Work Text:
“To be loved is to be changed!”
Narinder’s eyebrow twitched. He had always hated that saying.
“What, too emotional for you? Old grump.” Leon smirked back, one paw over their chest and the other toasting to an imaginary salute, before downing their drink and waving a paw. “Bartender! …tendress? Dealer of drink, uh, more drink please, for me and uh, The One Who Grumps!”
For not the first time, Narinder silently prayed that looks would magically develop the ability to kill. He glared at the yellow furball sitting next to him, who was now standing up in search of whichever poor cultist was in charge of the drinkhouse shift that evening. The fellow feline had been nothing but a pain in his neck ever since the day he had been unfortunate enough to cross their path.
Narinder sighed. He never did pick the easy ones for companions.
“Leon. Leon.”
“Bestower of booze? Harbinger of… h-alcohol?”
“LEON.”
Narinder put a paw on the other cat’s shoulder and pushed them back down into their seat. “You are drunk. We can discuss this tomorrow, when you are lucid.”
Leon pouted at him. “Buh- but you’re gonna at least consider it, right? It would mean a lot to me. The world! It would mean the world to me!”
Narinder raised an eyebrow. “Typically, the Lamb handles officiations”.
“But I wanna YOU to do it! It’s not like you’re not a high enough rank. And besides, Leader already agreed, they said they were gonna be, uh, busy or something this week anyways, so they woulda asked you to do ih- *hic* anyways!”
Narinder’s ear flicked in annoyance, matching his expression. “Even less reason.”
Leon gave him a look of are-you-fucking-kidding-me. “Oh, cmon, no one even buys the whole hating-the-leader shtick anymore, it got old, like, ten years ago.”
“You have been here for barely five.”
“The point still stands! Oh, wise one, please, won’t you do it for us? Leshy was really attached to the idea too, he’ll be so sad if you say nooo…”
Phantom blood drips from his claws — Narinder bites back a curse.
*chime*
“Oh, hey!”
Narinder refocused his eyes. Leon had perked up, their glass now refilled as if by magic. Before Narinder could stop them, Leon drained the entire glass in a single gulp and slumped over, cheek resting on one arm that was flopped over the table with the other arm suspended awkwardly in the air over their head.
“....sooooo…….saaaaaaaaaad………*snore*.................”
Narinder sighed again, and for what he suspected would not be the final time. After gently shaking the cat awake, he slung an uncooperative arm over his shoulders, hoisting up the rest of their equally-uncooperative body.
“You are long overdue for sleep. We will talk tomorrow.”
---
Narinder awoke, and became immediately annoyed that it was tomorrow.
A scream echoes before being cut short, never heard by ears severed, never known by a mind crushed. Phantom blood drips from his claws — Narinder-
Did not get very much sleep. Business as usual, then.
*knock knock knock* “Disciple!”
Wounds were to be licked later. In the meantime, there was work to be done.
The knocking grew more urgent. “Lord Narinder..?”
With a grumble well-concealed by practice, Narinder swung out of bed and lifted his cloak from its hook in one fluid motion, deciding that wrapping the garment around himself would have to suffice in the face of propriety. He opened the door with just a touch more force than was necessary.
“...Lord…?”
A small mouse follower looked upwards at him, barely-concealed fear twisted into its, well, mousey features.
“What.”
It was shaking like a leaf. “Um… Lord…... that is, Disciple….. uhhhhhh….”
“I do not carry a title, nor will I respond to one. You may address me as Narinder, and as Narinder only.”
The follower let out a small squeak, shrinking into itself, eyes growing wider and wetter than previously known possible. A veritably pathetic display. This one was new, Narinder thought. He hadn’t seen it before — it must be a recent convert.
It would be easy to crush. To snap its feeble mind like a twig, to crack until it breaks. The right combination of words could shatter it, with a gentle suggestion of ruination, with a subtle flash of teeth. At the peak of his godhood, he reaped oceans of souls for simply daring to make eye contact, or to speak without bowing, or just to test the sharpness of his claws.
Why do you hate your title? The rank of disciple has lots of benefits, you might as well use ‘em.
I care little for labels, especially not those bestowed by another. They are arbitrary at best, and a curse at worst.
A tilted head; an eyebrow cocked. He knows them well enough to know when they are unsatisfied.
