“Mommy! Can I go play outside?”

Rosary looked up from studying the ledgers from the woodcarving business she and her husband ran to frown thoughtfully at Rose Moon’s question. Her daughter wasn’t quite hopping up and down on her seat at the bay window overlooking the garden and hedge wall surrounding their home; she was a good and obedient little filly after all and knew that being rambunctious in the house was a no-no.

Briefly, she considered correcting her diction, then cast it aside. Moon would only be a filly for so long, and she might wish to hear mommy instead of mother more than once in the future. Too much lately had her worrying about the future.

“Is there a pegasus guard available to watch over you?”

Moon considered that for a moment, staring outside and up and all around before she pointed. “High Feather is out there.”

Rosary pursed her lips, then nodded. “Please speak to him first so he knows to look out for you, then you may play, Moon. But please—” It was too late. Moon was off the bench seat like a shot from an arbalest and out the lower kitchen door before Rosary had gotten the ‘but’ out. She sighed. Moon was at that age where she had more energy than sense, and her legs had grown out with her body lagging behind, leaving her a lanky looking filly too tall for her age.

She’d be as tall as Rosewater someday, Rosary was certain.

All the more reason to keep her far away from Roseate. The bitch was always looking for ponies she could turn into weapons to use against her failed experiment of a daughter. Now that Rosemary was out of her reach, she was turning her attention to the rest of her family.

She never thought of us as family. Not like Carnation did.

Bitterness welled up in her throat as she thought of her own part in Carnation’s exile. The report she’d laid on her mother’s desk a conglomeration of reports from Glory and her own careful observation of her aunt’s activities. At most, she’d expected Carnation to defect and flee to the other side of the river. She’d seen Rosary watching her as she crossed the bridge that last time. She’d had ample time to flee.

Instead, she’d let herself be caught.

Rosary moved her work to the bay window and pulled a table over so she could watch Moon play and tumble in the snow. High Feather, on one of the watch towers standing at each corner of the hedge wall, twitched his attention inwards every minute or so while keeping his watchful gaze focused mostly outwards.

The guards, private bodyguards, were expensive, but they held no allegiance to the Merrieguard or her mother. Only to Rosary and her family. That High Feather was also an occasional lover of hers was only an added bonus, and his attention flickered to her once in a while.

She offered him a smile once, and he gave it back with a dip of his head before turning his attention back to the outside world. He didn’t shift positions while Moon played, as he would have every fifteen minutes, to one of the other watch towers.

Kestrel yawned as he lumbered into the kitchen, quite the achievement for a stallion as lithe and wiry as he was. Most of the time, he moved with a dancer’s grace. “Morning, love,” he muttered, eying the state of the kitchen blearily and where she was sitting and working. “Not the office?”

“It’s warmer in here,” Rosary said languidly, stretching out on the bench and patting the wooden cabinet doors cleverly disguised to look like panels. A hiding place in case her children needed to be hidden. “Come sit with me and help keep me warm.”

Kestrel blinked owlishly at her and ruffled his wings. “I thought you were going to sleep in today,” he mused before he followed her suggestion and came to sit, sharing a kiss before she could answer.

“Mm. I was. But Moon woke up early.”

“Quill’s still sound asleep.” Kestrel yawned again and shivered as he sat. “I will never understand how he can sleep through her ruckus.”

“Says the stallion who slept through her ruckus.” She nipped her husband’s nose and shifted so he could more easily put his wing over her. “Is Loam still asleep, too?”

Kestrel took longer to answer, planting his lips behind her jaw and breathing slowly, inhaling her for long moments while Rosary let her attention drift back to the window and Moon practicing using her magic to make snowballs instead of merely squishing the snow. It was a delicate skill, and a good practice, and she was getting better with her aim using the failed attempts, shaking the loose, wet snow from the bare branches of the hedge.

“Morning,” Loam yawned on her way into the kitchen, her hooves as soft as her namesake on the kitchen tiles. She didn’t add anything else before bumping into Kestrel and snuggling her way under his other wing. “She’s not cold?”

“The sun is shining enough so her coat keeps her warm,” Rosary said, chuckling. Loam, despite her name suggesting a darker coloration, had only a dark brown, earthy mane. The rest of her was a light, creamy yellow with white spots spattered like paint across her forequarters. Even at its thickest, her winter coat couldn’t keep the warmth in near as well as Moon’s darker blue, more like Kestrel’s plumage. “Someone’s jealous.”

