The Rose Way

Disappointment was hardly a new experience to Rose Petal or Rose Seed. They were, after all, Gardeners, a vintner and a florist, to be specific.

Sometimes there were bad vines, sour grapes, foreign plants with little recorded husbandry, or just a pesky loose pane of glass in the greenhouse which resulted in the untimely death of several of Seed’s darling plant-children in early winter. Disappointment was normal and rational.

Still, this was another sort entirely.

Heroes didn’t exactly grow on vines or spring forth from the ground with a bit of fertilizer and water.

As Seed trotted alongside Petal, both following Coat through the palace once again, he considered this flavor of disappointment, and decided he liked it just about as much as he did his aunt, Roseate. Fittingly so, given she was the bloody root cause of Collar’s hesitation. To a point, the heir of Damme might be considered downright magnanimous even giving thought to the notion of recognizing the Dammeguard in public fashion, let alone giving his name.

Not enough, unfortunately, Seed could only lament. The value of family in these cities will make the Garden buzz impatiently while speculation of his identity becomes honey to the gossip mills. His lips twitched into a smile. Exceeded only by your courtship with Collar, Auntie.

The thing about this disappointment, though, and the deal Collar had made with them, was that it still didn’t stop him from sating his curiosity. Nor did Collar think to close off that avenue, for whatever reason. Perhaps he simply missed it.

Or, Rosewater’s voice drawled in the back of his mind. He’s well aware you’ll go sniffing around, and he’s waiting to see how far you’ll push the bounds of his terms.

His ears twitched. What a sly stallion indeed. No wonder Rosewater had her eye on him.

But if Collar was going to give him an inch, Seed would make use of every bit of that inch for the time being.

The Rosethorn stallion drew in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes fluttering just as Collar had noted. That distinctive scent of orange blossoms, rainwater, and cirrus floated through the air to meet him and walk the path they followed.

He smiled to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed Petal fixing him with a sidelong, expectant look, awaiting his word.

With a wink, he mouthed, He’s left too.

She nodded her understanding. Were Petal not still on the watch list, she’d be joining him on his little walk.

Her case couldn’t be resolved fast enough, for either of their sakes.

Now and again as they followed Coat, Seed would draw in a deep breath to make sure their mystery hero had indeed walked this path toward the door. Sure enough, the pegasus had. And recently. With Rosemary’s scent as well!

Some time after Rosewater walked this path in the opposite direction, it seemed. How interesting.

Imagine if they meet and she can only try to work with tells, not scent. Seed smiled. Stars, I’ll have two over on her.

Coat stopped at the threshold and gave the slightest bow of his head. “It was a pleasure to host the pair of you today, and I hope we might again.” The shorter stallion paused, adding, “For more pleasant reasons, perhaps.”

“Hopefully so,” Petal answered with a bow of her own. She flitted a look at the Dammeguards still posted by the door, her lips twitching. “Perhaps the next might be when I’m finally removed from your watch lists.”

A wince made evident how well her barb hit, but Coat rallied. “We will all hope for a quick review. And in the meantime, you’ve given us a bit to consider as well.”

Now, the Dammeguard posted by the door let their worry show in the setting of their ears. Yes, those pegasi had come home to roost, and just in time for a most frigid winter.

Seed knew enough about Collar that he didn’t envy what they’d be in for once he found a slice of time to devote to them.

To Coat, he bowed and dared to step forward and dot a kiss upon either cheek in proper Merrier’s farewell between friends, family, and lovers. An act that made him start, but he didn’t recoil. Rosemary’s hoof, again, was evident. “Give our best to Thistle,” he said. “And tell him to expect our invitation to both winter tastings. I’m afraid you’ll find me quite a pest on that matter.”

His cheeks coloring, Coat ducked his head. “I’ll—I’ll be sure to let him know. Thank you.” He turned and skittered back in the direction of Collar’s office, back to the safety of his cousin’s side, and away from the good-natured teasings of the Gardeners.

Petal tittered into her hoof as they trotted down the steps, toward the front gate and Damme proper. “You’re terrible,” she said. “You know he still frets those niceties.”

“If he ever wishes me not to greet him as a Merrier, all Coat need do is say so.” Seed smiled to himself. “I am happy for them.”

“Me too.” The little mare leaned against his side, sighing fondly. “They’re good stallions.”

