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constancy must transpose

Chapter 42: Epilogue.*

Summary:

Twelve years later, Narinder is still chasing answers. The Lamb waits for him, misses him, but he'll return. When he finds those answers, he'll come home. He promised.

Notes:

Alright so quick sentimental note: thank you for reading along for these past six weeks. When I started writing this in February, I didn't expect it to get quite so big (longest thing I've ever written), but it did, and I'm glad I was able to share it with all of you. You've all been extremely welcoming and kind, and it's been a lovely experience, coming back to fandom (any fandom) for the first time in eight years. Thank you, and keep an eye out: I have a backlog of fics to post, so there's a good amount still on its way, even if 'constancy must transpose' ends here. I'll see you soon <3

NSFW scene start and end:
'If you hold back then I'm couching you...'
TO
'It is very fortunate I returned...'

Chapter Text

The Lamb stepped back from the flower bed, squinting over it with a critical eye. They weren't much of a gardener, really, and hadn't gotten all that much better in the last five years since they'd started, but this was their garden behind the temple. It was where they grew their dyes, and whether or not they were good at gardening was kind of beside the point. They wanted to do it, and so they did.

Clearer memories of their life before their first sacrifice resurfaced, sometimes. Once the Lamb remembered something, they took pains to not forget it; maybe someday it would all come back. This garden was based on something they'd remembered. The family they must have had was still beyond them, so they didn't know who the larger presence beside them had been precisely. A parent, or at the very least a caretaker. The Lamb had been a lamb then, not even old enough for their first shearing. Whoever it was had held their hand, and they remembered it was dark grey, like their own.

They couldn't remember what words had been spoken (though they chalked that up to how small they'd been, not their hazy memory post-resurrection), but they remembered the point. The two of them had stood before a dusty field, surrounded by trees in perpetual autumn blazes. The Lamb had thought it was dust, but it proved to be ash. The sheep had been nomadic to some degree, but there were permanent places even for them, and the field had once been a dye garden. It was gone, of course, long burnt by the time the Lamb was born – but it had been one of their herd's fields. Madder, they were pretty sure, and other red dye plants like saint’s wort and ladies’ bedstraw; the Lamb had always liked red. They hadn't known why until this memory had resurfaced five years ago, and just figured it was a preference without reason.

Satisfied that their garden was free of the bad weeds and still plentiful with the kind that helped their plants, they got up and dusted themself off. The Red Crown, currently a spade, rose into the air and shook off the earth before returning to its true shape and plopping into place atop their head. The thing had never felt heavy, really, for all that heads wearing crowns were supposed to be. It just felt like theirs.

It returned the impression of belonging with no little satisfaction, along with the suggestion that it would've been nice if they hadn't waited quite so long to be born, and they snickered under their breath. Cheeky thing.

‘Shepherd?’

They turned at the voice, already smiling. ‘Mernoan, hey! How are you doing?’

‘Well enough,’ the coyote woman said, inclining her head. She’d never quite forgiven them for telling her Heket was dead twelve years past, though she was still friendly enough; the Lamb didn’t mind. They’d made a lot of mistakes, that first year of their godhood. Still did, actually, but at least they didn’t usually make mistakes twice. Point was, they didn’t mind if she was still hurt, because that was her right. When she was ready to let it go for herself, she would. ‘I was told you’d be back here by Habre? It looks nice.’

‘Thanks,’ they said, trotting over. ‘It looks extremely average, but I appreciate it anyway.’

Mernoan laughed. ‘I can’t garden worth dirt myself, so it’s not like I can tell.’

‘Huh. In which case, this is the finest garden in the Meadows,’ they said, and she laughed again. ‘So what’s up?’

‘Lady Heket sent me to come ask about logistics for the spring festival,’ she said. ‘Well, she sent me to tell you she still doesn’t want to take part and you couldn’t torture her into it, specifically.’

‘Yeah, she’s been saying that for years and she still brings half of Anura with her,’ the Lamb said wryly, and Mernoan nodded. ‘So I’m betting the logistics is about food stuff, like last time? I was talking to Rakshasa about it a few days ago, so you have good timing – I was going to need to start going out and get attendance estimates tomorrow or the day after.’

‘Partly,’ Mernoan said, ‘but she also wants to double check about the pentacle portal system’s capacity now that it’s been expanded, especially with the new anchored location, so that she doesn’t let too many people go through at once and tax it.’

‘The people that she’s not going to bring to the festival,’ the Lamb said helpfully.

‘Yes, all of them,’ Mernoan said with a serious expression, but smiled when the Lamb snickered. ‘So far, asking around the town…’

This was one of the parts about running the cult that the Lamb liked best. They were occasionally accused of micromanaging (usually by Habre or Tymer, or Leshy when he was feeling particularly prickly about how smoothly things were running), but the work was something they enjoyed. They weren’t even sure what they’d do as a god that wasn’t this – they were the god of Rest, but that didn’t mean they had to spend all their time doing it. Rest didn’t matter if there wasn’t action between.

Not that there was that much work yet, or at least not much about the spring festival. It was still a week out, and most of the important work tended to pop up a day or two beforehand. The Lamb wished there was more, because there was only so much they could tinker with while waiting, and they weren’t looking forward to the festival being over. Usually they were more excited, they really did love a party, but this year it just meant they’d be by themself.

They put that out of their mind. They could mope later; they had work to do.

‘Okay, I think that’s all I need,’ the Lamb said, having spent the last ten minutes or so scrawling down what Mernoan told them. ‘I’ll send someone to talk to Heket if I need something else – she hates me more this time of year than the rest of it.’

It was said lightly, thoughtlessly, because it was true. Mernoan hesitated, however, and they frowned. ‘Is everything okay?’ they asked, and she sighed.

‘Mostly,’ she said. ‘My lady is stressed, and she’s not talking about it – brooding over it, you know the Bishops.’

The Lamb nodded. It didn’t matter which sibling: all three had a habit of being melodramatically quiet about whatever was troubling them. Not for long, usually, but still.

