The Muse's Puppet

They're haunted by the way he had sounded just before, the sorrow in his voice echoing in their head as they jog toward the clearing. They pause as soon as they see Helob, web freshly stocked. They had promised they would see Sen, then return, but surely Narinder would understand? Surely he knew they couldn't leave someone to be eaten, right?

They've never second-guessed the decision before, and they pray that they don't regret it as they approach the spider, smile warm and empty.

The mask feels wrong on their face, but they've become so used to it that it feels like outgrowing a favorite shirt. Too tight, often restricting, but so familiar you can't stand to throw it away. The mask has served them incredibly well over the last century or so, and they wear it now even as a chill runs down their spine at Helob's wide smile.

He towers over them, at least double their height. He looks pleased to see them, and they're deeply grateful that he's never considered them a viable meal. Had let them know early that he did not eat things that could kill him later, and they had never been so grateful to have the crown as they had been in that instance, mind screaming as they had forced themself to remain calm.

It's a skill they've fought to build over their life, already well-practiced by the time they had encountered Nari the first time. It had served them well with the first follower, though they suppose it could have also been the savior complex the man clearly felt toward them. A horse named Thormerjul, they remember. Even without the list of former followers, they remember him so clearly they still sometimes feel they can see him behind their eyelids.

They yank themself violently back to the present, more than aware of the spider's ability to smell their pheromones. Helob watches them with interest before his eyes slide over to the butterfly in his net, struggling uselessly as they plead silently with their eyes.

They think he's going to speak when the entity makes some sort of movement that causes the air to hum so low Esra feels it in the base of their spine, and they watch with curiosity as Helob's eyes tighten, sliding to Sen before they come back to Esra.

There's a breath as Esra watches him, his smile a touch strained they think (though they've never been able to read spider facial expressions too well. No eyebrows to work with), pedipalps pulling close to his face. He fidgets his hands, not unlike Esra does. They think it's the movement he uses to bind his catches, similar to knitting in the way it keeps folding over itself.

"Scary round head...too scary to eat..." he says, and the sincerity in his voice as he describes his fear is odd in a way Esra has a hard time articulating. "My tasty treaties will have to be twice as much gold! I do not like the round head..."

Esra heaves a deep internal sigh, already lamenting the price. They'll have to be even more aggressive about collecting money, and they realize with no small amount of despair that Narinder is no longer there for offerings to be worth any money anymore.

Helob seems to take pity on them, nodding to himself as he looks them over.

"Twice as much gold, but not today. Today, one for free," he says, smiling like he's pleased with himself.

Esra grins widely at him, shoulders relaxing. Helob may scare them somewhat, but he's a good ally, and who are they to judge him for needing to eat? Unfortunate for sure, but they can't begrudge his need to survive.

"You're too kind, Helob. Thank you, truly," they offer, and they recognize the squeaking sound in his throat as satisfaction.

He pulls carefully on the loose end of the web, coming undone all at once. Esra has enough practice to catch the follower as they fall, going straight through the portal back to the indoctrination stone for them to speak with once they return.

Helob tilts his head slightly, curiosity perhaps, as he looks into the portal before it closes. His eyes drift back to Sen again, though this time he does not fidget.

"Big Round Head speak to you before," Helob says, and it takes Esra a beat to realize he's asking a question. It's the first time Helob has started a conversation, though they suppose it's the conversation they've been having the whole time.

"Yes, it did. If it's any consolation, I don't believe it means us any harm. It's just a vendor, like you and Rakshasa," Esra says, and they hope they're correct. So far, Sen hasn't done anything but make Esra wish their body wasn't basically a tuning fork made of bones.

Helob nods, though they aren't actually sure if he's convinced.

"You be safe, yes? No good to lose best customer," he says, and Esra huffs a laugh that is only half-forced.

"I'll be as careful as I ever am," they say, and Helob nods like the words mean anything to him. They don't actually know how much he knows about the crown, and in all reality they aren't fully sure he understands them. Esra can speak spider, but it's incredibly poorly, their throat not built to make the sounds. They sound like a child, a follower from Silk Cradle had told them, but Esra supposes that's just the way of things sometimes.

