Chapter Text
It had not been too long since the bishop of chaos had arrived at the cult, screaming curses and dressed in rags. Myosotis had attempted to forget about that day and the shame that followed whenever they looked at the bishop of chaos. When the bishop had latched himself onto the refinery stations, the lamb had given him the simple instructions of talking him down. But naturally he had let his temper get the better of him, and not only had he gotten into a fight with the bishop, but he had knocked him out as well.
His leader was kind enough not to scold him, saying that he had tried his best and thanking him for giving them something to work with. His friends had said the same, some that had been from Darkwood even muttering about the way in which they would’ve gone further, talking about their fantasies of murdering the bishop and want of staining their hands red.
It seems though, despite his rough indoctrination process, the bishop has calmed down. It took a week, a rough one of ruined crops, a death that resulted in the fallen god being thrown in the pillory, and him attempting to run, only to be caught in the end. Typically they had a three-day policy on dissenters, meaning that if someone refused to repent after three days, then they would therefore be considered a heretic and be publicly executed by Ipomoea’s blade.
But Leshy, like his older brother, had been granted a rare exception. Oddly enough, it took the Lamb dragging the bishop, basically kicking and screaming, to go on a crusade with them for him to calm down. When the two arrived back, both injured and with the bishop holding something wrapped tightly in his claws, a new era of peace had settled over the cult.
The bishop kept to himself, rarely contributing or talking to anyone except the Lamb on occasion, and even those conversations eventually turned into Leshy yelling at the Lamb, commanding that they leave him to wallow in solitude. But on the rare occasion someone would find Leshy doing any type of work, it would be farm work. And today happened to be one of those days.
The menticide mushroom farm being empty perhaps should’ve been a sign, others tended to flee at the sight of the bishop in fear of ending up wounded or getting into a screaming match with him. But Myosotis, thinking that the others had just decided to slack off, made his way over to the farms.
He made his way through stalks of red and white mushrooms, some having grown to quite tall lengths. A low growl had been his only warning as a body crashed into his, sending him falling into the soil bellow. He coughed from both the dirt that flew up around him and the impact as he made contact with the ground.
After a moment of heaving he looked up to see no one. he looked around frantically, but it seemed to be that his attacker had fled.
“Back for a rematch?” A familiar, snide, voice that caused a lows growl to rumble in his throat rang out among the stalks of mushrooms.
Myosotis’s ears flattened against his head as he got to his feet, he shook himself, dirt and small rocks falling from his fur, “Leshy,” He growled, “Why would I be back for a rematch if I won the first time,”
It was no surprise when he was attacked again, with a loud hiss from the bishop he was tackled back into the dirt. The two tumbled around, kicking up dirt and knocking down mushroom stalks, no one had draw blood yet, only punches and kicks being thrown.
“I just said I didn’t want a rematch!” Myosotis yelled, throwing Leshy off with a kick to the stomach. The ex-god fell to the dirt, clutching his stomach with one hand while Myosotis stood up, “I just came to do farm work, ok”
Leshy stood up as well, shaking his head free of vines that had gotten caught in his antlers, “Your help is not needed, feline,”
“You don’t own the farms, I can help if I want to,” He spoke under his breath with a role of his eyes. He cast his gaze down, spotting his flower crown on the ground. Ipomoea, a white deer that was one of his closest friends and another one of the Lambs disciples, had made it for him in his downtime. He picked it up, relived to find it had not been ruined in the fight.
“I know that smell,” Leshy spoke abruptly, voice the calmest Myosotis had ever heard it. He turned to face the bishop, now that the two were standing still, he was able to get a good look at him. He was now dressed in the standard red follower robes, though his were already dirty and torn, and for some reason he wore one of the yellow sun hats their farmers typically used, despite not needing it, “The red flowers, blooming eternally, even when I was merely a burrower, through the dirt I would wade until one day I found a crown, or perhaps it found me?”
