Clotted Cream found himself returning to the lily garden, after the tour Gingerbrave had given him. While he’d appreciated seeing all the sights the beautiful, ancient Vanilla Kingdom had to offer, the garden had captivated him, in some sense.

It was more of a greenhouse than it was a garden, and more than a greenhouse, it was a vast, enless hall of flowers- pale, white lilies, all. The aroma was thick, almost intoxicating, but it was sweet. While the rest of the kingdom seemed serenaded by near-constant birdsong, the lily garden was quiet- the only audible sounds a gentle breeze on the window, the soft ruffle of the flowers against each other, and Clotted Cream’s own rhythmic footsteps.

Apparently, he was not the only one to use the garden as a respite from the stress of life.

Clotted Cream knew the distant figure was Pure Vanilla, even before he approached the elder man. Pure Vanilla wore a sort of iconic, gold-toned cape that shimmered in the noon light, and carried that peculiar, eye-flower staff. It made sense that he’d be there, given he’d been there only hours ago when Clotted Cream had visited the garden the first time.

Pure Vanilla did not look up as Clotted Cream approached him, giving the impression he did not notice the other man’s presence. In the hardly-brief briefing given to him before he’d departed the Republic, Clotted Cream had been informed that Pure Vanilla, revered and worshipped ancient hero, was blind. At the time, he hadn’t known why that was included among the seemingless endless trivia the elders had given him. Now, he was grateful he knew. If anything, it was rather useful to know when conversing.

“Greetings, Pure Vanilla,” Clotted Cream greeted, once he’d reached a polite distance from the other man. He bowed out of instinct- his father would be proud of him for trying, at least. Maybe. “I’m glad to see you again.”

“Oh, Consul Clotted Cream!” Pure Vanilla smiled, and turned from the flowers he was tending. A warm, bright smile graced his sharp features. “As am I, as am I. It’s quite nice to see you again, too, albeit a bit unexpected,” he laughed, “though, of course, never unwelcome. Did you enjoy the rest of your tour?”

Clotted Cream could not help but stifle a surprised laugh at the elder man’s rambling, joyous tone. Truly, Pure Vanilla was easier to talk to than he expected. He was one of the most easy-going world leaders he’d met- second only to Hollyberry, who’s outgoing cheeriness rivaled no one’s. “Yes, I did enjoy the tour. Gingerbrave was able to show me much of your kingdom- it’s very quaint, and homey.”

“Quaint, yes, yes…” Pure Vanilla sighed. There was the slightest, faintest hint of discomfort to his tone. Clotted Cream ignored it.

“I’m glad you like our kingdom. It is your ancestral homeland, after all,” Pure Vanilla continued, “and, I like to think the Raisin villagers and I have done a good job cleaning it up after the war.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job. It’s hard to tell there was ever a war here in the first place.” Aside from the distinct lack of people. Clotted Cream didn’t mention that.

“Thank you. We’ve been trying.” Pure Vanilla hummed, and idly returned to the flower he’d been tending before.

Clotted Cream waited for Pure Vanilla to say more. He didn’t, and the pair of them fell into a somewhat-peaceful, somewhat awkward silence. Clotted Cream exercised his gloved hands together, trying desperately to not be nervous. He wasn’t accustomed to this kind of silence. Nothing he had trained for, nothing had experienced in his still-short career as Consul could’ve prepared him for this. The Elders of the Creme Republic were always talking- if not all of them, at least the majority had an opinion to voice, and often wanted to voice it loudly. He was used to people speaking loudly. He didn’t know what to do, when left in silence. He couldn’t shake the feeling Pure Vanilla was upset with him.

Remarkably, Pure Vanilla did not seem upset with the silence in the slightest. His mind seemed solely dedicated to his gardening work- running his hands over each petel of each flower, checking for blemishes or damage. He’d heal any part of the flower that required fixing, then moved onto the next one. It seemed like incredibly meticulous work for one man, especially considering the sheer volume of lilies in the greenhouse.