Together, they walked a few more steps from the gate in relative silence broken only to spare a smile and nod to the Dammers, anything to try to dispel a tidbit of fear held for those gifted with scent magic and Rosethorn’s lineage. Then, Seed cast a fanciful look at their surroundings and drew in a deep, contented breath, as though smitten with the sights.

His eyes fluttered.

Orange blossoms and rainwater floated to his nose like a gentle kiss. You didn’t fly.

“Well?” Petal murmured, low so her lips almost didn’t move.

Seed smiled. “Fresh, undisturbed save by hoof traffic. He left by hoof.”

“Thank heavens for small surprises.” She stepped in front of his path and turned so she might rub noses with him. “Bring me home something sweet,” she asked, loud enough for natural conversation, loud enough to be overheard. “I’d love to stay, but …”

“I know, love, I know.” Seed kissed her, his tail swishing to her taste and the chorus of scandal around them. When they parted, he said, “Make well your selection. I hope to see if we can’t make dear Lord Collar’s eyes spark when one of your wines passes his lips.”

Her eyes flashed. The next words uttered, both a part of their act and acceptance of his subtle challenge, “Oh, I think I have just the thing for his palate. Plan to see that boy dance at the Gala, my love.” With a kiss upon his nose, she turned and sauntered away, tailed, he noticed, by a rather loose formation of three Dammeguards making certain she followed the law.

Leaving Seed amidst a crowd of Dammers in the market, with a fresh scent to tail.

Don’t push too far beyond what was given, he reminded himself. Run-ins, no pony would fault. Open stalking, Collar would throw me straight in prison.

And all the work Rosewater was doing, likely, would go into a fire straight afterward.

So, Seed walked, his steps carefully casual and breathing easy, even as he made sure to scent the world around him. He would be mindful. He would not press his luck.

But he had to find that stallion.

The unfortunate truth of their mutual roles, even if his beloved Crown did not yet know his, was that Note had to take great care not to break a certain routine. Or, at least, if he did, it should be returned to shortly thereafter so not to garner too many questions.

However, he did so long to remain in Prim Prance Park and listen to the love of his life, the vitality finally returned to her voice, and a hint of that happiness, however faint, back. If he didn’t know better, somewhere in Crown’s heart, she longed to crow over her mother’s failures.

Then again, perhaps not. Crown wasn’t the one to crow, but to take the chance to finally be free of her cage. Her victory would be not in any cry, but in the freedom to live and love.

Note considered this as he awaited his drink, seated at the bar of Prim Tap and Lager’s pub, one of the ritzier establishments of the pub scene and rather conveniently located such that regular Dammeguard patrols passed it day and night. The perfect place for a stallion of his profession to sit, dine, drink, and consider the many twists and turns in his life.

And the uncooperative story begging him to find the means to write. The pages before him, still quite maddeningly blank save the title.

Prim Tap set a mug of cool Dammerale down upon the counter, and left him without a word. Their usual arrangement. Note didn’t much care to engage too many in conversation if he could avoid it. It helped keep his thoughts organized if he kept the world around him quiet, whether with spell or not.

“How does one open a story of love and struggle to accept oneself?” the stallion mused as he lit his horn a dull pewter and brought the mug to his lips. “When he struggles to decide the heading of his own heart?”

The lines came from one of her poems. One of her less salacious ones, more on the side of romance and longing. Crown had published it some time ago, within her debut poetry collection, which swept through libraries and bookshops in Merrie, Damme, and abroad like wildfire. It had been on a book signing in Merrie, protected by the Treaty’s commerce clauses, where Note had first come across her work. Another Merrie-born author had gushed over it, and all but swore she’d never speak to him again if he didn’t pick it up.

So he did.

And he was enchanted, more than any who had heard her song.

Like a stallion dying of thirst, Note searched out more of the reclusive mare’s writing. Sometimes, that meant donning a disguise and sneaking into Merrie off-duty, and searching out which of the multitude of cozy poetry clubs and teashops she might count among her hangouts. Others, he could trade in on his name and appreciation of the arts to grant a bit of leeway at the bridges, that he might take in a night of poetic fancy. Rose Kiss, in particular, teased that he might come across somepony who would strike his fancy each time the Merrieguard ushered him across.

How ironic that a couplet among the first of her words to charm his heart could fit him so well today.