“A little,” Loam growled, leaning around Kestrel to nip at Rosary’s ankle. “Which is why I have Kestrel to keep me warm inside and out.”

“And I’m chopped cabbage?” Rosary asked with an arched brow.

“You are really good at filling in around Kestrel,” Loam replied, unable to keep an arch out of her neck at the memory of their last night together. “Quite good.”

“Mmm. At least my tongue is good for something, then,” Rosary said, sticking her tongue out. She turned her attention back out the window sharply at Moon’s sudden laughter. The reason for it was immediately evident, as a new high line of snow lay in front of the hedge. High Feather stomped a hoof in approval and cheered her on.

After she was done prancing in the wet snow, Moon shivered and shouted up at High Feather that she was going inside again.

And in the next moment, the low kitchen door flew open and Moon skittered to a stop just in front of the low-banked fireplace and started shivering.

Kestrel and Loam backed away from the bay window bench to let Rosary down, and she gave them each a light kiss as she did so. “Thank you, loves. Are you going home today, Loam?”

“Yeah.” Loam scrunched up her nose. “I would prefer not to, but they’ll need my help covering the gardens.” She tapped her hooves together. “And softening the ground a little so they can get the stakes in for the bigger tents.”

“Best be along then,” Rosary said, giving Kestral a look. “Go wake Quill so he can say goodbye.”

“I’ll go up with him to let him sleep in a little.” Loam said quickly, casting a glance at Moon. “It’s too cold for little hooves out there right now anyway.”

Rosary suppressed a pang of irritation at herself for letting Moon go out without putting her cold shoes on first, and nodded. “Thank you, both of you.”

When they were gone, Rosary made her way through the kitchen to sit behind Moon, covering her daughter with the warmth of her belly and barrel and using a spell to transfer some of the warmth of the hearth stones to the stones under them. Not enough to burn, but to feel comfortable against her rear.

“Did you see?” Moon asked after a moment, sounding almost trepidatious in her question.

“I did. You made a loose snowball?” Looking down at Moon like this reminded her so much of the days when Moon was less independent, more needful of her mother’s presence. Her heart ached that she was already moving out from under her care to explore the world. In fact, she almost came to Rosary’s neck sitting like this. At only eight years old.

She would be taller than her mother and father both when she grew up.

“I did,” Moon said, scrunching up her nose. “It was really hard. The snow kept wanting to fall out when I did it the way you do it. I had to…” She turned her hoof upside down and leaned back against her to free up her other hoof and made a shaping motion. “Pat it down first, then I could pick it up and not need to squeeze it.”

“Very ingenious,” Rosary said approvingly, kissing her lightly on the tip of her ear. “In time, you’ll be able to pick up the snow and shape it without needing to get your hooves so cold.”

Moon stiffened. “I didn’t wear my cold shoes.”

“No, you didn’t,” Rosary said softly, kissing her other ear. “But that’s okay. It’s not that cold out yet. And you learned, didn’t you?”

Moon nodded slowly, leaning to the side and twisting her neck to look up at her without leaving the warmth between her forelegs. “You’re not mad?”

“No.” Rosary’s heart caught in her throat. “No, sweetie. I’m not mad. Just promise me you’ll listen to auntie Silk like you would to me, okay? She’s going to keep you safe in Damme.”

“She’s nice,” Moon said, the comment seemingly a non sequitur. “Auntie Rosewater seems nice, too.”

How much do you know that you never say, my heart? “She… is nice. Very nice.” Anguish snapped free in her heart, and she caught a sob before it could come out. She missed her sister. She missed her aunt. She missed what things had been like before Carnation had been exiled.

They had been tense, sure, but Rosary and Rosewater had still talked about raising foals, and she’d learned more than a few things from her elder sister when Moon had been inconsolable. How to talk to her child and understand what she wanted when all she knew was ‘no’ and crying and no idea how to express the wants a young filly had when every need was covered.

One thing Rosewater had never done was let their animosity get between helping her try to learn how to parent when her only other example was her mother.