‘Any idea what it is?’ they asked curiously.

‘No specifics, but it’s been around longer than usual,’ she admitted. ‘It started back when she met with Lord Narinder and Lord Leshy.’

‘You know Leshy hates that you call him that,’ the Lamb said with a little amusement. It drove him nuts, since he’d taken very well to no longer having to be a god with a god’s responsibilities, once he’d adjusted. It was arguably more of a headache for the Lamb that Leshy was free to cause trouble as he pleased, but Greantre usually kept him well in hand, and the Lamb could admit that it was nice to see Leshy so gleeful. Most of the time, anyway.

‘Old habits die hard,’ Mernoan said.

‘He’s been telling you that for twelve years.’

‘And it’s been making Lady Heket laugh for twelve years.’

‘Yeah, that would be more important to you,’ they said, and smiled when she laughed lightly. ‘So Narinder stopped in before he left? That was months ago.’

‘Exactly. But she’s been troubled since, and the stress has only grown as time’s passed.’

‘So she’ll be even more unhappy with me this year, huh?’ the Lamb said, but Mernoan shook her head.

‘That’s the thing – someone made a comment about you around two weeks ago, one that wasn’t even that insulting. Something about a sermon, I don’t remember.’

The Lamb sighed. ‘Everyone’s a critic. So what happened?’

‘Lady Heket snapped at him and told him to hold his tongue.’

The Lamb blinked. Blinked again. ‘Wait, over me?’

‘I’m no less confused than you are,’ Mernoan said. ‘I tried to ask her and she gave me some non-answer about annoyance with the phrasing or something, but I know my lady’s face. It wasn’t that.’

‘Huh,’ the Lamb said slowly. ‘Well. I’ll still probably send someone else, just because I doubt she’ll change how she acts around me, but I’ll keep it in mind.’

Mernoan nodded, made her goodbyes, and then walked off. The Lamb was left standing in their garden, frowning down at the flowerbeds as they thought. They weren’t sure what could have caused Heket so much stress; once upon a time, they would have chalked it up to friction due to history between the siblings, old insults or hurts accidentally surfacing at bad moments, that kind of thing. That wasn’t really true anymore, or at least much less likely. The three siblings had come a surprisingly long way for only twelve years passing, compared to the thousands on thousands of years before. They didn’t think an argument would have caused this. And they’d like to think Narinder would have told them before leaving, if it had.

They bit their lip, fiddling with their cloak. It was hard not to miss him, sometimes. They couldn’t hold his travelling against him; he’d been trapped for long enough that he’d damn well earned some time to roam. They wouldn’t mind that, if so.

His travels weren’t for fun, or at least not fully. He was off searching for answers, the way he always was, trying to chase down the hows and whys of whatever the hell mess the Vicars had been. They didn’t hold that against him, either. And he never came back empty-handed – there was always a new lead to chase, some other puzzle piece, and it was all building on each other to paint a clearer picture. It wasn’t like the Lamb wasn’t curious too, but they wished he would take some time to actually enjoy being free without also being on a mission. The twins who were absolutely in no way his foster-sons almost always accompanied him, so the three of them got to wander the world together.

The twins, at the very least, were living their best lives. The two had adjusted well to being Above, once they were no longer in the grip of the Vicars; they’d made friends with others in the cult, like Simigre, who was always keen for when the two came home. Now that she was older and had her daughter, it wasn’t just her looking forward to it, either. Little Puarjul, who was all but a carbon copy of her mother save for the pale fur she’d inherited from Habre, was always bouncing about whenever her ‘uncles’ were headed home. And when they weren’t. The little mouse seemed to have the same boundless energy that her namesake had when the otter had been a pup. Puarjul Sr. never held still, either.

Hell, one time the twins came back with the announcement that they’d met their mother – Forneus, of all people. The Lamb had honestly always thought that when Forneus talked about her kittens, she’d been discussing their loss in a metaphorical sense, as a way to handle her kids’ deaths. They hadn’t realised she was being literal. Or that she was that old. Black cats really did live incredibly long lives, they supposed. Narinder had done a decent job of hiding his nerves about his not-foster-sons having their mother back affecting his relationship with them, but the Lamb had been confident nothing would change. They were wrong, albeit not in the way expected: all it ended up with was Narinder getting pulled into Forneus’ mother-henning orbit as some kind of adopted kin himself, which remained one of the funniest things to come out of the travels yet.

A lot of good things came out of the travels, and so while the Lamb missed him, and wished he would travel more for himself than his mission, they didn’t mind it. This year was just a bit different, because whatever land across the sea he’d been going to – Belemen, they were pretty sure the name was, a land more or less in perpetual spring – had two seasons: the raining season and the blooming season. Whatever he was looking for only appeared during the blooming season, and that began in what was late autumn here. The journey across the sea took two months, and he’d need as much time as he could get, he’d explained when planning the trip. So he’d left in early autumn, and at the latest he’d leave Belemen near the end of spring.

He’d been adamant that he would be home in time for his own holiday, so whenever the Lamb found themself missing him more than they could completely squash down, they reminded themself that he would be back by Midsummer. The reminder had lost its efficacy as the months went by, but they’d just have to learn some damn patience from him.

There was a faint sense of disapproval from atop their head, and the Lamb sighed. The Red Crown wasn’t a big fan of how they were handling the situation. There was little to be done about the time it would take, but the Red Crown would have preferred if they weren’t trying so hard to pretend nothing was wrong. Which wasn’t true, they thought at it with some disapproval of their own. They were choosing to keep their chin up, thank you very much. The Crown just returned stronger disapproval, so they gave up.

Well, with Mernoan’s input, they might as well go around and collect participant estimates from the other settlements. It was better than moping, the Lamb figured, and at least the Red Crown seemed to agree with that.






There would be a lot more participants than usual this year, they found as they moved through the various pentacle portals in the Meadows, talking to whomever was in charge of the relevant settlement. The Lamb liked most of them well enough, like Dr. Sozonius, or Celia the Lighthouse Keeper, the granddaughter of the first Keeper the Lamb had met. Others they did not like, and talking to Midas gave them a headache like it always did, but it needed to be done. Particularly considering the numbers – but that wasn’t a surprise, considering this year’s change in venue.

