“We shall see.” Her brows raised just slightly, then her tail in a tell of an idea which filled her with joy. “Perhaps I might be persuaded if you show me how well you truly dance.” This time, it was her turn to hold up a hoof to forestall his reply. “Not here, my dear. Not here.”

Confused, Note tilted his head, a gesture he’d picked up from her. 

Crown hummed her joy and lit her horn, her magic tugged at the beautiful scarf she’d procured for him, sliding it free from his neck and brought the fine pen case she’d been gifted up to bare. “Hold these in your pocket, my dear,” she ordered, wrapping the case in the scarf. “With the cowing my mother has received thanks to my eldest sister, our Lord Collar, and Knight Firelight Spark, I find myself in a position favorable for a small measure of rebellion.”

“Er …” Note’s ears slicked back. Stealing across the bridges to the Librarium, certainly, had gone into his calculations. But if she was referring to something else … “What sort of rebellion did you have in mind?”

She slid her muzzle along his cheek, her markings brushing against his cheekbone in an old gesture of Rosethorn affection before she whispered in his ear, “Let’s take down these aural shields, and you cancel that little spell you left in the ballroom. You and I will rejoin the gala and dance.”





“I, er, really should tell you,” the pegasus stammered in a way so reminiscent of Dazzle. Stars, if not for his dappling, Seed would say they could have been relatives.

“Tell me what?” Seed asked.

Stride’s eyes flitted between his forehooves clasped with Seed’s, and then their hind hooves touching the ground. His wings gave a nervous rustle. “I’ve not danced like this much. Upright on two legs,” he clarified. “The few I know best are more traditional pegasus dances.”

Humming, Seed let his thoughts turn to a few such dances he’d had the pleasure of witnessing. Several were private, all for the Garden, led by Rosie Bliss and a few friends from the contingent of weather patrol who worked the skies around the Garden and western Merrie districts. There was most certainly an allure to those dances, their use of wing and feather to tease and hide, and their sleek bodies as much enticements as the fragrances gracing them.

In present time, he smiled and squeezed Stride’s hooves. “Well,” he murmured softly. “If I had wings, I’d be happy to share in those dances with you—one of Dammer style, and perhaps one of Merrier, if you could be so tempted.”

The color returned to Stride’s cheeks in full force. Better still, those stormy gray dapples darkened, like the wildest of storms, rolling in black as night and warning of its terrible winds and lightning. 

Aha, so you’ve seen a few of those, have you? Or perhaps you’ve heard tales? His smile blossomed into a grin. Seed chuckled. “But since I have none, I’ll ask that you trust me to lead.”

Stride swallowed. “Like the sampling game?” he asked.

“Exactly.” Seed cupped the smaller stallion’s chin with a touch of magic. “But this time, eye contact. No looking down at our hooves. Trust between partners, in love, life, and dance.”

Those gray-blue ears twitched. Stride blinked, starting for a second before he caught himself and nodded. Recognition, perhaps? Interesting.

That was drawn from Rosethorn’s writings. Where would he have picked that one up?

What a curious stallion this was.

As the first notes of a familiar waltz floated to Seed’s ears, he picked up the rhythm and guided Stride into a basic step, mindful of his lack of experience. Dancing, while more Rosemary or Aunt Rosewater’s cup of tea, had been a bit of a side hobby. It let him get closer to his loves and friends, and hold them tight in these times while showing their bond in a more artistic manner.

It also gave him a chance to keep newcomers near and read their eyes.

Seed gazed into those stormy gray eyes, curious. This was him, was it? 

This was their stallion?

To his credit, Stride did try his damndest to maintain eye contact, his gaze only faltering during the earliest steps while he tried to figure out where his hooves needed to go so they didn’t cross or trip Seed. And each time he did, Seed gave him a little squeeze and a smile.

He was trying.

And more, when Seed did remind him like that, Stride took a half-second to search him for disapproval or disappointment, and returned the smile when he did.

Stars, a Primfeather dancing sincerely with a Rosethorn. Would wonders never case?

To say this one didn’t act like most Primfeathers would have been the understatement of a lifetime. Ignoring the crowd from the pub, Seed knew Primfeather Gale well enough to know what a … charming individual he could be. His tact, somehow, managed to be better than his other brother, Gust, or their father.

His curiosity piqued, Seed asked, “Gale is a cousin of yours?”

“I … wish he was only that.” Again, Stride’s gaze fell, this time, lingering upon Seed’s breast. Right where he must have known the Rosethorn heart marking to rest. “My eldest brother.”

Seed’s brows raised. Surprising indeed. “You seemed quite put out with him.”

“He was being rude. And throwing accusations.”

“Ah, no need to be vague. I can guess which.” He offered a comforting squeeze, murmuring, “Toward my wife? Claiming our Dammeguard loves were lured?”

The way those ears slicked back confirmed it.

Well, that certainly put a downer on things. They couldn’t even escape those whispers.

Practice had the explanation on the tip of his tongue, but his dance partner beat him and surprised him once more.

“I know they’re just allegations,” Stride said. His voice, the setting of his ears told of irritation. Not with Seed, but with Gale. “I know the two who didn’t stay in the Garden testified that they weren’t lured, and Lord Collar would remind me that allegations are not grounds for criminal charges without proof if I went to him claiming the same.”

You remind me of a mix of Dazzle and Note. The former’s nerves, the latter’s sentiment. But Seed wanted a little more. “And how do you feel about it?”

Here, Stride flicked a dark look toward the corner where the Primfeathers and their like held serf. “I think civilian lords and ladies need to stop complicating things more than they are.” He sniffed and returned his attention to Seed, meeting his eyes again. “Or we’ll go back another hundred years and keep going forever.”

Seed threw back his head and laughed. Blunt as a kick to the face, and full of that fire typical of pegasus ire.

Over Stride’s head, he saw Petal watching him with interest a few steps off the dance floor. She dipped an ear in askance that her turn might begin.

He returned the gesture in kind and leaned in to whisper in Stride’s ear, “How’s your balance?”

“Er.” Stride blinked and ticked his ears in question. “Getting a bit better. Why?”

Petal was in position and ready to catch him, her legs already tensed to rear up.

Perfect. “Just checking. Keep your back straight and get ready to turn quickly in three, two, now!”

Seed pushed Stride out and held just long enough to make him spin with momentum, the startled pegasus let out a yelp and took a hesitant step forward, right into Petal’s waiting hooves. She beamed and muttered something under her breath to him, no doubt a comment on Seed being a terrible brat or something of the like, and guided him along the steps again.

It granted him a chance to steal a quick look to Rosewater and Collar while they chatted together, raising his brow once he’d caught his aunt’s eye. The scent matched—orange blossoms and rainwater, applied with just the right touch, like somepony had taught him not to drown himself in a fragrance. He ticked an ear and tilted his head just slightly toward the dancing pair, his question plain:

This is really him? This isn’t a substitute?

Rosewater simply flicked a look to Collar and let him meet Seed’s gaze with the slightest inclining of his head, and then sort of minute salute with a bowl of pretzels he’d procured from stars-knew-where.

Yes. 

And then they returned to their conversation like nothing happened, and Seed moved off the dance floor so he didn’t make it too obvious.

He lingered near the edge, close enough to the table that he might move in case somepony came by for another glass, and watched. And imagined Stride dressed in black armor and helm rather than his dark silver jacket, those wings curled in diving position.

Those stormy gray eyes focused and determined.

For a fleeting moment, Petal and Stride turned, and Seed noticed, despite the pegasus’s nervous smile, his eyes held that gaze again. Determined not to trip or stumble, and focused on hers. Not quite so intense but …

Seed’s breath hitched. Stars above, they had their rescuer.

Now it was on him to keep things quiet in the village until Collar, Rosewater, and he could ensure Stride’s safety, and Stride himself be deemed in the right state.

A few ideas flitted through his mind as the last notes of the song faded beneath a low rumble of stomping applause. Seed nodded to himself, and poured three more glasses of Caronation, the very wine which won him that first dance. The best thing was to coax him off to the side for a talk, and do things gently.

The faces of Dazzle, Prism, and Tremor floated through his mind, each had needed that same touch.

He turned just in time to greet a returning Petal and Stride, the mare smiling brightly in fine compliment to the blush returning to his cheeks.

“Tell him, Seed!” Petal said, bumping hips with Stride. “This silly boy says he feels clumsy on two hooves—this stallion is a dancer, through and through with how quickly he caught the uptake!”

Stride ducked his head low, but he couldn’t hide the smile her flattery earned. “It still feels weird,” he said with laughter tinging his voice, and his wings twitching like he wanted to cover his face. This, apparently, had been a topic of conversation already. This flattery, something he was yet unused to. “Like I’m about to fall forward and knock you over each time I step.”

“It takes practice!” Another hip bump followed, this time coupled with a playful flick of her tail against his ankle. “Perhaps I’ll teach you, if you’re interested and willing. I’d love to see you dance in both styles at one of our wine tastings.”

He blinked and stood up straight. “Like … an actual, official wine tasting?”

Petal’s lips twitched. She’d caught on to reading him as well. “At Rosewine Vineyards, the vineyard house atop Rosewine Hill.”

“I’ve, er, heard of those from a friend. Er, a friend born of Merrie,” he hastened to clarify. 

“Oh? And what have you heard?”

Stride licked his lips, the slight rustling in his wings telling that it was one born of nerves. “That they tend to be rather …” He turned his gaze toward the ceiling in search of the right wording. “She claimed invites tend to be rather hard to come by. And that they’re big—like, important ponies show up quite often.”

She told you about the orgies, Seed surmised. His brows raised. And that makes you a little uncomfortable, doesn’t it? 

But not disgusted.

He’d have to find this Merrier friend and thank her. She’d clearly tended to him with gentle hooves and understanding on what foal rearing he’d undergone.

A bottle might have to find its way to her doorstep, somehow.

Humming to himself, Seed offered a glass to each of them. “I know we mentioned slowing you down a little, but after indulging us like that, I think you’re allowed one more.” He winked, adding, “But I’ll expect more dancing out of you at a tasting. Pegasus and two-leg style.”

To his credit, Stride didn’t say no.

But the poor boy’s cheeks turned such a vibrant shade of red they could have rivaled the markings on Aunt Rosewater’s face.

Oh, the Garden would just love to get a look at him, hero or not.





Seed and Petal definitely didn’t seem like good-for-nothing ponies who just wantonly drank and rutted whenever they pleased.

So, Stride could pretty happily say Gale could go get stuffed, but there were still a few questions lingering thanks to his brother’s words.

Petal certainly was the heiress of Rosewine Vineyard—it took a bit of time to rack his brain, but the name had come to him, and he knew it from those very reports and lists Gale waved before him. In a figurative sense. If nothing else, she’d have pull with the village by virtue of her vineyard bankrolling the place.

But from his lessons, Stride could definitely recall that the Garden was under Rosethorn control. Granted, not Rosethorn control via Roseate and her daughters—a small mercy, there—but still.

How did that work? A Rosewine controls the vineyard but the Rosethorns control the village?

Seed was … well. Seed reminded him a lot of Rosemary. He teased and flirted a little, but his smiles were genuine and warm, and his want for friendship the same.

It was in his eyes. His eyes and actions, more so than mere words.

Just like hers.

That, Stride could live with. Even if it meant he’d be in danger of further mischief—this flavor was just fine. Good, even.

Though, admittedly, rivaled by this vintage they kept giving him. Sweet, floral, and fragrant.

Stars, did Petal even need scent magic when she had a vintage like this?

He’d just finished his glass and cajoled them to join him in having some fruity fizz, a Dammer’s drink, rather sweet and pleasant, and more something to enjoy chilled and when one wanted to stay sober, when Stride noticed the pair drifting toward the far end of the ballroom. Toward the open door leading out to the balcony which overlooked Baron Dapper’s garden.

They caught his eye and held him in their gaze for a moment. Then, Petal glanced to the door, then back at him and smiled. She gave a little tick of her head toward the door, and headed off with her husband.

Did they want to talk outside?

Well, it was a little crowded. And it had gotten a bit hot, what with more dancers joining in after their little show.

The pegasus took a sip of his apple fizz and followed after them, weaving through the clusters of ponies moving to and fro, around those gossiping with one another or shooting looks across the ballroom, some baleful, others curious. Technically, Stride had already finished Collar’s challenge. He could walk right over now and tell him, and go back to his corner if he wished.

These Merriers—Gardeners, he corrected himself. These Gardeners seemed fun to talk with, though. 

Rosemary would titter and usher him to follow, and Cloudy would probably swipe a wing upside his head and tell him to get his tail moving before she beat him senseless with his own wing, or something of the like. She’d grin through every word though.

And he’d end up owing her a round, somehow.

What the hay? he decided with a shrug of his wings. I’ve got two Merrier friends, two more can only make my life more fun and interesting.

Once Stride felt the cool touch of a late autumn night’s breeze across his face and tickling his feathers, he took a moment to sigh and savor it.

Winter wasn’t his favorite season, for it did rob him of the chance to see his beloved orange blossoms, carnations, and bluebells, but he loved it all the same. Something about the air thinning like the higher altitudes just made him feel right at home.

Quite the opposite, though, for his unicorn friends.

“Well, don’t you seem happy as a kitten in a basket of yarn,” Seed teased as he wrapped a warming charm around Petal and himself. The slight stomping of his wife’s hooves betrayed her sensitivity to the changing weather. “Stars! This winter’s gonna be a cold one. Time to break out the thick scarves and blankets, no?”

Despite himself, Stride couldn’t resist. “I wouldn’t know. Pegasi love the cold.”

That earned him a pair of looks, both a mix of humor and ire, and both promising he’d get his comeuppance for that little show of cheek.

He wisely hid a smile behind a sip of apple fizz.

Shaking her head, Petal beckoned him closer. “Come, join us and let me steal a bit of warmth from your presence as repayment for your teasing.”

The slightest hint of a shiver remnant in her knees halted any retort or thought of denial. Were they more familiar, he might offer a wing, but …

Stride did as asked, sidling up so he was on Petal’s side opposite Seed, though he avoided brushing shoulder or hip against her. Closeness was acceptable, as long as personal space was respected. In this case, a quarter of a tail’s length would do.

It earned him a grateful smile and slight bowing of her head. Petal hummed, watching her breath spiral skyward like a silver serpent climbing the night air. “It’ll soon be time for us to start pulling out the tarps and tie downs for the vines,” she mused aloud.

“And I’ll need to have everypony check the windows on the greenhouses for cracks and loose panes.” Seed pulled a face. “I tell you, Stride, I do love my village and my greenhouses, but the work just piles up!”

Stride thought back to their table, laden with bottles of fine vintages. “It must make you happy, then,” he said.

The larger stallion turned to fix him with a sideways glance. He sipped at his drink, a sweet strawberry fizz, and arched his brow in prompting.

“It’s just … you wouldn’t really do it if it was that much work and it didn’t make you happy, right?”

“It depends. I might.” Seed shrugged. “But I certainly don’t think I’d be as successful. Pet?”

“Seconded in that regard, and you’re right, of course. I love it.” She laughed and shook her head. “Even if it sometimes feels like the vines don’t love me back when an experimental vintage yields poor results.”

Blinking, Stride glanced back toward the door. “You have vintages that fail? I’m not sure I believe that with the way your wines tasted tonight.”

He hadn’t meant it as humor, but the couple took a look at one another and burst out in laughter. 

Seed threw a hoof across his eyes to wipe away a tear. “Oh, Stride, my friend, believe me when I say those experiments don’t see the light of day once they fail. Petal disposes of them quite thoroughly to ensure they never reach another’s lips if they fail to pass our test.”

“My vineyard has a reputation,” Petal added in chiding. “Stars, when Cookie makes comment on how dry a wine is, I don’t need any prompting to tell me it’s time to scrap it!”

“Er.” Stride wasn’t sure how to ask. “Cookie is …”

“A lover of ours,” came her answer. “Her palate is … charitably, rather easy to satisfy.”

“Which is my wife’s way of saying Cookie will drink anything you put in front of her,” Seed quipped. “Even Primyard and—ow!”

Stride wisely pretended he didn’t notice the shimmering green glow pinching and twisting Seed’s ears, and diverted his interest toward his apple fizz. Their banter, their teasing was theirs. As he was learning through Cloudy and Rosemary, this was but one of many ways Merriers shared their love.

And, apparently, how Gardeners did so as well. Since they distinguished themselves, he would try to do the same.

Still, there was a part of Gale’s claims that nagged at the back of his mind. He’d called Seed a minor lord—one of a village which drank and rutted indiscriminately, but that didn’t matter quite as much.

The minor lord of the village.

Questions gnawed at him. Stride licked his lips, and downed the last bit of his drink before he managed to find his voice. “There’s, um, something I should ask.” He cursed himself. That already sounded so wrong.

But Seed didn’t notice, or he had the grace to grant him a misstep. “What might that be?” he asked in kind.

How best to word it without sounding accusatory?

Maybe he could just avoid mention of Gale’s name entirely. That’d work.

“The, er, vineyard. It’s a big part of the Garden—I don’t know a lot, but I know that much.” Stride flitted a look between the pair. “And if Petal runs the vineyard, doesn’t that make the two of you kind of important to the village?”

Petal laughed softly. Without a hint of hesitation or hedging, she said, “I suppose it is a bit rude of us not to introduce ourselves more formally in this setting.” The mare tipped her glass to her husband. “Go on, darling. Proprieties.”

Pulling a face, Seed gave a slight roll of his eyes.

Then, he turned and bowed his head to Stride and said, “Rosethorn Seed, Lord of the Garden of Love, at your service, sir.”

“And Rosewine Petal,” she greeted, offering her hoof to the pegasus. “Heiress on the Hill.” At his blank look, she laughed again. “It’s a ceremonial title. It means I inherited Rosewine Vineyards, dear.”