For a moment, silence hung over the two as the bishop stood silent, lost in his own head. Myosotis knew not what to say, out of all things for Leshy to begin rambling about, his past was not what Myosotis expected, “Leshy-” He began.
Leshy growled at him, causing him to flinch back, naturally expecting another attack, “Insolent mortal, you have not earned the right to call me by my name, leave me be,” Before he could get a word in, the bishop turned and fled into the mushroom stalks.
Myosotis grit his teeth, “I’ll call you by whatever name I see fit!” He yelled back, turning tail and exiting the area, deciding that if the bishop wanted to be alone so desperately then fine, he shall be.
He instead walked to the Camellia farms, noticing how those doing the farm work there looked as if they could use the help. He took to practically ripping the Camellia’s out of the ground with his bare hands with no use of tools, the innocent flowers helping him to get his anger out. He let out a sneeze as dirt flew up in a cloud as he ripped yet another Camellia stalk out of the ground, he threw the flowers into the wheel barrel he was using to hold the things. A few red petals that come loose rained down around him like rain, a beautiful sight.
“Myo,” His leaders voice startled him causing him to jump an inch into the air as he turned around, The Lamb was standing there, Narinder in tow as usual.
“My leader, Marigold,” He greeted the two with a head dip that was returned, “Is something needed of me?”
“Not particularly, I heard from Leshy that the two of you had another fight, I wanted to check to make sure you were alright,”
Myosotis repressed a growl from arising in his throat. Damned bishop, having the nerve to start the fight then to make the lamb worry by tattling, “I am fine my leader, no claws or teeth were used,”
“I see,” The Lamb throws a glance at Narinder before clearing their throat and turning back towards Myosotis, “Now, Myo, I know Leshy can be very hard to get along with, but we can’t have these fights become an issue,” They spoke slowly, trying to phrase their words gently. But Myosotis understood what they were trying to say, if he didn’t get his act together, then he would be met with the pillory.
“I understand my leader,” He responded, nodding his head.
“Please understand that I’m not singling you out, nor do I believe you to be at fault, I gave Leshy the same talk,” The Lamb did their best to reassure them, “You can just avoid him if you need to, I don’t fully expect the two of you too-”
“Gifts,” Narinder spoke a singular word, though all eyes turned to him, “He is a fallen god who still thinks himself divine, give him a gift and he will take it as an offering, it shall please him,”
A smile spread across his leaders face as they nodded, “That’s not a horrible idea Marigold, what does he like though?”
“All of the bishops were appreciators of gold and bones from those murdered in their names,” Narinder said with a barely concealed scoff.
“Right,” His leader slowly turned back to him, “Well, the best gifts come from the heart, not from the head, so just try your best and hopefully he’ll appreciate it,”
Myosotis’s eyes wandered down to the ground where red petals from the camellia’s lay, “Perhaps he will,” Myosotis responded.
His leader and Narinder soon left, most likely going to check on the progress with the other farms as well. Myosotis continued his work in the farms, picking camellias and then planting the seeds. He worked past the dinner bell, knowing that a spare bowl would be saved for him. The moon hung above his head when he had finished planting, watering, and fertilizing, those working beside him had gone to bed, asking twice and even thrice if he was sure he didn’t need the help.
With a satisfied sigh, he packed the Camellias from that days harvest in an empty chest in the barn. His eyes lingered on the flowers for a few seconds, there were quite a lot, and though there was a rule about not stealing from the food stores, camellias and mushrooms were fair use. He took a handful into his arms, hopefully enough to make his gift to the fallen god, then left the farms for the night.
He was up late into the night, carefully weaving the flowers together as he had once been taught. When the gift was done, it looked messy, obviously not having been made by someone experienced, not that it mattered since the bishop couldn’t see. But even so, he was satisfied with it, though he doubted Leshy would be, as Narinder had said earlier, gods were used to offers of gold and bones, he would surely be dissatisfied with a measly flower crown. Not that Myosotis truly cared, this was just so his leader would stop worrying. He decided to finally rest after that, dreaming of bloodied fur and final goodbyes.