As the Lamb returned to the temple grounds that evening, they tried not to let the melancholy from earlier in the day to reappear. They’d meant for the change to be a surprise, so Narinder had no reason to have known about it when he announced the trip he planned to take, but the timing was unfortunate. It had been too late to take it back, then, so they’d held off on mentioning the change to anyone until winter, so he couldn’t find out. He’d miss the inaugural appearance, but they’d make it extra nice for his holiday to make up for it.

If he got back in time, anyway.

They failed at preventing the melancholy returning, obviously, and were distracted enough by it that they almost walked into someone who’d been waiting for them. Tymer, as it turned out, who hastily grabbed one of their arms when they started to fall backwards.

‘Thanks,’ they said sheepishly, rubbing the back of their head when they had their balance back and she let go. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘Don’t worry, Shepherd, I’m fine,’ she reassured them, but she still looked uncomfortable. ‘But you have a... visitor?’

The Lamb tilted their head. ‘You don’t sound sure about that.’

‘I don’t know what it – they? – are,’ she said apologetically. ‘But they were really insistent that they needed to talk to you, according to Rakshasa.’

‘Rakshasa?’ they repeated, confused.

‘Whoever or whatever it is, it’s waiting out in the Hub, in the door that used to belong to Lord Narinder,’ she said, which made even less sense. ‘Even Helob was uncomfortable and left for Silk Cradle. Good riddance, I say, but I know he’ll be back.’

The Lamb shrugged. The spider’s ‘business’ wasn’t a pretty one, but despite everyone’s belief otherwise, the only creatures he brought here were ones he knew the Lamb would be willing to pay for. Saving some people was better than none, and while his refusal to see the difference between creatures and beasts when it came to food made them unhappy, he wasn’t under their control, so they’d work with what they could get. ‘Alright, well. I’ll go take a look. Keep the followers away? I know almost no one goes out there, especially this late in the day, but still.’

‘Already on it,’ Tymer said, and bowed. ‘Stay safe, Shepherd. I don’t like the looks of whatever they are, and Lord Narinder would never forgive me if he came home in a few months and found out you’ve been dead the whole time.’

The Lamb snorted. ‘He’d be too busy panicking, but my body would be in the temple anyway, so it’d be fine. I’ll be careful, Tymer, and let you and Habre know what happened when I come back.’

‘Very well, Shepherd,’ Tymer said, and they nodded before turning away, trotting off towards the Hub and trading apprehensive impressions with the Red Crown. It didn't like this, either.

The Hub, as the area with the doors to the four Lands of the Old Faith had come to be known (not everywhere needed a creative name, after all), was indeed as empty as Tymer promised. It wasn't usually busy, since most people travelled through the pentacle portals these days, now that the Lamb and Narinder had finagled a way to open the portals to general traffic. To have it be completely empty was eerie. The Lamb could only attribute that to the fuck-huge door of light where Narinder's lock had been and the massive being who waited outside of it.

The being was clearly a person, but not a kind the Lamb had seen before – somehow cosmic, nebulae glimmering in the folds of their rippling cloak, their head a round black orb detached from their shoulders and full of eyes, with a vertical halo of what at least looked like gold. There were no mouths on the person's face, but that didn't seem to stymie them as their eyes all trained in on the Lamb.

‘At last, we meet,’ the person said, inclining their head. ‘I am ???.’

The Lamb blinked. ‘Um. I don’t think I can say that with my mouth,’ they said uncertainly. It didn’t help that the Red Crown was suddenly radiating an exasperated weariness at the thought of this being.

‘Worry not, infant God, it is but a temporary name,’ ??? said, and the Lamb decided just to go with it. ‘We will discuss such matters of business in time. I have been instructed by a prior client to offer you an apology.’

‘An apology for what?’ they asked, bewildered.

‘I was the benefactor, for lack of a better term, of the Vicars who called this land home a dozen years past,’ ??? answered, and the Lamb went still. The Red Crown tried to impress on them a need for caution, but they ignored it.

‘I see. In which case, I strongly suggest you find a good explanation for that, or I’ll find a way to kill whatever the hell you are. And I promise you, I will find a way.’

‘I would be interested to see such a thing,’ ??? said, sounding sincere. ‘Alas, for my curiosity and your bloodlust, Shepherd, I do have a very good reason.’

‘Which is?’

‘I could not reach you.’

When ??? didn’t continue, the Lamb scowled. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ they demanded, hands in fists. ‘You put a lot of people through hell, so I’m going to need more than five words to explain it.’

‘As I said, I could not reach you,’ ??? repeated. ‘It was a matter for the god of Death, but for all my efforts you remained – and until now have remained – beyond my ability to contact. It was nevertheless a matter of urgency, and as I proved unable to bring it to your attention directly, then I would bring the problem to you indirectly.’

The Lamb rubbed one temple, teeth gritted hard enough to make their head ache. They’d get no answers if they attempted to kill ???. ‘Start from the beginning. What the problem was, first. Then tell me what it had to do with the Vicars.’

‘Very well,’ ??? said, inclining their head. ‘I would take more offence at your tone, but I will make an exception for you; you are the first god to do something I have not expected in many ages, since last the First Gods walked the world – or even before the world was first struck asunder. A new kind of god entirely. I understand that you possess no godform?’

‘Wait, what?’ the Lamb said, taken off guard. ‘Of course I do. I’m just taking care of the dead Below in that shape, that’s all.’

‘And how much does it resemble this form?’

‘Mostly?’ they said, puzzled. ‘It’s just taller. My horns are different, I have a few extra arms, and one eye, but the shape of me is the same, and my face is the same.’

‘You describe an eldritch form. As a godform has been the base form for Crowned Gods before you, an eldritch form is your base – it is impossible to know without further information, but given you did not require a godform to vanquish gods, there is a chance it simply didn’t develop as it had no need to do so, and the eldritch form took its place.’