A quick jerking open of the door and creaking of hinges managed to pierce through his thoughts much like his aural spells. Note slicked his sensitive ears back, and cast a glance to find the offending party. A crowd of pegasi, Primfeathers it seemed. Mostly branch members.

Oh, delightful. That lot.

Then, a shadow of gray-blue shifted along the far wall, nearly blending in with it, were Note’s eyes not so keen. Another pegasus of the Primfeather family, this one of the main line. And, mercifully, not Gale or Gust.

Not with that want to avoid attention made so clear in the way he snuck in with the crowd, and then searched out a good spot to be alone. Better still, he didn’t merely hang a quick right for that side table just out of view of the window.

Stormy gray eyes found a darker corner of the bar past Note, well out of view of the front door, and those hooves moved well to guide their owner through the crowd, weaving like a river cutting through mountains along his way. His only failing in his quest to go unnoticed, a slight stumbling as he shuffled about a mare rising from her cushion, and brushed the edge of his wing against Note’s back.

“Sorry!” Prim Stride hissed without breaking stride until he was safe and sound in his hidden seat.

Note watched him a moment out of the corner of his eye. An amused half-smile played upon his lips. So you’re the one who dove for the foal?

He slid the blank pages aside to reveal a small cluster marked and riddled with notes. At the top, Primfeather Stride’s name was written, alongside a small portrait. Required for the Dammeguard upon enlistment.

Stride’s tale was an interesting one. One of the three who’d earned Lord Collar’s favor, he, evidently, through his willingness to listen and change after a slight he’d dealt to Cloudy Rosewing upon their meeting. Subsequently, he had been trained with Cloudy and Coat, though he had stalled while they excelled.

And he drifted from posting to posting. His lengthiest and most successful, interestingly enough, was with the more modern Rose Shadows—oh, of course that wasn’t recorded anywhere, but his father’s efforts to ensure the youngest Primfeather son didn’t get his Dammeguard blues back made him stick out like a sore hoof. He was a good courier and shadow, able to fly higher and faster than all save Cloudy Rose herself, his only equal. All in all, Stride should have been at least a sergeant by now, were it not for his flaw.

Every posting change came with a tag documenting his mental state. His anxieties, they said, always made him skittish. Not something the Dammeguard could accept in an officer.

Most officers, Note amended. Most.

He’d somehow done it, after all.

Still, Stride had talent, and not just in speed. A talent even Note hadn’t realized until a certain mercantilist pointed him out the other week, during a clandestine meeting in one of the seedier backrooms of the Bridgewater Bilge.

So Note watched and assessed.

And scrawled a few coded notes in the margins before he buried it beneath his blank sheets and returned to his latest literary endeavor.

With great trepidation, he brought his pen to paper and tried to do as Crown urged, and gave in to the verve.

Knowing and understanding are distant bedfellows.

Note leveled the line with a flat glare and slashed his pen across it. That’s so trite.

The gaps between us—

Another victim slain before his slashing pen. The only tell of his irritation the slightest flicking of his tail.

It can be said—

“No,” Note deadpanned as he put just a little more force into striking his latest from literary history. He shook his head, and drank in a deep pull of his Dammerale. “Definitely not.”

His thoughts wandered into treacherous territory. Crisp Corner would have picked this precise moment to sidle up and steal a peek, and then, just as soon as he saw the title, the needling would start. And he’d make certain to catch at least one of Note’s oh-so-sensitive ears in his mouth and suckle until he either submitted and told everypony or climaxed.

A pleasant shiver rippled through his body. Oh, wouldn’t Crisp just dance if he knew the effect the thought had?

And wouldn’t the rest?

The door opened again, and a new figure entered the pub. All conversation ceased as though another aural mage had just thrown up an area dampening spell.

For a bare moment, Note thought one had. He stayed calm, turning only slightly as he marshaled a counter spell and another to send their equilibrium for a loop.

The second he took to spare a cursory glance around the room told him that, no, it was not the spellwork of an aural mage, but rather shock and no shortage of rising bile at the sight of … whomever this newcomer was. The lighting combined with that of the noontime sun made for quite the challenge.

A stray whisper, snarled between patrons, reached his ear. “—rutting Rosethorn stallion think he’s doing here?”

Note held onto his second spell, watching to see what the newcomer did. Ah, yes, there were those Rosethorn cuts. Red, lighter than the Lady Rosewater or his beloved Rose Crown, but still vibrant on his cheeks. The stallion seemed to glance about, his eyes flitting this way and that before settling on the Primfeather group.

