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The blinding of the veil was a welcome sight to the Lamb, after the deep watery blue of Anchordeep. They hadn't been paying attention and tripped backwards into a bomb-jelly on the first clearing of the squid’s domain, knocking them flat on their ass and allowing the horned squid to line up the shot before charging and being impaled through the eye.
Not the most graceful death.
Their head pounded as they stood up from the stone, wincing a little as they saw the grin on the cat demon's face. He absolutely saw their pathetic death.
They couldn't stop the smile from gracing their lips as they approached The One Who Waits.
“That was elegant, vessel. Very interesting strategy,” The One Who Waits greeted the Lamb as they approached, one finger beckoning them closer. “One would think you're purposefully being slaughtered.”
The Lamb bent over in a bow, a bleat of a laugh escaping their lips as they did so. “I'd lay my life down a hundred times over, just to see you, my lord,” they said.
His hand rested on the floor in front of them, skin shrunken to near-skeletal and scorched black. An invitation. They carefully stepped up between his forefinger and thumb, using his large thumb to balance themselves as they sat. Once they were comfortable in his palm, legs dangling free off of his wrist, they were lifted to his eye level.
His voice was a deeper rumble up close, where he spoke quieter.
“Does the cult not give you enough affection, that you come here to seek it from me?” The One Who Waits purred, and the Lamb swung their legs as they looked up at him.
“It's different when I come here. I can have a conversation with you that doesn't result in ‘uh, leader’,” the Lamb’s voice pitched up into a mockery of one of their flock. “‘I can't seem to figure out how to feed myself, so I'm starving to death unless you make me food’, or ‘Leader, I want some flowers from Darkwood! Nevermind that the ones growing in the farms are the exact same kind’. It's a little frustrating.”
The One Who Waits chuckled, his three eyes closing as he tilted his head and his lips peeled back in a grin. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The joys of running a cult. Perhaps your most devoted followers could take some of the burden off of your shoulders.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, honestly. But then I need to teach them how to use the cooking pot, or how to use a broom, and jobs won't get done right if I'm not doing them, and then I get just so tired just imagining having to do more work just to finish their halfway done jobs.” The Lamb sighed, falling back onto The One Who Waits’ hand with a small oof.
“A good cult leader definitely needs to understand when to hold back certain knowledge from their flock, but it doesn't hurt to have a little bit of help every now and then.”
“What does hurt is having one of the horns from those spear jellyfish squid things go right through my head!” The Lamb laughed a little.
“Not one of your best deaths, I’ll admit. But I am biased, however, to having watched your head roll from the chopping block of the siblings.”
“Why is that?”
“‘Twas the first time we met, vessel. From our first meeting, I knew you would be powerful.”
The Lamb felt their chest flutter, the unbeating heart sinking a little into the pit of their stomach. The memory of the axe swinging towards their neck was not a pleasant one, but they supposed their god was right.
“Alright, I think it's time for me to go,” the Lamb muttered quietly, their joyful mood ruined by the shadow of memory. They sat up, scooting back on The One Who Waits’ hand to give themselves enough leverage to stand.
Once to their hooves, they bowed deep, holding out their arms as the tingle of magic crackled over their skin and the view of the veil dissolved, replaced by trees and the distant sounds of the needy cult.
–
The Lamb knelt by the gravesite, a bundle of flowers in their hand. Their first follower, a spirited bunny rescued from Leshy’s heretics, had died overnight. The Lamb had spent the morning preparing his body to be buried, then they had dug the grave, all the while the flock around them were all sniffles and teary eyes. A few had even cowered in their homes until the sun was high in the sky and the rabbit was long-buried, afraid of the mere thought of death.
Ironic, considering who this cult was started for.
“Leader?” A quiet voice.
The Lamb turned to see a young doe, wringing her hands nervously. “Yes?” They answered, trying so hard to not sound as exhausted as they felt.
“I’m hungry. Do you think you could make supper now?”
A flurry of rage started in the Lamb’s chest, the audacity of the follower in front of them to desecrate their mourning to ask for food. They plastered a smile on their face and stood from where the knelt, leaning over to place the flowers by the headstone.