Titles change as frequently as the seasons pass, as the mortal follow. The bishops of yesterday were the cardinals to those before — your disciples will soon become deacons, ministers, and disciples once more.
A satisfied, woolen smile; a laugh that chimes like bells. He sees the dots connecting in their head. He dreams of their hand in his.
“Fear not, for there is no punishment for a crime committed unknowingly and of little consequence. I presume you were sent to summon me — return, and send notice that I shall arrive in ten minutes time.”
With a quick bow, the mouse turned and scampered away. Narinder barely registered its absence, mind busy with chasing away the last vestiges of his unwanted thoughts. A nightmare to haunt his rest, a waking dream to follow. It seemed he would not be spared from either recurring bedfellow, not today.
If the evening meal contained no fish, Narinder decided, he would liberate some from storage later. He had a feeling he would deserve it, especially after Leon managed to track him down.
---
“And why exactly do you need me for this?”
“Well, it’s kinda against the rules for just any cultist to go and request an order from the forge.”
“I do wonder who exactly is at fault for that.”
“Hey, c’mon, that was five years ago, lay off already!”
Narinder levied his best cocked eyebrow.
“...and, admittedly, Hana scares me, ok? Are you gonna help me or not?” asked Leon, paws pressed together in a pleading gesture that was tinged with sarcasm. “Oh, please, The One Who is Generous?”
Narinder crossed his arms.
Leon gave a lopsided smile. “Too far?”
“No, I merely missed the feeling of watching a mortal beg.”
Leon rolled his eyes, before grabbing Narinder’s arm and dragging the indignant black cat towards the forge. “Freak,” they muttered under their breath.
The forge was a hulking, brickwork building placed strategically on the opposite side of the central plaza from the huts and other living quarters. A thin layer of soot coated the nearby land, and as they approached, both cats could feel the heat emanating from the perpetual fires kept within. An equally-hulking bear stood waiting at the entrance, a scowl permanently affixed to her features the moment she laid eyes on Leon. Narinder felt his yellow accoster stiffen slightly under her gaze.
The bear greeted them both. “Good afternoon, Narinder. Thief.”
Narinder, having taken the opportunity to finally wrench himself free from Leon’s grip, quickly smoothed out his robes for some illusion of decency before straightening into a professional stance. “Good afternoon, Hana.”
He glanced to his right, and saw that Leon, who was previously only avoiding eye contact with the bear, had now managed to turn themselves around completely. Narinder hid a smirk — he knew he had good reason for liking the Forgemaster, if only for the sheer terror she struck into the heart of one very mischievous pain in his side. He cleared his throat.
“Leon, need I remind you of your basic manners?”
Leon spun around so quickly Narinder was a little surprised they didn’t topple over. “Higoodafternoon, let’sgetstartedahaha-”
“Five years later and, clearly, no spine in sight.” Hana turned to walk back into the forge, motioning for Narinder and Leon to follow. “It’s a wonder that Leshy agreed to marry you.”
The interior of the forge was brightly lit, and surgically tidy. As they walked, they passed numerous workers completing various tasks (Narinder knew not the particulars), all of whom turned with a salute as soon as they saw Hana approaching. Hana dismissed each with a nod, and Narinder couldn’t help but notice how each worker seemed to work a little harder upon receiving her recognition.
The heat was becoming uncomfortable — Narinder’s paws felt damp. He hesitated. “I was not aware you were acquainted with my brother.”
“I’m not, really. He’s just good friends with my wife,” Hana replied, stopping by a workbench covered with neatly-stacked parchments and tools. She turned around to face them, and it seemed like it was her turn to wear the sheepish expression. “And, well, we get drinks together every once in a while.”
Narinder bit his tongue, as an awkward silence filled the room.
Leon, who was fidgeting with a piece of scrap they seemed to have acquired since the group had entered, looked back and forth between the two of them before deciding to bail Narinder out, even if the black cat would never admit to it later. “So, uh, about the rings?”
Hana cleared her throat, as Narinder took the chance to recollect his thoughts.
“The rings. I saw your request for the engraving, but customization like that is against doctrine,” Hana said, turning towards Leon. She glared at the scrap in the feline’s paw, and held out her own.
Leon gulped, before relinquishing their newfound toy to the Forgemaster. “Why? It’s just a few runes, nothing that fancy,” they frowned.
