Chapter Text
Mertyjul was but one of many in the flock of The Lamb, praise be unto them, though this was was not always so, for once upon a time he had been an ignorant hapless wanderer who fell prey to a spider’s fiendish trap. It would have been the end of him were it not for their Glorious Leader’s beneficent intervention. For a costly fee, he was freed and welcomed to a loving community by The Lamb, blessed be their name, and in reverence he pledged his loyalty to Their Most Holiness until his dying days.
And lo and behold, his loyalty has been rewarded tenfold! As the flock grew, as the True Faith reached further and further, it was natural that their Glorious Leader would be behooved to choose one of their followers to stand tall amidst the rest, and among the many faithful, it was he who was singled out and chosen to lead in their Glorious Leader’s stead! To teach the doctrines and the gospel of the True Faith to those that are like he had been! This, in Mertyjul’s mind, was destiny. Years of aimless pondering coming to fruition under the guiding hooves of The Lamb, glory be upon them.
Today was no different. After a sermon most well-received by his fellows, it fell upon him to man the confession booth. Nowadays, it saw little use, but the few that needed its service were always heeded regardless of how small or large the guilt that weighed in their hearts. As per the teaching of their Glorious Leader.
The rustling of cloth snapped Mertyjul out of his musings and he hears the creaking of wood just behind the veil that separated him and his fellow signaling that whoever was on the other side has taken a seat.
“Welcome, my kin in faith,” he greets them with a whisper. “What troubles you so?”
“Mertyjul? Ah, yes, I remember appointing you as high priest.” The voice that replied to him belonged to none other than The Lamb themself.
“My Lord?! F-forgive me, I didn’t mean to—!”
“Peace, my faithful.” The Lamb’s words calmed Mertyjul immediately, his shame forgotten. “You have caused no offense, I simply required your service.”
“Of course!” Mertyjul yelped, scurrying to greet his lord properly. “Just let me—!”
The shutters in front of him suddenly closed, his claws nearly getting caught, and the booth glowed a ghastly red.
“Stay, Mertyjul.” Even behind the veil, Mertyjul could see the glare of the Red Crown, causing him to hasten to obey. “Your enthusiasm pleases me, but it is your ears that I need.”
“Yes! Yes, of course, my lord. Forgive my assumptions.” Mertyjul cleared his throat. “What ails you, my lord? If I may be so bold.”
A deep and drawn-out sigh was what he received in reply. The thought that something, or someone, could cause so much grief to The Lamb, may a hundred eulogies be sung for them, filled Mertyjul with righteous fury—!
“I knew I couldn’t trust Narinder.”
The name of the former Lord of Death caused Mertyjul pause and his thoughts stuttered to a halt. “Th… The Lord-Consort, my lord?”
“The one and the same.” The Lamb confirmed. “Was it not enough that he tasked me the arduous duty of raising a cult in his name? That he commanded me to battle his siblings for his freedom? That he demanded my life and yours after it all? Now he schemes to inconvenience me even more!”
‘Oh dear.’ Mertyjul winced. Far be it from him to think of anything but kind thoughts about his lord, but it seems it’s going to be one of those confessions. Why, just the other day, both former Witnesses Agares and Astaroth had aired out their grievances with one another to him. A difference in proper handlings of fresh produce, if he remembered correctly.
“Was I not fair to him even after all that? Did I not spare his life in spite of his treachery? Did I not treat him to the same luxury my followers get on the daily? For goodness’ sake, I even gifted him a flower crown!” The Lamb’s ranting was ceaseless now and Mertyjul could only hope this doesn’t garner an audience outside.
(a foolish hope, as the curious among the flock has gathered just outside, attracted to the noise)
“V-very generous, o God of Gods. None could deny your benevolence.” Mertyjul attempted to placate his lord, to no avail.
“Yes, generous! Generous, I say! Why, I even married him too!” The Lamb seemed to stop with a cough. “In jest, of course. Stop looking at me like that, your dubious expression is not hidden from me.”