“Of course!” Their voice was sickly sweet, and the doe smiled at them before skipping away towards the cooking pot.
The sun had long dropped below the horizon by the time the Lamb had finished dinner, blessed each member, and cleaned up the cult grounds. Evidently, the cauliflower hadn’t agreed with several stomachs, and it was a race to the outhouse, with many having not made it in time.
The moonlight streaming in through the windows of the Temple glinted off of the metal of the blade in the Lamb’s hands. The pain was inevitable, inescapable, but a comfort to the Lamb nonetheless.
Their breath came out with a quiet pained noise as the dagger struck home in their chest, cutting through cartilage and bone to stab at the very heart that beat into them. It took the remaining amount of their strength to pull the crown-knife free from their body, before collapsing on the ground and closing their eyes.
The veil was a welcome sight, the off-white fog, wet floors, and three feline figures watching their very movements.
“Vessel, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to see me?” The One Who Waits called to them, reaching out to pick them up as they approached. His fingers circled their form, and they felt their stomach drop as they were lifted off of the ground.
The cat’s fingers splayed open after a moment, and the Lamb looked up into their deities face. “The rabbit,” they said, settling on The One Who Wait’s palm and bringing their knees up to their chest. It was perhaps unsightly for them to show this kind of vulnerability, but if it had displeased the god of death, there was no indication. The grin on his face faltered for a moment.
“Ah. This is your first follower death, isn’t it?”
A nod. The Lamb’s arms came to circle around their knees, and they rested their chin on their forearms. “Everyone just… seemed to forget about it, as soon as the body was gone.”
“Mortal lives are short.” A finger from The One Who Waits’ other hand pressed against the Lamb’s cheek, squishing their flesh and pushing their wool back. “You mustn’t work yourself up over it. Their lives only have purpose to serve you, to further your own power.”
“How do I stop it from hurting, then, when they die?” The Lamb’s voice was quiet, and they swallowed around the lump in their throat. “How do I deal with the fact that no matter what, I’m alone?”
“Are you thinking about your herd, little lamb?”
Another nod.
“I saw each of them through here, passed along to the next. Tell me, vessel, do you feel the knife in your heart now?”
“No.”
“Their passing through my realm was painless. Death may be the end for this life, but it is a calm and gentle rest.”
The Lamb laid back on his palm and stared at the endless void above them. The One Who Waits pushed his finger against their cheek once more, petting their hair with rough strokes.
“Lamb, I would suggest distancing yourself from these feelings of loss. The flock is a tool to be used as you see fit. Would you mourn the loss of a blade?”
Yes. “No.”
“Then think of it that way. Your followers are to be used. And fear not, vessel, for as long as you are serving me, you are never alone.”
“I trust your guidance, and I will take your words into consideration,” the Lamb spoke after a moment, bringing one hand up to stop his petting. Their chest felt lighter, but their head was filled with a strange buzz of energy. “Thank you, my lord. I think I’m ready to go home now, and clean my blood off of the temple floor.”
“Go, vessel. Crusade again, tomorrow. You’ve slain Kallamar and two of Shamura’s disciples, so your task is almost fulfilled, and I will soon be freed. The next time we meet, I hope it is you returning my crown and unchaining my shackles.”
The Lamb didn’t have a response to that, before the veil vanished and they blinked their weary eyes to see the glade before them.
–
The crowd gathered around the statue in the middle of the glade, watching as the Lamb exhibited a show of the crown's power to slam Narinder to the ground. The kitchen knife clattered out of the cat's hand, landing a few paces away.
He snarled up at the Lamb, paws scrabbling for a hold on the ghostly grip of the crown.
“Narinder, this is the third attempt this week. I thought we were over this,” the Lamb said, disappointed at the assassination attempt. “Why can't you just accept that you are a member of this cult now? I don't want to keep you jailed in the pillory.”
Narinder spat in reply, a deep growl coming from his throat. His tail lashed on the ground and stirred up the dirt.