Narinder clicked his tongue. “Do try and make your poor attendance of sermons less obvious.”
“Wha- no, hey, I mean, there’s nothing in the doctrines about customizing rings!”
Hana sighed, rubbing her temple. “Discard vanity, in pursuit of divinity,” she quoted, crossing her arms at Leon’s confused expression. “Too much focus on appearances distracts from the wellbeing of the faith. It’s the reason why gold bands are standard issue for marriages, and why there’s limited options for different clothing. If we focused too much on our own appearance, it would reduce the efficiency with which we work to keep our Leader’s faith.”
That, and it would cause much more work for the Lamb, Narinder privately thought to himself. He had personally pushed for the idea after watching the wretched creature run themselves ragged over every single request they received from errant followers, crowd-pleaser that they were. A cult was meant to serve its god, not the reverse, he often reminded them. Though, he would admit that the cult had advanced enough in the recent century to afford such luxuries, as such requests wouldn’t go directly to the Lamb anymore. He also knew they held a fondness for aesthetics — he had seen the Lamb try on the different cloaks they had obtained from who-knows-where, and he hadn’t missed the way they spun around, preening happily as they look at his reflection in the mirror-
“-oesn’t make any sense! I mean, special boy over here gets his own robes, but a few runes on a ring is too much?”
Narinder growled. He could practically hear the Lamb laughing at his expense.
Is it comfortable? I tried to make it look kinda like — well, like your old ones.
It stinks of your incompetent attempts at appeasement, damned Lamb. Take your leave, and pray I don’t find your traitorous presence in mine again.
The robes lose their scent after his first few weeks. The Lamb offers to teach him after his third repair request; he declines. You have no place to deny my requests, traitor, is the reason he gives them. He knows how to sew, but he’s not sure why he would prefer the Lamb do it instead.
“Even if I agree, that doesn’t change the doctrines. There are no exceptions made, least of all for thieves.”
“Please, Hana? I promise, I will make it up to you. I can keep an eye out for rare metals on my next mission, or help out in the forge, or whatever you need! I just, it means a lot to me, and I-”
Narinder blinked in astonishment. He knew not that Leon was capable of sincerity.
His mouth moves without his knowing. “Hana. By my authority and on my head, I will allow an exception to be made. I trust that you are capable of keeping a secret, and I trust that Leon can be convinced to do the same,” he said, glaring at Leon in the process.
“Acknowledged. I will do it myself, and keep it covert,” Hana said. Though she showed no outward signs of surprise, Narinder could sense that she was shocked at his statement.
Leon’s mouth hung open, staring between the two. “Wait, what? That’s it?”
“Yes, that shall be it, Leon, provided you keep silent. Do I make myself clear?” Narinder asked, arms crossed.
Leon frantically replied, “Yeah, I mean. Um. Yes, I promise.” They paused. “...Thanks, Narinder. That means a lot. Thank you.”
Narinder raised an eyebrow.
“And thank you too, Hana,” Leon said, quickly turning in the bear’s direction. “I swear, I’ll make sure to pay you back somehow, and I won’t cause you any trouble!” they added, bowing deeply.
Hana sighed. “You’ve changed, Leon. Leshy might rub off on you yet.”
“Ew, gross.”
“Or maybe not.” Hana suppressed an eye roll. “The runes. What do they mean?”
Leon straightened themselves, and Narinder noted how the tips of their ears were turning the slightest bit pink. “Nothing! Just a little inside joke, nothing that you would get, it’s not that serious-”
“Love, eternity, and… heaven,” Narinder read.
“Wha- hey!” Leon sputtered indignantly, turning towards the offending fellow feline. “How did you- when did you-”
Narinder waved the piece of parchment he held in his paw. “I simply needed to make sure your order request was filled out properly.” He paused, before adding, “I am… surprised, that you understand the meaning of these runes. It is a dead language, one that predates your lifetime and many before it.”
The pink in Leon’s ears seemed hellbent on consuming their face. “...It’s easier for Leshy to read. Er, feel. Than the modern script. And it’s what he’s used to, so I’ve been learning.”
Narinder’s paws burned.
“Heaven, mm?” Hana said, before adding a small chuckle. “Cute, Leon. Not what I would’ve expected from you.”