Then… Carnation happened. And I had to learn how to be a parent with only Kestrel by my side. He’d been as clueless as she, but at least his parents had stepped in to help. The last six years had been hellish for her. Mother had been a fragile vase full of rage, and the slightest misstep around her would tip it over and spatter her inchoate vitriol over everypony close, and she was only getting worse.

“Mommy?” Moon asked, her little voice full of absolute worry. “Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Rosary said, too sharply. She let out a choked sob at the panicked look on her child’s face. “No,” she managed weakly, softer, her smile trembling. “No, my sweet little Moon. You did nothing wrong. Mommy is worried about grown up things.”

“It’s because auntie Rosewater loves that stallion?” Moon asked quietly.

How much do you hear?

“Yes. Yes, in part. But you must never tell anypony about that. Especially not your grandmother.”

Moon shivered and backed deeper into Rosary’s belly until her spine was pressed up against her sternum. “She’s scary.”

“She is. And if she ever asks or tells you to do something, you need to run away. Run to me.” Rosary hesitated. “Or run to auntie Rosewater or auntie Silk and tell them what happened. Understand me?”

If she was ever incarcerated for her treason, at least Moon would have somepony to run to.

“I understand,” Moon said seriously, looking up at her with too serious eyes for an eight year old. Eyes that had seen too much of life already for her age. “I love you.”

Rosary’s control cracked, and she cried while she held her baby close, quiet, wracking sobs that Moon didn’t run away from. She made quiet cooing noises and nuzzled her foreleg, hugging tight and letting her know she was still there.

When Kestrel and Loam found her, she was curled up in a ball in front of the fireplace, Moon clutched in her forelegs. Quill ran around them to join his sister, and she pulled him in and told him to hush because ‘mommy had a rough morning.’

Her loves joined her, nesting around her and her precious children.

For the next several minutes, she soaked in their love, recharging her resolve to do what needed to be done to keep them all safe.

Vine’s heart trembled as she stepped out of her house with Dazzle at her side. Not only at her side, but with her scarf around his neck and her warming coat a little too snugly wrapped around his barrel and tied with the forelimb sleeves just behind his forelegs.

She had her own drawn closer about her, a scarf tucked around her mane to keep it tidy and warm and away from the chill that tried to claw at the faint dampness still clinging to it.

It wasn’t that she was scared, precisely. But she was sober, no longer running on the giddy adrenaline of telling Dazzle about her… flaw.

“It’s surprisingly still windy,” Dazzle said louder than he needed to, shivering and flicking his tail. “I’d have thought after a blow like that it would have gusted itself out.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” Vine said, raising her nose to taste the wind. Chill sharpened everything, letting her smell the pine firewood burning from too many sources to pinpoint, and the freshly cut firewood letting out a scent like old forest and hardening sap. “All the woodsponies are adding more stock to their firewood piles. It’s a pleasant smell. Pine, mostly.”

Dazzle chuckled and shook his head. “It amazes me constantly how clear your scenting is.” He nuzzled her cheek, careful not to touch her marks. Very knowledgeable about them, it seemed. “So, my lady. It’s a little early to make our way to Rosy Glass’s tavern, but the market is open, and I still have some bits and buckles to spend.”

“Oh? What did you want to buy?”

“Well…” Dazzle drew out the word, then bit his lip. “It would seem odd, to me, if our date ended at the tavern. I wanted to contribute to dinner tonight before I go back to my home. A part thanks to Silk for enduring our drunk behinds.”

“She was pretty mad,” Vine murmured, and opened her day bag to check how much space and how much she had in coinage. She could withdraw more from her stash, but with winter coming up and her primary income source being uncertain without a deal with Seed… “I have five bits for the week,” she said, pursing her lips. “That should be enough for something special without breaking my budget.”

“That’s about mine. The Garden always slows down during the winter, and there’s less work and pay to go around.” Dazzle shrugged. “Buy something for her together, perhaps? What kind of dishes does she like?”

“Smooth with a sleeper spice to it,” Vine answered immediately. “She does like textured and crunchy, too, but her favorite is when it’s something smooth, and always when the spice is something that she doesn’t know is coming until it hits her.”

“Complex tastes,” Dazzle murmured. “I’m afraid that’s a bit beyond my ability to cook consistently. Does she have a favorite dish?”