‘But – no, wait, hold on,’ the Lamb snapped, putting their hands on their hips. ‘Get back to the Vicar thing, what was the problem?’

‘You were messy, when first you dealt death to the Bishops,’ ??? replied, and the Lamb frowned. ‘You killed them, but granted them no rest. At the time, there was nowhere for them to rest – you were no god, and the plane that was meant to arrive with you had, predictably, not done so. Each soul was lost, leaving unpleasant ripples in the aether. The intention was to charge you with the task of releasing them, but as I have said, you were beyond me. Their disturbance of the order of things irked me, and I saw no reason to wait when I could simply place the problem before you and allow you to solve it of your own volition.’

‘Okay, that’s the problem, the Bishops were annoying you,’ the Lamb said. ‘I can’t blame you – they’ve mellowed out some, but back then they were dicks.’

‘I have done business with each of them in the past,’ ??? said, to the Lamb’s surprise. ‘I am familiar with their temperaments. They were… quite unique, among the Crowned Gods. I can only assume that is what allowed them to triumph over all of the others.’

The Lamb took a deep breath. ‘Alright, well. How do the Vicars come into this?’

‘They were hungry for power,’ ??? explained. ‘Easily tempted. They knew not the value of what they were selling when they took the bargain I offered; I imagine they thought themselves very clever, believing themselves to have purchased what I gave for very little. It was I who gave them the godblood, drained from gods of other, long-dead worlds; who taught them how to temporarily resurrect the eldritch forms of the Bishops; and who gifted them the amulets by which the God Anew’s servants were resurrected. The more prizes I placed along the way, the more likely you – and the God of Life – were to do as I wished.’ They shook their head, tilting it in thought. ‘I have yet to discover how they utilised the godblood in a way where they could destroy souls outright, but it is of interest to me. Should I learn, I will be happy to share that information for a price.’

The Lamb was shaking, barely containing their rage. ‘Do you have any idea how many people you hurt? How many souls you robbed me of?!’ they spat, red static flickering over their wool, the Red Crown supplementing its bearer’s fury with its own and abandoning the caution it had been advising. The two of them together governed death; it was only by the Lamb’s hand that the Red Crown could use its power and affinities, but without the Crown, the Lamb would be unusually powerful and divine but without aim or support. It was just as angry as the Lamb was at the loss. ‘You couldn’t come up with anything else? This was your best idea?’

‘Given the circumstances, yes,’ ??? replied, unbothered. ‘I could not reach you. There was no reason to believe you would listen to an emissary, had I been able to contact one with the ability to reach you, nor that you would feel any compulsion to rescue the souls of your enemies.’

‘Of course I would have!’ the Lamb snarled. ‘They were dead! They were mine! If you’d just fucking told me – hell, even if I wouldn’t have, Narinder would have done it, you bastard!’

‘Alone, he could not. He is Life; without your participation and support, he would likely doom them to being lost once more.’

‘He’s Resurrection too – he’s in charge of lost souls!’

??? considered this. ‘This is true, and it is an angle that did not occur to me,’ they mused. ‘He was free, but I made no attempt to contact a god left Crownless; perhaps that would have been faster. A shame.’

‘A shame? A shame?!’

‘As I have said. Regardless, the issue is now resolved. The Bishops no longer wander, and with two godly souls now residing in the Last Peace alongside your own flock, other godly souls long lost may find their way as well. It is only an afterlife wilfully crafted by godly hands that could do so. I am satisfied with the completion of the task. Having established contact with you, the first of a new kind of divinity, and the God Anew, who links the gods before to the new divinity he has heralded, this matter of business is concluded. I will grant you a boon in return for the service, but first you and I have a deal to strike.’

‘No,’ the Lamb said flatly. ‘You’ve done enough damage, I’m not trading you anything.’

‘I ask for neither currency nor bargain. We can do no further business until you name me in your own fashion. Give me a name, and there is a way forward.’

‘No. I don’t even know my own name, I’m not naming you.’

‘Would you like to know?’ ??? asked, and the Lamb froze. ‘Many strange things can come into my possession. Is it only your name that is missing from you?’

The Lamb swallowed. ‘No,’ they admitted.

‘Hm. I cannot promise to return all your memories, as I am not in possession of them,’ ??? said, but tilted their head. ‘However, I am good at retrieving that which is lost – I was the one to locate the Bishops’ souls in the aether. I have offered far more difficult boons. Name me, and I will seek a way to return as many of your memories as can be retrieved.’

The Lamb hesitated, wavering. On the one hand, it was their memories – they could have something back, anything back, than the hazy remnants they were still slowly remembering. On the other, this was the being who had empowered the Vicars, and there was no reason to trust any of their promises.

‘Shepherd?’

The Lamb jumped, whirling around. ‘Habre? You’re supposed to be with Tymer,’ they said with confusion as their disciple headed over, his eyes warily trained on ???. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘She was worried,’ he said, coming to stand next to them. ‘And I’ve been here since they mentioned they couldn’t reach you. I’m sorry for eavesdropping, Shepherd, but…’

They sighed. ‘I don’t think you heard anything I would have minded that you hear,’ they said. ‘It’ll be alright, I’ll be back soon.’

‘Can I speak freely for a minute?’

The Lamb blinked. ‘Yes?’

‘You should take it,’ he said, gesturing at ???, surprising the Lamb. ‘I know you don’t remember much from before you were our Leader, and you mentioned once that you remember things sometimes. It was a long time ago, though – my grandparents hadn’t even met yet. And I’m worried that you won’t get much more back.’

‘I have a long time to live, Habre,’ they said gently.

‘But the more time passes, the less you’re going to remember,’ he said, and they winced. The thought had occurred to them before, and they’d promptly tried to forget it. ‘And this person owes you. They said so themself.’

‘Maybe so, but they still caused a lot of harm, and I’m not sure I trust them,’ they said with patience. ‘Go back to the temple grounds, Habre. I’ll be there soon, and I’ll have made up my mind. You don’t need to worry about me.’