“O-Oh!” He started, then remembered himself and took her hoof in his so he could brush his lips against her ankle like a proper Dammer. “Thanks. I didn’t realize—er.” Stride released her hoof, bowing his head. “Lance Corporal Primfeather Stride, Dammeguard.”

Seed gave another bow in kind, surprising him. “To your service,” he said, saluting him with his glass. The stallion made as though to say more, but seemed to think twice on it. Then, he added, “Always a pleasure to meet somepony called to serve and protect their ponies and home.”

That hadn’t quite seemed right.

Not that his words were insincere—no, they seemed so. While Stride didn’t have near the talent of reading ponies as some like, say, Collar or Cloudy, he’d hung around enough to notice little things.

Odd.

A part of him wanted to press on that and see what came of it. But niceties dictated Stride avoid it.

He’d hate to make an ass of himself, like Gale so publicly had done.

So, calling upon the example of Cloudy Rose and her teasings, he offered perhaps the weakest playful smile he’d ever given and asked, “Honoring a soldier of a rival city is a bit odd to do, isn’t it?”

Then he yelped and leapt to flee the sting of a fuchsia tendril pinching his ear.

“Three of our loves are former Dammeguard, my friend,” Seed chided gently. In his eyes, a hint of amusement shone, but not enough to spare Stride that disciplining. “And I have friends in the Merrieguard. I respect those who answer the call to protect their own, even if I might not agree with the reasonings one or both sides have for certain actions of late.”

The raids then.

That made sense. Collar had made a point of mentioning the Garden as a place of commerce—and a lot of it! So, rather than look at them as the lord and businessmare backing possible enemies in their home, focus on that.

Them as business ponies. 

“Not exactly good business, is it?” he asked. “For business ponies on either side of the river.”

Here, Seed winked. “I, of course, couldn’t say either way,” the larger stallion sang.

“I will.” Petal huffed. “It’s rutting terrible. Stars bless the foreign trade, for they have enriched us and pulled my snowy tail out of a bitch of a fire.”

Relief filled Stride’s chest. It had been the right play.

Good.

Seed set his hoof between Petal’s shoulders and began rubbing small, soothing circles. “I can’t lie, my Garden would likely be blooming brighter and grander were this war over. But, alas, the price of neutrality from this war was my ancestor surrendering her claim to the throne.” He shrugged, adding, “But I’d make a poor Baron for Merrie anyway, so, perhaps that’s for the best.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, heavens yes. I prefer sleeping in and it would take far too much time away from my tending to greenhouses. I’d probably abdicate in a week.”

“Little ambition to rule in this one,” Petal supplied when she noticed the wry look on Stride’s face. “As you say, business and commerce are our forum.” She shared a look with Seed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. “Perhaps you’ll visit someday and see the fruits of our efforts.”

Stride felt his feathers bristling. “Er … Um …”

Crossing the Merrie River. Stars, befriending and chatting was one thing, but crossing into Merrie territory, where scent magic and luring were quite legal, was a reach.

The pair noticed his apprehension.

Seed held up a hoof. “Why don’t we do lunch in Damme sometime? We have a couple days free before the commerce day on Primrose Bridge.”

“If you get off your duff and get work done at a reasonable hour,” Petal groused with a roll of her eyes. To Stride, she said, “But I would like to enjoy lunch with a new friend. If he’s not otherwise engaged.”

Already, Stride could imagine his parents’ reactions. Stars, that would be worse than his leaving Primfeather Villa if he were seen associating freely with Roses.

But so too could he picture Collar nudging him to say yes, that he had minimal duties these days. Light duties, after the bridge.

Oh. And Cloudy would call him a lunkhead and find the back of his head with wing or hoof if he begged off spending time with new friends.

And they did seem to think him a friend already, and were friendly enough …

“I … am on a bit of a lighter schedule lately,” Stride found himself saying. “Depending on the time and day, but I’d be happy to, er, meet up.” He caught a hint of a prompting look, and hastened to add, “Er. Prim Tap and Lager’s is a pub that has a good menu. It’s a bit pricy, but I can—“

Seed held up a hoof. “I won’t hear of price. Money is of little object to us.” Beaming, he set his glass on the balcony. “Then it’s settled. We’ll send a runner tomorrow so we can all look over our schedules. Without the nice tingle of wine buzz playing games with memory.”

A rosy hue filled Stride’s cheeks. He ducked his head, ears flat, and nodded shyly.

A meal in broad daylight wouldn’t hurt anypony.
> 14. First Impressions
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though he hadn’t exactly accepted any sort of guest of honor status, certain niceties should still be observed.

Since Collar had been kind enough to invite him—though, admittedly, he did it to make a point—Stride felt it prudent to request his leave to quit the gala and head home. He even had the perfect out.

Tomorrow, his day began on shift. Which meant Rosemary would expect him to be awake, aware, and eager to share everything he’d experienced at the gala in her absence.

And there might be a surprise debate. She was ever-wont to spring one upon him when he least expected.

It was how she ensured her lessons were sinking in, and that he internalized what she prodded him to read and argue.

Unfortunately, that want to be polite and let his host know that he needed to leave was where Stride ran into a bit of a problem. Asking Collar, right now, meant venturing out on the dance floor and interrupting his dance. Not terribly rude, but …

Well.

His dance partner just so happened to be Lady Rosewater Rosethorn.

Stride swallowed his nerves as best he could and made his approach, carefully avoiding and dancing out of the way of couples and trios—the latter from the Rose contingent, of course—twirling with one another on his path. Once or twice, he again felt the tease of feather and shoulder against his side or flank, coupled with an inviting smile and a wink.

The pegasus stopped two tail lengths from the dancing pair, and stood to attention. “L-Lord Collar?” he called.

Collar broke eye contact with Rosewater and turned to greet Stride with a smile. “Ah, hello again, Strides,” he said, halting in mid-step, though not fully parting from her. “Have you enjoyed the evening so far?”

Stride bobbed his head. “Yes, my lord. The wine and dances were, um, nice. And the company interesting.” He licked his lips, nerves made his ears itch to lower in her presence. “I was, er, meaning to request leave to go home for the night. Since you invited me …”

To his surprise, Rosewater gave a short laugh. Not cold and lustful as the rumors said she always gave while enthralling.

Her laugh was husky and warm, and the smile she wore when she flicked an amused look first at Stride and then back at Collar seemed genuine.

“Bedtime for good little Dammeguards, my lord?” Rosewater teased. She inclined her head just slightly, her eyes fluttering in that subtle tell of a Rosethorn scenting another pony. “I should think him old enough to stay out a little later, by the fragrance of dear Petal’s lovely wines on his breath.”

Stride jolted. On his breath? Stars, was it that strong?

Laughing, Collar fixed her with a look of mock chiding. “Now, now, my lady. Stride is just being prudent since he’s expected at the palace for morning guard duties. He’s young, but he performs them well and understands the value of a pony’s wellbeing over the circumstances of birth.” His brows raising, he added, “And I’m sure he’d like to have his wits about him when minding his charge on the morrow.”

The slight ticking of her ears showed her understanding.

“Ah, I see.” Rosewater turned her smile upon Stride again for a moment, her markings dimpling so like Rosemary’s would. “Then let there be no mistake that no offense is taken by me with his leaving us, my lord.” A hint of playful mischief shone in her eyes. “Grant him leave, that we may continue our engagement. I have yet finished with you, Lord of Damme.”

Collar’s ears twitched at her wording. He hummed, his smile amused, and returned his attention to the task at hoof. Or rather, the one holding him in her hooves.

Though he didn’t let Stride off without a parting comment, “Have a good night and a safe walk home, Strides. I’ll expect a summation of your fulfilling my little challenge when we meet tomorrow.”

With that, his agenda had been set. His morning would belong to Collar and Rosemary.

Stride gave a respectful dip of his ears and touched a hoof to his chest in salute, then turned and made as though to start for the door. But a thought nagged at him.

Had he bade Seed and Petal goodnight and thanked them for their company?

He stopped with a hoof raised to take that first step, and turned to find them chatting with the few remaining ponies taking a break from the dance. A smile tugged at his lips as he wondered for a moment how many bottles Petal even had left.

Hopefully just enough to last the night. If more of his fellow Prims hadn’t sampled a glass, they’d missed out on a great chance.

Their loss.

Stride took a deep breath and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. It was probably time for a cut soon, stars knew he’d endure Coat and Cut descending upon him if he dallied again. Satisfied that he didn’t look entirely like he’d come out of a windstorm, Stride wove his way back through the crowd until he reached their table again.

He only had to wait a moment before Petal noticed.

“Just wanted to come by and say goodbye,” Stride said, offering a little wave. “I’ve got shift in the morning, so, can’t stay out too late.”

“Oh, of course!” Laughing, Petal gave a little dip of her ears. “You’re fit to walk home?”

“I should be fine. It’s only a little bit of a fuzzy feeling now. Lord Collar certainly wouldn’t let me go without an escort to see me there if I weren’t.”

Her shoulders seemed to relax. “That heartens me to hear. In that case.” She drew in and hugged him, then kissed him on either cheek in a typical Merrier’s greeting and farewell. “Goodnight, and thank you for enduring our games and talk. It was a pleasure.”

Stride did his best to ignore the hint of a blush coloring his cheeks as he stammered his agreement, then turned to exchange pleasantries with Seed.

He was no more ready for the kisses Seed planted on either cheek than he was Petal’s.

Stars curse him, these Roses were going to permanently make his face the same crimson as the Rosethorn house banner!





The bottles had been set aside from the moment they’d arrived. As soon as Note’s letter arrived by runner and Seed read his request to Petal and mentioned his relationship with Dazzle, his darling wife had made it her mission to ensure her selections would make this reunion nothing short of romantic. Her sentiment was, of course, much the same as his.

So two bottles of her finest rested in a fine carrying box made of cedar, along with a few glasses tucked into a section with soft cushions. Just in case.

Though, as Seed let his gaze sweep out over the dance floor and linger on the pair he’d noticed at the start of the evening’s festivities, he knew for certain there never had been a need for the extra effort.

Rose Crown, of course, had them in supply. From the same maker Petal used for her tastings, too.

Stars, did Seed so love being right.

Humming to himself, the Rosethorn stallion set about helping Petal tear down their display. One of the Dammeguard who’d been granted a duty reprieve so they might join the dance for a spell had returned with a jubilant grin and merry laughter as he and his fellows brought trash bins for the vendors, along with an offer of help packing whatever they needed to carry home.

The benefit of Rosewine Vineyards taste and reputation, really, was that they never seemed to have much in the way of stock to bring back. Chillers, stands, the branded table dressing, and money, on the other hoof …

Never let it be said that the son of Budding Rose would complain that he was laden with coin.

Across the ballroom, Crown and Note’s dance had slowed to a familiar two-step—tired, almost that of a pair of shy teens, but telling of a want to keep dancing despite aching hooves and late night weariness.

Thank the stars Roseate had excused herself to stomp her petulant self home, after yet another string of losses and embarrassments. Oh, that kiss Collar had sprung upon Rosewater had been a shock to most, and the look on Roseate’s face afterward had been but a close second to that of his dear auntie.

She would deny it later. She would claim it mere surprise, but he knew her tells better than most.

Her snowy coat had flushed a deep red, and her ears betrayed no shortage of joy before fear caught her by the neck and spoiled the moment. But it had been there.

And in his eyes as well.

Thank the stars Roseate had left, for she couldn’t spoil the idle conversation they now made with the Primlines, nor the loving dance of Crown and Note or Silk chattering away with a Dammer merchant whose name escaped him right now. Damn his fleeting memory.

The dancers came to a halt as the band let the last notes of their song echo throughout the room. They rose as one, none Merrier or Dammer tonight, and bowed to their rightly earned applause, then turned to shake hooves and share praise with one another.

Tonight, they were just musicians. Tomorrow, who knew? Perhaps still just musicians to one another, from different cultures and schools of playing.

But tonight, they had joined as one in song, and become something truly beautiful.

“We did bring a bottle just for the musicians, right?” he whispered in Petal’s ear.

She smiled. “I’ve got it hidden by our special order. Otherwise, I’d have to beat ponies away with a chiller to avoid their cajoling.”

“Ah good. Best bring it out, lovely.” Seed caught the eye of Rose Melody, a cousin of his through his mother’s brother, and beckoned she bring her fellows with a flick of his ear.

She bobbed her head and grinned, then turned to extend the invitation to the rest.

“It’s about time to pay tribute to our performers.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Crown and Note part at last and shared a fleeting embrace. The Primline stallion muttered something in her ear which made her draw back and fix him with a surprised, searching look.

From her lips, Seed read a playful chiding, “More tricks and surprises? What else have you planned?”

Note merely smiled and turned to trot toward Seed, letting her stew a bit.

Such a shame he missed the look she aimed at his back as he left her side. A look every Rosethorn’s lover knew meant a night of delight.

I knew I liked you for a reason.

“Enjoying the gala?” Seed asked as his friend drew near, his smile coy. “Certainly the company.”

Note couldn’t hide his smile. “Yes to both,” came his reply. His cheeks were flushed, whether from the heat of dance or knowing his dance partner enough to realize whose eyes made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, Seed couldn’t say. “I see your table is quite cleared. A good night for you as well, I hope?”

“Socially and in business, it was excellent—oh, Petal! Come, come! You must meet this one!” Seed held out his hoof as if to summon her to his side, and, indeed, when she did, he drew her into a loose embrace. “Petal, my love, meet Prim Note, our Dazzle’s old partner. Note, my lovely wife and prodigal vintner, Rose Petal.”

“A mare who needs no introduction.” Note dipped his ears to her. “I’ve sampled some of your seasonal cabernets at the artists’ meetings hosted between our cities, and I’ve never been left wanting.”

Oh, what a flatterer he was! In mere seconds, he’d managed to put a bit of fluster in Petal’s cheeks, and get her tail to hike just enough to betray her delight.

So you flatter as well as your novels are said to be written. Stars, I might have to steal one from Petal’s shelves to see for myself.

Petal recovered, rallying well. “I’m always grateful to hear that a pony enjoys my wines.” She eyed him a moment, then her blush returned. “I’ve, ah, enjoyed a glass while reading a few of your works. The way you capture feeling and emotion is beautiful, and the care you take in describing characters more in line with our Principes has made you, well, a favorite in our reading circles.”

The stallion blinked, surprised. “Is that so? I’m glad to hear. It’s always reassuring, I’ve often fretted those depictions …” He coughed into his hoof. “I was, er … the letter I sent. I was wondering if I might …”

Romantic, but nervous. Primmish.

Seed called to mind Crown’s regular lovers, Crisp Corner and Gilded Page. The three must have thought him a treat, if they’d had the chance to be with him in more intimate, private settings.

That shifting in his stance coupled with the ticking of his ears told the tale—Note had some hint of that already.

If he didn’t know how Crown favored Rosewine Vineyards’ wines, he’d soon learn. The lucky boy.

Petal guided the wine box to rest upon the table with a deft touch of magic. “I made the selections myself,” she said. With a wink, she added, “With some consultation from Dazzle. He sends his love.”

“And,” Seed interjected, raising his brows in prompting, “his hope that one day you might take my invitation to visit.”

Note ducked his head, smiling to himself. “I … I will see if I can make arrangements with work. Thank you.” He looped a band of shimmering pewter around the box handle. With another, he set a generous stack of bits before them. “For this. And for caring for and loving him. Dazzle deserves it.”

One endorsement for another.

The couple bowed their heads in thanks and watched him leave. The little swish in his tail, the hint of a bounce in his step belying mounting joy with every step closer he drew to Crown before he aimed a coy smile at her. Oh! He knew just the way to play!

“I like him,” Petal said after a moment.

Seed grinned. “Dazzle will be thrilled.”

“Yes. See to it he visits soon. And help me finish up.” She snapped her tail across his backside. “We have plenty to discuss on the walk home.”

Plenty to discuss, she meant, just as soon as there were no eager ears to enjoy some fresh gossip.

Stars, did he ever marry the right mare.





The problem with formal attire, in Seed’s experience, was that it rarely paid any mind to keeping a body warm when the late autumn chill descended upon the land to nibble and tease vulnerable ponies.

Pegasi like Bliss and Stride truly had no idea just how fortunate they were, and both had a mouth on them about it too!

Stride had been a surprise. A lapsing of that shy countenance he’d shown from the first moments he’d approached their table. Was it the wine, Seed wondered? Or just humor slipping through a veneer of manners and nerves?

Seed shivered against a cold breeze which played across the back of his neck. The sweat matting his coat, a product of his exertions from dance and labor, worked against him. He felt a soft winter coat settle around his shoulders, and turned to offer Petal a grateful smile as she wrapped herself in one as well.

“This winter is going to kick like a bitch,” she said with a laugh and shiver. “Gonna have to start tying down the covers soon.”

He hummed. Yes, indeed, it was that time of year again. Though this chill definitely leant credence to her assessment.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll have the others check the window panes and doors for the greenhouses. A few, he knew, would already have the idea in mind themselves.

Rose Leaf would probably be the first onsite.

“The cart is loaded,” he said, leaning against her in show of tired affection. Seed flicked a gaze toward the entrance hall, where the Primlines and Rosewater still lingered and chatted in between farewells bade to other vendors. “Shall we thank our hosts for the evening?”

“Laden with bits, meeting new friends, and chatting with a few influential ponies? Oh, I should say so.”

They left their cart under the watchful eye of the nearby Dammeguard still on duty to see vendors home, and trotted to the entrance. Ahead, Seed could see the Damme liege lords, each wearing smiles bright and warm as the sun in springtime as they talked. Stars, Prim Lace, the Armored Fright of old, looked less a veneer of stern discipline and unfathomable magical power then an old mare chatting with a friend of the family.