Vine hummed softly, flickering through the dishes she and Silk had made for each other. Silk wasn’t the best cook, but she was better than average, at least, and Vine considered her cooking to be at least on par with Powder’s husband, Starlit, who contributed to his family’s fortunes by being an assistant chef at one of the larger tourist venues on Saddle Row.

“If we’re cooking in,” Vine murmured. “Probably a soup. More of a stew, really. Thick and smooth. Carrots, dried onions finely ground into powder, a few spices, some potatoes stewed long and fall-apart soft… definitely not something we can do tonight. It’s at least a day long recipe for the simmer and heat just outside of the fire.”

“Sounds delightful,” Dazzle said, prancing in place. “Maybe we can get the ingredients today, and I can help you set it up, and we can have dinner tomorrow. The three of—”

“Tomorrow won’t be a good day,” Vine said, cutting in with a shake of her head. “The storm was lucky, Dazzle. Rosetail is also staying with us for now while mother gets over her… displeasure.”

“Well, poo.”

Vine laughed. “I could always give you the recipe. I have it on a card, and it’s not hard to copy. If somepony at the Garden is a capable cook, no doubt they could make it.”

“I confess to being a… lackluster cook. The most I do in the kitchen is chop and grind. Nopony lets me near the stew pot or crockery.” Dazzle snorted. “One time, I added salt instead of sugar and all of a sudden I’m banned from cooking until I can tell them apart. They’re both white! And finely ground!”

“And labeled?”

“Details!”

She burst out laughing and bumped against his shoulder on the way up the hill. “Stars, Dazzle.”

He laughed and bumped back against her. “I exaggerate a little, but in my defense, I felt rushed, and White Rose didn’t read the label either.”

“The life you lead there,” Vine said with a wistful smile. “I wish I could join you for a day or a week and not worry about what it would look like.”

“I mean, you could…”

For several streets, almost to the edge of the market square, Vine wrestled with the idea that she could. If she left Silk alone to deal with whatever mess Rosetail had inevitably gotten herself into overnight. The only reason they’d taken the headstrong mare under their roof was memory of a younger filly so earnestly seeking her mother’s love when she was busy plotting other things.

As much trouble as Rosetail was, there was still hope she could be made to see that their mother was no pony to look up to, and not worthy of the attention and worry she was wasting on trying to make her mother love her.

“Not tonight,” Vine said at last with a heavy sigh. “Rosetail is going to need… tender hooves, I fear. Especially if she was where I worry she was last night.”

Dazzle was silent for a few steps, then bumped against her lightly. “You’re a good sister. I didn’t have the patience to deal with my brother or my parents, so I left the Damme, and came here.”

Vine swallowed, then tipped her nose towards a cafe just starting to show steam and smoke from the chimney. “Want to have a tea and some sweet cakes? I’d like to know more about your family. You know everything about mine, after all.”

“Hardly,” Dazzle snorted. “I know the surface, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Rosewater about you family it’s that for every lily floating on the surface of that still pond, there are a dozen fish fighting underneath.”

“Apt.” Vine snorted, imagining Rosewater and Rosemary as happy frogs sitting on the lily pads for years and only occasionally hopping into the water to mix with them. But that wasn’t exactly fair. Rosewater was the big catfish and Rosemary her … minnow? She shook her head and giggled at the thought of Rosewater with catfish whiskers. “Cafe? We can gripe about our families over a sweet treat.”

“No griping, and it’s a deal. I just want to hear positives, Vine.” He nipped her cheek lightly. “And I want to tell you about my family, too. The good things. My brother and younger sister, my parents…” He shrugged. “What’s your favorite cafe?”

“Not Rosy Glass’s?” Vine paused, glancing down the cross street they were about to pass. Her favorite was to the left, away from the tavern.

“It’s not really conducive to a private conversation. Rosy likes her patrons able to talk to each other if they want, even if Rosewater always somehow managed to figure out a way to get a booth to herself most of the time.” Dazzle clucked his tongue and seemed about to say more, then shrugged. “She’s… stars, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s been a long time since we’ve talked. It’s good to hear about her, you know, and not just from rumors.” Vine clucked her tongue. “This way. Crown showed me a lovely cafe across from her book binder’s workshop last year and I’ve gone ever since.”