‘That’s my job,’ he replied. ‘Especially since Lord Narinder isn’t here right now. He asked me to make sure you’re okay, and I would’ve done it even if he hadn’t. You can choose whatever you want, Shepherd – you’re my god, and you know best what to do for yourself, even if you weren’t. But I had to try.’

‘Thank you,’ they said quietly, and he nodded. ‘I’ll be back soon. Go on.’

He bowed, then left. The Lamb watched him go, then looked up at ??? again.

‘I understand the distrust,’ ??? said. ‘However, it is in my best interest to offer the boon in earnest, and honour the spirit of the deal rather than the word alone; gods are difficult, temperamental clients from time to time, but extremely profitable ones. I will still have to seek out a method by which to keep my word, but I will do so. My prior client would likely make another attempt on my life if I do not, and as he was very nearly successful, I think it wiser not to provoke him further.’

They frowned. ‘Wait, who is your prior client?’

‘The God Anew,’ they replied, and they jolted. ‘I have dealt with the Bishops before, as I have said; he was a Bishop as much as the others. His Crown sits well on your head, however.’

The Red Crown gave another impression of weariness, as well as one of apology; it wouldn’t tell the Lamb more yet. Giving ??? a name mattered, apparently.

‘He bargained for the information I am delivering now,’ ??? said, and the Lamb’s eyes went wide. ‘That was – two months and two weeks past, by your time. He was extremely displeased with the information, hence the attempt on my life, but I was willing to carry word personally of what I told him in return for him stopping said attempt. Now I have done so, but that does not void the boon I intend to give. It is offered in earnest. All you need do is name me.’

The Lamb swallowed, then told themself they weren’t more afraid of this then they’d been of anything in a long time. ‘Alright. But I still don’t want to just – give you a name without thinking about it,’ they said. ‘Do you have anything you’ve preferred before?’

??? studied them for a moment. ‘Yes, you are a new sort of god,’ they said, and the Lamb frowned. ‘You continue to do things that I expect not; I believe the last time I was asked such a thing was before the first Crown was forged. I have had many names, but the title I have heard most in reference to myself is the Mystic Seller.’

The Lamb was still pissed, but they felt a twinge for this bizarre being, nonetheless. ??? didn’t seem to mind, but they’d been alive for a long time. It must be nice to have a name of their own. And maybe someday the Lamb would have their own back. They weren’t sure they wanted to use it, but they wanted to know. ‘Alright then,’ they said, shaking themself and straightening their spine. The Red Crown atop their head conveyed its support, as if it was helping them stand taller, steadier. ‘I name you ‘the Mystic Seller’.’

‘Then our deal is struck,’ the Mystic Seller said, bowing. ‘I will be in contact when I have further information on what may be recovered of your memory, and the method by which it may be done. Have a pleasant evening, o infant God, Shepherd of Souls.’

‘You too,’ they said before they could think better of it, and the Mystic Seller bowed again, floating back into the vast whiteness of the door behind them – which then vanished. The Lamb was left alone in the darkness, the Hub no longer illuminated by the light of another plane.

The Red Crown asked in its wordless way if they were alright, and the Lamb smiled wryly. ‘Not really,’ they admitted. ‘But I guess I will be. And I’ll thank Narinder when he gets home – hopefully it will be soon, considering what the Mystic Seller said.’

The Crown conveyed its sly amusement at what form of ‘thanks’ it was likely to be, this time of year, and the Lamb rolled their eyes, even as they snickered. The Red Crown was satisfied in turn; it was a comfort to have something that would always, always be in their corner, even when they disagreed. Its satisfaction grew at that thought, and the Lamb shook their head affectionately, turning and heading back towards the temple grounds to tell Habre and Tymer what had happened. They’d thank Habre too; he was a good disciple. Puarjul was going to be proud of him when his time came, the Lamb just knew it.

Habre was relieved to hear their decision, though both he and Tymer were angry over the news of the Vicars’ source (though Habre had a few minutes longer than her to be angry.) The three of them agreed that the Lamb and Narinder would discuss how to inform the cult and the other Bishops of the news, and with that the Lamb waved the two of them off with a smile as the evening bells began to ring.

Part of them was tired, and knew they should go sleep, but the rest of them hated the thought of it. The bed would feel unspeakably empty tonight, even with the news of the chance that Narinder would be back sooner. The little home the two of them shared, atop the expanded temple, would feel hollow.

The Lamb decided to be kind to themself, and turned, going to the pentacle portal before vanishing.






When the Lamb emerged from the portal, they smiled. They were proud each time they saw the fruits of their labours, and pleased when they thought of how the cult and the festival goers would react next week. The Red Crown shared the sentiment, and feeling a little less hollow, the Lamb trotted off into the meadow.

Spring breezes were shifting the trees that ringed the large clearing, light green leaves newly unfurled, the sky high above full of stars. Despite the hour, the earth wasn’t dark, thanks to the Lamb’s hard work. Sprawled among the natural grasses, filling the meadow with gentle light, were flowers. Asphodel and narcissi, violets and lavender, marigolds and dianthus, glowing in the same way their maker did in the land beyond life; none of the plants were natural, however. Or at least weren’t alive, in the way the plants around them were.

Each one had been woven and stitched by the Lamb – well, the Lambs. They had a lot of themselves, after all, and so every single flower was spun from threads from the wool of their own innumerable fleeces in the afterlife. Sewn together by thousands of their own hands, there were petals so finely woven that some were translucent, knitted and knotted strings serving as stems and roots, leaves embroidered with such tiny stitches that the veins were indistinguishable from truly living leaves.

The passage leading to the Below that Narinder had shown them had been a very busy passage for the past few months, as the Lamb carried cuttings and seeds in their mortal arms, planting them in the earth and threading the roots through the dirt. It was well worth it, because they’d long wanted to make it clear why they were the one with the festival in spring, for all that they were Death and Rest. The question came up every year; from now on, the Lamb was hoping that the festival itself would answer the question before anyone had to ask.