Mhmm. This isn’t a happy crowd, friend. The aural mage let his spell fizzle out as the newcomer found himself a table in the middle of the room. He was a big one, taller than most unicorns save Lord Collar or Lady Rosewater. But he didn’t seem too interested in causing trouble.

None save the sum total of the effect of his entrance and that of the way he smiled so brightly and made eye contact with one of the server mares so he might ask for a drink menu. Stars, the poor mare nearly melted her face turned so red.

Note returned to his drink and work, but kept his ears swiveled toward the stallion. Being a Rosethorn in Damme wasn’t a crime. But if Note heard the faintest pop of a stopper or whimper of another falling under a scent, he’d act. Quickly.

And if the Primfeathers caused trouble, well, he’d have to do something about that too.

So much for a nice, quiet working lunch.

His luck ran into a wall made not of bricks, but of feathers.

Primfeathers, to be specific.

Seed was no stranger to walking into awkward crowds or dealing with groups of unfriendly ponies. There was a damn good reason Roseate didn’t bother sending any goons to harass the Garden, even if Budding Rose had been traveling on a foreign sales trip for the past several months.

Budding Rose’s son wasn’t the prodigy Collar or Rosewater were, nor anywhere near the level Rosemary could become if she buckled down and realized her potential. Stars, by comparison to those three and the Baronesses, he was a modest talent.

But his tricks? Oh, they were nasty.

Ponies tended to wake up in rather compromising situations, not remembering how they got there when they came to bother his Gardeners.

That, of course, was in Merrie and the Garden of Love. Things were quite a sight different in the heart of Damme.

For starters, Seed couldn’t just go snuffling around other ponies in search of a specific one. Not with the red markings on his cheeks and patch upon his breast. In Damme, that was more than a bit outside of societal norms, and with his heritage, it could be taken several unsavory ways and certain ponies were unlikely to care to listen to any explanations.

Thus why a crowd of Primfeather pegasi in Damme made continuing his not-search rather difficult—the scent trail didn’t go around them, it went directly into their midst. Which, incidentally, led directly to the second problem with this wrinkle to his plan:

That distinctive orange blossom scent was now drowned beneath a torrent of rainwater, cirrus, and whatever tripe the Primfeathers thought passed as fragrance. The trail had gone cold, by mere proximity to a crowd.

Seed kept his smile carefully in place as he sipped at his Dammerale. It was quite good. Not his drink of choice, of course, but a definite jolt to the palate.

Oh, he noticed the glares. But Seed had a rather special ability to not care about all that. Primfeather glares, especially branch scion, didn’t hold a candle to Roseate’s. Let alone the sickeningly sweet smiles she gave when she thought a pony might be of use to her plans.

Still, he’d need to leave soon so not to arouse too much suspicion. If he tailed that pegasus now?

Well. He’d have to hope the Primfeather civilians kept the treaty in mind before depositing him in the Prims’ infamous Gilded Cage with a few bruises to express their displeasure.

Right about then, he noticed one of the stallions’ sneers grow a bit too venomous for mere silent disdain. Sure enough, he turned to face Seed fully and, armed with righteous fury and a contingent of his fellows at his back, led a march to the lone Rosethorn’s table.

Surrounded in seconds, outnumbered, and with plenty of powerful pegasus wings to dispel any scents. Even if Seed wished to enthrall, he’d stand more of a chance if he just tried whacking one with his mug.

Well, this isn’t how I’d hoped my day would go.

With a sales stallion’s smile, he greeted the leader, “Hi, there, friend. Can I offer you all a round?”

A wise move, staying seated and not showing a hint of magic.

Grudgingly, Note gave the newcomer a solid eight for the performance, docking points for the way the setting of his ears belayed no small feeling of nerves. Then again, if Note were a Rose of any color himself, he’d probably stammer his way through an insistence that he just wanted a quick drink and then he’d pay and be on his way right about now.

Slowly, gently, he set his pen down and waited. His ears perking, Note reached out with his aural magic and spread it over the group like an umbrella, the other side snaking around his ears so he might listen in.

“—have some bloody nerve coming in here, Rosethorn. After what your whore cousins did with our Lord Collar.“

“Please,” the Rosethorn stallion said. “I’m not here for trouble. I was actually invited by Lord Collar to discuss—“

“Lies!” the stallion snapped like a bolt of lightning. His wings arched off his back. “Typical Rose lies! You and yours have done more than enough to the good ponies of this city!”