“You're better than this. I know you are.” Their voice was softer now. Pleading. “You can't kill me.”
“I've felled gods before, and I will take back what is rightfully mine,” Narinder hissed, his voice strained. Murmurs of his words rippled through the crowd, questioning the Lamb.
The Lamb recalled the crown's hand, reaching one hand down to Narinder. Fighting like this would only startle the flock and not solve anything. Narinder’s eyes flicked down to their hand, then back to their face, and his hand lifted up.
The Lamb suppressed their reaction as his claws slashed into their hand, slapping away their hand. Gold dripped from the hand, and they lowered it under their fleece. A bubbling anger was growing within them, and they took a deep breath in through their nose, letting it out slowly through their open mouth.
The cat pushed himself to his feet with his ears pinned back to his head and brushed off his robes. They were covered in dirt and ichor from his dripping nose, where the Lambs elbow had made contact.
The crowd around them started dissipating, as it seemed the action was over, and a look from the Lamb convinced the rest of the stragglers that going back to work was the correct decision.
They turned back to the cat. He was staring them down, expression unreadable, with his hands concealed in the sleeves of his robes.
The Lamb licked their lips, before speaking in a hushed tone. “Why are you so bent on killing me? I freed you.”
“You did no such thing, Lamb. All you did was transform my prison from chains to this disgusting body and forced me to be one of your pawns.”
“You’re wrong. Could I have given you the crown back? Sure. But you would have had nothing. You didn't even bat an eye when I brought back your two disciples, and this cult is mine. They would have had no loyalty to you.”
“Because you did not follow my original instructions, to build this cult in my name.” Narinder lashed his tail again, his teeth pulled back in a snarl.
“Cope.” Their frustration was back, and they took another breath. “Look. Would it be so awful if you didn't have all of this anger inside you? If you forgave yourself?”
Narinder was silent, and his ears pinned back to his head again. A peek inside his thoughts confirmed their theory, that he wasn't angry with them, but with himself.
“Would it be so bad for you to exist, on the earthly plane, with me? No revenge, nothing to fight. We could go fishing, or could watch the stars, or tend to the cult. You, by my side, as my closest advisor.” The Lamb stepped in close, movements slow as they reached for Narinder's hands again. He resisted their touch, but a gentle tug had him giving in.
They held his hands, thumbs brushing the soft fur on the back of his hands. His hands were trembling and the Lamb looked up into his eyes. His eyes were wide, a thin ring of red around large pupils. The Lamb could see a swirl of emotions, mostly unreadable.
“I still don't know everything about running this. You've got the experience, and you're smart. Nothing has changed, from you in the veil. All of that is still real.”
Narinder's hands gripped theirs tightly. They were a lifeline, the rising tide of unfamiliar emotions nearly drowning him.
“So please. No more trying to kill me. Instead, partner with me,” the Lamb pleaded. There was a lump in their throat, and they swallowed it down. “I need you.” One of their hands pulled away from his, rising up towards his face and settling on the soft fur of his cheekbone.
“Okay,” Narinder whispered. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes and leaning into the hand on his face with a pained expression.
“Okay,” the Lamb repeated back.
–
The Lamb struggled with the rod, the fish on the other end putting up a fight. It was strong, and the Lamb let the line go slack before reeling in again.
“Fish, er- man!” The Lamb called out, taking a second to look over at the other figure at the dock. “Do you think you could possibly help me out? I might need to pull this one in with a net!” The figure didn’t move to help, only looked at the Lamb’s rod before turning back to his own.
The line wrenched again, nearly slipping the rod out of the Lamb's hand, and they scrambled to keep it from plopping down into the depths. The fish’s glittering scales could be seen, just under the surface of the water, and the Lamb yanked on the line to tug the fish ever closer. It's sharp nose breached, and the Lamb grinned.
“Wait, nevermind. I got it!” They said, pulling sharply once more and dragging the swordfish out of the water. It was record size, and it landed on the ground just in front of the Lamb with a wet slap. They quickly unsummoned the rod, the amorphous blob of darkness gliding over their wool to settle back into the shape of a crown on their head.