Collar and Rosewater, though. That’s where things got interesting.

Perhaps the slimming crowds and busy vendors or a bit of tiredness had finally set in after such a long night full of more concentrated political games, dancing, and, of course, those kisses—one attempted, one successful. Perhaps it was all those things playing in, and they didn’t much care for proprieties right now.

Or perhaps all that worked together just enough to bare a hint of truth to Seed’s suspicion.

They stood together, closer than Stride and most of the other Prims had been with their Rose counterparts during the night. The setting of their ears, the slight raising of tails when their eyes met, and the smiles as they chatted and laughed about something Dapper had said spoke of comfort and genuine happiness.

And the slightest hint of pink bled into Rosewater’s cheeks …

Seed swallowed a want to grin and tease them so, like family should. Like he would’ve, were times better and the political landscape not so tumultuous.

Not here. Not now.

For now, he would savor another measure of victory—the first, the night he and his loves had cajoled her to remain in the Garden, and this second one here.

Cloudy Rose and Rosewater. And Rosemary, too. You are indeed the son of a Merrier, even if most of us forget.

Stopping a short distance away, Seed bowed with Petal. “My lords, my lady,” he greeted Collar and his parents, then winked at Rosewater.

“Cousin,” Rosewater replied, smiling.

“Auntie dearest,” he countered, fluttering his eyes at her.

“You and Rosemary, I swear.” She gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes toward Lace. “My lady, you see what I suffer with those two? My dear cousin, Rose Seed.”

Lace chuckled and nodded. “We’ve met several times, though he may not remember. This scamp was young then, and used to tease Dapper for how our garden paled in comparison to his home.” Her ears perked. “How are Budding and Blue Rose?”

“And little Tempest?” Dapper added. “I’ve not heard from my cousin in some time.”

“Stars willing, enjoying the sighs and fares of Saddle Arabia,” came his reply. “And hopefully tempting a few new clients to sample our wines.”

“Good, good. Do send them my regards.”

Seed bowed his head in thanks. “I certainly shall.”

“We wanted to offer thanks,” Petal said, bowing to Lace, and then Collar in turn. “I don’t know that we would have seen so much interest or near as much profit had you not offered such a prime location with your invite, my lord.”

For his part, Collar smiled. “A location is only part of the equation. I hear tell the presentation and product itself did more than anything I ever could.” He hummed and rolled his eyes skyward in feigned innocence. “And I’ve had to inform a few of my cousins and their friends that I cannot field business inquiries in your stead.”

Neither Gardener could hide how their ears perked. Seed, for his part, couldn’t speak too much to the actual business or operations in terms of what stock they could sell—that all was Petal’s arena, and she was prodigal in ways not seen since the first mare granted Rosewine’s name as her own.

His were in his greenhouses, and in the running of the Garden of Love itself.

So while the Heiress on the Hill mused aloud on the possibility on a purely business level, Seed considered Collar’s hinting at the deed contract and weighed it against what he knew of Merrie law, and the provisions Petal worked into her own.

It could work. With some finagling and finessing, of course.

But if Rosewine could bilk her mother out of some of the most fertile land in the region and still manage to negotiate more autonomy to boot, her descendent could find a way to still squeeze a profit out of this year.

Giving Roseate another, smaller loss atop those already dealt this autumn, coupled with the added bonus of depriving a couple of his oh-so-charming cousins of their favorite holiday wine.

“Perhaps we might consider meeting again?” he ventured. “For business, this time.”

“Oh?” Collar’s brows raised. “I would have thought your stock would be near bare by now.”

That was sincere. You don’t know yet, do you? Seed simply breathed a sigh through his nose and looked away, already knowing Petal was ready to supply the answer in her own unique way.

She didn’t fail to deliver. “The Baroness broke our usual contract to use the bits to fund her efforts to take you,” this, she said without so much as batting an eye. “So, I find myself with a sudden surplus of stock, awaiting the chance to find a buyer. Those, ah, losses I mentioned while you granted us the privilege of seeing dear Rosemary again, my lord.”

Collar flicked a look between Seed and Rosewater, then back at Petal. “I think,” he said, “you may be the second most refreshingly blunt and to the point Rose I’ve ever met since my bride to be.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Yes. For commerce and the chance to further relations, I should think we can open our doors to the Garden of Love.”

“We of the Garden leave the wordplay and double meanings for our games, my lord.” Petal bowed her head, then winked at Rosewater, adding, “Pleasures and delight follow business.”

To his credit, his cheeks only colored a little.

Just enough to garner a bit of chuckling from the gathered Roses.

“Perhaps my lord has not yet guarded himself as fully against our tricks as he thinks,” Rosewater teased. In her eyes, Seed saw joy he’d not seen in years.

You are so lucky, and paradoxically unlucky that things are so tense right now. Damn, this hiding is against everything relations in Merrie and the Garden are.

Coughing, Collar tried to take hold of the situation and reassert some measure of control. “Yes, well, anyway.” He tapped a hoof against the stone floor. “I’ll have Coat check my schedule and send a runner with a listing, if that’s agreeable.”

Seed bowed his head in thanks. “Quite so. Thank you, my lord. And thank you for making arrangements this evening.” He made sure to meet Collar’s eyes and lower his ears to give hint.

“Ah, yes.” Collar perked his ears in prompting.

Silent askance for an opinion.

So Seed opted to grant him that. “I think we found it informative.” He shared a look with Petal.

“Quite informative, and insightful.” The mare chewed the inside of her lip, a tell Seed knew well.

That face promised scheming.

Raising a brow, he leaned down and nipped her cheek. “Care to share with the rest of us?” he murmured.

“Just an idea,” came her reply, loud enough that the others could hear. Her verdant eyes flitted to Collar, Dapper, and Lace, and then Rosewater.

Oh? What sort of plan did she have in mind?

Collar’s brow raised. “I’m curious as to your thoughts on Stride, that Dammeguard you befriended.” Still playing his part, even here. “I hope you don’t take his family’s views as his own. He’s worked hard to keep an open mind and let myself and others challenge what parents and siblings would try to imprint upon him.”

“Yes, I think we saw a bit of a show of that.” She gave a small, fond smile. “He apologized for his brother’s rudeness.”

“I confess, I hadn’t noticed Gale acting up, but I’m sadly unsurprised.”

“Don’t be. It let us see him, and allows us to give credit to that challenging of ideas you referenced,” she replied, calling back to their previous meeting. “We’ve invited him to lunch with us, but I must ask your leniency on one point of discussion.”

His brow arched higher. This time, Collar didn’t ask.

He let his gaze prompt her for clarification.

Petal offered a smile. “Given his … nerves, I think it might be prudent if we show him the ponies indebted to him on more equal standing.”

Seed’s ears twitched. He’d caught on. “Ah.” He nodded. “Yes, I see.”

She flicked an ear to confirm his suspicion. To Collar, she continued, saying, “Would you be comfortable if we introduced him first as a friend and visitor, one with a curious mind? Let the village’s hospitality ease his nerves in a more natural way.”

Collar hummed and gave his tail a flick. He wasn’t against it, nor did he leap upon it as some perfect answer.

But he considered it against what he knew of Stride.

Rosewater stepped closer to him and leaned in, surprising both he and Seed, and added her piece, “Our offers of protection remain firm, if that is your worry.”

“That helps,” he replied, breathing a sigh through his nose. “That helps. But his nerves and his mental state—“Collar stopped himself a moment, another thought coming to him in that same instant. He shook his head, smiling slightly. “I think you might be right, Petal. And I think he’s already got a few of us here who can continue being a sounding board for his worries or feelings.”

At last, Collar nodded. “With my blessing, then. Feel free to invite Prim Stride to the Garden of Love. I entrust our mutual friend to your care, Lord Seed.” He turned to Rosewater and let the act falter just a tad.

Just enough.

“And to you, Lady Rosewater.”

The son of a Merrier indeed.





Anticipation tickled his belly like a touch of feathers beneath his skin.

Careful spellcraft saw him wrapped in a bit of clever illusion which turned Prim Note, famed author across the region and Dammeguard, to an unassuming crafts pony from Damme. Slate gray coat and steel blue mane vanished beneath a bleeding of buttercream yellow and warm, gentle orange.

In this form, he was a simple baker’s apprentice. A no pony in the eyes of the nobility in either city.

Which meant Roseate should have little reason to think he was anypony important to Crown. No more than just a passing fling or a friend she’d met at an artists’ gathering and enticed to dip his hooves in the Merrier lifestyle.

A sting of magic across his rump drew a sharp intake of breath. Note shot a glare at the impish mare, hiding a smile himself.

“Come along, Golden Crust,” she coaxed. Those rosy eyes of hers glittered, full of mirth and anticipation. “Don’t lose heart now, dear stallion. You are in good, gentle hooves with my loves and me. None of that silly Dammer fluster.” Then, Crown brushed her shoulder against his and whispered, “Wouldn’t want to waste such a beautiful coloring to that handsome face.”

His loins stirring, Note didn’t have to put much effort in the way he ducked his head and let his ears splay in ta show of bashfulness. The wine box, now disguised as a parcel from his faux master’s bakery, floated along in his magic’s hold.

“I just hope you’ll all like it,” he murmured.

Crown flicked a curious look at the box. Her tail swished and teased his ankle, she leaned in to nose at his cheek.

“You owe me an explanation, my dear.” She pressed a kiss upon his jawline, adding, “You schemer. What have you selected for us?”

Careful to play her part, and to match his.

Stars, if Priceless ever met her, the old stallion would look upon her like a daughter in the art of deception and spying.

Note dipped his ears respectfully, like a commoner mindful of her higher standing. “No schemes, Lady Rose Crown. Not on my part.” She didn’t believe that for a second, and he’d pay for it. Stars, would he. So he leaned into his act and bowed. “Just a sampling of wares, since I’ve been a bit selfish in sampling and pining for your voice and poetry for so long without reprisal.”

He felt her teeth a split second before she bit his cheek. “You forget,” she whispered, her voice husky as they turned to walk the path leading up to her Librarium. The flowering bushes and beautiful garden she and Gilded so lovingly tended still showed color, a testament to the finer touches of Rosethorn magic she could wield still, and their strength against the cold. But they would fade soon. “You forget that we have indeed sampled yours and longed for your next creation, though you guard your recipes so jealously.”

Oh, she hadn’t forgotten.

That tremor in his belly garnered a full shiver as they passed by her lovely rose bushes. Carmine, like her mane.

His tail swishing, Note decided he could bear it no longer. He turned to press his nose against hers, and flicked one of his noise scrambling spells through the air to disrupt any listening through Far Whispers. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “I’ve craved your company for months.”

“I’ve wanted you here for weeks.” She kissed him softly and gave his nose an affectionate lick. Crown wrapped her hooves around his shoulders and set her forehead against his, her eyes fluttering shut as she drank in his scent again. “I’ve wanted you, we’ve wanted you so.” Her horn lit that warm, rose hue and disarmed the wards. The door swung open slowly.

An artful presentation of her inner sanctum.

With one hoof set against his chest, Crown ushered him backward into her home, her hips swaying and tail swishing like a metronome. Note could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

His hooves crossed over the threshold, the door swung shut as his hindquarters bumped against the wall.

Crown’s eyes flashed. She reared up and guided him to follow with a touch of magic, pressing his back against the wall. “Mine at last,” she purred, kissing him again. Her smile blossomed into a bright grin. “Ours at last. Stars and Mare’s wings, ours at last!”

As she leaned in to press her lips upon his neck, just beneath his jawline in that way she knew never failed to make his breath hitch and tail lash, Note’s ears twitched to a quick cadence of hooves thumping down the stairs.

Gilded Page rounded the corner, her eyes brimming despite the sleep still lingering in them, and smile as bright as moonlight. With a gay laugh, she bounded over to embrace he and Crown, kissing them both soundly. “Note, darling!”

When they parted, he grinned and nuzzled her gently. Stars, if this turned out to be a dream, he might weep. “Gilded,” Note murmured. “How are you still awake? You look exhausted, dear.”

“Oh, hush! Crisp and I took a nap so we might be wary enough to savor this night! Stars, I couldn’t dare feel excited lest something happen to delay your return!”

Snorting into his neck, Crown turned to nip her lips. “I would never have allowed it,” she whispered, her gaze flitting to Coat’s eyes and her smile drawing another flurry of butterflies. “Nor he, this devil love of ours has woven schemes himself. And where is Crisp?”

On cue, there was a sharp thud from above. Then another quick cadence, this one a tad lighter, nimbler.

“Gildy! Gildy, you sneak! I won our wager fair and square!”

Gilded shuffled herself behind Note and tried to hide. He could feel her smile against the back of his neck.

Crown’s eyes danced. “What have you done, dear mare?”

She buried her snout in Note’s shoulder, tittering. “He won our wager on who got to greet Note first, and wouldn’t stop teasing ‘till we fell asleep. So I tripped him up and tangled him in the sheets.”

Crisp Corner leapt over the bannister, landing on his hooves with a light bounce and aiming a faux glare at Gilded. The corners of his mouth twitched and threatened to spread into a grin. “I won fair and square, Gilded Page,” he repeated, his wings arching off his back as he stepped toward the threesome.

Squeaking, Gilded tried to put Note between herself and he. Her shoulders shook with poorly suppressed mirth.

“Hey!” Note laughed and tried to move, but couldn’t escape the mares’ embraces. He let the wine box settle on the floor, just in case Crisp decided to turn his teasings upon him. “Don’t use me for a shield!”

“Oh, too late for that. This minx will get hers soon enough. But more’s the benefit for me.” Crisp reared up and nipped lightly at his cheek. He hummed and pressed their snouts together, unfurling his right wing in invitation. His breath teased across Note’s lips as he murmured, “Too long have these wings gone without you held beneath them, held by my side as the rain sings and our hearts join together.”

Heat crept into Note’s cheeks. Were he not held, he would have surely coughed into a hoof, but the reflexive ducking of his head pressed his nose into the nape of the larger stallion’s neck. “Y-you horrible tease,” he stammered. “You stole that from Quiet Quill.”

Crisp laughed and kissed his forehead. “Yes.” His next kiss, he dotted between Note’s eyes, and followed with a lick to his nose. “Did you think I missed how those cheeks and eyes would light during the hero’s ode to his love inThunderous Wings? Or the fragrance of your cologne intensifying for us, as it does now?”

Before Note could attempt some excuse, Crisp tilted his head and let his lips tickle against Note’s, fixing him with a half-lidded gaze.

His heart hammered in his chest. Uncertainty tried to claw at his chest, beaten back by longing aged with the angst and lonesome nights spent over five long months. The lone Prim among Merriers licked his lips and turned his head in opposite so their lips could meet in a soft, chaste kiss.

When they parted, he exhaled a shuddering breath and whispered, stumbling terribly over his own tongue in recitation, “I-It may not be held close on the stormy nights of our rainy seasons, b-but I should find myself lucky to be held and guarded against winter’s frost.”

“And so you shall.” Crisp stole yet another kiss. Then, he smiled at Note and flicked a gaze to the floor, to the wine box resting beside them. “And just what schemes do I hear you’ve woven? What have you brought us tonight?”

“That, I would like to know as well.” Note had but a second’s warning before Crown leaned up to tease her teeth upon his ear, and left him squirming in their grasp. “This Prim has sewn mischief and kept secrets, dears,” she purred. “His talent, I must reassess, my gift to mark him properly as a lover of a Rosethorn, met with one of devilish Prim trickery of his own, and now this box. This box, procured from my cousin and his prodigal wife.”

Gilded Page gasped, then moved to lick the back of the same ear. “Oooooh! Tell us, tell us!” she crooned, kissing softly. “Tell us or sing and dance for us, lovely stallion! I know that wine box design! Spoken or whispered in bliss, I will have answer one way or another!”

And dance he did. Upon the tips of his hoof he stood, arching his back and whimpering as the mares visited their teasing upon his captured ear, and Crisp cheerfully blew a cool breath across the other.

“At least let me bring it to the table first!” the stallion managed to whine in between gasps which threatened to build to heady moans. His tail hiked against all semblance of Prim decency and stoicism.

His lovers, amorous and wicked, grinned as they withdrew, but Crown’s horn lit and her magic traced and tickled along the edges of his ears. A lover’s caress.

An unspoken vow that she would see him writhing in pleasure if he dared trick her again tonight.

No, my love. My tricks are done.

Fortunately so. The three of them would surely make good on Gilded’s promise—their teasing could endure until he succumbed to their demands or his own arousal.

Note looped a band of magic around the box handle and carried it into the dining room with Crown by his side, mindful of any tricks and with her magic still gently playing with his ears. Gilded and Crisp flanked him, their grins a blend of excitement and promise to join with their love’s signal.

Was it wrong that he felt tempted to indulge himself in a promise of punitive affection?

But his games had endured plenty long, and his patience for them strained with each passing second. Seeing them again after so long, stars, he felt like a foal begging for desserts after dinner.

He couldn’t possibly wait any longer.

The stallion set the wine box on the table and unfastened the latch, carefully prizing it apart so he might bare its contents to his loves.

Two bottles of Rosewine Vineyards’ finest vintages, labels even he knew despite only a passing familiarity.

Plum Passion and Petal Rains. The vintages which marked Petal’s debut as a vintner crafting her own vintages and cemented Rosewine Vineyards as the premier brand from the twin cities on the Merrie to Canterlot and beyond.

More to the point, as Note slowly realized, they each a price far out of the range of what he’d paid at the Gala.

Dazzle, Petal, stars above! What in heaven’s name are you two thinking?