They were Death and Rest, yes. They were also the Lamb. The last of their kind (at least for now, until Narinder was ready). And so in them lived something that wasn’t so much a domain as it was an ideal – hope could be a domain, the Lamb supposed, but it didn’t feel like one. It felt like it was simply woven into existence, living or dead: that tomorrow would be different, that there was a good death waiting at the end of one’s days, that there was rest at the end of a journey. That life would be better, that new things would come to be, that what was lost could still return.

Death is no state,’ they remembered Haro saying twelve years past, ‘nor destination, but a process.’ What were the flowers blooming without the dead flowers that came before? Nothing came from nothing. Death and Life, Rest and Resurrection – those were all well and good. But the spring festival at the heart of it was something more intangible, and the hope within the Lamb made all four into something new. It was something they wanted to share with their cult, and anyone who wanted to be here. It was something they wanted to share with Narinder. To have him be a part of.

It was a little guilty, a little shy, but they were hoping he’d want to use this place for his own festival. Maybe not this year, but someday. Even if it wasn’t for the same declaration they were making with it – that the two of them may be gods, but they were still people, and their domains only made up part of the mantle of divinity they both wore – it might at least be a pretty change of scenery sometimes.

They wandered through the flowers made by their many hands, walking between the natural big bluestem and switchgrass, towards the small pond and the cleared area the festival would take place in. They’d found this meadow last year, and knew what they’d wanted to do with it instantly. There was a peace in the water, in the trees, in the grasses and the winds that stirred the many stalks, that felt homey to the Lamb. They weren’t sure it would appeal to Narinder because of that, given how restless he'd been since he'd been freed (as evidenced by the many journeys he'd taken and would likely take in the future), but there was nothing to do but wait to find out.

They flopped down near the water, the flattened-but-not-cut grass soft beneath them, the stars above. The Red Crown left their head to rest on the grass beside them, and the Lamb closed their eyes. They wouldn’t sleep here, any more than they’d sleep in their own bed, but it didn’t feel anywhere near as lonely. They’d spent a lot of nights here, since the weather warmed. Anything was better than their empty home.

The Lamb didn’t bother keeping track of time – when the sky lightened, they’d head home, and the Red Crown would let them know if they didn’t notice themself. Probably. They’d managed to fall asleep two weeks back and had to go reassure half the cult when they accidentally slept through a planned sermon. It didn’t help that the meadow’s pentacle was divinely sealed, still, so it wasn’t like anyone else could come check on them.

They heard the shifting movement of the grasses, but they didn’t actually think about it, too relaxed to put forth the effort. Some animal, potentially, and the Red Crown would alert them if it was a monster. Then they felt the Red Crown’s flare of surprise as the rustling grasses grew louder, but they didn’t open their eyes before he was in the clearing.

Narinder was frozen, staring at them with wide eyes, and the Lamb sat up so fast they almost fell over. ‘Nari? You’re back!’ they said, scrambling to their hooves, then remembered. ‘Wait, how did you get – right, divine seal, damn it.’ They rubbed one temple. ‘Well, it’s not your fault, but I’d been hoping to surprise you on purpose.’

He didn’t say anything, however, still watching them. The Lamb frowned. ‘Are you okay?’ they said, walking over. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scold you when you just got back.’

Still, he said nothing, just holding still as they came closer; the only sign that he wasn’t a statue was that his eyes moved with the Lamb’s approach. Their worry grew, especially as he didn’t move when they were directly in front of him. Normally he would have been practically scooping them up into a kiss, the way he’d always done before when getting home, but he was still as frozen as before.

‘Nari?’ they asked, nervous, shuffling a bit. They tried not to fiddle with the hem of their cloak, but failed as their nerves continued to grow. ‘Did… did I do something wrong? I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re really worrying me.’

‘Did you do all this?’ he asked, and sounded like he was having a hard time getting the words out, voice hoarse. It didn’t help their nerves, because normally when he sounded like that, it was a prelude to the two of them getting naked as fast as possible – but it didn’t sound right. It wasn’t that.

‘Yes?’ they said, and only didn’t look away because it felt cowardly to do that. ‘If, um. If you don’t like it, we can go home. You’re probably tired.’

‘I almost missed this,’ he whispered, and they blinked. He finally moved, but it was just to cup their face in both of his paws; he wasn’t wearing bandages today, and the scars were glowing a little bit, to their confusion. There was a thin line of sunny, golden orange around his irises – it was hard to tell, because his pupils were blown wide, almost completely round as he looked at them. ‘Why did you say nothing? This must have taken months, at the very least. You must have begun before I left.’

‘It was going to be a surprise,’ they said, cautiously lifting their own hands and loosely placing them on his wrists. The scars were warmer than usual, too. ‘But you said you needed to go on a trip, and that’s more important. Oh, the Mystic Seller did come by, so you don’t need to try and kill them twice.’

‘I could not care less if the world depended on it,’ he replied, taking them aback. ‘This was meant to be a surprise?’

They nodded, not sure what was going on still. ‘It’s mostly for the festival next week,’ they said, ‘but I’d meant to surprise you with it. I thought you’d be home for your holiday, at least, and maybe you’d want to use it too? Not that you’d have to, but… what is it?’

He was speechless again, unmoving. They bit their lip, back to nervous.

‘It’s not that big a deal, you don’t need to worry about it,’ they said. ‘We can talk about it some other time? You’re probably tired if you got back this late.’

‘I returned shortly after the evening bells,’ he said, startling them. ‘Tymer mentioned that you seemed to be running a last errand, so I went home to wait for you. When you did not return, I woke Habre and asked where you might have gone, and he said you might be working on the festival. According to him, you have spent a great deal of time working on whatever secret grounds you’ve been preparing, including most nights. He indicated you have not been sleeping as you would be normally.’

They winced. ‘Traitor,’ they huffed. ‘He didn’t know I’d kept this secret from you too, so I don’t blame him for mentioning it, but he didn’t need to rat me out like that.’

‘For a god of Rest, you have been doing little of it,’ Narinder said, and they shook their head.