They give a wave, a gesture Helob returns. They still can't tell if he understands it, but they're inclined to be friendly regardless before they take a deep breath and make their way over to Sen.

The entity stares down at them with it's odd eyes, and Esra wishes staring at it's face didn't feel so much like someone was shredding their brain actively, but the good news, at least, is they can't actually feel pain (they really need to thank Narinder again for that) so it's just the belief they are in pain. Or, at least, they hope so.

"Hello, Sen," they say, and it makes another of those noises that makes Esra feel like their entire body is gonna be turned inside out.

"I sense your success," it says, completely ignoring their attempts at pleasantries. They keep the smile on their face regardless. The entity continues. "I feel...I feel the presence of a God Tear. Strength, longevity, and a mourning that stretches eternally. Found in the bellies of the foulest of beasts and villains. But seen only by those ascended to godhood. I am glad to have underestimated you. For I deal only with gods. An offer, new ascended; give unto me a name and we shall be fellows in enterprise. I have precious articles for a being such as you."

Esra gets a little lost in it, brain buzzing as they try to make sense of the voice projected directly into their skull. They wish there was some way to get it to write down what it's saying, because it takes about 30 seconds for Esra to finally process the words for what they are.

"I've already given you a name, though," they say, head tilting to the side. They wonder if maybe they should ask it to speak in shorter sentences, but they don't want to be rude.

Despite hating the way it makes them feel, Esra is so fascinated by the entity they can feel themself shaking with it. They've never even heard of a being like this, let alone encountered one. It is clearly from beyond the edges of this reality, and Esra wishes more than anything they could get even just a small sample of it to study.

"Say it again, so my disciples may record it," it says, and Esra nods, trying not to squirm at the feeling again. Far too much for certain, and they're torn between asking it questions and getting away as fast as possible.

"Your name can be Sen," they say, different this time than last. The entity nods, but Esra doesn't see either of it's disciples do anything that looks vaguely like recording. Maybe they are the library, and Esra wishes again they could ask without it feeling so bad.

"And thus, our contract is struck. Bring me the God Tears and I shall reward you in turn."

It doesn't become any easier with more talking, so they dig the god tear out of the crown, studying it one last time before offering it up to the entity like they had once offered gifts to Narinder in the gateway.

The tear floats upward, and they can't even begin to tell what it thinks or feels to try and take a guess. It could be anything from distaste to pleasure to relief, but Esra does not know. The tear disappears into the vast nothingness of its head? face? before it makes another settling noise, like it doesn't fit well in this reality.

"Our inaugural transaction," it says, and it seems a little like it's happy. It draws an item from the same place the tear went in, and then Esra is holding what looks like a commandment stone. It is a different color, and something about it is far colder than any other stone they've touched, but it does not seem to be affecting them like it should. "Some items may hold powers you cannot yet fathom. May they serve you well."

Esra says nothing in return, long since past their threshold for listening to it speak. They nod politely before tucking the stone into the crown and make their way back to the cult, exhausted beyond measure.

Narinder is waiting for them by the stairs, and there's something about his expression that looks terribly worried. He's fidgeting, foot tapping as his tail flicks back and forth in agitation. He stills as soon as he sees them, but he doesn't come to meet them. Simply watches as they descend the stairs, looking them over with a focus that feels far too intense for how unharmed they are.

They approach slowly, feeling somehow as though they have done something wrong. He brushes against their mind, a request for permission, and they open their mind to him at the same time they reach out to his.

They are nearly stunned by the wall of anxiety in his mind, his thoughts spinning in circles as he considers the words they had said at the end of their crusade, cries two thirds of the time, cries two thirds of the time, cries two thirds of the time like it's this heartbreaking thing when it's just practical.

He seems horrified by their belief that it is anything other than deeply concerning, and they just can't understand it.

"I don't have the luxury of breaking down whenever I want," they say aloud, because it's easier that way. They could talk in their mind, but they can feel him sifting through their memories, pulling up different breakdowns, rolling them over in his mind as though to divine why they cry at all in the first place, as though it is even worth acknowledging. "The followers would lose faith if they saw, you know this. It's just efficient to do it when I'm already alone."