Leon opened their mouth to retort, before Hana patted them on the back so hard that they nearly toppled over.
“Have you decided on flowers yet? Hana asked.
*wheeze* “Uh, flowers?”
Hana sighed. “Yes, flowers. For your wedding? Most of them involve flowers.”
Leon shook their head as they regained their balance. “Nah, haven’t put much thought into that one yet. Since, y’know, Leshy doesn’t really have an opinion on how things should look, and I don’t really care either.”
“Lilies. I think they would pair well with the two of you.”
Leon’s eyebrows flew up, matching the rest of their surprised expression. “Whoa, uh, I didn’t expect you to be much of a flower girl,” they said, before being quickly silenced by Hana’s glare.
“...Leshy is fond of lilies. He has always had a liking for the way they smell.”
Both Leon and Hana turned to stare at Narinder, the former somehow looking even more surprised and the latter with a glint of pity in her eyes. Narinder decided he would pretend to have noticed neither.
Hana cleared her throat, before addressing them both. “You should go talk to my wife.”
Leon turned back towards the bear. “Amaryllis? Yeah, makes sense, she’s the expert. I guess everything else has already been mostly sorted out, and we still have a few days before the ceremony.”
Hana glanced out the nearest window, where the sun was nearly set. “It’s getting late, so she’s probably retired for the evening. She has a busy day tomorrow, but I’m sure she’d be glad to discuss over breakfast,” Hana said, with a small smile. “I’ll get to work on the rings.”
“Thanks, Hana! We should get going too, or else we’ll miss the supper window. Well, shall we, uh, One Who-”
“Go on ahead, Leon. I will follow shortly,” Narinder said.
Leon opened their mouth in a question, before deciding it wasn’t worth it. Waving a paw over their shoulder, they turned and started heading towards the exit of the forge. Narinder let out the breath he was holding.
“These times of peace seem to suit you, Commander.”
Hana’s shoulders straightened a bit. “It’s times like these that we fought for, right?”
Narinder chuckled. “I suppose so.” He turned to face Hana, and nodded. “Should anyone take issue with the rings, send them to me.”
Hana looked around the forge. “Everyone here can keep a secret. But, thank you, sir- Narinder.”
“Will you be joining us at the ceremony?” Narinder asked.
Hana shifted slightly. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been one for the large gatherings, but I have a feeling Amaryllis will drag me to it anyways.”
There is a bonfire ritual at dusk. He has never been a fan of the crowds, or the dancing, but he cannot bring himself to pry away from the wooly fiend pushing him in its direction.
---
“Hey, someone left the storage open!”
“You think there was a thief? Is anything missing?”
“Uh… it looks like something got into the dried fish. I think everything else is still here.”
“Must’ve been some pests. Quick, close it before the Leader hears about this!”
---
He sits on a hill, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. There is a wind in his fur, and the chill of the night air soothes the sting around his wrists, waist, neck. He blinks, and the sun is rising on the horizon. He blinks again, and the Lamb appears in front of him.
Hi, Narinder, they smile.
He rises and turns away, away from their soft whine, down the hill, away from the sun. The chill of the night air stings his heart. The world shifts, and he finds himself walking back towards the Lamb. He tries again, but finds he cannot command his limbs. No, that is not quite correct. His heart betrays him, and drags the rest of his traitorous body towards the Lamb. He plants himself in front of them. He knows he will never try to run again.
The Lamb stares with wet, watercolor eyes, and Narinder can’t help but think himself in the presence of a private divinity. They tilt their head, and his Lamb smiles, and their mouth forms in the edges of a question-
*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*
“Hey! One Who Sleeps! You’re gonna be late to breakfast at this rate!”
Narinder jolted awake, blinking away the sand in his eyes. The ceaseless banging on his door was starting to grow louder.
*BANGBANGBANGBANGBA-* “Whoa whoa wHOA-” *thump*
Narinder glared at the yellow lump at his feet, whose momentum from banging on the door had apparently propelled them uncontrollably forward the moment he finally opened it.
“You try my patience.”
“You have a reputation for it, asshole.”
Leon was still on his floor. Narinder rolled his eyes, and moved towards his wardrobe. If he happened to kick the feline’s furry head on his way, so be it.
“Owww… what was that for?”
“I know not what you are referring to. Leave, and close the door. I shall join you in five minutes.”