He felt Crown snake a hoof around his ankle, then her muzzle pressing against his ear. She hummed. “Oh, you are a wicked trickster, my dear,” the Rosethorn mare purred. “Loves? Shall we open these bottles and … let our reunion commence?”

This time, Note didn’t protest. As he felt their lips upon his neck, and their teeth and tongues upon his ears, he let himself melt and submit to their ministrations.

 Those weeks apart came, at last, to a blissful end.
> 15. Friends - Old, New, and Potential
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stride had never really been a morning pony, even after his enlisting in the Dammeguard.

Though he’d been in for about a year and a half, perhaps only just under, he still found it a bit difficult to find the strength to swivel his hips and roll himself out of bed and onto his hooves in the morning. More often, he’d found himself devoid of his typical grace or nimble hooves.

Evidence of this loss could be seen in the way he staggered straight into the doorjamb and bumped his nose. Stride groaned and rubbed at his aching snout, blinking owlishly.

“Not even hung over and I’m running into walls,” he grumbled. Sighing, he rolled his eyes skyward. “Stars, I hope this isn’t an omen.”

The young pegasus stumbled his way into the shower to begin his day. Sleep tried to cling to him still, its hold gentle and inviting as it called to him to steal away but a few moments longer in his nice, warm bed.

Stars, if only I wouldn’t get an earful from Captain Pink. Not to mention Cloudy and Lord Collar.

A nice stream of hot water upon his face did well to banish his old nemesis and coax forth a contented groan.

The most difficult part of his day was over, at least.

Breakfast and dressing would be a piece of cake.

A quick meal of oatmeal with a dash of honey was plenty to satisfy him this morning. Stars, Stride felt more than satisfied.

Last night had been fun, and quite interesting. Rose Seed and Rose Petal were different, of course. They were practitioners of the Principes, heirs to families who were everything his wasn’t and practiced a lifestyle devoted to a free expression of love and an inclination to fragrance holding a myriad different meanings and applications for magic.

Just as his morning promised to be.

The thought brought a fond smile to his lips. I wonder how you’ll labor to send me into a tailspin this time, he mused as he cleaned his dishes and set about dressing in his black armor, still awaiting the proper issuing of more traditional Dammeguard blues with his shift from courier and shadow duty. Someday, he’d get the standard kit.

Maybe the change would help chase the nightmares away …

He shook his head to banish those thoughts. No need to befoul a morning with promise, much less one after a night that went so well. Surprisingly well.

He’d even made a couple new friends. Potentially. Hopefully.

They really had seemed nice. Even after Gale made such an ass of himself.

Frankly, that was impressive enough.





The benefit of Rosemary guard duty was that Stride got to take a break from running letters and actually stop to have a conversation. That her company was so warm, her lessons so patient, and their debates, spirited, but with a more respectful tone to them than he was used to, spoke of a mare who held a genuine love for those around her and a want to befriend everypony.

If only she could ever hope to meet and know everypony. The mare’s heart was big enough to hold an ocean.

Those thoughts brought a rather fond smile to Stride’s features as he trotted up the steps to Prim Palace and nodded a greeting to his fellow Dammeguards, both keeping their expressions stony and gazes fixed upon the entry gate.

Rumor had it they’d earned themselves quite the dressing-down from Lord Collar. Something about harassing a pair of Merrier guests he’d invited before the Gala.

He snorted a laugh. What a pair of idiots.

A little voice reminded him he could’ve well been an idiot like them had Collar not chided him when he was but a colt. Or again when his tongue slipped and he insulted Cloudy’s mother during training.

More specifically, a bit of Prim Wing’s words managed to find its way into his voice, and he just so happened to give a rather back-hoofed comment that it was impressive she could fight and drill with such diligence, being the daughter of a mare of such proclivity.

A phantom ache bit into the back of his head. That had been a mistake he’d take care never to repeat.

Fortunately, Cloudy had forgiven him, eventually, and never brought it up again.

Save for the one time she got drunk enough to admit she respected that he’d come back to apologize alone after Collar shredded him and took his lumps, and apparently earned himself a spot under her wing.

That spot, he found, came with a lot of cheap tricks in wrestling and swats to the back of his head.

Stride pushed those thoughts aside as he crossed the foyer and turned down the wing to Rosemary’s makeshift prison. There, at the corridor, he noticed three staff ponies grouped together, a stallion and two mares, all engaged in the time-honored tradition of idle gossip.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, but perked his ears. Normally, it wasn’t his business, but Rosemary would want to play another of her games—who got the newest news first.

Looks like I’m going to win today.

“—be ridiculous!” the stallion scoffed, snapping his tail with an air of finality. “Lord Collar may be courting Lady Rosewing, but he would never—“

“Lady Rosewing still practices their way!” one of the mares protested, her smile gleeful. “And she loves Miss Rosemary still!”

“Baron Dapper is Merrie-born,” the other put in.

“Exactly! And I heard it from a reliable source! Lord Collar kissed Lady Rosewater Rosethorn last night! It’s true!” She bounced on her hooves. “And that other one about Rosemary? Raising her like a daughter, it’s so sweet!”

Stride nearly tripped over his own hooves. What?

Actually what?

When? How? Why?

An endless fount of questions flew through his mind. Collar loved Cloudy dearly, everypony knew. And Rosemary—well, Rosemary and Cloudy followed the Rose Way, and not the one the Baroness professed, they’d made certain to say. She …

Er.

Well. She’d not exactly made her want, at least, that Collar be a Merrier sort of friend a secret with how she, um, teased him.

That, though. That was their business. Rosemary loved Cloudy and wanted Collar in that way. Cloudy loved Collar and Rosemary. Collar, for certain, wanted Cloudy and felt Rosemary a fine friend, and trustworthy enough to grant leeway among her guards.

Stride included.

If they wanted that sort of relationship, that was …

Well. That was their choice. Dapper Rosedown was a Merrier by birth, yes, and perhaps his son would follow that culture. Somewhat.

Rosewater, though …

A flash of purple lights slithering through the fog, vines withering at their touch before the alluring fragrance played teasing games with his nose and coaxed his mind into a living nightmare. Then, laughter.

He shivered.

In the corridor, stallion rolled his eyes. “Oh, hardly!” With a shake of his head and a long-suffering sigh, he replied, “I should hardly ever think to call Misty Mornings reliable on any count other than the spread of nonsense and fancy! Honestly! Lord Collar kissing that witch—“

Stride put a bit more haste in his steps and altered course, stopping only when he was nose to nose with a most surprised stallion.

Silence befell them, though not nearly in time.

“Lord Collar,” Stride said slowly, “doing what, exactly, with that what, sir?”

“Er …” The stallion looked to the mares for support, but they’d already fled, leaving him to deal with the Dammeguard who’d happened upon them. “Th-They were making claims regarding Lord Collar being … er … forward with affection, sir Dammeguard.”

“So I heard, and I’m sure that’ll make the rounds and earn a word from the Baron or Baroness about rumor-mongering.” Stride set his jaw. Collar’s words from the night before played through his mind. That, he knew, had been a reminder that Rosemary would be upset to hear he used her cousin’s infamous monicker, even to tell Collar what his parents had called her.

This?

Stars, amidst this tension and negotiation for Rosemary’s freedom, if Rosewater happened upon them and heard this in Prim Palace?

Oh, Collar would be furious. All his hard work to foster that relationship he’d hinted at, extending a hoof of friendship to Merrie’s heiress in hopes to end this war could well fall to pieces with a few misspoken words.

The war had intensified in the past for far less.

Stride tilted his head toward the opposite wing of the palace, a silent prompt to leave. “Take care who you insult,” he warned. “You never know who might overhear—or when the Lady Rosethorn might just walk ‘round the corner.”

It shouldn’t have warmed his heart so much how the stallion’s face paled before he turned and beat a hasty retreat, but it did.

Oh, it did.

If only because it meant Rosemary might not hear and be upset at such harsh words against one she, against all odds, loved.

Family did that. Stars, Stride loved Sunrise, though their relationship had strained to the point the pair could barely hold a conversation without a prevailing awkwardness hanging over them. And little needed to be said about the rest of the Primfeather house.

The pegasus resumed his trek down the corridor, sparing a nod to each of the staff ponies he passed on his way until he came to that final leg of his trip and met Poppy Prim coming off his temporary shift and resuming his regular duties elsewhere. His was but a stopgap until Stride or Coat arrived, since he lived with the latter and woke earlier. The stallions exchanged greetings, both having come up through the same training class under Collar.

“She’s friendly and chatty today,” Poppy said, smiling slightly.

“Sunrise and sunset, then.” Stride snorted a laugh. “When is she not?”

Poppy ticked an ear. “True.” His smile spread into a cheeky grin. “She’s expecting a thorough recounting of your night at the Gala, by the by. I think she’s half hoping you went home with somepony.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll disappoint her on that front then.” As Stride made to step past his friend, he noticed something faint wafting through the air. Intrigued, he sniffed. Was that cologne? And a rather fragrant one at that. “Er, Poppy?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you wearing cologne on shift?”

A deep rosy hue filled Poppy’s cheeks and bled all the way to the nape of his neck. His ears splayed, their tips tinging the same color, as he sputtered, “I-I-I’m meeting someone later and I, um, just thought it’d be nice to actually pay attention to my presentation for once.”

Stride’s ears twitched. Rosemary would have noticed too, and she’d probably have teased him a little. In her playful, yet supportive way.

No wonder Poppy’s cheeks flushed so.

He chose his next words carefully, mindful not to make it seem like he wanted to pry but to express some support. “Oh! Um, that’s—“

“Excuse me!” the unicorn blurted before he pinned his ears and hurried off as fast as his hooves could carry him, bound for wherever his daily post would have him.

Leaving Stride to stare in Poppy’s wake, a hoof raised in midair and his ears slowly drooping to lay flat against his mane.

“—great news,” he finished lamely, his gaze fell to the floor. Perhaps reputation from that comment in training still followed him, even now. Even with Cloudy’s forgiveness. “If you’d have stayed, I’d have wished you luck, at least …”

An empty hallway was the only company there to greet him. The only one, save the mare waiting beyond the door but a few paces behind him.

Sighing, Stride just shook his head and hoped his silent well-wishes would be carried to his friend, then turned to finish his trek. He raised his hoof and rapped thrice against Rosemary’s door, and waited quietly.

It was time for the usual game.

From within, the young Rosethorn mare hummed. He could imagine her nostrils flaring as she scented him, her nose powerful even at this distance and through the door. “Mm, orange blossoms, rainwater, a touch of cirrus—why, that can only be my favorite debate partner in Damme, Prim Stride, at my door!”

Stride bowed his head and smiled. “One day I’m going to find something to trick you,” he called back.

“I doubt it!” she sang, giggling. No doubt, her shimmering blond tail swished gaily. “You’ll look silly if you keep shouting through the door at me. Aren’t you going to come inside?”

A question laden with a hidden innuendo. Stars, how many times had she gotten him with one of these?

Not to mention the—ah—occasions he’d noticed she had been occupied prior to his arrival …

A blush bled into his cheeks. “Ar-Are you decent?” he asked.

Another giggle. “Define decent,” Rosemary teased. “Why don’t you tell me all the indecent things I might be doing, and I’ll let you know if I’m doing any of them!”

He face must have been as crimson as the markings upon her cheeks and breast. But Stride rallied, a month in her company had taught him how to fence words even though she could prod holes in the armor of his sensibilities. “Are you doing anything that will make me sputter and hide my face beneath my wings?” he asked instead.

Rosemary burst out laughing. “Oh, Strides!” Her hooves clipped against the stone floor, the door latch clicked open and pulled inward with a tugging of her magic to reveal a grinning mare waiting but a few steps inside. She shook her head and asked, “How do you manage to still put your Primmishness into Rose wordplay?”

Stride ducked his head. “Talent, I guess.”

“Well, why don’t you put that talent to rest and come sit with me,” she said, tilting her head toward the small table and seats awaiting them. “And tell me about your evening.”

Smiling shyly, Stride entered and ushered the door closed with a little nudge of his wing. He removed his helm so he might rest it on a nearby table, mindful of the small reading lamp and a couple cards from Merrier friends. This latest one was signed by a mare named Velvet Night, a dear friend, he knew by her stories.

One who should be due to deliver her foal soon, if he wasn’t mistaken.

His eyes flitted to Rosemary again, and his heart ached. The poor mare shouldn’t be locked up here. Damn this war. In her culture, she should be with her friends, happy as a lark as she helped pick out gifts to greet the new arrival to their community.

Instead, here she was and here she would stay. Interred for the crime of attempted scent magic plied upon an old stallion Roseate wanted for something or another.

“I recall Cloudy mentioning that she, Coat, and Thistle were joining you for a private Gala,” he said as he trotted to her side. “How was it?”

“Lovely, of course. Not as splendorous as the actual thing, but the company helped make up for those friends I missed.” She bumped shoulders with him. “I should have liked to share dances with all of you. And I will, someday.”

“All of us who guard you and Cloudy and Lord Collar?” Stride laughed in disbelief. “Stars, we’ll need to wheel you home on a cart by the time the night’s done!”

Unable to fight against her mirth, Rosemary ensnared his hoof so she might lean against him. “Surely you’ll help me clamor in,” she faux whined between giggles, giving him a fake pout. “I’ll be so tired and my hooves will ache, I’ll be naught but a limp noodle by the time we all return.”

The stallion snorted and tried to shrug her off. That was certainly an image. “Oh, stop!”

She held fast, prancing on her remaining three hooves. “I will! And I’ll have all of you dancing Merrier dances with me!” Her rosy eyes glittered. “That just might have to be part of our lessons soon—yes, I like that idea. We can work that into Hearth’s Warming culture discussions.”

Stride’s thoughts returned to Petal’s invitation at the Gala, and her implications that she should like to see him join in a pegasus style dance with the pegasi of the Garden of Love. A Merrier style one.

Was it an actual invitation, though? Not that he doubted Petal meant she’d like to have him join or dance, but did that really constitute an official invitation to wine tastings which stood out among Merrie’s social calendar like the brightest stars?

It’d be awkward if he were to show up, only to be turned away for claiming a verbal invite. Who else could confirm but Seed and Petal, after all?

“That could be fun,” Stride said softly. “But, um, perhaps the less, uh, showy dances?”

Rosemary nipped at his cheek. “Oh, you’re no fun! Your wings were made for Merrie style pegasus dances, Strides! Just look at how strong they are—and you keep your feathers so well!”

A rosy hue bled into the very cheeks she so loved to tease. “L-look—okay, fine, some of them!” He ducked his head. “But not the more … you know … those sorts.”

“I do.” She nosed against the cheek she’d nipped, then drew away so she might take a seat and gestured that he take the one to her immediate right. “And of course I wouldn’t expect you to dance those dances, you silly stallion. I want you to try things, but I respect that you’re not ready for some or won’t partake at all. That’s how our way works.”

“Right. Yes, you and Cloudy have reminded me of that.” Stride sat only once she had, but took the seat she’d offered. He shifted about to get comfortable, his armor pinched him between the shoulders.

With a happy sigh, Rosemary tossed her shimmering blond ponytail over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Now, your night, you slippery pegasus.” She wagged a hoof at him in mock severity. “Don’t you think I haven’t noticed you changing subjects. I know many ways to pry free a secret from a friend’s lips when they try squirming by. How was it?”

“It was … interesting. The start was awkward, but I had a bit of fun talking with a couple ponies.”

“Awkward? How?”

He shrugged and gave her a quick summation of Collar’s speech, how it felt like everypony present then tried to search out each Dammeguard pegasus, in uniform or not, for any sign of faltering or bravado to see which might be the sort to go flying across the Merrie to risk capture for the foal, and how he kept himself looking stunned and disbelieving himself. Stride did, however, omit that little lapse into memory.

No need for her to know about that.

But then, he told her about Collar urging him to go mingle, and his talk and playing that tasting game with Seed and Petal, the game and conversations bracketing Gale’s rudeness.

“And we, um, sorta talked about some of her vineyard’s wine tastings,” Stride said. “And how they’re big events, and Petal mentioned that she’d like to see me dance there someday. Pegasus style. So, um, I guess she agrees with you.”

“Ha! She would! Remember my friend? Rosie Bliss?”

“The dovelike one who tilts her head?”

Rosemary’s eyes went wide. She raised a hoof. “Doooooooon’t you dare call her dovelike,” she warned, a hint of a blush began creeping into her cheeks. “Or at least don’t do it and tell her it was me who told you that.”

Stride filed that away for later. That was an interesting response, coming from her. “Okay, I won’t. But what about her?”

“She’s … well, she’s gorgeous. Bliss gets a lot of requests to pose for paintings and sculptures, though I doubt you’d have seen any here. But when she’s not doing that or organizing weather for the Garden, she’s probably the best dancer I’ve ever seen.” Now, her cheeks did fill a rosy red that almost hid her markings. Her coat actually quivered. “She quite lives up to her name. And she’s a lover of Petal and Seed’s, so, yeah, they’d know her pretty well. And they’d probably love to see her cajole you into joining her for one of those dances.”

Oh.

Oh.

Now it was his turn to again let his cheeks fill rosy red.

Rosemary gave an airy giggle. “Yeah. Bliss is a rather sensuous dancer.” She coughed, adding, “But I’m sure Petal or Seed would tell her to go easy on you. If she didn’t already figure it out herself, she’s got enough experience with Damme-born lovers.”

“I-I’ll take your word for it.”

Maybe he’d have to disappoint Petal. If it came down to her actually inviting him, that is. Pegasus dances were one thing, but the sort that could garner this reaction from Rosemary were a bit much for him.

Just how to do it respectfully was the question.

One of several which nibbled at the back of his mind. Rose Seed’s face floated to the forefront. With it, those red markings, just a touch lighter than Rosemary’s own.

“Er, about Rose Seed,” he began. “He’s … a cousin of yours?”