“Oh?” Dazzle followed after her, prancing a little to catch up as they headed up the steeper path leading into the low, sloping hills that made up Merrie’s southeastern flank.

“Strudel Strings Patisserie and Tea,” Vine said, grinning. “They have the best tea canes in Merrie, and their back porch covers most of the hill behind them in terraced glory.”

“Why terraces? Wouldn’t it have been easier to excavate?”

Vine considered that for a few moments, then shook her head. “Maybe, but I very much appreciate their use of deep-rooted northern ferns to hold back the soil. It’s very pretty and functional, and they have enough boulders in the mix to help the plants keep the soil from running away with every storm. I truly, truly wish I could talk to the original planter of the terraces. They were a landscaping master, truly, and I’ve spent so much time talking to the owner, Penrose Terrace, about how he maintains the terraces.”

Dazzle laughed softly. “Stars, it’s so energizing to hear somepony speak about their passion.” He leaned over and nuzzled her ear. “Have you had any thought of starting your own greenhouses?”

“Not… well. I mean, yes, but the taxes on our property takes up enough of our income, and Silk doesn’t make enough to fund my ambitions and her business both.” So many plans relied on bits or the cooperation of the rulership of Merrie, and because she was a failure as a raider, she had to either end up like Glory and Rosemary or find some other way to be useful. “Maybe… someday. I’ve been saving, but buying land and building the greenhouse is expensive.”

“True,” Dazzle said with a sigh. “I’ve looked into land outside of the Garden, but aside from being loaned the land by the Rosewines, I don’t have many options. I don’t make enough as an all-around helper to buy land, but it’s what makes me happy, and extra hooves are always needed.”

“I still need to get my project trestles into a greenhouse over winter. I’ve spent too long trying to crossbreed these rose vines to let them die in the cold.” Vine shook her head. “I don’t suppose Seed might be willing to let me rent some extra space in his?”

“I’m sure if you explained why you need it, he’d be more than willing to let you.” Dazzle cocked his head as they rounded the last turn before the cafe. “What is it you’re trying to save?”

“A type of rose vine that will be able to thrive without a greenhouse up here during the winter,” Vine replied, ducking her head. “It’s a part of an idea I had for a wreath that never dies for Hearth Warming. I know it will probably put me out of business, but I hate seeing wreathes get thrown out after they start to wither.” So much of her business relied on it, but she didn’t like to see her wreathes in the composting heaps as soon as they wilted. “I’m only a few generations from making a cold-hardy crawling rose vine, I know it! And then…”

Admittedly, she hadn’t thought past the ‘and then.’ Other than not having to see her works of art discarded.

“And then you get to work on the next project,” Dazzle replied with a laugh. He didn’t, and she was grateful for it, ask her what her next project was. By the time she got there, maybe she would have an idea. Silk’s projects were all externally sourced, or almost all. She had her personal passion projects, but they were almost always done and she’d moved on in a few weeks to a month at most.

This project had been her life for almost six years.

“What do you know about crossbreeding?” Vine asked after a long moment, genuinely curious.

“I… know that Seed has several crossbreeding projects going on right now. I know it means manual pollination and making sure that bees don’t contaminate the project.” Dazzle’s ears flicked for several more steps, all the way up to the last step around the curve of the street, passing several piles of ice and snow caught in the chaotic winding maze of streets and buildings.

They made the street up to the cafe shine and shimmer like a golden road, the freshly sanded pathway steaming faintly in the intermittently peaking sunlight.

The canvas awnings that covered the terraces that spotted the hillside with stone berms and solid stone stairways leading up to them along both sides and up the middle fluttered and snapped in the wind. A few ponies were already seated on the covered, padded wicker benches and tables. Wind screens strained like sails all around the terraced porches, hiding the ponies that dined there from view and creating an atmosphere of casual, private intimacy.

It was one of the things Vine liked most about the place. She wasn’t expected to interact with her fellow ponies dining elsewhere, but could choose to sit on the lowest level, a more open space and by far the largest dining area with tables and benches scattered all over. On her more sociable days, the lower level was where she chose to go.

That a few of her other less objectionable sisters, and especially Crown when she came to get a book repaired at the book binder’s workshop, joined her here was an added bonus.