Another bared his teeth. “Probably another bloody raider or one of her spies, here to see how they can cause trouble before the Gala.”

“Actually, I’m of the Garden Rosethorns, sir.” Was that a note of ire in the stallion’s voice? “I’ve visited your fair city many times, never to raid.”

As one, the pegasi wrinkled their muzzles. They hadn’t considered this. Or, more likely, they were figuring out what they knew of the little village nestled in Rosewine Hills, and the Rosethorn stallions living there.

Note put a name to his face just as one growled, “Rosethorn Seed.”

Rose Seed gave a slight bow of the head to the speaker. “That’s right. Leader of the Garden of Love.” He raised his brows, adding, “Like I said. I’ve never raided your city.”

“No?” the leader asked, his lips now curving into a mocking sneer. “I recall hearing of another Rose in your Garden, Rosethorn. Your Rosewine mate, Petal, finds herself on the Dammeguard watch lists for her luring of five of their number. Three still held!”

The angry rumblings forced Note to dampen the volume on his spell. Intelligence said otherwise. Rose Seed and Rose Petal were business ponies. They had clients and friends in Damme, and lovers from the city, yes.

Five Dammeguards had crossed. All enticed by flirtations and words, never by scent. Two returned and spoke of a fey place, where love and labor entwined and created a life of order that nearly called them from duty. The only scents encountered, the ones they’d asked and those delicate enticements Merriers made for lovers to express the feelings in their heart.

Note had yet to experience it. While Crown’s gifts in accoustamancy were quite unparalleled, her scent magic was nonexistent. She would not make him a scent, but a song.

A song she yet saved for a special occasion. What sort, she refused to say.

She’d simply smiled. The last smile he saw in her before she was forced to undertake her first raid.

His thoughts turned to the other three Dammeguards. Dazzle Primrazzle, Prism Primlight, and Tremor Primstone. The first, his old partner. A dangerous, talented stallion whose smile made most raiders quail.

What scents did they craft for you, Dazz? Note wondered, idly. What did Seed and Petal craft to let you share in the feelings within their hearts?

“I assure you, they are not held.” Seed’s voice drew him back to present matters. “Not in any way they do not reciprocate—wait! Wait! Wait!”

The worst possible thing to say.

Table legs scraped against the floor, mug fell and shattered, and voices rose to a furious roar.

Note cursed and turned to find one of the Primfeathers, Slipstream, had grabbed Seed by the neck and drawn him half across the table so they were nose to nose. His snarl telling of his intent even before he pulled a hoof back.

Through the aural spell, Note gave a loud, demonstrative whistle. A warning shot that still sent their ears splaying to precede his first words, “Gentle stallions!”

The Primfeathers and lone Rosethorn froze in place. As one, they turned to find the stallion at the bar leveling them with an icy gaze as he rose from his seat and faced them.

“If that hoof does not release that stallion’s neck this instant, Slipstream,” Note warned cooly, “I assure you, you and yours will enjoy the Dammeguard’s finest accommodations this evening.”

Slipstream ground his teeth, releasing Seed with a shove back into his seat. “Siding with a Rosethorn, Dammeguard Note?” he thundered, pushing through the crowd to stand nose to nose with the unicorn. Note’s smaller stature quite evident in this interaction. “Even one with his crimes, the same who took your partner, if I’m not mistaken!”

Note simply arched a brow and waited.

Slowly, Slipstream realized the social faux pas he had just committed and took a small step back, out of Note’s personal space.

“Alleged crimes are simply that, Slipstream. Alleged.” Note flicked a look to Seed. “And if that stallion took Dazzle Primrazzle by his lonesome and managed it without suffering the effects of his firework spells, then I urge you to consider what luck an untrained civilian will fare?”

“Alleged crimes that everypony knows true, Dammeguard!” the pegasus spat.

Time froze.

Note blinked slowly, waiting for Slipstream’s fury to falter as he looked every deliberately down at the spittle now marring his chest, and let his other brow raise.

Around them, the Primfeather pegasi shifted uneasily. There was snapping, and there was insulting. One did not insult the protectors of Damme, especially if they were a noble house who owed their safety from raids to those ponies.