Her ears ticked. She must have understood his question.

Rosemary bobbed her head. “Honestly? When we were younger, we were closer than cousins,” she answered, a fond smile playing upon her lips. “We were … before my mother was banished, she would bring Rosewater and I to the Garden Villa to visit Aunt Budding and Uncle Blue almost every day. Seed and I were more like brother and sister. Stars knows we caused enough mischief—he, of course, was the brat who started the most of it.”

That, Stride didn’t believe for a second. “Uh-huh.” He grinned. “And you were just innocent.”

“I was young and impressionable!” Her smile betrayed the lie. “Ask anypony! Stars, ask Rosewater, she’ll back me up!”

He barely withheld a shiver at the memory of those purple lights dancing through the fog. Stride most certainly would not ask her.

Instead, he offered another option. “Or I could just ask Petal, since she seems wont to swat him anyway.” Grinning, he added, “Guessing you knew her then too?”

Rosemary closed her mouth, thinking. Then, she sucked in her lips.

A tell. One he’d learned meant she knew he was about to get one over on her.

Oh, so Petal might have a few stories to contradict who caused the most trouble, would she?

“In any case!” she blurted. “Yes. Seed is my cousin. A Rosethorn of the Garden of Love. You’ve nothing to fear from him, save his humor and how entrancing the Garden itself is.”

“Entrancing how?”

“I can’t spoil that.” Rosemary’s eyes danced. “Entrancing in a good way, not the corrupted way of my other cousins. That, I will promise on our friendship and my ancestor’s name.”

He rocked back in his seat. Swearing on Rosethorn or Prim Clothesline’s names wasn’t an insignificant gesture in the slightest.

Stride gave a crooked smile. “He did seem nice. They didn’t get upset at me when Gale was an ass.”

“I think your apology and sentiment toward Petal’s accusations did plenty to show them who you are.” The smile she wore spoke of something else. Pride in him. And a bit in her work with him, perhaps.

She leaned over to nose his cheek. “I’m glad you met them. I’m glad you took a chance to meet others from my home on your own, because I have more still I’ll introduce you and everypony to once I’m free.”

“I … think—I know I’ll look forward to that.” Stride ducked his head. “The stories you tell about them seem fun. Rosie Night sounds like a laugh.”

“She is that and more.” He could feel her beaming against his cheek. Then, Rosemary sat back in her chair and gave a happy sigh. “Anything else of interest?”

“Er …” What else did he have—oh! Yes. “They mentioned that they might like to meet up for lunch sometime. Sort of a friendly invitation—wait, wait, wait! Before you pounce me and prod!” He held up a hoof to ward her off as she rose, her eyes alight with demand that he tell her what she wanted to hear or have it coaxed from his lips with merciless tickling. “I said I would like to but that I needed to check my shift schedule, and both understood.”

Rosemary hummed, but sat back, seemingly satisfied. “You get a pass,” she said in her faux magnanimous voice. “Because I know you need to be here on shift, and because you said yes to lunch with some new friends.”

That gave him pause. Were they friends?

Well. They were certainly friendly, but not quite affirmed. Potential friends, perhaps.

That fit nicely.

With that all settled, Stride reflected on the rest of the night’s festivities. His ears ticked.

There was something else. “I, um, think I mentioned Lord Collar’s urging?” At Rosemary’s nod, he continued, “Right, so, um. I did hedge a bit. And I sort of looked to him hoping he’d come with me to the table and … er, he challenged me to talk to somepony new. But he also mentioned that he wouldn’t ask anything of me that he wasn’t willing to do and looked to, um, your cousin. Lady Rosewater, I mean.”

Apparently, this was a subject Rosemary had hoped he would cover, for she leaned in close, all trace of teasing gone.

“They’d been talking a bit,” Stride added. “They and Baron Dapper and Baroness Lace. The four of them all seemed at ease and comfortable with one another, almost amicable. Oh, and also, they were dancing together when I asked his permission to leave.”

Her expression brightened like the midsummer sun. Rosemary’s tail swished against her cushion. “And? Go on!”

“Er. They were happy together. And they seemed comfortable, enough that Lady Rosewater joked when I’d asked his permission to leave and then implied she expected more dancing out of him.” He grimaced, but decided to claim his victory in the news game here and now. “Also, I win the new gossip game, I think, since you’ve not said anything about what I just heard on the way in. It’s on the subject—hey!”

This time, there would be no warding her off. Rosemary looped a band of magic around his shoulders and pulled him and his seat toward her, and caught him in a tight embrace. Her spell, she kept pressed against his back, right between his shoulder blades so he couldn’t try to escape.

“I’ve warned you many times,” she sang. Her eyes glinted. “You can’t tease a Rosethorn for long without recompense, Strides. You’d best stop dangling tidbits before me and start moving those lips.”

“D-Dangling? Me?” He laughed and tried to lean back, but she just hugged him tighter. “And you’re one to talk about teasing and dangling tidbits?”

Rosemary gave an ominous laugh. “Oh, boy, do you not want to get started down that path.” Stride felt tendrils of magic trailing near his ribs, their static energies dancing upon his coat. “You tell me this instant, or I’ll tickle you ‘till Dapper hears you shrieking on the other end of the palace. What’s this morsel of gossip you’re about to share with me?”

Well and truly trapped and at her mercy, Stride could do little more than yield to her demands. “I do have to preface this!” he said quickly. “I heard it from a few excitable maids and a disgruntled stallion, so I don’t trust it myself.”

Her magic teased just beneath his right ribcage. “Noted!” she sang again. “Stop hedging and tell me!”

Another tendril caressed a spot along his collarbone, coaxing forth a squeak. Stride wriggled in her grasp and blurted, “They’re claiming Lord Collar kissed Lady Rosewater at the Gala!”

He felt her magic dissipate, leaving the pair wreathed in a pink, glittering mist. Rosemary blinked, her mouth fell open. “He kissed mom?” she blurted.

Stride felt his thoughts slam to a halt like he’d flown straight into the palace walls.

Their eyes met for a split second. Stride struggled to find voice to ask but one of the flurry of questions fighting to be the first from his brain to his tongue.

Then, Rosemary huffed in disbelief and muttered, “I … can’t believe he listened to me. And didn’t tell me.”

Another response slipped through the cracks and found its way forth. “It’s just gossip,” he muttered dumbly. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in it without hearing from one of them.”

The mare shook herself out of her stunned state, and leveled him with a smirk. “Don’t you go being a logical fuddy-duddy on me, buster.” She gave him a squeeze. “Why shouldn’t he kiss Rosewater? She’s strong, smart, gorgeous—don’t you even try telling me you wouldn’t steal a look—and kind once you get by her want to stand aside and talk to her a bit.”

She wasn’t wrong, of course. If nothing else—if absolutely nothing else—Rosewater Rosethorn had an almost unnatural beauty about her.

The main difference between her more natural allure and Rosemary’s centered around Rosewater being mysterious and calculating while Rosemary was open with her heart and smile and want to make a friend out of everypony on her path. And as for that prod about kindness and talking to her …

Uh. Right.

Stride would just get in line for that. In the meantime, he’d follow Collar’s wishes—he would speak of her and to her, if he absolutely must, with respect and courteousness.

And then he’d go hide behind either Collar or a wall.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he answered lamely. Stride saw the flat look she leveled him with, and the beginnings of an argument sparking in her eyes. “Still, I have a reason.”

Rosemary blinked, then arched a brow. “Oh, do you now?” She fixed him with a warning look, the promise of tickles restated. “Go on. Let’s have it.”

The pegasus had already surrendered to his fate long before he returned her smile and said, “Surely, you can understand that he would go utterly insane if yet another Rose is added to his li—Nononononononono! Not my shoulders! Not my shoulders!”

His shoulders and ribs were the first targets of the merciless tickle assault she launched upon him, many tendrils of glittering pink magic dancing from her horn and slipping between his armor’s plating to tease and caress his sides like dozens of feathers. Stride lurched left and tried to catch her with an upward swiping of his wing across her left ribcage as he had before, but Rosemary was wise to that trick this time.

She held his wing in a loop and traced it with another tendril, easing him to the floor so she could lean down and taunt, “Go what with another Rose in his life? What are you trying to say about me, Strides? Oooh, and about Cloudy! Are we driving you spare, Strides?” This, she coupled with another band to catch his opposite wing and began tickling it as well. He was now helpless to her torment. A previous engagement had given her full knowledge of these spots, and now he couldn’t even turn it around on her. “Aaaaaaare we?”

Tears of mirth stinging his eyes, Stride sputtered apologies and oaths that they weren’t, intermixed with a vow or two to repay her for this.

That only earned a prodding of her hoof against his side, which sent him howling with laughter.

It was this scene, then, that Collar walked in on and greeted with a snort of laughter and wry, “Should I come back later?”

In an instant, the spells and prodding hooves ceased.

The pair jolted apart, Rosemary sitting straight-backed in her seat while Stride scrambled into his own. They met one another’s eyes, mirth brimming and nervous laughter threatening to escape their lips. Stride, himself, squirmed at the lingering phantom tickles tracing his sides.

Collar smiled and shook his head. In his magic’s grasp, he held a stack of books procured from the Prim Palace library. Her latest reading requests. “What trouble are you causing this time, Rosemary?”

“Me? What makes you think it’s not him!” she demanded, pointing at Stride. “I’ve been a good mare today.”

“Uh-huh.” The arching of his brow spoke volumes of his opinion on that attempted excuse. Collar coaxed the door shut to afford them some measure of privacy. “And what garners this heinous attack upon one of my Dammeguards?”

This questioning brought that familiar look of a sly, mischievous mare back to her features. Rosemary rose from her seat to face Collar, her tail swishing merrily. “A certain rumor he carried to me,” she answered sweetly. “Like a loyal little bird bearing a message, in fact.”

Stride ducked to hide the color filling his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rosemary’s wink, and then a playful flick of her tail across his shoulder.

“I’m quite curious as to its validity,” she continued. “Care to share how your night went, my lord?”

“Quite well. Thank you for asking.” Collar dipped his head. “And yours?”

“Wonderful, as I was just telling Strides. Though we did miss the rest of our friends, and our dear Lord Collar.” Rosemary began her approach. “You all owe me dances, by the by.”

Collar hummed and rolled his eyes skyward, shifting just so he stepped around and behind Stride so she couldn’t latch onto him just yet. “Do we, Strides?” he mused aloud. “Did we agree to that?”

“Um.” Stride avoided Rosemary’s gaze. “Er. I might have said I would, but I can’t speak for anypony else.”

“Oh, so very diplomatic!” She bumped her hip against his seat, still prowling after Collar. “Surely you won’t let your loyal Dammeguards fulfill their vows without leading yourself, my lord. Else I might have to steal them to make up for the dances you deny me.”

That earned a hum. “I could be persuaded,” he said, finally. “If your cousin and Cloudy grant me freedom from their grasp long enough.”

“That will be no issue. And now, back on subject, your night, my lord.” A slender brow arched. “Tell me about it?”

Another hum came in reply. Collar moved just in time to avoid a stinging pinch across his shoulders. “It was quite nice. Your cousin and I talked, and we laughed and drank with my parents. Where would you like your books?”

“I think I’d rather focus on the Gala first.”

He feigned surprise. “Really? Should I take these back, then?” he asked.

Rosemary threw caution to the wind and darted around the table after him, laughing when he did so himself to stay opposite her. “You!” she cried through her mirth. “You should tell me how your night went and if the rumor this one brought me is true!”

“How can I do that?” came his reply, innocent as a foal hiding a stolen cookie behind his back. “You haven’t told me what rumor we’re addressing.”

The Rosethorn grinned. “Strides,” she called, her eyes never leaving Collar’s. “Tell him what you told me.”

Predictably, the lone pegasus splayed his ears when his liege lord’s gaze fell upon him. “Er.” He ducked his head. “I, um, overheard a few palace staff ponies gossiping that you, er, kissed Lady Rosewater at the Gala, my lord. And they, um—“ Stride stopped himself, remembering whose presence they were in.

He didn’t want to spoil her mood with the revelation of that monicker one had bestowed upon her cousin.

Collar flicked an ear. He’d caught the hint. “Is that all?” He snorted and relaxed, setting the books upon the table.

Which left Rosemary ample time to sidle up and gaze up at him, smiling as the Primline stallion looked down at her in turn.

After a moment, he sighed and turned as though to make for the door. “Well, if there’s nothing else—“

“Oh, no you don’t!” With both forelegs, Rosemary latched onto his right and held it tight against her breast. "Collar, I swear to the Mare in the Moon, I spent all night last night convincing myself I couldn't just sneak in and watch. I will hear at least one little tidbit about this dance you and Rosewater shared." Her smile curved and an ear ticked with mischievous intent. "Or do I have to make up things I wish would happen and whisper them to you, one after another, until you finally tell me whether this little morsel Stride delivered to me is true."

Neither stallion could help the deep crimson which bled into her cheeks. Stride, because he could just imagine what Rosemary might whisper. Collar …

Well. It would be him doing those things in her implications.

Still, the Lord Heir of Damme did rally. Even as he drew in a deep breath and turned his eyes skyward as though in thought, and let a smile telling of some slight nerves play upon his lips. “I thought she would taste like mulled wine again, not strawberries,” he murmured, running his tongue along his lip. “I’m not certain which I prefer.”

It seemed to take a few seconds for his words to fully register for both younger ponies. And their reactions?

Why, they couldn’t have been more different.

As Stride’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide in a sort of awestruck disbelief, Rosemary’s face brightened and radiated pure jubilation. The Rosethorn mare danced by Collar’s side and let out a merry squeal. “You did it!” she practically cheered. “Stars and moons above, you did it! You actually kissed her!”

Collar bowed his head, that color returning to his cheeks. “I did, yes,” he confirmed in a murmur.

Rosemary beamed. “And?” she prodded. “How was it? And did you kiss her properly?”

“Okay, let’s leave some of that to modesty.” Collar drew back as best he could. “And it was proper for the occasion, stars, Rosemary!”

She stuck out her tongue at him, but relented. Excitable and eager to tease as she could be, Rosemary did respect their mores to a point. Even if she found some rather silly.

It gave Collar some reprieve, and Stride the chance to blurt, “Why though?”

Collar blinked and looked to him. He made to answer, but hesitated a moment, his ears lowering just slightly. “I wanted to, Strides,” came his reply. “Remember what we talked about last night? Extending a hoof in friendship and doing our part for that?”

“But kissing—ah.” He realized before Rosemary could say a word. That he ducked his head in apology might have spared him a remedial lecture. “Oh. I … but … isn’t that sort of kiss more for Merrier friends who are …”

This, he couldn’t say. The burn in his cheeks and squirming in his belly betrayed him before it could make it to his lips.

It wasn’t that Collar wanted to offer that hoof. That, while difficult for Stride to imagine in this instance, made sense if the heirs of both cities truly wished to see the war end for their ponies. But Collar had the love of his life.

Didn’t he?

Smiling, Collar dipped his ears. “Let’s talk about that later, shall we? In fact, I have need to borrow your debate partner for a moment, Rosemary. He owes me a—ah! Ah! Nuh-uh!” He caught her hoof and held her in place, shaking his head. “No, you don’t! You’re not pulling your Merrie Law of Hoof Holding this time! You are now on Damme soil and I am applying the Collar Law of Report Receiving.”

Rosemary huffed at him and puffed out her cheeks. Then, she glanced down at Collar’s hoof, and grinned. “I could claim it on you, my lord.”

“I think you’ll find that it is I who have your hoof. But I’ll give you points for the attempt.”

A hint of a pout tugged at Rosemary’s lip. She flattened her ears against her mane and gazed up at him with wide pink eyes. “Enough that I can have a little extra time walking the garden today?” she asked. “It looks like a beautiful day outside, and I’d like to stretch my legs a little more.”

Collar made to answer, but closed his mouth, thinking. He shrugged. “Honestly, I could use a little walk out in the sun myself. Strides? Think our guest has behaved well enough for a bit extra time while we catch up a little?”

His mind still reeling from the revelations and implications, Stride could only nod dumbly and rise to his hooves. He moved to take up his helm again. “I mean, she’s welcome to talk with us anyway,” the pegasus said, flicking a wing. “I already told her a bit.”

“He told me everything,” Rosemary corrected. She held her head high and fixed Collar with a smile. “Your challenge was met, my lord, and with a bonus of standing against bias. Strides has listened well to Cloudy and me.”

“That does me well to hear. But I’ll hear it from him as well.”

The Lord Heir of Dame angled his head toward the open door. “Come along, you two. I’m rather enticed by the idea of a walk with fine company in the sun, myself.”





Seed aimed a tired glare at the back of his beloved wife’s head as she, White Rose, and Prism set about making breakfast for their household. “Can’t believe you actually bit my ear and dragged me out of bed like that,” he grumbled.

“I told you at the Gala last night, we need to be up and working,” came Petal’s reply. She didn’t give him the courtesy of turning to face him. “If you truly wish to make good on our proposed lunch dates.”

She had him there, the cheeky mare. But Seed was never one to just let something go.

So he plucked a sliver of ice from the icebox and waited until her attention was on the blueberry pancakes she was making, and then he slipped it under her tail and pressed the ice against her dock.

With a shriek, Petal leapt and danced on the tips of her hooves, her ears flat to her mane as raucous laughter went up around the table as their loves figured out what he’d done. She whipped about so quickly her snowy mane and tail snapped through the air, her verdant eyes alight with a blend of amused wrath, and aimed a baleful glare at the stallion now feigning innocence in his seat.

Seed fluttered his lashes at her. “Something wrong, darling?”

Her cheeks flushing, Petal blew an angry breath through her nose. “You,” she growled, “are so lucky we owe everypony a full summation of last night.”