---
The dining hall was bustling with activity, as various followers were eating, chatting, and getting ready to start the day. Narinder was walking leisurely towards a table nestled into a quiet corner — the table’s lone occupant was a small, white mouse, who was shoveling food into her mouth with one paw while the other rapidly flipped through the pages of a book. As Narinder approached, he observed several different followers passing by the table greet the mouse, who would cheerfully exchange pleasantries in return.
Narinder stopped next to the table. “Good morning, Amaryllis.”
The mouse perked up with a bright smile. “Mornin’, Narinder!” She glanced behind the black cat’s back, where another feline was precariously balancing two trays between their arms as they walked. “Need a hand, Leon?”
“Nope!” Leon shot a quick grin before nearly toppling over and taking breakfast with them. By some miracle, they managed to set both trays down without spilling any food, sighing in relief. “Morning, Ryllis! I uh, I owed Narinder one.”
“They owe me several,” Narinder retorted, glaring at Leon.
“Yeah yeah, One Who Extorts, I got your breakfast here in one piece didn’t I?”
“Why yes, Narinder, Leon, you can join me for breakfast, I don’t mind at all, thank you for asking,” Amaryllis said, eyeing the additional trays on her table before laughing.
“Oh! Yeah, I have wedding flower questions, and you’re, like, y’know, the one to ask,” Leon said, plopping down on a bench across from the mouse, Narinder opting for a chair instead.
“...Leon.”
“Yes, my dear and cherished friend?”
“Isn’t your wedding tomorrow.”
Leon scratched the back of their neck with an awkward grin. “Uhhh… yeah. Yep.”
Amaryllis buried her face in her paws, groaning. “I can’t believe that, between you and Lesh, you’re still the better choice for wedding planning. It’ll be a wonder if the cult is standing after the two biggest troublemakers get hitched.”
“You gonna help me or not?” Leon asked, pushing their paws together and summoning the widest eyes they could muster. “Please, Ryllis? Pleeaaaase?”
The white mouse rolled her eyes. “Knock it off, you know the answer to that already. So, whatcha thinkin’?”
“Lilies,” Leon replied. “Nothing too fancy, I know it’s a rush order, but anything you can do.”
Amaryllis gushed. “Awwwww, Leon! That’s a great choice, Lesh loves the way lilies smell, and they’re still in season!”
“Well, ok, Hana made the recommendation, I can’t take all the credit.”
“See, I told you she likes you! Regardless, they’re a great choice. You know that lilies are part of how Lesh and I met, right?”
Leon looked nervously over at Narinder, pushing their food around on their plate. “No, but I can ask him later for the details-”
“So, one day, I’m — oh, this is back when I was still managing the farm — I’m just doing some farmwork, when I notice some asshole burrowing through the entire row of lilies underground. And I’m just about to go chew whatever mole or something out when this idiot gets himself stuck in the crop bed mesh and starts thrashing, only underground. So, dirt’s flying everywhere, I’m running over with a shovel, and out pops the former god of chaos. On complete instinct, I wack him with the shovel, and I knock him out cold. Hell of a way to meet my best friend, right?”
Leon blinked. “Wait, you used to manage the farm?”
“She is being humble. Amaryllis tripled our crop output singlehandedly during her tenure,” Narinder said. Leon looked at him, nervous — Amaryllis sighed, before giving him a comforting smile.
Narinder’s claws were digging into his palms. He hesitated. Between her and… Leshy, our farming practices advanced enough to allow massive expansion. They are a large reason for the cult’s success in the past decade.”
Amaryllis rolled her eyes. “You’re giving us too much credit, Narinder.”
“Wait, what was Leshy’s role in all this?” asked Leon, looking confused.
“You know that burrowing I mentioned earlier? Turns out, he was turning the soil. It was achieving the same effect as what I got us to start doing, which is cycling the crops we plant in specific regions, but on a smaller scale. Implementing both of our practices concurrently is what allowed us to do our jobs well,” Amaryllis clarified.
Narinder shook his head. “She is being humble still. In all my millennia, Amaryllis has the finest understanding of plant growth and caretaking I have encountered.”
Amaryllis chuffed, smacking Narinder’s shoulder. “Give me a break, Narinder. In any case, lilies will be fine, I can organize a few bouquets at the very least and I think I can squeeze in some arrangements today.”