Mertyjul had not even realized it and made haste to apologize. “Forgive me, my lord I did not mean—”
And yet The Lamb continued, “It started out like this, see—One day, I gathered him and two others of my faithful and sent them out on missionary expeditions. I told Grear to get some timber, Fitre to get some meat, and Narinder to recruit one more follower to the flock.”
Mertyjul tried to recall that particular event, only coming up with vague memories. “Yes, you had, my lord,” he replied simply.
“And I told him, you know, I told him very specifically that there was no rush. Whenever he got to it. It’s not like I needed the extra member, I just felt like it that day. So, with a kiss on the cheek and a slap to the rump, I bid him and the other two goodbye before resuming my usual duties. Killing remnant cultists of the Old Faith that is.”
Mertyjul nearly choked. “I-A what and a what, my lord?”
The Lamb sighed. “A kiss and a slap, Mertyjul. All in jest, of course. It riles him up, see.”
“My lord, I do not think—"
“Anyway, after two whole days of crusading in Anchordeep, I hadn’t noticed that all three were back until Amdusias pointed it out to me. So I went to check on how they did. Both Grear and Fitre succeeded, as expected, but Narinder? Ohoho, Narinder, my sweet. My little cutie, the shadow to my moonlight, my—ahem!” The Lamb coughed violently, causing a light shudder inside the booth. “Apologies, I lost myself.”
“P-please continue, my lord.” Mertyjul whimpered. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’
The Lamb cleared their throat before doing just that. “So I asked him if he was successful. And that traitorous, conniving, ungrateful fleebag had the gall to smile so smugly at me before he died on the spot!”
“The Lord-Consort died?!” Mertyjul yelled incredulously. “The One Who Waits can die?!” He didn’t remember that.
“Yes, of course he can die! He doesn’t age, but he still bleeds! I check—I mean…!” Mertyjul does not know if the redness he is seeing behind the veil is from the crown or from The Lamb’s cheeks. “I am your Glorious Leader and I know all!”
“N-None doubt you, my lord.”
“Do not lie to me! I hear your thoughts, so sinful and blasphemous!” The booth shuddered as something definitely not hooves slammed into the veil.
“Please, my lord! I urge you to calm yourself!” Mertyjul attempted to placate his lord in a bid to keep his head, raising his claws in defense.
All hope seemed lost as the furious breaths of The Lamb poured through the thin veil that kept them and Mertyjul apart until as suddenly as it came, The Lamb’s breathing slowed to a calmer pace.
“Yes. Forgive me, today has been rather trying for me,” The Lamb sighed, sitting back down. “Continuing—”
‘Please, no more.’ Mertyjul begged in their mind, and though The Lamb has the ability to read minds, his plea was unheeded. Not that he knew his lord could, anyway.
“—checking his body, I saw that he’s got scratch and bite marks all over his back. Apparently, Narinder took a trip to Silk Cradle and got attacked by Spiders. I was in tear—!” Another violent shudder shook the booth, but there were no shouts this time. "I was sorely disappointed that Narinder not only failed to recruit another member to the flock but also died on me, and then I remembered I could resurrect the dead and hurried to the church for the ritual.”
Ah, right. Mertyjul remembered that part.
“To cut an hour of arguments and pointed words out, I didn’t let Narinder sleep with me that night. I told him he could plop his furry buttocks in one of the unoccupied tents for the night and he’d have to make-do without me! He at least had the decency to look apologetic before I threw him out of our shared housing as is part of my long-term revenge for his betrayal.”
“It, errr…” Mertyjul gulped nervously. “It seems all has been resolved in your end, my lord. Surely, the Lord-Consort will no longer wish to worry—I mean!” He hurried to correct himself as he felt the scalding glare of the Red Crown upon him. “—wish to fail you! Yes, that.”
The Lamb hummed. “Yes, I suppose so. And I do feel lighter now, thanks to your service. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find where my spouse has wandered off to this time…” And with that, The Lamb hurried outside. "What are you all doing?! I do hope none of you have been eavesdropping on what was supposed to be a private conversation!"
Mertyjul breathed out a sigh of relief he had been holding. “Thank The Lamb, holiest of Gods.”
Never mind the fact that it was The Lamb who had brought upon such stress at his feet, but such is the life of the devout.