“This is- quite the greenhouse you have.” Clotted Cream coughed into his hand, praying his pathetic attempt at small-talk wasn’t too pathetic.

“It is, isn’t it…” Pure Vanilla hummed idly, still occupied by his gardening. “I believe this might be one of my favorite places in the entire palace- perhaps, the entire world. I’m glad you like it.”

Clotted Cream fell into silence for a moment after Pure Vanilla spoke, trying to imitate the relaxed slowness with which the older man spoke. “It’s very serene. If I may ask… why the lilies?”

Pure Vanilla paused. “They’re for… an old friend of mine.”

Clotted Cream could think of no response but a stunned, impolite ‘oh’, which he was far too well-bred to actually say aloud. By the tone of Pure Vanilla’s voice, he could tell there was something more there, some kind of unspoken pain he was not privy to the knowledge of. Deciding the most polite thing to do would be to not speak at all, Clotted Cream fell back into the silence Pure Vanilla seemed so content to remain in.

There was something odd, Clotted Cream noted, about sharing a private conversation with such an immortal, powerful being. It was the kind of thing that one never really thought about, but something that lingered in the back of one’s mind. Clotted Cream found himself on the verge of bewilderment, forever only a few steps away from truly realizing how odd his life had been to lead him here. There were not many people in the world, he thought, who got to have experiences like these.

It was even odder, perhaps, when the ancient being in question was his ancestor.

Clotted Cream did not often think of himself as a Vanillean. While it was inevitable in some matters- namely, any discussion having to do with the notable lack of Sea Cookies represented on the council, which the two Sea Cookies on the council seemed to bring up regardless of what topic was at hand- it was generally seen as polite not to bring it up. While his heritage was undeniable- his short stature, cream-blonde hair, and sharp features branded him as a Vanillean even to those who didn’t immediately catch the other features- he preferred to call himself by the simple moniker of a ‘republican’. As Consul, as a politician, he was meant to serve and represent the entire Creme Republic, not just those who shared his ancestry.

But now, he had returned to the land of his ancestors. Now, here, his heritage became undeniable.

Pure Vanilla truly had the look of a Vanillean. Clotted Cream supposed that was only fitting, as he had founded the kingdom. He had a lithe, small frame and long, bony hands that Clotted Cream’s surely would look like once he got to that age. He had the same warm tan skin, with the same golden shimmer when hit by sunlight. His hair was the same white-yellow blonde, his eyes, while heterochromatic and glazed over, faintly had the same long, rectangular pupils as his adoptive father. His horns-

It was no great secret in the Creme Republic that most full-blooded Vanilleans grew horns. It was hard to deny it, when each Vanillean adult had them since puberty, and they grew larger and larger with time, but it wasn’t something often spoken about. It was rare to see a Republuic Vanillean wear their horns with pride- for a very long time, it’d been banned for paladins to show their horns at all. Though it wasn’t required anymore, the stigma still remained. Clotted Cream’s own paladin bodyguard had gotten her horns amputated a few years ago. Only a few of the Elders still wore theirs. His own father kept insisting he get his removed, yet he hadn’t yet. Clotted Cream pleaded freedom a few more years, every few years, and promised his father he’d remove them whenever they got too large to be manageable. He knew he’d have to, eventually. It wasn’t good for his image to be seen bearing the relics of an older time, and older community. He was of the Creme Republic, and he should look like those of the Creme Republic.

Pure Vanilla did not hide his horns. They were long and curling with age, spiraling around his ears and cheeks, framing his delicate face. He had decorated them, with rings of gold and hanging pendants. This- this was unheard of.

Clotted Cream’s hand went to his own horns- modest in comparison, hidden among his thick hair. He couldn’t properly regulate his emotions about this, couldn’t help but dissolve into an awkward, terrified mess. What was he to think of this, this proud display of something he’d for so long thought to be ashamed of?

“Pure Vanilla…” He coughed into his hand. “May I ask you a question? It’s- rather personal and probably rude, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t like, but-”

Pure Vanilla straightened his posture and turned back to Clotted Cream, somehow still smiling. “I actually wanted to ask some things of you, if you’ll permit me. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to other Vanilleans. I-” He paused, thinking of what next to say, “I’ve missed my people.”