“Ooh, afterward?” Dazzle grinned and gave his shoulders a roll. “Storytime and a show?”

“Alas, no. The vines call.”

Before any further banter could continue, the front door of the Garden Villa opened and shut with a thud, and then came a rather familiar cadence—an exhausted, clumsy stagger Seed had known since the day she took her first steps.

“Don’t knock over mom’s vase again!” he called before the mare had even poked her head around the doorway. “Else she’ll appear out of thin air to twist your ears again!”

A young pegasus freshly entering her first majority staggered into the kitchen, and fixed him with a tired glare. She was smaller than he, taking more after her mother, Rosedown Tempest, than their father, Blue Rose, Zephirine Rose had a rather slender build with wings well-suited for quick movements in flight. Her coat was a light, almost white-pink, and her feathers deepened in color at the tips to give her a look almost like the petals of the afterglow rose, a shade matched by her mane.

His baby sister, Zephirine. One of two—she, through blood and a shared father, and Rosemary, through bond and rearing together in the same creche.

“Stuff it up your ass,” she growled, slumping into a seat on Roselyn’s left side so she could recenter her ire upon the other pegasus in the room, seated on the candlemaker’s right. “Bliss has been such a slave driver with the weather team I’ve not even been able to drag myself from Misty Meadows’ house ‘till today!”

Rosie Bliss arched a brow. “You said you wanted to do your part for the village,” she drawled, smirking. “And I told you and Misty both to stop staying up late so you’d last through these first few weeks of training. It’s your own fault you’re overtired.”

The younger pegasus huffed. Seeing she’d get neither sympathy nor pity from her trainer and friend, Zephirine laid her head upon Roselyn’s shoulder and whined, “Dreamy maaaaaaaare! Tell Blissy to stop being mean or my wings’ll fall off!”

Soft purple feathers trailed up Roselyn’s back, Bliss grinned and leaned in to purr in her ear, “Tell Zephy to get to bed earlier and stop staying up to late for loving on training nights.” She nipped the tip, then teased it with an expert flick of her tongue. “Come now, Dreamy mare, tell her.”

Caught between two pegasi, one a dear friend and the other a favored lover, Roselyn could only duck and hide her reddening face in her hooves. “Why are you two putting this on me?” she complained. “Settle it yourselves!”

“This is more fun, though,” came Zephirine’s reply, her pout maintained.

“Much more.” The elder pegasus winked at the younger. Chuckling, she drew back to sit on her cushion. “Never change, my dear.”

The little whine Roselyn gave only served to bring forth a renewed rippling of amusement. This time, with an impertinent little sister as the center.

Zephirine flicked a look at Seed and Petal. “So. Any luck on finding our hero? Or are Bliss, me, and the rest of the pegasi who were near enough only gonna know him by the way he shredded the rutting wind to get away from you?”

Sleepy or not, Seed had to admit, Zephirine did have a way of getting focus shifted onto whatever she wished.

Seed held up a hoof to forestall any questions. His horn flashed, and he threw up a privacy shield to complement the familial wards upon the property. “Before we tell you anything, I want it understood that Lord Collar has instilled a great deal of trust in us,” he said, allowing the sleepy smile and lazy stare he typically wore to melt away in a rare show of intent. “Not a word of this leaves the villa. Not a hint, or we risk Roseate learning of his identity and seeing him bound to one of her daughters in their way.”

The disgust which flashed across Zephirine’s face did well to ease his worries. She might gossip with Misty and Rosemary, prior to their dear cousin being captured, but she’d learned Budding’s lessons well.

Zephirine followed the same way as he, as Rosewine.

As Rosethorn the Wise.

Satisfied that the Garden Villa’s residents understood, and in the resolution worn plain upon the faces of his former Dammeguard lovers, Seed shared his summation of the evening so Petal might keep the lion’s share of her attention on breakfast, that way she only needed to interject to chat about how she coaxed Stride through their dance, and found him a natural, despite his lack of practice.

Once they’d relayed everything, even his apology for Gale’s interruption and that adorable shift from his discomfort on his knowledge of the orgies during the wine tastings toward an understanding of their importance, Seed watched their faces and waited.

Interestingly enough, Dazzle spoke first. “Primfeather Gale, eh? His youngest brother?” At Seed’s nod, he hummed. “The name escapes me, but I’d heard of him.”

“Oh?”

“He popped off at Cloudy Rosewing during training and got his ears chewed by Lord Collar, and then he apologized to her personally and they ended up pretty close.” With a shrug, he added, “Gossip among the Dammeguard was that she thrashed him pretty good in a sparring match for it. So, pretty typical for pegasi solving a dispute.”

“For a Rosewing and a Primfeather? Very.” Bliss hummed. “That’s a big change for him, though, Seed. From insulting her to apologizing for his brother.”

Seed bobbed his head. “Lord Collar has mentioned that part of the reason for the, er, stress he’s been under has been that he’s been challenged on what his family taught him and reexamined it. Courtesy of Rosemary and Lord Collar himself.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t say a word against my heritage.”

That earned a raising of brows.

And a low rumble of approval from Tremor. “Pet? What did you think?”

“That he’s a sweetheart who had to unlearn a lot,” came her reply from the stove. She trotted over with a plate of blueberry pancakes hovering in her grasp, and set it down on the table. “But he learned more in turn. Bliss, I tell you, he would make for a beautiful dancer. I’m going to find a way to have him here for a tasting so we can see it.”

Seed saw a chance to set up a little nudge for their new friend. “He did mention that he knew pegasus dances.” He smiled at Bliss and Zephirine. “I’ll ask that you both be considerate of his heritage and not be too salacious in your choices. As a favor to Pet and I.”

The elder pegasus shrugged her wings. “Fair enough. I’d hardly expect him leap to his hooves for that sort of thing.” Bliss raised her brows. “You’ve done a job of making this all some big sort of to-do buildup, though. And that’s not even considering that the village will expect to receive and celebrate him.”

Of that, there could be no overstating.

The problem, of course, was what they’d gleaned from Collar and the stallion himself. Prim Stride, brave though he was for crossing as he did in these times, and so soon after Roseate’s raid, was a rather nervous, skittish stallion.

And surprisingly evasive for one of his coloring. Seed hadn’t even noticed him until Collar sent him straight over to their table.

But Petal gave you a glass while I spoke with Silk, and Collar got you another. Seed chewed the inside of his lip, thinking hard as he tried to conjure up a picture of the room. Where could a pegasus with coat such a distinctive blue and spattered with stormy gray dapples hide?

He thought on that a moment, then corrected himself—where, but in the midst of a cluster of his fellow Primfeathers? As he had in the pub.

Which just begged the question whether Stride had somehow sensed Seed tailing him.

To think such a nervous stallion so easily read could spawn too many questions just as easily.

Mother would adore you. And father would think it hysterical to watch her piece you together.

A strawberry bounced off his nose. Seed blinked and turned to find his sister leveling him with an expectant look. “Are you going to stop drifting off and answer?” she demanded.

“Sorry. Just something Bliss mentioned made me stop and consider things.”

“Mhmm. Well, you’ve played this all close enough to the vest the village and Merrie both are abuzz with whisper of who he might be. Care to share a little?”

Seed winced. Zephirine had no idea, there.

From what he’d seen last night, the sister cities situated on the Merrie River both wanted to know.

By right, they should be celebrating him today. The flames of war had cooled for such things in years past.

“His name is Prim Stride,” he said, finally. Seed flicked a glance to Petal, then gave one of his crooked smiles. “And Petal and I may have a way to help get him to a point that the Garden can receive him, but …”

“It’ll take time and patience,” Petal finished in his stead, taking her seat at last. “As with all things in gardening and tending to the vine, he will require a gentle hoof.” She smiled and gave her ears a playful waggle. “So, first, the village will receive him as it received you, Dazzle. And Prism and Tremor. A friend, perhaps a lover to somepony, should he wish. In turn, he, hopefully, will open up to us.”

It was Prism who caught on first. “Ah.” She inclined her head. “To gauge when he’s ready for the, aha, attention he’s going to get.” At their nodding, the former Dammeguard chuckled. “And that want to see him at our winter tastings is one born of that friendship shared last night, then?”

“It is. As are a couple lunch dates we hope to have with him soon. Before the commerce day on the Primrose.”

Seed saw the way Roselyn perked up. “Bring him by my stall!” she blurted. No sign of play or teasing showed upon her face. Instead, there was a sense of earnestness and insight. “I can try to bring something—something that won’t be too much, but might help with nerves or anxiety, whichever it is.”

“That,” Petal replied, her smile brightening, “could well work.”

As the conversation flowed and turned to musings on Stride’s personality and how it might play among the village, Seed settled back on his cushion and pinched off a bite of Petal’s first pancake with his magic, and popped it into his mouth. He smiled at her, humming his content in his own insolence.

In the back of his mind, though, he thought on their new friend.

And decided he’d send the shifty, slippery pegasus a letter by runner to make sure their lunch invitation wasn’t forgotten.
> 16. Garden Musings
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seeing his Merrie-born friends never failed to bring a smile to Stride’s face, but something about those moments his shift took him to walk with Rosemary in the palace gardens had a way of making whatever worries or lingering horrors in his nightmares couldn’t touch him.

Then again, were any immune to such a feeling?

The gardeners greeted them with polite bows, but the brightening smiles when Rosemary would tease or launch into some debate on gardening methods could not go unnoticed. To her, they were friends, of course. Even if her cousin-slash-brother could teach them a thing or two.

Merrier familial relationships, Stride realized, were quite odd.

But not unpleasantly so.

Collar shook his head, a fond smile playing upon his lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that mare means to charm everypony I put before her just to prove she needs no magic,” he mused. “And perhaps to they that there is heart in the Rosethorn line still.”

Unable to help himself, Stride turned a look of mild bemusement upon his liege lord. “My lord, I think you’re a little late to that suspicion.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “She did get to Poppy and me.”

“Ha! Yes.” The older stallion blew a sigh through his nose. “And me too, I suppose.”

Stride watched Rosemary bend low to savor the scents of a cluster of bluebells. She didn’t have to, of course, with her nose she could probably close her eyes and prance to each she wished and announce them to the stallions. But she did so love to savor their scents.

Just as she loved to savor each friend’s company.

He blew a sigh through his nose. “I ended up talking to the vintner and her husband,” Stride said, shifting the subject. “Rosewine Petal and Rosethorn Seed.”

“Mm, I heard.” At Stride’s questioning look, Collar smiled. “Seed is a cousin of Lady Rosewater, one of the few of her family on favorable terms with her. He and Petal came over to speak with us after they’d finished cleaning up, and told us, among other things, that you’d made quite an impression.”

The pegasus racked his brain, hoping he hadn’t done something to cause offense. Sure, he knew of the—ah—orgies which took place after the parties at Rosewine Vineyard. Cloudy had told him of them herself. But he’d tried to focus on the social aspect! 

That was more jarring, really. Orgies and parties in Rose culture weren’t exactly uncommon.

His worry must have been clear upon his face, for Collar chuckled and patted his shoulder. “A good impression, Strides. Don’t fret that.” The larger stallion’s smile turned to an amused grin. “Did you really apologize for your brother acting up?”

Stride ducked his head. “He was being an ass,” he explained, his ears flattening to his mane. “Carrying on about those accusations against her and how tasting wine would let her make a custom lure to ensnare me.”

Snorting, Collar rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. But Petal luring you? No.” He flicked his tail as if to swat away the notion like a fly. “Between she and Rose Seed, I doubt any would dare try to ply a lure against one of their friends while in their company.”

“I read the other Dammeguards’ testimonies. The returned ones.” Stride bit his lip. How to word this next question so it didn’t sound too accusatory? “Er, they’re, um, also rather important to the Garden of Love, my lord. The Lord of the Garden and the Heiress on the Hill?”

Collar flicked his left ear. “Yes.” He nodded once. “Rose Seed is the leader of the village, the heir of Rosewine Rosethorn’s legacy.”

So he did know.

Then …

As if reading the thought off his face, Collar bobbed his head. “They’ve asked after you, yes,” he said. “And I requested their patience, as promised.”

Stride breathed a sigh. “Ah. Okay.”  He had the grace to bow his head and murmur, “Sorry, my lord. I just—“

“Were our roles reversed, Strides, I suspect I’d wonder the same. I take no offense to it.”

“Oh. Good.” There was a beat of silence, then Stride added, “They were nice.”

“They said much the same about you. I believe they also mentioned the prospect of lunch sometime in the next couple of days?”

Blinking, Stride bobbed his head. “Yes, my lord. I was going to ask—so I could send them a letter and see what they had time for, given how busy they must be.”

“Ask? Ah. Your shifts, of course.” Collar grinned. “Well, I think we can find somepony to spend a little time with Rosemary for a couple hours around lunchtime over the next couple days. Tell them, and then let me know which you’ll need leave for and you’re free to go. Perhaps our guest will just have to suffer my company and debating instead.”

A half dozen steps away, Rosemary’s ears twitched. She turned, smirking, and fixed Collar with a look. “Or perhaps you’ll suffer me instead, my lord,” she teased. Then, she turned a playful look upon Stride. “And don’t you go spending all that debate and storytelling energy on that goof of a cousin of mine, Strides. Else I’ll have to be a pest.”

Stride laughed. “But I can spend it all on Petal?”

Her eyes danced. She loved when he played along. And, come to think of it, so did he. “Of course. But I’m the only Rosethorn you’re to spend the bulk of that energy on. So there.”

The Prim stallions shared a look.

Collar shrugged, smiling. “Unfortunately, the Collar Law of Report Receiving doesn’t save you from that,” he deadpanned.

With a sigh, Stride turned his gaze skyward. “I understand, my lord. But …” He glanced at Rosemary and grinned. “Maybe Stride’s Law of Being Too Fast can spare me her machinations.”

Rather than balk or protest, his friend simply beamed. “I have a Cloudy Rose.”

“I said being too fast. Not too slow.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know you said that!”

Damn my mouth.

At least Collar got a laugh out of the byplay.





It wasn’t nearly the first time Note had greeted the morning entwined in a warm, loving embrace with Rose Crown. Stars, no. It wasn’t even the first he’d been in bed with Gilded and Crisp.

But it was, in fact, the first time that he’d found himself pressed back against their pegasus lover’s chest.

And could feel Crisp’s sheath teasing against his dock.

Note felt his heart do a little flutter when he registered the sensations, the rising and falling of Crisp’s chest coupled together with some fanciful dream which drove him to clutch tighter around Note’s waist and slide those soft feathers up his thigh as a wing extended. On Crown’s opposite side, Gilded Page let out a shuddering gasp, and a whimper.

The night’s festivities came back to him in a pleasant blur. One which brought a stirring to his loins again.

Stars, holding them again. Feeling his cock enter Crown as she sang ecstasy in every moan, in every thrust he drove into her. Upon his tongue, a lingering taste of Gilded’s arousal as he pleasured her until she shrieked and gave up teasing him with magic to demand he mount her there and then.

Crisp’s warm kisses, his playful little nips and flirting of feather and tail against Note’s thighs and rump as he encouraged the nervous unicorn to explore with hoof and magic. Encouragement aided by Crown’s guiding voice.

So patient, even if he hesitated as Crisp made to trail those kisses lower.

The stallion had merely smiled and licked his nose, whispering, “It’s okay. I know it’s a big shift.”

Note felt a trickle of shame enter his heart. That happy haze left him all too quickly, and in its place, left a stallion feeling as though he was …

Was what? 

The Principes covered things like this. It was hardly unique that two stallions sharing lovers, sharing potential mates should not want to lay with one another. Or only one have that feeling. The same could apply to mares. It wasn’t just Note.

But that was just the problem—a part of him, a part that grew louder, bolder with each passing day and each shared kiss, did want to try it.

It just never managed to beat out nerves and uncertainty. A voice always seemed to counter it with an insidious whisper:

What if I don’t really want it? What if I don’t really like him and I leave him feeling hurt?

Crown hummed her contentment in his embrace, and shifted closer. Her eyelids fluttering, she trailed a hoof up his chest, up to cup his cheek, and squinted at him through bleary eyes. A smile spread across her features. “Good morning, my wicked Prim stallion,” she murmured and tilted her chin up in prompting.

She’d taught him well.

He chuckled quietly, leaning in to kiss her upon command. “Good morning, slanderer,” he teased back.

That certainly woke her up. Crown pressed her lips together, hiding a smile. “Were our loves not asleep,” she hissed, “I would torment those delicate ears until you were but a puddle of a stallion coated in his own come, unable to do more than whimper as your cock twitched.”

The thought brought a renewed stirring to his loins. Note felt his cock slide forth from his sheath, tickling against her coat.

She smiled and drew in a deep sniff, her eyes fluttered. “Such a lovely, fragrant musk,” she whispered. Crown fixed him with a lidded gaze, her hoof began to trail down his chest until she could caress his shaft. “Such a fine lover, we’ve found in one of Damme’s sons, in you, my dear.”

Was he, though? For Gilded and Crisp?

Crown’s smile faded. She drew her hoof away from her teasings and nuzzled him softly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

Her teeth stung his chin. “Share with me, Note,” Crown chided him gently. Her hooves, now, cupped his cheeks. “Share with me, as we’ve taught you. In our love, we are all here to bear the weight our lovers shoulder.”

“Poetic,” Note mused, forcing a smile. “And so early in the morning, perhaps you should write my next novel.”

“I will not.” Again, she delivered a scolding nip to his chin. Then, Crown lit her horn so she might gently untangle them from Crisp and Gilded’s embraces. She flicked her left ear, a prompting to rise and slide carefully from the bed so they might converse without rousing their slumbering partners.

And, no doubt, so they could put up a modest privacy spell to ensure that fact.

