The Rose Way

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!”