Clotted Cream froze in surprise. Of course, Pure Vanilla would wonder about the fate of the Vanilleans, of the people who’d left his kingdom behind all those years ago. It shouldn’t have been so surprising, with all the claims he had made “Oh- of course. What would you like to know?”

“What is your life like, there? Do you still keep the traditions alive, or have you made your own traditions?” Pure Vanilla asked, question after unintentionally difficult question. “How similar is it, to here?”

“I-” Clotted Cream stammered. He had to pause to make sense of all he had heard, and determine how to respond. “Well, I’m afraid I must answer your question with one of my own."

“Oh?” Pure Vanilla tilted his head to the side, curious.

The words Clotted Cream was planning to say stopped in his throat. He couldn’t bare to meet Pure Vanilla’s unseeing gaze, so he looked to the ground. Perhaps, it was not as rude when his conversation partner could not see. “Well, as you might assume, I know little of what my homeland’s traditions are rooted in the Vanilla Kingdom, which come from the native Sea Cookies, and which are a product of our culture’s merging. Therefore, I must ask you a few questions about your own kingdom in order to properly answer your question.”

“Of course,” Pure Vanilla nodded with the wisdom of a sage. “Ask away, my friend.”

Clotted Cream frowned at the name- he wondered if he’d be considered a friend still, after the social transgression he was about to commit. “Well, your horns, for example.” He coughed, trying to force stability into his tone. “They’re very… ornately decorated.”

Pure Vanilla’s hand went to his horns, almost ashamed. “Well- I suppose it is a tradition to decorate one’s horns in the Vanilla Kindom. I suppose I never thought of it too much. It’s a form of self-expression, isn’t it? No different than wearing clothes one likes or cutting their hair in a fashionable style.”

“Yes, but-” Clotted Cream could not keep this up. “Aren’t you… even the slightest bit ashamed of it? Why draw more attention to them?”

Pure Vanilla’s brow furrowed in- shame? Offense? Anger? It was hard to tell. “Why would I be ashamed of them?”

“Well-” What reason is there not to be ashamed of them? “I’m sure you can agree, it’s- not everyone has horns. We’re to appear like the others, are we not? It’s only natural to-”

“... Why would I want to change myself to appease the senses of others?” Pure Vanilla continued. “I don’t care if I don’t look like they do, and they hardly care if they look like me- if they’re worth being around, that is.” He shook his head. “What nonsense… being so ashamed of who I am…”

Clotted Cream could say nothing in return. He knew he had overstepped. He’d known since before he had spoken.

Pure Vanilla kept shaking his head, kept his free hand on his horns, as if protecting them from Clotted Cream’s insult. He swayed slightly, indecisive in his agitation. “Clotted Cream… if you truly believe this, if you truly think a natural part of your body is something to be so ashamed of…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, instead leaving Clotted Cream in wretched silence. Perhaps, he wished for the younger man to finish the sentence for him, to deny having believed such cruel things about himself.

Clotted Cream could not deny anything. He did believe such cruel things, somehow, while knowing they were cruel. He knew he should not. He couldn’t help himself from thinking them.

Eventually, the silence grew too much to bear. “I will see you at the council meeting, Pure Vanilla.”

Pure Vanilla stared blankly at him- he couldn’t really be staring at him, could he?- an expression of pure anguish painted over his aged face. He took a while to respond- not because of the pleasant slowness of before, rather, he seemed genuinely dazed. “Yes, yes. I’ll see you at the council. Have a good day, Clotted Cream.”

“The same goes to you.” Clotted Cream acknowledged. He bowed again, despite the motion’s redundancy, and backed away from Pure Vanilla as quickly as he could. The sooner he could leave this conversation, the better.

He did not turn back to Pure Vanilla once as he made his way out of the garden, and instead brushed his hand through his hair. He paused as his hand graced his sharp, bony horn.

His father was right. He should be ashamed of himself.