The unicorn drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Oh, dear. How very rude of me, spitting all over myself,” he said, letting each word hit Slipstream like a pebble between the eyes. He lifted his gaze and asked in a tone as frigid as a blizzard, “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a kerchief, sir?”

“Er …” Slipstream’s gaze flitted about, and came up empty.

“Um …” Rose Seed’s voice cut in, and drew all eyes to him save Note and Slipstream’s. “I, er, have my napkin if that would suffice, sir. If you’ll allow me to levitate it to you.”

“Could you? So kind of you to offer.”

Note took his time in thoroughly cleaning off his chest, humming the same melody to the song Crown sang for him just a short while prior. As if he hadn’t just been nose to nose with an indignant pegasus.

Once he finished, he leveled Slipstream again with that piercing stare. “Unless you wish to enlist in the Dammeguard, you are not to take the war into your own hooves. Nor the law of this city. Oh, and it’s Lieutenant, sir.” His nostrils flared. “When you leave, be sure to tip the nice mare well as apology for the trouble.”

The quailing pegasus bobbed his head so quickly, Note fancied he might hear his brain rattle in his skull. Slipstream ducked his head low and slipped around the unicorn, his ears splaying flat, and found himself a comfortable seat to quietly enjoy the rest of his drink. The rest followed in short order, none seeming interested in meeting his eye.

None, that is, save for Rose Seed.

The de facto Lord of the Garden of Love exhaled and gave a nervous laugh. “Stars, thanks for the save, friend!” He grinned. Then, he started and corrected himself, “Er. Lieutenant, sorry. Let me buy you a round as a show of—“

“I appreciate the gesture, but it’s quite unnecessary.” Note gave the slightest bow of his head. “You are a civilian and a business pony. Should he strike you without cause, he would have lost the protections the treaty affords him as a married stallion.” He sniffed, adding, “And I can only watch a stallion trip over his own tongue into trouble while trying to explain himself for so long.”

Seed had the grace to splay his ears. “Guilty there. Sorry.”

“Quite all right. I appreciate you, at least, trying to de-escalate things.”

That grin became sunny. In it, Note could see what sent Dazzle tumbling head over hock. “Hey, I’ll put up a fight if it means protecting a love or my village. But I’ll not throw the first hoof over a misunderstanding.”

Just the last, his eyes said.

A sentiment, a stallion Note could respect.

How to convince Crown to re-evaluate her opinion of her “lazy, always perpetually sleepy” cousin enough to go to him for help?

Or, better still, how to get her to accept the chance to flee?

Considerations for later. For now, the task was clear.

Note nodded once to Seed, and said, “Though it pains me, I must ask you to pay your tab and make ready to leave. I will see you to Rosewine Bridge myself, lest you encounter any further aggression.”

The Gardener’s ears flattened to his mane. “I … of course.” He licked his lips. “Am I to be barred?”

“For nearly being assaulted? Heavens, no.” Here, Note allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile and gathered his pages, pens, and makeshift desk. “But I think I’d rather ruin your day of idle exploration than watch my comrades attempt to fend off Dazzle’s temper should somepony lay hoof upon you.”

To his credit, Rose Seed didn’t argue or sulk. Well, he didn’t sulk for more than a step or two before he bounced back. His reasoning unclear until after they’d quitted Prim Tap and Lager’s and began to make their way for Rosewine Bridge.

What came first and lasted until Note guided the merry Rosethorn east, away from Primrose Bridge. Right about the time Seed put a little bit of a prance in his step.

Enough to draw a snort of laughter, despite Note’s efforts to keep stoic.

“Ha! Dazzle was right!” Seed nickered and grinned at the smaller unicorn, his ears waggling.

Note’s ears twitched to the blatant bait, but he couldn’t resist. “How so?”

“He said his old partner only liked to act like he had a block of ice where his heart was, but could never resist a smile or snort at his acting up!”

Not for the first time did Note roll his eyes and send a curse at Dazzle Primrazzle. The smug goofball.

From the back of his mind, buried beneath things like duty and practiced stoicism and fretting over his own goals and shortcomings, a question floated forth. Multiple questions, really, but among the lot, one grabbed his face in both hooves and screamed that it mattered most.

Licking his lips, Note glanced at this companion out of the corner of his eye. “Might I trouble you to answer a couple questions of personal curiosity?”