‘It wasn’t working on this, mostly,’ they admitted. ‘I just… I missed you. I didn’t want to be home much. We can go now, though.’

‘Absolutely not,’ he said, which made less sense than almost anything else so far. ‘My love, I almost missed this. Do you not understand how remarkable this is?’

They frowned. ‘Um. I put in a lot of work, but they’re just flowers,’ they said awkwardly, but Narinder shook his head.

‘My Lamb, this place is no longer fully part of our world,’ he said, and they jerked. ‘You could not tell? There is so much divine power invested here that I am surprised it remains tethered to our world at all and not another plane entirely.’

They looked around uncertainly. ‘It’s just part of the Asphodel Meadows,’ they said.

‘This is the Asphodel Meadow,’ he stressed. ‘The essence of it. It is already adjusting itself to me, so it is clear you made it for the both of us – but did you truly not notice?’

Now that they looked around, they could see what he meant: something in the meadow was shifting, becoming more. Their flowers still glowed, but the grasses and the trees were somehow sharpening, becoming more real than before. The breeze was more insistent against their wool, and the stars looked subtly off. Not wrong, just unfamiliar. And yes, now that they were no longer immersed in the work of making the meadow (or using it to hide from their melancholy), they could feel what he meant. It was a holy place, in a way the temple grounds weren’t. Detached from the world, yet tethered to it still.

‘Nari, I love you, but I don’t know what’s going on here. I can tell you don’t hate it, but you’re acting weird and it’s kind of starting to hurt.’

He shook his head again, much more hastily than last time. ‘No, my Lamb, that is not – I apologise, I meant not to make you think such a thing,’ he said, and the knot in their stomach began to relax. ‘It is only that I did not expect something so… I do not have a word that I think can do it justice. And I am angry with myself, that I could have missed it, in favour of a pursuit of answers that could have easily waited another year. I assure you, they would have, if I had not led my mate to believe I would consider answers more important than something they meant to pour so much of themself into.’

They fidgeted, guilty now. ‘Narinder, it is important,’ they said. ‘Knowing what happened means we can make sure it doesn’t happen again, and that we can put it to rest. It’s good that you succeeded. It matters to me. The only reason I didn’t put this off until next year was that I’d already started to plant the seeds I was weaving. It felt like I’d waste them, and it would at least be here if you wanted to have it, too. I’m sorry that I might have made you miss it, if you like it this much.’

‘Apologise not,’ he said. ‘The two of us might have made other choices, but it was not one you would have had to make, had I been less impatient. Being the One Who Waited instead of the One Who Waits has rather handicapped my skill in that respect, and I am still rebuilding it.’

The Lamb snorted, and judging by the hook at the end of his tail, he was pleased at hearing it. ‘What had you so impatient, then?’

‘I wanted to complete the trip as quickly as I could, in hopes that I could return before spring was over,’ he said. ‘It was pleasant to travel for the first few trips, but they have lost their shine of late. This one more than any other – Aym and Baal have informed me that I was a very dour travelling companion on this journey. I would prefer my next journey be one that is not haunted by duty.’

The Lamb did their best to hide how their heart sank. ‘At least tell me you’re staying past your own holiday,’ they teased.

‘Of course, and for some time beyond,’ he said, which made their heart sink more. That wasn't a promising answer, since ‘some time’ still meant it was on the near horizon.

‘Any timetable?’ they said, making themself stay light.

‘I believe it will be some years before I feel the desire to do so, frankly. I have other things I wish to pursue, none of which require leaving home or parting from your company. They require the opposite, in fact.’

They jolted, heart leaping up from the depths it had been sinking to. ‘You’re staying?’ they asked, unable to hide the rising hope in their chest, bright as sunlight.

‘I am,’ he said, smiling. ‘While I quite nearly cost myself a frustratingly beautiful sight and irreplaceable experience when our cult sees what you have made, I have found the answers that I have been seeking. I may perhaps take a trip then and again, but I hope for company, and it would not be for long. There is much of the world to see, whether one is revisiting this world or seeing it for the first time.’

‘That sounds great,’ they said, beaming. ‘Probably not often, just because both of us shouldn't be gone at the same time for long, but still.’

‘Fear not, I expect to meet new travelling companions,’ he said, which was an odd sentence.They forgot it when he pulled them nearer, sliding his paw to the back of their head, fingers digging into their wool. ‘I have plans, you see.’

‘Plans, huh,’ they said, breathy now, pulse rising. ‘What kind of plans? Anything I can help with?’

‘They require you,’ he said softly, and the Lamb expected him to kiss them, but he hesitated. Took a deep breath. ‘It is mid-spring, is it not?’

The Lamb blinked. ‘Yeah. That's why my holiday is next week?’

‘That is not what I meant, my Lamb.’

The Lamb started to ask, then shut up as it hit them. Narinder waited, but the Lamb felt frozen. It took them a long moment, but then they braced themself. ‘Are – are you saying you want to mate?’

‘I am,’ he said, and their breath caught. ‘I promised myself I would have my mind made up by the time I found the answers I've been seeking, and I did. Shortly before my departure, in fact, after which I informed my siblings that they will likely be an aunt and uncle sooner rather than later, much to their dismay.’

The Lamb laughed despite themself, and his tail did the happy contentment thing, a slow back and forth curl as if he was too pleased with the state of the world to make any movement that wasn’t languid. That conversation might have something to do with Heket's stress then. And why she'd actually defended them, for once. Huh.

‘Once the decision was made, it was even more difficult to part from you, but I have made it home in time, and have no duty that compels me to leave,’ Narinder continued, irises gleaming in a way that was more than simply his cat’s eyes reflecting the light. ‘So yes, my Lamb, I wish to mate. If you do. And I wish to do so here.’

The Lamb jerked. ‘Wait, right now? Really?’ they said, heart hammering in their chest like it was trying to break out of their ribcage.

‘I had intended to have more of a conversation about it,’ Narinder said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Then I found you here, resting in an offensively beautiful display of your power, and I have not the patience.’