They knelt down next to the massive catch, careful to not let its bill slash into their skin (that was a hard learned lesson), and swiftly brought a rock down behind its eyes. The bludgeoning quickly stopped its movements, and the Lamb hooked two fingers under its gills.
They hefted the massive fish up, turning back towards the treeline.
It didn't take long to get back to the cult, and they made a beeline towards Narinder's hut. He was outside, tending to laundry strung up on a line, bed sheets and clothing blowing in the wind. He was shirtless, the mid-afternoon sun highlighting the lines of muscles on his back.
“Narinder!” The Lamb called out, and the cat turned his head to look in his direction
“My Lamb. I thought you'd be gone longer.” Narinder eyed the fish. He turned back to the sheet on the line and pulled it off, nearly folding it and setting it in a basket. “I take it that the fishing went well.”
“Yes. I caught enough to have a feast, with some spare to dry for the cults stores, or for us to take on crusades.” The Lamb looked at the laundry basket, and Narinder's hands. “You probably shouldn't touch this fish if you're doing laundry.”
“I'm almost finished, if you'd like me to prepare dinner for everyone. It's still early, but if that is what you wish.” He flicked his ear, pulling a shirt off of the line and placing it neatly folded on top of the basket. “The rest of these need to stay on for a while.”
He picked up the basket and stepped past the Lamb towards the temple, his tail flicking and drawing over the Lambs cheek. They smiled, and turned to follow him.
“No, no. I can cook for everyone. Today is special, though.”
“Is it?”
“It's been four years since I brought you here. I caught this,” they held up the swordfish. “For you, since I know it's your favorite.”
Narinder stopped and turned to look at the Lamb. His eyes flicked down to the fish in their hands, and gave them a soft smile. “...Thank you, Lamb.”
His smile was so soft, and the Lambs chest thudded with an extra few heartbeats. His fur blew softly in the wind, his tail brushed against their calf, and wound its way around their hoof.
They grinned at him, before brushing past him, their shoulder rubbing against his bicep. His tail fell away from where it had coiled. “I’m going to start preparing dinner! Catch you later!”
–
“Thanks to Brenamer and his party, they brought back enough meat to prepare a feast for everyone! This was the first successful hunt without me, so I want to make sure it's extra special!” The Lamb called out over the gathered crowd.
They handed bowls of meat and veggies to each follower, piled high with a combination of everything. The reformed Bishops were last, along with Aym and Baal, to take their meals.
Narinder, however, was the very last to take a bowl. His expressions of distaste for cauliflower were more than enough of a sign for Lamb to make him customized meals, with fish, meat, and pumpkin piled high. His hand brushed against the Lamb's as he reached for his bowl, and lingered for an extra second.
His fingers were like fire, as they touched. A burn traveled up their arm, through their veins to spread throughout their body.
They smiled softly as he pulled away, before turning to gather their own bowl.
The Lamb's own bowl was filled with the vegetables that Narinder’s bowl lacked.
They followed the Bishops and Aym and Baal over to where they settled in at tables, sitting at the seat opposite Narinder. He was digging through his bowl with his hands, pulling out the small fish and eating those first.
The Lamb was so entrenched in watching him eat, the feral yet delicate way he pulled each individual ingredient out of the bowl fascinating. The utensils provided by the Lamb sat unused next to his bowl.
“Eat with the fork!” Kallamar said, holding out a tentacle in Narinder's direction. Narinder, in response, pinned his ears back to his head and stared at the squid before pushing his hand back into the bowl.
“Eating with my hands sounds fun.” Leshy’s voice drew the Lamb’s attention. The youngest bishop was wrist deep in his bowl by the time the Lamb had
“Shamura! Please tell them that we are respected members of this community and need to be setting positive examples!”
“You wouldn't know positivity if it bit you on the ass!” Narinder snapped back at Kallamar.
Was this how the family always was?
Their family- no, they corrected themselves. Narinder’s family, despite their differences and the history, could be healed with time. It had been a full decade since saving the bishops from their eternal torment, and nearly twice as long from dethroning Narinder.