"Esra," he says, voice tight. He looks hurt about it, and they don't know how to fix it. They feel like it's their fault he's upset, and they try to put the memories away as quickly as they can, pressing them down the same way they press down the panic when they don't have time to feel it. It's fine. They do what they can with what they have, and what they have is hundreds of people who depend on them, who idolize them so deeply that seeing them cry would shake the faith to it's core.

"It's fine," they say, aloud this time, trying their very best to put the smile back on, to make it real. He doesn't like when they give him their leader smile, so they try a different one, offer him the smile they reserve for Mele, for him. It doesn't seem to make him believe them, but he let's them pack away the memories of breakdowns past, and it's something at least. "I know it isn't the most relatable to most, but it works for me. I can't not cry, so I just. Schedule it. That's what leadership is sometimes."

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say more to them. He reaches for their face, fingers so terribly gentle against their skin as he brushes away some dirt, brows furrowed as he takes them in like he had somehow expected never to see them again.

They lean into it, eyes closing as they take in the warmth of his palm. He begins to purr in response, and the tension in their shoulders begins to relax as he hums their favorite song. They huff a bit of a laugh, their own hand coming up to press against his.

"I thought you didn't like music," they say, opening their eyes again to look at him.

His brows are still furrowed, but the unending mantra in his mind is going away, replaced by an image of themself just as they are, and they bleat a laugh at how absurd the fleece looks drenched in blood.

"I did not, until I met you," he says, and Esra feels their cheeks flood with heat that he leans in to press his lips against before he rubs his cheek against theirs, his whiskers wiry and fur so very soft.

He leans back just enough to bump his head into theirs, and they hum as his purr picks up a little more in intensity.

"I missed you, my love," he says, voice so soft they almost cannot hear it before he kisses them deeply, hands on their face, cradling them gently like glass.

They lean into it, humming against his lips as he kisses them as though they have all the time in the world, and isn't that just the beauty of it? They get to have a forever, there is no expiration date like there has been on every other relationship in their life. It's a relief the same way cool water on a hot day is a relief, the same way a particularly satisfying stretch is a relief. They feel it in their whole body, from the top of their head all the way down to their hooves.

Esra is in no hurry to pull away, and Narinder keeps chasing their lips every time they pull back to catch their breath, his urgency just barely contained as it seems to go on into eternity. Eventually, he pulls away, breathing as uneven as their own, and they can't resist the urge to reach up and trace his lips with their finger, swollen from being pressed against theirs for so long.

"I like when my marks are on you," they say, voice quiet. There's an odd guilt to the statement, the feeling that they want too much. "I like being reminded you're real."

He doesn't ask what they mean, because he can see it direct from the source, the almost desperate need to reconfirm that it isn't all some wild dream that they will wake up aching from. He considers the fear of it, the constant near-certainty they feel that at any moment they'll wake up and have to kill him all over again, all of the last year just a fever dream as they hallucinate on menticides.

"You hallucinated the night before we fought?" he asks, tone surprised. It's news to them he didn't know, and instead of explaining it, they drag up the memory, let it speak for itself.

They had been despondent at that point, weighed down by the realization that this would truly be the end. Something about knowing they were walking to death for the last time had stung particularly bad, and they had done the only thing they could think of to distract themself, downing an amount of menticides usually reserved for fifty followers.

They remember it with alarming clarity, down to writing Narinder the final letter they thought they would ever write, detailing everything he would need to keep the cult running smoothly, all the ways Mele and Julbre could help if he decided to let them keep their discipleship, and finally, the one and only time they had been able to actually say what they felt for him before being pulled so deep under it had felt like they experienced another decade in it's hold, envisioning an endless loop of crusades in the Darkwoods, each door leading them further and further from home with no way to turn around.

It had been a nightmare, had scared them so bad they hadn't touched them since, but that's the price they paid for taking way too much when they were far too sad. It's been a fear ever since that nothing they've experienced is real, the hallucinations so vivid. That it's all just the final throes of the drugs, extending time beyond what it truly is, and one day, they'll wake up and still have to sacrifice themself to him.