Leon jumped out of their seat, fist-pumping the air enthusiastically. “Yes! Thank you, Ryllis! I already owe you and Hana a lot, and I swear I’ll pay you back with food or drinks or whatever you want.” They held out a paw. “And, I’ll even grab your tray right now, that’s how thankful I am!”
Amaryllis beamed at the cat, handing her tray over to them. Leon looked over at Narinder’s plate. “Hey, Narinder, are you done with your food?”
Narinder glanced down at his plate. Pushed to the side was a small pile of cooked onion, which he had picked out by force of habit. Amaryllis leaned over, looking inquisitive. “You don’t like onions? Didn’t realize former gods could be picky.”
A small, gray hand shoots out and pilfers from his meal, decidedly un-godlike as it returns and shovels the ill-gotten gains into its owners mouth, which flashes him a smile. The Lamb has a fondness for onions. He starts piling them on the corner of his plate, so they don’t stick their dirty hands into his food, he explains. For some reason, his meals start tasting better when he picks them out for them.
“Hello? Narinder? Anyone home up there?”
“Has this been happening more frequently recently?”
“Honestly, Ryllis, I have no idea. I think he just likes being a pain.”
Narinder growled as he collected his thoughts. “I have no fondness for onions. Take my tray, Leon, and watch your mouth.”
Leon rolled their eyes. “Yeah, yeah, One Who Mopes, I’ll be right back,” they said, snatching Narinder’s plate and quickly retreating away from the table, outside of his range.
Amaryllis sighed, head propped up by her elbows. “You’re an idiot too, you know. Have you talked to them yet?”
Narinder’s tail stiffened. “Who do you speak of?”
“Lamb? Leshy? Either of them?”
“I see no good reason to speak with either,” Narinder hissed.
“Yes, as you’ve insisted time after time,” Amaryllis retorted, sounding slightly exasperated. “I’m assuming you still have the same dreams, no?”
The fight was slowly leaving Narinder’s system. “...You carry too much knowledge.”
Amaryllis hovered a hand over Narinder’s shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. The black cat sighed, before nodding, and Amaryllis set her hand down on his shoulder, patting slowly. “Talk to them, Narinder. You’ll feel better.”
“...Perhaps,” Narinder said, hesitating.
“...Y’know, I’m surprised you let Leon call you those things. I didn’t think there were many that still knew your old title, let alone them. Although, I guess they probably found out from Leshy.”
“Bold words, coming from another who has eschewed her rank and title.”
The mouse gave a lighthearted laugh. “Yeah, well, those disciple meeting sure were boring, huh?”
Narinder rolled his eyes. “In your words, not mine. And Leon is a special case — they know not the significance of The One Who Waits, and their repeated bastardization reduces the power that title holds.”
Amaryllis smiled, her eyes filled with understanding. “Talk to them, Narinder.”
Yes, my lord, The One Who Waits. The Lamb bows robotically. He is not sure what has changed, and why his vessel has withdrawn away from him. The Lamb moves to leave.
Vessel, his voice booms. The Lamb pauses. You know my name. Why have you yet to use it?
The Lamb looks up at him, and their expression is unreadable. Forgive me, my lord. I did not want to insult you.
The One Who Waits was a title forced upon me by my imprisoners and the foolish mortals who worship them yet. You are destined to liberate me from these accursed chains — free first my name, vessel, and through it let the land know of my return.
The Lamb smiles, for the first time in months.
Narinder.
---
“Did today’s supper plan get changed? I don’t remember fish being on the menu.”
“It says right there on the plans for the week, right?”
“Don’t they look… different?”
“Whatever, man, I just work here.”
---
Phantom blood drips from his claws — Narinder-
-bites back a curse. The eye in his hand stares back, watching, knowing, judging. A foreign weight wraps around his wrists, waist, neck. A familiar weight drags down on his heart. His siblings before him are frozen in time. The floor beneath him threatens to thaw. Anger, resignation, fear, and sorrow. It is how he will remember their faces forever. He tries to scream, but his throat gives out with his sister’s. He wants to cry, but his eyes are filled with the blood of his brother’s. He thinks to beg, for the first time in his godhood. He knows it will be of no use, for he has lived this a thousand times before. He blinks, and the world turns to white. He will always be a prisoner.