“You lit up as soon as you saw this place,” Dazzle whispered in her ear, his voice amused. “Thank you for taking me here for our first date.”

Vine pondered that for only a breath before smiling back. “It is our first date, isn’t it? Not exactly according to plan, but…”

“Plans are made to be broken.”

“Rules, silly.”

“Oh, those, too.” Dazzle grinned slyly at her and flicked his tail to tangle with hers. “But plans are much more fun to twist into pretzels.”

“So… tell me some good things about your family.”

Collar hadn’t been wrong to expect Wing Primfeather to be waiting for him the very moment he returned to the palace, but he hadn’t expected Wing to not shout at him immediately. Rather, the stallion had tried at first to look extremely disappointed in him, with a borderline sad expression that almost hid the rage.

Not quite, though. There was too much of a tremor in his ears and his tail was too still by several measures. Not a twitch as he delivered his speech about the history of Damme and the prestige of the Primlines and the history of Collar’s own family as if he didn’t already know it.

Collar waited until the stallion paused for long enough to gauge his reaction to reply.

“I’m well aware of my own heritage, my lord,” Collar said stiffly. “I’m well aware of the history of this war, perhaps even more so than you, my lord, or you’d remember the dozen times alliances like the one Rosewater and I are in the course of making have failed because of the bigotry and malice each of our cities have held towards each other.”

“You mistake hatred and bigotry for common sense, Lord Collar. I do not hate Rosewater for what she is or what she does. It is the way of the wind to howl. Just as it is the way of the cliff to resist its howling.” Wing paced the width of Collar’s office, not far from the place he and Rosewater had shared kisses. “Nor do I begrudge Merriers their way of life, but it was never and will never be our way of life.”

Collar mused over the various ways he could make Wing’s heart stop. Telling him about their marriage might do it. Or that Rosewater was expecting his foal, whether or not it was yet true.

Only briefly, though.

“I’m not asking that our way of life change. I am only asking that we stop this senseless war before it turns to blood and madness again.” Collar shifted some papers around on his desk meaninglessly. Simple reports on the grain levels in each granary, the number and origin of foreigners wintering in Damme and where. Not many this year, but there were a few traders hoping to get in on the first spring boom. “Princess Celestia is not going to be patient with us forever, however much she professes to want to give us the ability to decide our own fates. A goddess, even one so benevolent as her, won’t appreciate us defying her will forever.”

“She is not the decider of our fates.”

“Yet.” Collar pointed a hoof out the window. “She will come with an army, Wing, and impose her laws on us. By Tartarus, she doesn’t even need to conquer us. All she needs to do is wait another five centuries. Or ten. Or twenty. Assuming we’re even relevant by then, and haven’t killed each other.”

Wing stared at him, then shook his head, sadness and anger in equal measure in his eyes and ears. “You’re young yet, Collar. You didn’t grow up with the war looming over your head.”

“My mother put a stop to it. That is why I have not had to suffer as you have, Wing.” Collar softened his tone and lowered his head. “You did suffer, Wing. All of your generation and the generations before suffered the war on both sides of it. Do you truly want the war to continue, Wing?”

“Of course not. But for the first time in five centuries, Merrie is weaker than it’s ever been. They’re fragmented, Collar, and you and your mother refuse to strike and break its hold, fragment its factions.”

“And take over?”

“No.” The answer was surprising enough to make Collar flinch. “I’m not a conqueror, nor would I ask your mother to be. They should have the chance to choose their own leader.”

“That would then surrender to Damme.”

“Naturally. It is the only peaceful conclusion to this war that can happen.”

Conquering with more effort. Collar wasn’t sure he should have expected otherwise. Remove the leadership, encourage the ponies to elect their own, and they’d be grateful enough to surrender and conclude the treaty ‘peacefully’… it must have all looked very neat to Wing. It was still invading, it was still removing the lawful authority of Merrie.

He didn’t seem to realize or was choosing to ignore, as seemed more likely, the likelihood that it would paint Damme as the villains again and restart the conflict anew with a flame all the brighter.

Collar doubted even the Gardeners would stand neutral in such a conflict.

Or our own ponies, for that matter.

