The Rose Way

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.