Narinder shook awake, groggy and restless. Outside, he could hear crickets chirping and a subtle breeze. He cracked an eye open, glancing out the window into the dark night air. It seemed that sleep was not in his future, not for the time being.
With a yawn, Narinder swung out of bed. The summer nights were warm still, and the air inside his hut was getting stale. Some fresh air would do him good, he decided. Shaking on a tunic (for the off chance any followers were awake, more than anything), Narinder left his hut and began walking, with no particular destination in mind.
There was a terrace near the gardens, and as Narinder passed by, he decided it was as good a place as any to stargaze and simply wait out the night.
“Brother.”
He froze halfway up the stairs.
“I can hear you. Run if you like, coward.”
There is a part of him that wants to comply.
A young Death enjoys creeping up on his unsuspecting siblings. Try as he might, his footsteps are never quite completely silent.
Narinder blinked, and found himself on top of the terrace. Leshy was leaning back against a planter, bandaged face turned towards the sky. Scattered around him were bottles, some empty and some full — a low-potency alcoholic brew, usually reserved for holidays and likely pilfered from storage.
“Traitor and now a thief. Have you no shame?”
Leshy sneered. “Better yet than being a hypocrite. Take only small amounts at one time, brother, lest you raise suspicion. I have heard murmurs that our fish stocks are depleting quicker than expected. Though, I suppose no action has true consequence for the Lamb’s kept pet.”
Narinder growled, before narrowly catching the bottle Leshy threw directly at his face. The bottle was full, and Leshy uncorked another for himself.
“Drink with me.”
“It shall have no effect, and you know this. It should not have an effect on you, either.”
Leshy wordlessly pulled down the collar of his tunic. Where there should have been a golden skull pendant, there lay nothing. Narinder looked in stunned silence — Leshy patted the ground next to him.
“Drink with me, brother.”
“...To have locked death away for an eternity, only to come running back with open arms. You are a fool, Leshy,” Narinder said, unmoving.
“There is only one fool here, and it is certainly not myself. Be candid with me, Narinder, if only for the night. Drink,” Leshy said. “I will not ask again.”
Perhaps it was the tiredness behind his eyes, perhaps he was tired of hesitating all his life. Tomorrow, if anyone asked, he would blame the drink. But tonight, before Narinder knew it, he was sitting on the ground, next to Leshy. He uncorked his bottle with a claw and took a sip. The drink left a bittersweet aftertaste in his mouth — he had never been fond of it.
“Why have you forsaken your gift of immortality?”
Leshy chuckled. “Perspective, brother. And a lifetime of new experiences ahead of me. Do you recall the feeling of being drunk? To feel invincible all night, to feel ill in the morning? I had forgotten, in the millenia past.”
Narinder took another sip of his drink. “What you describe, it sounds thoroughly atrocious.”
“Does it not? And yet, it is mine to experience all the same. To have spent an eternity at the helm of chaos, all to only truly understand it with so little time left.” Leshy had a toothy grin on his face. “What would it be worth, for every misstep to have no consequence, for every experience to be dulled with the veneer of time?”
“I do not understand; to be eternal is to be infinite, Leshy. To have infinite time, to seek infinite things. To find these experiences you describe.”
Leshy shook his head. “I cannot fault you for not understanding — it is something ineffable. Imagine it, brother. I am awake right now because I am nervous. Nervous, for something as fleeting as a wedding. I had not experienced nervousness in millenia, nor true joy, nor crushing sorrow. You and I, brother, we were dulled by time.”
Narinder’s anger flared. “You were dulled, and your dullness led to your deaths. Do not lump me in with the rest of you fools. We did not all have the luxury to grow soft with time.”
“I will not apologize for casting you down, brother,” Leshy sighed. “Nor do I expect you to apologize for my blindness. In youthful rages we could trade eyes until the sun set on our reign, but what are we left with now? Night falls, and you and I sit on a roof, with terrible drink. I am tired, Narinder. I am closer now than ever to the end of my life. If not amends, I wish to at least make peace.”
“I do not forgive you. I do not doubt that I never will,” Narinder growled.
“I ask not for your forgiveness. But, even if our history is one of discord, I would like to end on a better note.”
Narinder sipped at his drink in silence. He knew not the last time he gazed at the stars — the constellations looked different than what he remembered. It would be a nuisance, to have to learn them all again.