Note rose as asked, his movements fluid and graceful, the results of years of practice under Priceless’s watchful eye.

He slunk off the bed like a fox receding back into the shade of the underbrush, careful to ease his hooves off so the weight displacement didn’t jolt them from their slumber. Once satisfied, the stallion wrapped a Silent Steps spell around his hooves and followed Crown from her bedroom and into the private library the three shared.

In this room, she had curated with Crisp and Gilded their most prized and favored books. Novels by writers of unparalleled skill, rare magical, historical, or cultural texts from the Merriedamme region and beyond, and priceless collections of poems by her inspirations. Sometimes, Note couldn’t help but wonder if one of his books managed to find a spot in these hallowed shelves.

Or if he ever might.

Crown turned to visit a comforting brush against his shoulder as she let one of her privacy spells engulf the room. A second layer, he knew. None could pierce the privacy wards she’d set upon these rooms on the second floor. The rest of his house had wards she considered ‘rudimentary’—capable of being breached, certainly, though not without a nasty surprise for those who might try.

He’d caught that one with a glance at the runes in the sitting room during his first visit and resolved never to try returning her flirtatious efforts to enchant him with song with one of his own with poem or spoken word. Minus the literal enchantment part.

Not unless he wanted her to have free rein to wrap spells around his ears and fill them with her song before he had a chance to apply a filter.

Stars, she might just sing him straight into her hooves so she could tease him personally for his impertinence.

“Share your worries with me, Prim Note,” Crown urged as she gently tugged a cushion over and sat, motioning that he join her. “As we’ve shared our hearts, and I’ve shared mine when I’m able.”

Indeed, she had. And, to a degree, so had he.

The only things withheld were the nature of his work and hers in raiding. The latter, to protect the ponies dear to her heart.

That, he could respect.

So, too, could Priceless.

Note blew a sigh through his nose and shook his head, sliding onto the cushion so he could lay back and recline against her chest. Her hooves wrapped around his shoulders in a loose embrace. “You know I worry,” he murmured.

“About what?” Crown flicked a look toward the bedroom. “Dear, Crisp Corner knows you’re uncertain on your attraction to stallions. Stars, the first time you two kissed, when you kissed his chin, he was so stunned and jubilant I thought him a flustered colt!”

His cheeks reddening, Note let his ears dip. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not. If anything, I understate.” He felt her smile against his mane. “Crisp treasures each hug, each nuzzle you’ve given. As Gilded did when you shared your affection with her, and as she did the first time you allowed her to take your cock into her mouth and mounted her afterward.”

Now, his ears lay flat. “That …” Note licked his lips. “I didn’t realize they did. I mean, I’ve enjoyed it all, of course, but I didn’t realize they felt so strongly.”

“Oh, my dear, Prim Note.” Her tone, he recognized as one of patient comfort. Like a teacher to her student. 

In this case, it fit well.

She gave his ear a gentle nip. Not in teasing as she had last night, but one of affection. “You and I share the love of lovers. With Crisp and Gilded, you share, by my view, that of friends in the fashion of a Merrier circle. Friends who share in free love together.”

The phrasing made him squirm so. “But what I feel for them …” Note shook his head. “It’s different. It’s not what I felt for Dazzle or my other friends in the Dammeguard. It’s … more.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s just the point, though.”

“Is it? But what I feel, it’s …”

What exactly did he feel?

More than friends, but not quite the same that he felt for Crown. But he had to consider what they’d taught him of Merrier culture and its views on love—the kaleidoscopic nature and different forms it could take.

In Damme, the lines were much clearer, more defined. But there wasn’t this freedom to just express what he felt in his culture.

Here, Note could show just how passionate he was and how he felt for Gilded by making love to her in the morning, he could share in what experimentation nerves and anxieties would allow by sharing kisses with Crisp while the pegasus slowly trailed his feathers until asked to stop, and he could finish his night with Crown and whisper his adoration in her ears as they fell asleep together. He could do all that, and wake in the morning as he had this day.

“What if I only really love you like a lover?” he asked, his voice betraying angst and worry. “Or what if I love Gilded but I just … can’t progress for Crisp? I don’t want to hurt them. Either of them.”

A touch of magic cupped his chin, guiding Note to turn and meet Crown’s rosy eyes. “You’ll never hurt them in being honest, Note,” she murmured softly. “I share my bed with our friend, Birchwood Bark, on book club nights. Some, after you’ve left us. But Marigold does not favor mares, yet I will kiss her, and entertain her husband with her.”

Note thought on Birchwood. The stallion was a bit of an odd face, considering the typical genres the group favored and that he, at first glance, might strike a pony as being—ah—thick.

But once one managed to get him talking, they would surely find a keen, hungry mind eager to explore the worlds crafted by the same master writers Crown and Note so adored.

He flushed, thinking of how Birchwood and Marigold might lay together with Crown. “I didn’t think of it that way, really.” Note rubbed his right hoof over his left ankle. “I … stars, I just don’t want him to feel I’ve taken all this time hedging, and he’s been so patient, then for me all of the sudden to say no?”

“And how much will you hurt both him and yourself, should you lie?” she asked, biting his ear. “In that, dear Note, he would find greater offense and hurt. Be honest with him and yourself, and you’ll find Crisp will hold you close still.” Crown coaxed him to turn and cupped his cheek in a hoof. “And should we join together as bonded mates, we four, he will love you as his husband, and respect your preferences as I do Marigold’s. It is our way, my dear. My ancestor’s way.”

Yes, that much he had read in his perusing of the Principes.

But there was reading and then there was practicing.

Note shifted so he could lay on his side. His nose brushed against hers. “How do I get past this and accept that?” he asked. “Hearing it, reading it, it’s not like being in this place in my head and heart.”

His love gave a sympathetic smile and leaned in to kiss him softly. There was no heat of passion in this, as there had been last night. This was the side of the Rosethorns that had been lost to those across the river.

And to some here in Merrie.

She doesn’t belong here, he thought, not for the first time. She belongs somewhere her heart can be shared without fear of reprisal or blackmail.

For now, this was what they had.

They’d just have to figure out how to get to a better place when the winds were more favorable. Together.

Note turned his head so he could lay his cheek against hers. “How are you so patient with me on this?” he murmured, rubbing softly against her markings. 

Crown hummed, shifting so she could return the gesture. “How are you so open to hearing and respecting others’ cultures in your works and thoughts?” she countered. Then, the mare turned her head so she could brush her lips against his cheek. “Or consider taking a walk with us down the Rose way of things?”

With a breathy laugh, he rolled over, nudging her with his shoulder so he could lay atop her and press their noses together. “I love you,” Note whispered softly. “And everything you do to me.”

“I love you,” came her reply, coupled with a beautiful smile. “And what you make me feel.” Her eyes glittering, Crown gave his nose a slow lick, and purred, “And I would share that with you, here and now, my dear.”

Note drew back and fixed her with a disbelieving look. “Here?” He laughed. “But this is your private collection, love. Shouldn’t we—“

A band of magic looped around his neck and drew him back into her embrace. Her eyes held him in place even before her hooves slid up his sides. 

“Here,” she repeated as the musty scent of her arousal wafted to his nose. “And now, Prim Note.” Crown cupped his cheeks in her hooves and butted her forehead against his. “It won’t be the first time I’ve made love with one of the three ponies so dear to my heart. For a night and a day, let’s live our dream of a life where we may be as a Rosethorn and their lovers should.”

Note licked his lips. The notion was … tantalizing.

Academically and physically.

Four months apart had done little to diminish what they shared together. If nothing else, it simply doused everything in oil and flicked a match last night.

Again, he felt his cock slide forth from his sheath and press against her warmth. He could feel her teats on either side, drawing a shiver.

“H-How exactly would that be?” he asked, feigning a tone of mere academic interest as best he could manage. “If I weren’t a Prim and I happened to be a Rosethorn’s lover? How would our love be shared?”

Crown held her bottom lip between her teeth. A poor effort to stifle a salacious grin. “Let me show you …”

A touch of magic against his chest guided Note to roll to his back as Crown switched their positions so she might pin him to the cushion. Their lips met






After a little bit of friendly needling and prodding courtesy of Rosemary, they had finished their walk and talk around the palace garden together, a light, chipper mood settling over them. Stride even noticed that Collar seemed to perk up throughout the conversation—not that the stallion was ever particularly dour or ill-tempered without reason, but it showed.

He even got in a bit on banter here and there to help Stride fend off some of her teasings.

Stride stood by his friend’s side, smiling and shaking his head to himself. How was it that guarding a prisoner who had broken Damme’s laws on scent magic managed to lead to something like this?

Not that he could complain. Theirs was a friendship he treasured, even if Rosemary delighted in poking at some of his preconceived notions until she found a hole.

A playful snap of her tail across his ankle made him start. “No daydreaming, buster!” she mock scolded. Rosemary bumped shoulders with him and said, “If I weren’t a prisoner, I’d have to do something about those lapses in your attention.”

“Like what?” Stride furrowed his brows. “I’m not as bad as when we first met. I don’t just blather if you mention things.”

“Things?” she repeated with a flutter of lashes. A hint she knew just how well she could fluster him if she did start talking about sex. But, out of her room, she gave him some small measure mercy. 

Instead, she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Ask Seed about the time I tied his tail to his ponytail while he drifted off on the couch on my eleventh birthday.”

The pegasus turned to fix her with a look. He could just imagine a younger Seed waking, only to yelp as his mane and tail suddenly tugged on one another. “That,” he said after a moment. “That is just mean.”

Rosemary giggled. “Serves him right for being a lump on my birthday. And for slipping something to change the fragrance in my shampoo so I smelled like beetroot the time I visited the week before.”

Stride tried not to snort. Really, he did.

But all he could manage was to turn and look away so he wouldn’t meet her eyes as he bit the inside of his cheeks and tried his damndest to swallow his amusement.

He felt Rosemary looming. “Don’t you dare,” she threatened in her playful way. She stepped closer, trying to catch his eye again. “You’d better not laugh at me, Prim Stride.”

He shielded his face with a wing. “Me?” he squeaked, his voice strained. “Never.”

“Why would he?” Collar drawled. Mischief shone in his eyes, just as it had when he asked Stride about formal wear. “It’s such an interesting fragrance, isn’t it, Strides?”

Poor Stride didn’t have a chance.

He stole one quick glance at Rosemary—a mistake. All it took to imagine a little filly wearing that look, glaring at Seed, was a split second. And then, unbridled mirth. 

The pegasus fell back on his haunches so he could cover his laughter with both wings and forelegs, and hide his face lest he see the retribution promised in Rosemary’s gaze.

“Lord Collar! Strides!” she protested with a stamp. “You two traitors!”

“Which stallion is in more trouble, Rosemary?” he heard Collar muse. “The one who struggled with his mirth and now cackles with glee? Or the one who gave him a nudge over the edge?”

Curiosity managed to poke against the back of Stride’s mind. He dared to peer through his feathers to see Rosemary fixing Collar with her very best glare. An effort in vain.

Even when she tried to give a low growl.

Collar simply grinned and asked, “Was it something I said?”

The Rosethorn blew a breath through her nose, shaking her head. “You … Youuuuu are gonna get yours.” Just then, Rosemary caught Stride just before he could hide again, and lowered her head in challenge. “Primfeather Stride.” She pawed lightly at the ground. “You’d best stop that snickering. You’d best stop it right this instant, or I promise, I’ll get you like I always get Seed!”

He just couldn’t help himself. It was her fault, anyway, that she and Cloudy had got him to banter more.

“Mane’s not long enough—pfffft!” Stride blurted before he stuffed his hooves in his mouth.

Rosemary gave a low, ominous laugh. “Oh, boy, do you wish that’s the only trick I know! You have three seconds—“

“Hang on, there,” Cloudy Rose’s voice called from the palace entry. She sauntered out, a bemused half-smirk on her lips, and took her place between the stallions. “I caught the tail end of this. What’s got you giggling, lunkhead?”

Stride lowered his wings so he might share a look with Collar, then stole the chance to smirk at Rosemary.

Now, her lips pressed together. Her cheeks, however, flushed such a deep crimson her markings disappeared. “Don’t you dare tell her,” she warned. “I’ll get you both.”

Swallowing, Stride averted his gaze. “N-Nothing, Cloudy,” he said. “Just … discussing some interesting fragrances.”

Cloudy arched her brow at him. “Uh-huh.” She flicked a look to Collar. “Any we can get you to try, love?”

“Why, yes,” Collar deadpanned. “I’ve developed a sudden and keen intrigue for beetroot.”

The only thing more hysterical than the look of sincere confusion on Cloudy’s face, was the angry, teakettle like noise Rosemary made before she marched up to the now-chuckling liege lord and did her best mimicry of her eldest cousin’s glare. The effect ruined by the smile threatening to tug at her lips.

All in all, the perfect scene to send Stride back under his wings to hide his laughter.

“You two boys,” Rosemary intoned. “Have a new lesson to learn.”

“Do we?” Collar mused. 

“Yes. Take care when you play tricks with your Rosethorn friends, for ours are creative and made for us to savor.”

The stallion shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Her smile probably should’ve sent them running. “Oh, yes. Yes, we will, my lord.”

“Well.” Cloudy coughed into her hoof. “Fun as I’m sure that’s bound to be—and I do look forward to the chance to laugh at these two flailing at the mercy of a proper Rose—I need to commandeer this one.” She aimed a gentle kick at Stride’s backside, soft enough just to get his attention. “He owes me lunch at Tap’s.”

That was enough to stop Stride’s laughter in its tracks. He blinked, cocking his head to one side. “Wait, since when?”

“Since I beat you in a race.” She gave a meaningful raise of her brows. “Pigeon.”

The memory flashed before his eyes. Stride’s jaw set and ears splayed, he glared up at her. “You only won because you cheated!” he retorted.

Cloudy grinned. “Yeah? Well, think more like a Rosewing than a lunkheaded Primfeather, and maybe you won’t fall for that trick.” She turned, clipping his ears lightly with a wing, and added, “And here I had such high expectations that you weren’t on Gale’s level …”

It was blatant bait.

But damned if it didn’t get him on his hooves and straight in her face. “You still only barely won!” he insisted. “Race me from a dead start without your tricks, I’ll be waiting at the finish line with a mug of Dammerale!”

A gentle tugging of silver magic drew them apart. Collar shook his head, unable to hide a smile. “Okay, foals, knock it off or it’s no dessert after dinner.” He deftly sidestepped a bite to the shoulder, courtesy of Cloudy. 

And right into Rosemary’s trap.

She snaked a hoof around his left foreleg and smirked. “Then if you’re claiming my debate partner, I’m claiming Lord Collar. He owes me for the terrible teasing he and Strides have put me through!” 

“What a heinous accusation,” Collar drawled. With a smile, he bobbed his head. “Very well. We’ll have lunch and then you can join me while I do look over a few things. Your cousin should be by later …”

While they talked, Cloudy steered Stride toward the door with a nudge of her shoulder. “C’mon, you. Put your gear on a rack and let’s get to Tap’s before lunch.”

Stride grunted, but followed as asked. “Still a cheater,” he grumbled.

She laughed and touched a feather to his shoulder. An affectionate gesture, a friendly gesture. “And I’m gonna keep cheating ‘till you learn, boy.” Her wing slipped over his shoulders and drew him close. “One way or another, I’m gonna get you to think outside your helm. You’re better than just ‘flies fast.’”

Blinking, he turned to aim a surprised look at her.

That was …

Not expected.

“I am?”

“You can be.” A smirk played upon her lips. “Once you stop seeing the world in tunnel vision.”

His hoof caught on hers. Stride yelped and fell flat on his face, his ears ringing with the clatter of armor and her fleeing laughter.

“Last one there buys!” she called over her shoulder.

With an angry snarl, Stride bolted after her. That damn mare! She’d tripped him this time!
> 17. Chats Over Dammerale
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The races Cloudy Rose and Prim Stride held on their way to Prim Tap and Lager’s would later become the stuff of legend to the populace.

For reasons Cloudy would insist were the absolute best sort.

There was no such thing as “unfair” in her vocabulary. A reality Stride had learned over the course of a year or two knowing the mare, but always seemed to forget at exactly the wrong moment to find himself tripping over a carefully placed hoof, clipped with a wing such that he turned into a barrel, or ended up tangled in a tarp or cloth of some sort.

These days, he’d gotten better, though! 

He actually managed to trip her up with a lasso and tie the opposite end to the post just as she reached for the door.

If only he hadn’t made the mistake of lingering to stick his tongue out at her, he wouldn’t have ended up here, in this state.

Cloudy snared his right wing in a loose joint lock and smiled sweetly at him. “You untie my hoof,” she warned. “And we call this a draw.”

Damn. 

His ears splayed. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“Lord Collar would be furious!”

“I’ll cope.”

He thought hard. 

“Rosemary will be upset!”

Her smile faltered for a second, then returned. “She will,” Cloudy admitted. “But I could always arrange for her to care for her poor, pained debate partner. And you wouldn’t be able to fly to escape her games or mine …”

Stride swallowed. 

Damn her. One day—one day!—he’d win.

He bowed his head in submission. “We drew,” he grumbled.

“Good boy.” She released his wing so she might reach up and tussle his mane. “Now hurry up and untie that rope. Sheesh! Did you have to do it so tight? My back left hoof is falling asleep!”

“Had to be sure you wouldn’t just slip out.” Stride gave the knot a tug, loosening the lasso enough that Cloudy could step free. He snorted, the scent of pickles still in his nose. “Letting me hit those pickle barrels was mean, by the by. You know I hate those.”

Her teeth stung his ear. “That’s the point, Strides. Wouldn’t be a lesson if it didn’t have unpleasant consequences.”

“I think you’re just making excuses to mess with me.”

