The Rose Way

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.