Seed blinked. For a moment, he looked like Note had hit him between the eyes with a snowball. “Stars, you’re a formal one, aren’t you?” he asked with a hesitant laugh. “Sure. I certainly owe you that much after you made sure I wouldn’t go home to Petal sporting a couple bruises.”

Well good, they were on solid starting ground, then.

“My old partner, Dazzle.” In his mind, Note readied to take careful record. “You spoke of how he was held in the pub, he and the other former Dammeguard.”

“Oh.” Seed’s ears lowered. “It was … rather insensitive of me to play a joke without telling you how Dazz is doing, wasn’t it? That’s … I really must apologize. Er.” He coughed. Now, it was his turn to hesitate, though he because he felt the need to choose his words carefully.

Note opted to offer a modicum of aid. “The only sensibilities of mine I ask that you mind are those concerning your—“ Crown would laugh at me hedging ”—physical passion together. “

The Rosethorn stallion bobbed his head. “Yeah, thinking through the wording. But …” He sighed. “I meant what I said. In both meanings of the phrase, Dazzle isn’t held in any way he doesn’t wish. Nor are Prism or Tremor, and nor were Kittyhawk or Redwood.”

“The pair who chose to return.”

“Yes. I’ll confess, I was … sad they didn’t stay.” Seed sighed. “But they visit still. We walked them to Rosewine Bridge ourselves, for what it’s worth.”

More than the stallion realized.

Aloud, Note said, “They said much the same, upon their respective returns. They spoke highly of you all.” He watched Seed’s ears perk back up. “Kittyhawk said you, in particular, were quite gentle and patient.”

Laughing, Seed shook his head. “She always thanked me for being patient with her. Like she thought any of us would be upset when she just wanted a hug and a kiss rather than pleasure.” If he noticed the color bleeding into Note’s cheeks, he paid it no mind. “Is it selfish of me that I hope they miss us enough to return?”

Visions of Rose Crown, of her—their lovers floated through Note’s head. All of them close, bidding him farewell with such sad looks of longing it pained him even now.

None more, though, than those times Crown’s own mask of stoic detachment failed her and she caught him before their parting, before he could slip on his disguise and leave them again.

“I could keep you here, safe,” she’d whisper words he knew she didn’t truly believe. “We can figure it out. If she asks if you’re mine, I’ll just … we’ll just … we’ll trick her. Or—or you could leave Damme. J-Just make it public and she won’t question a thing …”

A fever dream, and both knew it. There were certainly ways to opt out of the war, but short of taking everypony and fleeing, Crown wouldn’t escape her mother. Not even if she and Gilded and Crisp married to cement their bond.

Note felt a ghost of Crisp’s teeth upon his ear. “Forgetting somepony?” his voice whispered.

The stallion rallied and shoved that rogue fancy back in the bottle. Their courtship, his and Crown’s, had only begun a few months prior. Stars above, he’d only just returned one of Crisp’s kisses the month before Crown was forced onto that first raid!

And if any marriages happened, Crown would still have to take her loves, her book club, and flee. Roseate wouldn’t let her remain without hounding them as punishment for her daughter’s defiance.

Because love and a want to be loved was defiance. In Roseate’s eye.

“I should think not,” he answered after that long moment’s lapse into memory and fantasy.

“No?”

“You’ve not worked to undermine anything they do to find happiness outside your villa, have you?”

Seed shot him a dark look, affronted. “I thank you for your aid and respect you as Dazzle’s old partner and friend, sir, but I’ll not suffer an insult like that!”

“Exactly my point. Which is why I don’t find it selfish at all.” Note snorted a laugh, muttering, “You would make everypony longing the company of a former or distant lover selfish, fool stallion.”

“Ah. I see.” Abashed, Seed swallowed and looked away for a moment.

The awkward silence between them held fast. Note pressed his lips together, cursing himself now for using rhetoric to answer a question like that.

He knew quite well how most Merrier’s felt about taking and forcing. Their whispered utterances when they crossed into Damme and thought no pony was around told the tale.

As they reached the bridge, Note sighed and decided to bite the bitter pill. “Where do they live?” he asked. “Where does Dazzle live?”

At his side, Seed started. “I’m sorry?”

Note cut in front of him and met his eye. “Where does he live, Rose Seed? I want to know that my—“ he pressed his lips together. “Is Dazzle safe?”