“One side must succeed. Your courtship with the Rose Terror is nothing but a distraction. If you succeed, what do you think will happen? Our culture—”

“Is already so enmeshed with Merrie’s that we will never unbind ourselves,” Collar cut in more harshly than he intended. He took a breath and tapped a hoof on his desk before continuing more calmly, “Our shopkeeps gladly carry Merrie wares, our crafters import wood and silk, and our chefs outsource rare ingredients to Merrie. Our ponies cross the bridge to enjoy another way of life for a day, a week… a lifetime.” Collar swept a hoof out at the window. “Their ponies come to our city to be with friends and loved ones daily, only to go home out of necessity so they can continue their lifestyle of scent magic and free love. And Merriers who cross and live our lifestyle, but still return often to Merrie to participate in the rest of life there. How can you separate us without destroying what they have already created?”

Wing didn’t seem phased at all, his ‘disappointed father’ look only growing more pronounced. “That’s not the case at all, my lord. They keep to their side of the river and we keep to ours. Our cultures are not so mixed as you seem to think.” He eyed Collar, then glanced aside to the portrait of his mother and father. “It doesn’t help that your family has broken away from tradition that is respected elsewhere in Damme. Married to a Merrier, courting not one but two…”

Collar eyed the other stallion, trying to decide if he was delusional or in denial until he thought about all the times Cloudy had told him about what the cities looked liked from above. How beautiful and vibrant and interconnected they looked. Seven bridges, strong spans of stone and wood, ties of fellowship forged in the past three decades of peace.

But Cloudy is not Wing. What would he see, looking down on the cities?

“Have you truly walked among them? Not flown over them, Wing, walked among them and talked to them? Not only the nobility, but the common shopkeep, waiter and waitress, wood carver, baker, and fisher?” It was the great hubris of the pegasi of old. Looking down on the earth-bound ponies from great eyries and believing themselves masters of all they surveyed. Please don’t repeat their mistake and let their ancient sin destroy our future. He couldn’t say it and damage what chance he had of encouraging Wing to see for himself. “I implore you, Wing. Take a day, two, a week. Talk to our ponies and shopkeeps about their brother and sister ponies across the river and see what they say.”

“And the Rose Terror? She has committed crimes according to our laws, and yet she walks free.”

The change of tack was as blunt and predictable as it was frustrating. Wing likely knew he wouldn’t win against Collar in a debate about the views of the common pony. Collar knew he was right. He’d spent the time talking to ponies, and not only recently, but throughout his guard patrols and rising through the ranks.

This was the only argument Wing could reasonably win.

“She has committed acts of war at the behest of her city’s leader, and oft under duress. She regrets every action she has ever taken, and even under stress to break them, she has followed the rules of war.”

“She has still committed crimes, and you are standing between her and justice, my lord.”

Collar sighed and sat back down. He wasn’t going to get Wing to change his mind today. Least of all about Rosewater. “There are things I must do today, my lord Primfeather. As you can see.” He shuffled the grain schedules to the fore again and pulled a quill and ink pot set closer.

Wing nodded stiffly, but didn’t quite manage to hide the smirk knowing he’d scored a point. “One thing I cannot fault you or your mother for is the smooth running of the city. Only the manner in which cultural and military affairs are treated.”

It was an effort to resist continuing the argument that those very affairs were the reason why it was so easy to run the city otherwise. Cultural police were contentious in the best of cases.

“By your leave, then, I will attend to the matters of the city, my lord,” Collar said, and bent his head to the task of reviewing the figures projected by their analysts and logisticians.

“I will take your advice, my lord,” Wing said when he opened the door. “It is true that we pegasi do not often walk the streets if we have other places to be. I doubt I will see what you expect I will. I do listen to the reports my own informants bring to me.”

Do you not even know what your own children do? It was as if he forgot or dismissed the fact that both of his youngest were Dammeguard, and regularly patrolled the city on ground. It was true they also flew sky patrol, but every Dammeguard was made to know the city and its citizenry through close association if nothing else.

But pointing that out would only draw out an argument he was already tired of. “All I can do is ask that you consider a different point of view.”

Wing gave a minute nod, bowed even more fractionally, and closed the door behind him as he left.

Author's Note

Hi, everyone! It's back to school season, which means lots of work for me at work. I'm not school staff, but school adjacent, and my classes start next week, so that's more stuff going on. There will probably be a longer delay between this chapter and the next chapter, but not three months.