"Esra," he says again, that same horrified tone, and they plaster a smile to their face again, even if they know he'll hate it.

"It's fine," they say, again. "My bad, honestly. I should have been more careful. You know how I get sometimes. Big feelings, and all that."

Even being in his mind, they cannot make sense of the sound he makes. It's like pain, like longing, like hatred, but he immediately goes back to focusing on them, effectively hiding his thoughts from them. It doesn't feel fair, but since they're the one who keeps making him feel so bad, they decide to let him have it.

"I am not upset with you," he says suddenly, his tone urgent. "I could never be upset with you for struggling, my love. I only wish you had told me sooner so I could help you."

It's so sudden and jarring they feel a bit like they did talking to Sen, the words lacking meaning a moment before sinking in all at once, and then they're shaking their head, trying to assemble a coherent thought to explain that they don't need him to worry before he cuts them off again.

"Esra," he says, tone firm. "You cannot make me stop worrying. It is my nature. Simply allow me to love you the way I love, please."

It's the please that gets them. He's so achingly sincere it feels nearly voyeuristic, as though they're seeing something they're not supposed to. His eyes are intent on theirs, hands still cradling their face, and how can they deny him? How can they do anything but agree when they know it will make him happy?

"Ok," they say, with the same gravity they've said it with every time he's made a request of them. It is easy, in the end, to simply agree, especially when doing so seems to bring him so much relief they worry for a moment he'll collapse with it. "I can do that."

He pulls them flush against him, arms almost too tight around them, but fuck if it isn't so good. They feel like themself, finally pressed back into their skin, and they hug him back with similar strength. He takes a breath that is just a touch too shaky to be explained away, but they don't ask. If he wants them to know, he will tell them.

The hug lasts far shorter than they want it to, and his thoughts reveal he feels the same, open to them again now that the feeling seems to be fading. They can see the tail end of it, something big and overwhelming, exactly like they feel when they schedule a breakdown, but he seems to be much more capable of calming himself than they are.

"You are tired, my lamb. You should rest," he says, recollecting himself into the Narinder they are so familiar with. They wonder if maybe it's a mask just like they wear before they forcibly redirect their thoughts, focusing instead on how soft he looks in the light of the moon.

"You said I could do a sermon first," they say, voice soft. There's no one around, they're far away from the houses and anyone possibly seeing, but still, it feels as though they need to whisper. To hold this impossible, perfect moment just between the two of them, no louder than the beating of their heart.

"I did say that, yes," he acquiesces, and they have to stretch to reach his lips, pulling him down just a little so that they can do so. He bends for them, easy, and the odd thrill they get at bending him to their will is like honey candy on a bad day.

This kiss is quick, a there and gone brush of lips that they can't help smiling into. "I need to get clean," they say, and he leans back a bit to look them over, eyes lingering over their form in a way that brings heat back up to their cheeks. They're embarrassed by how easy it is to make them blush, but his satisfaction is sweet, so they suppose a little embarrassment is worth it for the way he keeps smiling at them.

"I am not stopping you, Esra. Go get yourself clean, I shall wait for you in our home."

There's that feeling again, the satisfaction at sharing the room. They like that he calls it their home, as though he wants to return there every night for a long while. Possibly forever, if they let the small hope in their chest grow, a delicate thing amongst all their anxieties.

When they meet his eyes again, he looks so fond it seems almost impossible, this powerful god brought low by them, nothing more than a simple sheep in the grand scheme of things. The last, yes, but still just a sheep.

"Do not think of yourself in such a way, my love. I do not deal kindly with those who are unkind to those I care for," he says, and the phrasing catches them so off guard they almost choke on a laugh, covering their mouth just in time to avoid possibly waking anyone.

They give him a look, half fond, half annoyed, before he gently pushes them in the direction of the nearby stream. His expression is still soft, but in a much more manageable way now that there's smugness there.

"Go, Esra. I will be waiting," he says, before making his way back to the temple. It's the correct move to get them going, though already they miss his warmth. They move swiftly toward their goal, resolving to be quick as they disappear out of sight.