He awoke early, as soon as the birds began to chirp. He crawled out of bed, going about his usual routine of washing up with the basin in his room and dressing for the day. He made sure to grab the flower crown he had made for Leshy as well, its flowers having slightly wilted but the smell that clung to them still strong. He exited his small hut, breathing in the breeze of the day.
“You’re up a bit later than usual,” He was startled out of his peaceful silence by Ipomoea’s voice.
He looked to his left to see the white deer lounging around in the dirt outside of his own cabin, dressed in the robes he wore while performing executions and sharpening his axe. Vines and Camellia’s hung from his antlers, the only non-threatening part about him.
“Was up late last night,” He answered back, holding up the flower crown he had made.
Ipomoea smile, “It seems at least someone is putting my skills to good use, who’s it for?”
He paused before answering, already anticipating the rest of the conversation, “The bishop,” he say simply, looking away as Ipomoea freezes.
“Him?” He says, venom in his voice, “Didn’t you get into two fight with him? Is he bullying you? Do you need me to kill him for you?”
Ah, so rumors of the second fight had already spread, “No, our leader asked me to make peace with him, Marigold suggested that I give him a gift,”
Ipomoea rolled his eyes, returning to sharpening his blade with new vigor, “Birds of a feather huh? trying to restore power to the youngest by having you worship him without you knowing, I know our leader is wise but I wish they would allow me to make examples out of the two,”
He looked towards the flower crown in his hands once again. It couldn’t be like that, could it? Historically Narinder didn’t get along with any of his brothers, he has no reason to attempt to place them in positions of power again, “Our leader has placed Marigold in a position of power for a reason, and they have allowed Leshy to stay for a reason too, we mustn’t question them,”
Ipomoea sighed, letting his shoulders sag, “I know,” A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment, “Well, I saw the bishop head towards the mushroom farms earlier,”
Myosotis smiled at his friend, dipping his head, “Thank you Mea, see you at the execution?”
Ipomoea snorted in response, “Well obviously, I’m the executioner,”
While passing, Myosotis bent down to ruffle his friends fur and then continued on before he could get smacked. With a smile on his face, he continued on his way towards the mushroom farms, his smile dropping a bit as he saw what little work had actually gotten done in the farms.
Once again he pushed past the stalks, watching and listening for any signs of the bishop. He didn’t have to walk far before Leshy emerged from in between mushrooms, growling but not attacking.
“Your back? Have you not learned your lesson?” Leshy growled, tilting his head and taking a defensive stance.
Myosotis bit his tongue, deciding not to ask what lesson he was supposed to learn, “Like usual, I’m not here to fight you, I have a gift for you,” He held out the flower crown to the bishop, who gave him a confused look in return.
“You come bearing an offering?” He asked, limbs relaxing slightly as he took a step forward sniffing the air.
As Leshy stepped forward, and it was then that Myosotis realized how small he was, the ex-god barely coming above his shoulder, “If that’s what you want to call it, then yes, its a flower crown, I tried to make it wide enough to go around to your hat,” He explained.
Leshy snatched it out of his hands, passing it through his claws with a surprising amount of gentleness, “Its satisfactory,” The bishop commented to Myosotis’s surprise. He thought the the crown would be thrown on the ground, along with a string of curses, “Put it on me,” The crown was held out to him.
He took it from Leshy’s hands, awkwardly he got closer, easily slipping it onto the sunhat. He was glad to see he had made it wide enough after all.
“Finally, someone in this forsaken cult has come to their senses,” Leshy remarked, a toothy smile spreading across his face, “Feline, tell me your name,”
“Its Myosotis, but-” He was not surprised that the bishop had assumed he had taken to worshiping, he meant to clear up the air but was quickly cut off by his arrogant speech.
“Myosotis,” Leshy began, grabbing him by the arms. “You are about to be apart of something great, that child won’t know what hit them,”
Lamb give them patience, what the fuck did he just get himself into.