Seed opened his mouth, closing it again. “Er. At the risk of offending you by prying, were you two—“

“No. Stars above, no.” Chuckling to himself, the smaller stallion shook his head. “I’m not even fully certain I’m interested in stallions as well as mares, but if Dazzle and I ever tried? Oh, I’d have given him a shove off Primrose Bridge.”

Of all things, that seemed to be what affirmed a connection between the two stallions.

Seed burst out laughing and stomped his hoof twice upon the ground. A fond smile and sigh preceding his turning an affectionate look upon the distant Rosewine Hills.

“Sometimes, he is a troublesome buck. Lovely, but troublesome.”

“Indeed.”

“As for where he lives …” The Rosethorn stallion nodded toward the hills. “He has his own bedroom in my villa. At the risk of offending your sensibilities again, I have the pleasure of waking with him in my hooves or between Petal and I on many occasions. Though, lately—“ he gave a meaningful waggle of his ears ”—he’s been a frequent bedmates of my dear Auntie Rosewater.”

Note stared. His ears twitched back and forth, telling of his mind trying to solve the complex calculus equation Seed had just laid in front of him. A multi-variable one, the unkind stallion.

And before he could question it, Seed held up a hoof. “Before you offend my sensibilities again, he approached her first.” His eyes softened. “Stars, he listened and let her into his heart quickest of them.”

That tracked well.

Dazzle was a terror in battle, his grin a foreboding omen for raiders. But he wasn’t without a heart.

One just had to find it beneath the trouble he liked to cause.

Everything went straight into Note’s mental scribblings. He smiled and bowed his head. “They’re all in your villa?”

“Prism might marry a foal hood friend of mine. Sweet Grape.” Those fuchsia eyes misted. “Tremor? Well, he’s a bit more willing to expand his circle, but he’s got several in the village he finds regular companionship with outside our villa.”

Our villa.

This stallion was a threat? Only if somepony was afraid of being propositioned and gifted some of the finest and most exotic flowers in the region.

So, half of the nobility.

Yet here he was. Walking around like a tourist and sharing drinks, and doing his level best to avoid fights with Primfeathers.

“Safe and happy in the Garden of Love, in the Garden Villa no less.” Repetition seemed to ease his worried heart. Note let his shoulders relax with a contented breath. “Thank you. It’s … it’s very reassuring, knowing where he actually is and actually hearing it spoken freely by one I knew to have charmed him so.”

Before him, Seed ducked his head. The Rosethorn markings on his cheeks graced with a slight pink flushing. “I—well, I’m glad he chose to stay, but as highly as he’s spoken of you and others …” He blinked, his ears ticking once as an idea blossomed with a smile. “I can do better than tell you how he’s doing.”

Note could already imagine the piercing look Priceless would give him. Each time he snuck in for Crown was already a risk, but openly crossing?

Seed must have read him like a book. “If it’s safety you’re worried about, have no fear!” He touched a hoof to his chest. “I’ll guarantee it. Stars, Petal would guarantee it for them, to say nothing of Dazzle himself!”

Temptations. Stars, how those words tempted him so. Fitting for a business pony and a Rosethorn, and a charmer as he was rumored to be.

It’s been a year, and their cases are open. Note bit the inside of his cheek. If I can verify their being of sound mind, we can arrange to have this closed and get two economic leaders on friendly terms. Friendlier, stars, he spoke with Collar on the bridge about Prim Stride. And so amicably.

Unfortunately, hesitation and long consideration in the presence of a Rosethorn had a way of giving them the perfect chance to sweeten the deal. Or, in this case, show Note what nightmares would await those who tried to test his guarantee.

“No harm will come to you under our protection,” he pressed, daring to lay a hoof upon Note’s shoulder. “Think about it. Send a runner to the Garden Villa, and we’ll arrange something. Okay?”

“I’ll do that.” Best to give it full thought, and consult Priceless. “Thank you, I—“

Seed leaned in and kissed him on either cheek in the traditional Merrier greeting and farewell. Seeing Note stunned, he waggled his ears. “Any friend of my loves is treated as mine, Prim Note. I mean that. Be well.” He patted Note on the shoulder and turned to walk away, but then, as he set hoof on the bridge, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Note?”

The Prim stallion blinked. “Yes?”

“When I talk about safety, yours and theirs, I’d like you to really consider something for me.”

“That is?”

Rose Seed’s smile was full of deadly nightshade. “Remember, Rosewater is of the Garden again. I’m not even the scary one anymore.”