They get clean in record time, dashing quickly back to the temple with their fleece hanging off their arm, covering their body just in case a follower wakes up early. They forgot how naked they are without a few inches of wool, but the idea of putting their fleece back on after soaking it makes them shudder, so a quick dash back for another fleece is what they do instead.

They glance at the indoctrination stone, the butterfly kneeling in that half-conscious state that tells Esra they are just fine, and decide to worry about dressing before letting the follower out.

The sound of their hooves in the temple is familiar enough that it immediately sets them at ease, and now that they aren't afraid Narinder is mad at them, they feel almost jittery with excitement to get back to him. They are definitely running at this point, and when they get through the arch into their room, they almost slip and fall as they try to take the turn too tight.

Narinder is sitting on the bed again, another book in hand. It's another trashy romance novel, and Esra is unbelievably relieved to see he's finally done with the last one, cringing again at the memory. They fix him an faux-angry look, and he just chuckles as he shuts the book, turning his attention fully back to them.

"Did you forget you would need a different fleece?" Narinder asks, teasing, and they just huff a breath, annoyance easily overshadowed by the relief that he no longer seems to be upset. His body is relaxed, thoughts more focused on the opening scene of his book than anything else, and it's so nice to know he feels safe enough to let his mind wander.

"No, I wanted to be naked, obviously," they say, and he laughs again, standing up and walking toward them, all easy confidence that always catches them off guard a little, making them feel much smaller than they are.

He's only a head taller than them, but it still feels like he towers over them, the interest sparking in his eyes promising all sorts of things Esra gets to read straight from his mind, another blush lighting up their face at his imaginings.

He doesn't bring them up, simply keeps moving forward, backing them into the wardrobe as they try to keep just a little space between them, not wanting to get him wet. Their shoulders connect with just a bit more force than they expected, and there's that prey feeling again, hot and sharp down their spine as they let him corner them.

He remains silent, and his thoughts are coalescing into one fantasy, the exact scene from the book they had mentioned, and they feel a bit dizzy with it, desperate again despite him not even doing anything. Their breath hitches as his hand reaches next to them, and for a moment, they think he's going to box them in with his arms, but instead he opens the door they aren't pressed to, easily pulling out their signature red fleece, offering it to them with a smile so sharp they feel like they could cut themself just looking at it.

He steps back, but the tension doesn't drain from their form. It was so close to exactly what they had wanted, and all they can think about is pulling him back and letting him do everything he's been picturing, imagining the satiation afterward with a strength that makes their mouth start to water.

"There is a follower awaiting indoctrination, little lamb," he says, and they hate and love that he knows how much the nickname gets them. "There will be time for your fantasies after you give a sermon and answer my questions."

They let out a breath that only just avoids being a groan, and though he doesn't laugh, they can taste his humor like a bubbling brook.

They pull the fleece on, brushing over it so it extends, longer now that their wool doesn't cover everything. They stop when it reaches mid-thigh, their preferred length, before they come over to flop on the bed, stretching out to help relieve the ache in their muscles.

Narinder huffs another laugh before adjusting further onto the bed, positioning their head in his lap so he can pet over their cheeks, a soothing gesture that makes their eyes flutter shut. It's nice, to be touched so casually. They haven't had touch like this since they were last fully mortal, and they drink it down like a flower drinks sunlight, all-consuming and warm.

"You found Clauneck on your crusade," he says, and they hum in affirmation, relaxing into him and fighting off the urge to yawn. They fail, yawning wide as the exhaustion starts to catch up with them again now that they're laying out in bed.

"Yeah, a couple of times," they say, curling up on their side, peeking an eye open so they can look at his face. He's so lovely like this, riding that thin line between pretty and handsome that Esra always wishes they could do as well. They consider for a moment what he would look like as a woman instead, and have to promptly think about something else so they have any hope of staying on track.

Narinder makes an interested sound at their thought, but doesn't pursue it. He runs his finger over their nose, incredibly sensitive in the best kind of way, and Esra feels a bit as though they could fall asleep just like this, warm and loved in the room they share.

"Did you speak to him about our concerns?" Narinder asks, voice soft. If Esra didn't know any better, they would think he's trying to put them to sleep, and they forcibly open their eyes to stay awake, taking in Narinder's expression, fond and focused as he waits for their answer.