‘Okay,’ they said, feeling dizzy, but when they stretched up to kiss him, he pulled out of reach. ‘Oh, come the fuck on, Nari, you can't just ask for this and then tease me,’ they snapped, annoyed.

‘Two points you should hear first, my Lamb, that is all,’ he said, but his voice was rough, and he was only just resisting them. ‘Firstly, I know not what the children of two gods will be or become, as I know not whether two gods have ever had a child, but we will discover one way or the other so worry not.’

‘Then why bring it up when I could be getting your robes off?’

‘Responsibility's sake,’ he replied, the Life light brighter in his eyes. They could feel the first brushes of his power calling to them, a growing resonance in their bones, a thrum in their blood. ‘Secondly, unless I make efforts to prevent it, my domain is all but guaranteed to affect this. I know not how, whether it is a guarantee of success or more than one child per egg, but it will affect you. This is your chance to request otherwise.’

‘If you hold back then I'm couching you immediately after we finish,’ they snapped. ‘Are you going to fuck me or not?’

Finally, he swept them up as he'd always done on his returns before, kissing them with harsh need as he bent them backwards. They clung to him, tongue in his mouth – until he intentionally dropped them, and they growled up at him in frustration. Then they realised he was pulling off his robes, at which point they stopped complaining. They reached up to unfasten their collar so they could at least leave their fleece cloak beneath them rather than wearing it, their bell tossed in the same direction he tossed his robes, and they spread their legs as he dropped to his knees between them.

He hadn't been kidding when he said he had no patience. He'd hauled their ass up onto his lap, grinding their cocks together as they dragged him back down into a kiss. He was usually more controlled – hell, it usually took effort to make him lose control at all – but judging from just how deeply his lifeforce was sinking into theirs and weaving into place, control wasn't on the menu tonight, and the Lamb didn't want it. They were already hard enough to hurt, wet enough to ache, so aware of what wasn’t inside of them that they were whimpering into his mouth.

The nice thing about the lifeforce thing he did during sex (one of the nice things, there were many nice things about it) was that they didn’t have to tell him with words what they wanted, nor did they have to ask. It was kind of impossible to miss the messages each body was sending the other. The Lamb was already spreading their legs even wider as he pulled his hips away, his paw grabbing his own dick and moving it into place.

Usually he was a little less rough, but the Lamb didn't give a damn so long as he was inside of them as fast as possible, and he groaned through gritted teeth as he drove his cock into them in one wonderfully intense slide, the texture of his dick just shy of overwhelming, the way it always was. The Lamb threw their head back, clutching the grass beneath them and arching their spine, and that was all he needed.

It was hard to tell which of the two of them was currently in thrall to their yearly mating instinct, given the short, hard thrusts with which he fucked them, as if not being buried inside of them was nearly intolerable. It wasn't like he was on his own, the Lamb's hooves digging through the grass into the dirt so they could shove their hips up in answer. Given the mumbled pleas in their ear, however, as if he wasn't the one doing most of the work, the Lamb was willing to concede he was probably as desperate as they were. At least in the hazy part of their mind still capable of thought. The rest of them was more or less mindless, chasing the friction of his cock and the muffled slap of his wet fur against their hips.

He'd buried his face in their neck, a death grip on their thighs as he thrust and their hands dug into the fur of his back. Their wool was still short, considering the recent shearing, and so their neck was significantly more sensitive, given how close to the skin he was. He was panting for air, and the sounds he was making were intoxicating.

It wasn't just the sensitivity or the sounds that made them more than happy with where he was. Had he been kissing them, they wouldn't have seen the growing orange glow of his wrist. Both wrists, the magic building higher between the Lamb and Narinder as he fucked them, a growing heat to his fur in their hands. They hadn't ever felt that before, but it was obvious why it was going on now. The reminder of what was about to happen to them jolted throughout the Lamb's nerves all at once.

‘Fuck, Nari, I'm gonna come,’ they whined, and he moaned loudly into their neck. ‘I'm gonna come, you – fuck, please, I'm so close, make me come – Nari – Nari –!’

He moaned again, his mouth open to pant for air, but when he closed his mouth, he wasn't careful enough. His teeth sank into their skin, and the Lamb knew it was an accident because of his flare of alarm – it was still too much for them. They slammed their hips up, clawing at his back as they orgasmed with a choked cry.

They were pretty sure it was their name he shouted into their neck, teeth sinking deeper, but they weren't paying too much attention. Their orgasm had struck him like a – like a –fuck it, like some clever metaphor, the Lamb didn't give a fuck about it right now, all they knew was that he crushed them as close to him as possible and came hard enough to make their head ring. His cock was so fully buried in them that it was almost too much, but it didn't actually reach that threshold. It meant they could lock their legs around his waist as they felt a liquid heat hotter than ever before burst into their body, deeper than it had ever been.

‘Fuck,’ they breathed as he opened his mouth, their shoulder bleeding freely in his wake, though he healed it with a swipe of his tongue. They'd bet anything he'd let it scar, they thought, but barely even managed to sound exasperated to themself. It would be a pleasant companion to the scar on his lower lip from years past. ‘Nari…’

‘It is very fortunate I returned a week before your festival,’ he said, voice utterly wrecked. He pushed himself up to kiss them; they could taste their blood on his lips, but given how it got there, they didn't mind. It wasn't even that it had been hot. Well, it wasn't just that. No, it meant they were going to get to tease him about literal lovebites for the rest of time. Narinder didn't seem aware of the consequences he was bringing upon himself, because when he broke the kiss, it was only to pant, ‘That means we have six days left to do nothing but this.’

‘I need to actually set up the festival, you know,’ they pointed out, trying not to laugh.

‘Ah, we have five days then,’ he said, and looked so annoyingly smug when they started to cackle that they pulled him down into a kiss, just to wipe it off his face.

Notes:

If I had a nickel for every time I got far too invested in an immortal furry bastard who spends most of his time underground and his technically-May/December romance with an unexpectedly powerful little shit of an upstart immortal, involving strong themes of life/death and the development of one's place in an new pantheon of spirits and/or gods, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

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