“You will have, perhaps, fifty years remaining?”
Leshy laughed. “If I am lucky.”
“So no time at all, then,” Narinder said.
“Indeed, brother. Indeed.”
A light, soothing breeze drifted through the night air.
“Did you forsake it for Leon?”
“In part, perhaps. I doubt not I would have arrived at a similar conclusion regardless.” Leshy tilted his head in Narinder’s direction with a knowing grin. “Not all of us can afford to wait around and play games for an eternity before making that leap of faith. I am only promised a life with Leon today. In a way, it has made every day all the more special.”
“I know not of what you tastelessly imply, Leshy.”
“Then allow me to offer you this, brother. I must ask myself, how would I feel, if Leon were to perish tomorrow. Or, if I were to do the same. Would I leave this realm satisfied? I cannot always say. You are afforded a safety from the question entirely. And yet, does that not trap you with inaction? To have an eternity of time, is to be able to stall indefinitely. Rush not, brother, but know that hesitation is a prison in and of itself.”
Narinder sighed. “Maturity doesn’t suit you, oh Chaos”
Leshy grin became toothy. “Maturity and compliance are two different coins entirely. Only a fool conflates the two,” He snickered, waving a bottle around.
“...Your mortality has changed you.”
“What is it Leon always says? To be loved is to be changed?”
“I have never been fond of it,” Narinder said.
“And me neither. I have always preferred the inverse — that to love is to change. Therein lies the degree of autonomy and illusion of control befitting us fallen gods, no?”
“Perhaps… brother. Perhaps.”
---
They tilt their head, and his Lamb smiles, and their mouth forms in the edges of a question-
Why are you running? What am I to you?
Narinder could no sooner turn his face away than he could stop the rising of the sun. Their hand, warm like the morning glow, reaches behind his head and pulls him closer. They smile, and it shines on his soul. He longs to bury himself in that unyielding sunlight.
Oh, Nari. Hope is a terrible thing, no?
---
“...And I hereby consecrate this marriage in the name of The Lamb, True Bearer of the Red Crown…”
As he delivered the rites, Narinder gestured for a ring of hooded followers to encircle Leon and Leshy, who were standing in the middle of the temple. Various other followers were scattered around the rest of the temple, watching as the procession took place. Narinder donned his own hood, and joined the ring.
“...for in life and after death, may these two souls be forever intertwined…”
Narinder motioned for the hooded followers to join hands.
“...and for-”
Narinder paused.
“-for here, and for ever after.”
He recognized the hand in his own.
“Praise be The Lamb.”
The gathered followers murmured the same, and the carvings in the stone floor began to glow, signifying the successful execution of a ritual.
There was a moment’s silence. Then, Leon cleared their throat.
“So, does this mean we get to party now?”
The followers erupted into cheers, a small group pulling Leshy and Leon towards a table adorned with food and drink. Out of seemingly nowhere, music began playing, and a gaggle of followers were clearing a section of the temple to dance. The hand in his own tightened its grip, before pulling him rapidly into a quiet adjacent hallway.
The Lamb pulled down their hood, before reaching up and lifting Narinder’s off as well.
Narinder rolled his eyes. “I thought our glorious leader was away on business.”
“You’re the one who always extols the virtue of rest, or whatever. Besides, I left it in the capable paws of the one kitty I trust the most,” The Lamb grinned. “You did a good job, Nari!”
“Shameless as always, Lamb,” Narinder said, softer than he would have liked.
The Lamb laughed, before grabbing his paw once more and pulling him back out into the festivities. Nearby, Narinder caught sight of Hana and Amaryllis, the former stubbornly holding onto a pew and the latter trying desperately to pry her free towards the crowd. Leon had somehow managed to start a food fight with Leshy, who was rapidly advancing on their position using a spare table as a shield.
Phantom blood once dripped from his claws, but his Lamb is in front of him now, and their laugh chimes like bells, and as they pull him into a frenzied dance, one in which his feet follow even as his mind races and he yelps, he decides that pride can wait for the scrutinizing light of day.
In the evening glow, their hand clasps around his wrist, and it’s a weight that is soft, and comforting.
Narinder allows a small smile. Yes, indeed, to love is to change.
And, maybe, being changed was evidence of being loved.