“Well, a little, yes.” Before he could comment further, Cloudy butted her head against his shoulder, nudging him forward. “Come on, I’m hungry, and you’ve got the rest of your shift. Plus, I wanna hear about this rumor of you telling your brother off and sticking up for a pair of Rose dignitaries.”

Stride blew a sigh through his nose. “Not much to really say,” he muttered as they wove through the early lunchtime crowd and found a booth off in the back corner of the pub. “He was an ass and accused Rose Petal of luring Dammeguards, and her and Rose Seed of wanting to use my taste for wine to lure me.”

She snorted and slid into the seat opposite him. “So, you told him to clear off and went back to talking?” When he shrugged and nodded, Cloudy grinned and reached over to tussle his mane for the second time that day. “Look at you! A year ago, you’d have blathered something along those lines without a thought!”

The stallion glared, his ears drooping. “Yeah,” he muttered, carefully fixing his mane. “I would’ve.”

Her grin faded. “Strides, I’m just … Strides, I’m not saying it to make fun of you. I mean you’ve changed a lot in a year.” She held her hooves out wide and offered a smile. “C’mon, you took your lumps and we’ve moved on. Let me at least be a bit of a sap and tell you I see it once in a while.”

He hunched his shoulders. True, it did him well to hear that she and Collar recognized it.

That didn’t mean he didn’t still feel bad about it though.

“You’ve taught me a lot,” he muttered, finally. “You and Collar for a year, and Rosemary the past couple months.”

“You’ve listened and considered a lot,” she countered. The mare leaned back against her backrest, satisfied the moment had passed. “Which is why I know you’re better than ‘flies fast’ when you’re not tunnel—what are you looking around for?”

Stride squinted at her. “For the trick you’re about to hit me with.”

She stared, blinking slowly. Then, her ears ticked, and she gave a bark of laughter and a nod. “Okay, fair.” Those rosy eyes danced with delight. Whether that he’d been concerned for the trick or because he knew to look, he wasn’t certain. Probably both. “But seriously, I’m glad, you lunkhead. Good on you. Hey, Tap! Two Dammerale, please? Don’t let this numpty get the bill, either!”

“Wait, what?” Stride started. “But we drew?”

Cloudy’s brow arched in that warning way he knew to hint that he should take the gift and pipe down. It wasn’t so much a threat as it was just a way of accentuating her presence and place in his life.

It almost felt a bit more than that of a friend or comrade.

Not romantic, heavens no. Neither had particular interest for one another there.

It felt a bit like being taken under her wing.

All trips included.

So that arching brow meant he should accept that she was buying or else she’d batter his ears with a wing. Such was their relationship.

Stride dipped his ears in submission, and chose to change the subject. “How do I address them?” he asked.

Cloudy flicked an ear. “Address who?”

“Seed and Petal. They have titles. Should I be calling him Lord Seed and her … I don’t know, Heiress Petal?”

“You could in a formal setting. I’ll admit, I’ve met them and chatted, though I can’t say I’m overly close with them. They’re nice ponies. Not all that attached to formalities so much as they are interested in growing the Garden’s profits.”

Sensible of them. Pragmatic, even.

And it certainly lent credence to their talk last night.

Cloudy’s hoof prodded his wrist. “Why so concerned?” She scoffed. “You talked with them and they seemed fine, from what I’ve heard. Stars, there’s a rumor going ‘round courtesy of your mother that he had a spell on you!”

Stride groaned and covered his face with his hooves. “The Dammeguard were there! Lord Collar and Baroness Lace were there!”

“And Firelight Spark and Wandering Star, yes.” Hiding his face did little to drown out her chuckling. “But her little colt was talking and having a good time with a Rosethorn and his mate, and they with him. What else could it be?”

Her sarcasm was thick enough to spread on toast, and biting enough to make him whether she was more offended on behalf of her fellow Roses or him.

He chose both.

Stride drew his hooves down his face, sighing. “I don’t want to offend them,” he answered, finally. “Not by doing something silly like leaving off titles for nobles of higher standing, or in being … Primfeather. About your culture. Their culture.”

Again, her brow arched, though not in warning.

Cloudy shrugged. “Fair enough. I understand that.” She turned to accept their mugs from Prim Tap, and slid Stride’s over to him. “I mean, personally? If they didn’t introduce themselves by title at the start, I don’t think it matters to them. Stars, I’m a lesser noble than you and I’ve called him Seed.”

“And Petal?”

“Cares even less. Hers is more … well, not ceremonial, but it’s not as important as his.” She took a swig of Dammerale, smiling at its taste. “He’s damn close to the main line. Don’t ever imply that to him, though.”

Stride wrinkled his snout. “Why? Rosemary said they were close.”

“She and Rosewater are special cases. I mean the rest of them.” A shiver ran down her spine. “The Rosethorns of Rose Palace and those of the Garden are not amicable. No matter how they smile at one another during rare family gatherings.”

“Ah. Thank you for warning me.”

Cloudy nodded once. “Of course. As for the rest, relax. Be like you are around Rosemary and me—talk, laugh, try not to fluster so easily, and ask a question if you don’t understand. You’ll be fine.”

He bobbed his head, taking down mental notes. “Their way is … similar to yours? And Rosemary’s?”

“They follow Rosethorn’s teachings as he wrote them, yes.”

“Okay.” Those, he didn’t know by heart, but he knew some. The two month crash course he’d been getting from Rosemary in their debates and Cloudy from little chats like this helped.

He could work with that.

Lunch with them, spending time getting to know them didn’t seem quite as daunting then.

Stride drew in a deep breath. “Anything else I should know?”

Cloudy smirked. “Yeah, don’t go telling them lies like you’re faster than me,” she quipped. “Else I’ll have to beat you in front of them.”

Of course.

He smiled and took a drink. “Okay, I won’t go telling them lies like you’re faster than me, Cloudy.”

Her smirk spread into a warm, genuine smile. “You get that one, Strides. You get that one.” She took a deeper pull of her Dammerale, and added, “It’s good to hear you bantering again.”

“We always banter, though.”

“Not as much since the raid.”

Stride flinched.

He couldn’t hide it from her.

Those rosy eyes bored into his. “How have you been sleeping?” she asked, softly.

He swallowed, shifting in place. “Better last night,” came his answer. “The nightmares come and go.”

Cloudy searched him, seeking out any sign of falsehood. When she found none, she nodded. “Let me know if they start getting bad again, please.” The mare set her glass at the edge of their table, the universal sign in Prim Tap’s that it was in need of refilling. “We can see about finding something to help with them.”

His feathers twitching nervously, Stride ducked his head. “I’m trying,” he muttered.

“I know, Strides. I can see you’ve made progress, but …” She offered a crooked half-smile. “There’s nothing wrong with getting help after something like that.”

She’d said something similar before.

What was it she’d said the day he’d dived after the—

Cold spray hit him.

Stride gripped his mug tight, as if to make sure the wind wouldn’t rip it from his grasp.

He shook himself free before he heard the voices calling after him. “M-Maybe,” Stride stammered. Licking his lips, he asked, “You, er, have ideas?”

To her credit, Cloudy didn’t press him on his lapse.

But he wasn’t fool enough to think she’d missed it.

“If I can’t, I’m sure Baron Dapper or Rosemary would be happy to help.” She reached over and gave his wrist a gentle nudge. “Don’t hide it if this starts getting bad.”

Stride drew in a long, deep breath through his nose, and held it. A small measure of meditative comfort against these feelings.

He released it with a slow sigh. “I won’t, Cloudy,” he muttered. “I promise.”





The return trip was, thankfully, devoid of the same antics as their race to Prim Tap’s. Though, admittedly, that might have been because Cloudy hinted Lace would have her wings if she caused trouble like that twice in one day.

Stride, however, suspected something else. “You just didn’t want to race because you knew I’d win outright this time,” he teased as they ascended the steps to Prim Palace.

Cloudy swiped a wing across his ears. “You wish, Strides.” She smiled, a sign that there was no heat behind the act, as always. “Maybe if you worked out your wings as much as you do that mouth, you’ll be able to keep up.”

“I learned to mouth off from you, you know.”

“That, I doubt. You forget, I know Sunrise—I’ve heard you were a brat long before I got ahold of you.”

At the mention of his older sister’s name, Stride looked away. He loved Sunrise, really, he did. But their relationship for the past decade or so had been strained.

In no small part, he now realized, because he’d spent a good portion of it oscillating between bucking against their parents ideals and parroting them.

His wings rustled, a tell of how awkward he felt. “Yeah,” he muttered softly. “She’d know.”

Cloudy’s smile faded. “Something happen between you two? You both were kinda weird toward one another when she visited with your father.”

“Nothing wrong that’s new.” Stride sighed and shook his head. “We haven’t talked much the last few years. I think that was the first I’d really spoken to her since I left the house.”

“Ah.” Cloudy nudged him. “You should reach out to her. I bet she misses you.”

He grunted, flicking his tail. “My mouth didn’t exactly endear me to her growing up. And … I can see why now.”

They need not comment on that discovery. That she’d been with Rosemary after some party on the bridge.

A stinging of teeth against his cheek drew him out of those thoughts. “She’s been in a villa with your parents and your brothers, and the only one of the family with the sense to get out hasn’t spoken to her. Trust me, you ought to try.”

The younger of the pegasi gave an uncertain groan, but nodded anyway. Sunrise was …

Sunrise was kind.

She’d been kind, if quiet, when they were young. Stars, she used to hold him when he’d cry about how Gale and Gust and all the older foals teased him, and whisper that they’d see one day that he was special too.

Why couldn’t I just follow her example instead of theirs? he wondered.

How different might he have been when he’d met Cloudy and Rosemary if he had?

Again, Cloudy nipped at his cheek. “Give it a chance, lunkhead. You called my mom a whore and we’re friends. I’d say you’re not exiled from her life, based on how she hedged and hemmed and hawed trying to talk with you last time.”

“I’ll see about it,” he muttered, nodding his ascent. It would be nice if they could patch things up.

Stars, it’d be nice just to talk to her again.

How to get that started, though, was the main issue.

Together, the pegasi rounded the corner and headed toward Collar’s office to pick up Rosemary so he might resume the rest of his shift. His armor had been stashed on a rack in a side room in his haste to catch Cloudy, so that was easy enough to retrieve.

But it was as they rounded that last turn that all thoughts of reconnecting with Sunrise were promptly banished from his mind as he came nose to crimson heart adorned breast with Rosewater Rosethorn.

The heiress of Merrie started at their sudden appearance, then smiled. “Ah, here is your Cloudy Rose, my lord,” she teased, casting a glance over her shoulder toward Collar and Rosemary. “And the young Dammeguard who sought your leave of the Gala last night. Prim Stride, I believe? His scent is quite distinctive.”

“Correct.” Collar bobbed his head. “Lance Corporal Prim Stride, Lady Rosewater. I believe you’ve seen him on occasion, swapping duties.”

“Aha. Duties, indeed.” Rosewater caught Stride’s eye, a hint of mischief entered her smile. “I do hope my cousin behaves in your company. I hear she causes our Lord Collar and dear Cloudy Rose plenty of trouble as it is.”

“More than you know!” Cloudy chimed.

On cue, Rosemary feigned a huff and stamped her hoof. “I do not! Strides, tell her!” she demanded.

Under the rosy-eyed gaze of one of the most powerful scent mages in the region, Stride tried to edge subtly back, and kept his head bowed. “R-Rosemary’s taught me quite a bit, Lady Rosewater,” he managed to croak. “Our conversations have been, um, interesting.”

Was it just him, or did her smile falter just slightly?

But just as soon as he’d noticed, Rosewater rallied and reaffixed it to her face.

“That does me well to hear,” she said, returning her attention to the younger Rosethorn. “Alas, I suppose this means you’ll be returned to your quarters?”

Rosemary dipped her ears. “I should, yes.” Then, a bit of hope entered her eyes. “Though, you could visit. Once your business with Lord Collar is concluded.”

Stride felt his heart sink into his stomach, and hoped dearly it didn’t show on his face.

Humming, Rosewater shared a look with Collar. “I would like that. If our lord finds it agreeable.” She raised her brows, adding, “I do have tidings to bring from our, aha, favored layabout cousin.”

The look Rosemary shot him practically crowed “See? I told you!” To Rosewater, she beamed and trotted up so they might share a brief embrace. “I’d love that,” she whispered, turning to Collar so she might fix him with a pleading look.

Gracious as ever, he nodded once. “You only needed ask. We’ll rejoin once your cousin and I conclude the day’s negotiations, then. After you, Lady Rosewater—ah! Just a moment, Strides.” He lit his horn and floated a sealed envelope to the pegasus before he could try to get a lead down the corridor. “A runner came with Rose Seed’s reply. I thought it best not to keep him, so I held onto it. I haven’t read it, of course.”

Stride swallowed and accepted the envelope with a bow. “Th-Thank you, my lord. Er, Rosemary? Shall we, um, go? And Cloudy will you be coming with us, or …”

Cloudy gave him a gentle nudge. “Yeah, I’ll stick around and see what trouble you two have been up to, I think.” She gave a little bow to Rosewater, adding, “Excuse us, Lady Rosewater. Come along, you two.”

As the elder pegasus ushered Rosemary and he along to begin their trek to the mare’s chambers, Stride held his lip between his teeth, the rumors and comments from this morning and the previous night demanding he steal a quick glance over his shoulder.

What he saw nearly made him stop in place.

Prim Collar and Rosewater Rosethorn stood together, alone for but a moment, smiling at one another. Their postures were completely at ease, barren of any inkling of formality or gap between them. In this light, in this situation, they looked more like old friends than the heirs of rival cities at war.

Again, Collar’s words from the Gala and their talk in the palace gardens floated to the forefront of his mind. A friendlier face in Merrie was needed. The war could end soon, Damme, despite recent events, had an advantage.

But what would help more than any military action would be the support of the common pony in both cities. Which regime respected the other’s culture enough to show that it would take no action to diminish it?

If that was the case …

This is the right path, he realized. They can bring us together. That’s why he wanted me to do the same.

Stride’s decision was affirmed then and there.

Rosewater Rosethorn, the scent mage, frightened him terribly. But if the mare herself, the heiress of Merrie and Rosethorn’s legacy, could reach a hoof across the river and clasp it with Prim Collar’s, then it was worth the discomfort Stride felt.

Respectfully and courteously, as Collar asked. Mindful of this goal and Rosemary’s feelings. That’s how he would speak to her when required. If required at all.

He could fight the fear well enough for that. 

With his mind made up, Stride put that aside and settled in on their walk to Rosemary’s room. He kept Seed’s letter tucked under wing until he closed the door behind them and set his helm on the table.

Just in time for Rosemary to give his shoulder a light prodding with a touch of magic. “Open the letter!” she urged, settling into a seat beside Cloudy. Close enough that her lover didn’t need fully extend a wing to touch a feather against her side. “Tell me when you’re going to lunch with them.”

“Demanding, isn’t she?” Cloudy teased and earned herself a pinch on the shoulder. “And testy! That comment about beetroot really got your dander up, didn’t it? One of you wanna explain?”

Stride coughed and turned his eyes upon the envelope as though it required his full attention to open, a rather pitiful effort to escape Rosemary’s wrathful gaze and the inherent promise of retaliation should he dare utter a word.

Instead, he retrieved the letter and gave it a quick once over, reading out Seed’s surprisingly neat, flowing writing.



To our friend Prim Stride,

I should think we can meet tomorrow and the day after for lunch, given your availability. We shall, of course, stick to the Damme side of the river.

Petal has asked that we try to keep to a bit of lighter fare, but since you’ll be our host, I put it to you. Where would you prefer to dine?

I’ll look forward to receiving your answer tomorrow. Let’s meet on the Damme side of the Primrose—we’ll cross at the Rosewine and make our way over so we don’t force you to fly the distance in the midst of your shift.

Kind regards,

Rose Seed



With a smile playing upon his lips, Stride passed Seed’s letter over to Rosemary. “Tomorrow and the day after,” he said softly. “I just need to think of a place to go with them in Damme.”

The Rosethorn mare gave it a quick once over, humming to herself. “One day,” she said, “you need to let one of us entertain you in Merrie. I know a few places you’d love, and I’m certain Seed knows quite a number as well.” With a nod, she reclined n her seat and smiled. “So, where will you take them? Please tell me not the same pub you two go every day.”

Stride thought of that for a second, then blanched. “Not around lunchtime,” he replied with a shudder. “Stars, my cousins pack in Prim Tap’s like fish swimming upriver. They gave a Rosethorn stallion quite a time there the other day before an off-duty Dammeguard told them to shove off.”

“Do you know which one?” Cloudy asked, mildly interested. 

“Er … one of the more bookish ones, I think. Prim …” He wrinkled his snout. “Note? I think Prim Note.”

“Ah, good old Note. Nice guy, keeps to himself, but you don’t wanna get on his bad side.” She grinned. “Boy’s as cold as a blizzard when he’s angry.”

He bobbed his head and casually filed that away for future reference. Stride didn’t know Prim Note much at all—just something about an old partner who’d abruptly retired and left for part of Merrie to be with a few lovers—but if that’s who was always at the corner seat of Prim Tap’s, well, it was probably best not to upset a regular.

Especially not one who could becalm a crowd of indignant Primfeathers with a few words.

Still, he didn’t exactly know what sort of things Seed and Petal would like. And it was mentioned that Petal was hoping for a bit of lighter fare for lunch. That, he should consider.

Merriers had a bit of a different style of preferred meal, anyhow.

There were two right here before him …

So, he put it to them. “Er … maybe this is more a question for Cloudy, only because I’m not sure if you’ve eaten here, Rosemary, but—“ he licked his lips “—what sort of places do you like to go when you’re looking for a lighter meal?”