The Lamb couldn't help the warm feeling in their chest. Despite his rough exterior, and even rougher personality, he was prone to being quite silly at times. More often than not these days, the Lamb had woken to find the cat crawling into their bed, or being subjected to him rubbing his cheeks on their horns in private. A memory came to mind of Leshy pressing a bundle of leaves in their hand, and an evening consisting of a lap full of the former God of Death, purring and kneading into their wool.
The Lamb let out a quiet chuckle, before picking up their own fork and digging into their bowl.
“See, the Lamb has manners!”
“I’m sure if they wanted to, they would eat with their hands,” Narinder said, scoffing as he dug through the food bowl once more. He made a pleased sound as he found what he was looking for.
“Would not!”
“Would too!”
“Lamb, what do you want?” Heket asked, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her head on her palm.
“Narinder's hand in marriage.”
The table went silent, and the Lamb realized with a start that they had said that out loud. Narinder was watching them, hand frozen in mid-air with a sardine clutched between his fingers.
“My hand in what?”
The Lamb felt their face heat up, and looked down to the bowl of food. They shoved a mouthful of vegetables in their mouth, taking their time to eat slowly to avoid the question.
“Lamb, you will answer me,” Narinder growled, and they peeked over at him. The fur around his neck was fluffed out, his eyes were wide, and his pupils large. His tail lashed behind him. “What do you mean by that?”
They swallowed the mouthful of food.
“I…” they started, mouth suddenly dry. “Would like to marry you. You're already a disciple, and the members of the community look up to you, and…” They trailed off, looking back at their bowl to avoid his eyes.
After a moment of silence, Narinder made a hrmph. “I accept. It only makes sense, when you put it that way.” He huffed, turning back to his own bowl. The Lamb looked back at him, and noticed his nose was flushed a bit pinker than before.
There was a beat of silence.
“Alright, Kallamar. I win. Hand it over,” Heket said, holding out her hand with a smirk. Kallamar groaned and dug through his robes.
“Actually, Heket,” Shamura said from where they sat. Their bowl was empty. “I believe I said the Lamb would accidentally propose. Your bet was that the Lamb would propose first, which implies intent. So, I win.” They held out a hand towards Kallamar and Heket.
“You all placed bets on my relationship status?!”
“I didn't, I know better than to gamble with Shamura!” Leshy said, slamming his bowl to the table.
“You didn't bet because you don't have anything left from your wager with them last time!” Kallamar dropped a handful of coins into Shamura's outstretched hand, and Heket followed suit. After a moment, they looked expectantly over to Aym and Baal, the two nearly forgotten in their silent observation of the conversation.
The two cats fished into their robes, and slid several coins across the table. Narinder turned to glare at them, slamming his hands on the table.
The Lamb couldn't help but bleat out a laugh, reaching across the table for Narinder's hand.
–
The Lamb grunted as Shamura tightened the laces on the back of their bodice. Carefully picked gemstones sewn into the waistline glittered in the candlelight as the eldest sibling led them over to the mirror.
Their dress was a deep red, detailed with thin gold threads. Their shoulders were bare, the neckline plunging deep into their chest and the sheer fabric of the sleeves cinched around their wrists, decorated in a black lace filigree.
They had been shorn short. Their wool had been overgrown lately, so shearing had been somewhat of a challenge, but Shamura's deft hands had made quick work of the tangled threads.
The skirt of the dress draped behind their knees, short in front and decorated with waves of fabric. Bells hung off of the corset at their waist. Their thighs were covered with thin trousers, a deep black cotton, and their hooves had been neatly groomed.
Flowers were woven into their freshly washed hair, and the horns curving around their ears had been wrapped in gold bands.
“What do you think, Lamb?” Shamura's voice was soft in their ear, and the Lamb turned their body around to look at their back. The way the corset pinched their waist accentuated their hips, fabric billowing out behind them.
“Do you think he'll like it?” Their voice shook a little.
“Little lamb, for my brother, it is not how you dress,” Shamura hissed in their ear.
The Lamb watched in the mirror as Shamura placed the final part of the outfit - an antiquated tiara made of glistening red stones that nearly glowed in the low light.
“There. You are all prepared. Come.”
Their hands rested on their bare shoulders, and the two stepped out of the tent. The sun was setting over the horizon, casting the glade in the afternoon golden hour.
It was quiet, the chirping of the birds nearby the only sound. Shamura led them over to the temple.
The walls were decorated in tapestries, showing the story of the Lamb. A red carpet had been placed on the floor, chairs set alongside the sides of the temple to create an aisle.
Narinder stood at the end of the temple, just under the Altar. He was dressed in robes, with a similar color scheme to the Lamb. His ears were a little obscured by the flower crown resting on his head, and he was fidgeting with his hands.
His siblings were sitting in the front row, and Ratau stood up on the pulpit. His eyes widened as he saw the Lamb, and a grin spread across his face.
Narinder looked in their direction, and his mouth opened slightly. He watched, as they stepped down the aisle, Shamura's hand steady on their arm.
They took their place next to Narinder, reaching out for his hands. They were shaking, and the Lamb rubbed their thumb across the back of his hand.
“Hi,” they said softly, unable to help the smile on their face.
“My Lamb,” Narinder replied, breathless. His pupils were blown, and he had a watery smile.
Ratau cleared his throat, and the Lamb looked at him. His smile was one of pride, and the rat turned to the crowd and started speaking.
The time came for vows, and Lamb turned back towards Narinder. The cat cleared his throat, swallowing hard.
“Lamb, immortality is forever. That means, I will be by your side until the earth crumbles, or until a stubborn little prey knocks you from your throne and rips that crown from your head. I shall serve you, partner you, until the last sunset of our reign,” Narinder said, gripping onto the Lamb's hands tightly. Their chest swelled with emotion, and their eyes blurred with tears.
“Oh! Wow, okay, um. Mine aren't quite as elegant, hang on,” the Lamb stuttered, bringing one hand out of his grasp to wipe at their face. “When I met you, you put me in an impossible position. I didn't have a choice, not really, but you took my pain and anger and turned me into a weapon. I enjoyed it, and I enjoyed you. And, the more I fought for you, the more I realized how much you were hurting as well, and I just… needed to help!
“And then you wanted the crown back, and all I could think about was you coming back here, not seeing anything. Your family dead, your sect gone, nothing. And my heart hurts for you. So I fought. And I brought you here, and brought you close to me. I’ll stay by your side forever, as equals.”
They wiped at their tears again, a grin etched into their face. Narinder was purring, quietly enough that only the Lamb could hear.
The kiss that followed was their first. Narinder's lips were slightly chapped, and he tasted like smoke, blood, and the color red.
His hands went to their waist, pulling them close, kissing them with a fervor as if they were water, air, life itself.
Their hands carded through his fur, silky soft, and they settled their arms around his neck.
Ratau cleared his throat when Narinder's kiss grew hungry, and the Lamb pulled away, despite Narinder's whine of protest.
“You'll have plenty of time for that, later, my Lord!” Ratau laughed, before turning to the crowd. “It is time now to celebrate the newlyweds!”
For hours, the Lamb and Narinder spent their time with the crowd, the Bishops, and Ratau, before they grabbed Narinder's paws and pulled him away, out of the Temple.
The moon was bright in the sky, and standing there, bathed in blue, their lips met again. Narinder held their face, their hips, waist, everything. He backed them up to the Temple, pressing them against the wood, before they finally pulled away.
“I love you, my Lamb,” he whispered, pressing kisses into their cheek, their neck, their hands.
“I love you, too. The One Who Waits, Chained One. Narinder.”
His purr was loud in their ear as his arms enveloped their form. Skin prickled where his claws dug into the back of their shoulders methodically, and the Lamb let out a quiet laugh.
“Are you kneading me, kitty?”
“No.”
“Uh-huh. You're a sap.”
“You married me.”
“I did. And I would again, and again, and again. I wouldn't change a thing,” the Lamb kissed him once more. “Because I love you.”