"I tried. You know how he is. I usually just get the same lines over and over again. I think he said something along the lines of being unable to help us unless you can pull the cards," they say, body sinking further into the mattress. Even with their eyes open, it's hard to fight off sleep. It's not something they're used to, and they sit up to stay more focused, ignoring the pang of loss they feel as they move away from his warmth.

"Unfortunate. I had hoped you would be able to discern at least some small bit of information before I had to follow you into the Old Lands," Narinder says, and now they're awake, eyes wide as they take in his expression.

He looks relaxed, no tension in his form. The fact that he doesn't seem at all concerned about walking out of the cult is deeply upsetting, and any tiredness they may have had is washed away by unfettered anxiety at the thought of him out there alone.

"Esra, I would not be going alone," he says, voice gentle, if not sweet. He's teasing, and Esra feels an odd flash of anger at how blasé he is about the whole thing.

"You would not be going at all," they say, voice flat. He isn't going out there. They are not going to allow him to endanger himself, not for anything, not even knowledge. There are other ways. They'll go back into Silk Cradle themself, shred apart every one of Shamura's archives, but they cannot risk Narinder coming to harm.

Narinder listens to their thoughts with an odd curiosity, like he isn't taking it seriously. His thoughts tell them everything they need to know, that they're going to have to put their foot down.

"Esra," he says, and they way they react to their name in that tone feels unfair, but they can't even be mad, because they know they're going to fight dirty here too. "I am regaining former powers. I have already gained much in your absence, enough that curses have been restored to me. Do you truly think me so helpless as to be leashed like the simple followers?"

"I think that you're forgetting you are no longer the god of death, and you can in fact be killed," they say, standing up and crossing their arms as they try to manage the odd anger they're feeling in this moment. "I don't have a way to bring you back if something happens to you, remember? I don't do resurrection."

"How fortuitous then that the Mystic Seller gave you a forgotten commandment stone. You could declare it as another tenant today and we could go out in the evening," he responds, and they hadn't realized he knew what they got. They raise a brow, a demand for an answer.

"Have you forgotten so quickly I can read your mind, little lamb?" he asks, voice dropping to a low purr. He's using seduction as a gambit, and they have to tell themself they aren't falling for it, even as they go a bit weak in the knees.

"Ok, so you know I have a commandment stone. That doesn't mean I'm going to use it for resurrection. We could use it for something else, like better work ethic, or taxes. The statue doesn't make money anymore, and the offering chest is-"

"The offering chest still works because it is the perceived power of the item. It was not I who received the items, Esra. The chest will still work," Narinder interjects, and the interruption trips them up enough that they can't get another word in before he's speaking again. "You are allowing fear to cloud your better judgement. Even before godhood, I was capable of defending myself. I will not fall even if you do choose to do something else with the stone."

Esra is shaking at this point, anger and terror combining to something entirely more potent than anything they've felt before. It's hard to think around, to construct arguments, to do anything but shake and seethe.

"No," they say, tone final. They aren't going to let this happen. They don't care what they have to do, but they cannot let him come on a crusade, not when he's all they have. "I can't let you. I can't... I won't allow you to be in danger like that. There are other options, other ways of finding this out. I'll go back to Silk Cradle, surely Shamura-"

"Esra," he says, and their jaw clicks in frustration at being interrupted again. "Do you trust me?"

It stops them in their tracks, freezing them in place. It's a simple question, really. Do they trust him? Of course. It barely requires acknowledgement, it's so obvious. They trust him implicitly, but it isn't him they don't trust. It's the heretics, it's his siblings, it's them letting him down. There are so many other things to be afraid of, and it feels like he isn't acknowledging them at all.

"Of course I trust you," they say aloud, because he deserves to hear it. They trust him, and it helps cut through the overwhelming feeling of it all, soothes it down to something manageable. "It isn't you I don't trust."

"I understand your fear, my love. I would be distraught if something happened to you, but I am far better at knowing when I am beyond my abilities than you are. I would not put myself in a situation I was not sure I could escape from," he says, voice soft.

He moves back to the edge of the bed, reaching out tentatively to take their hand in his, tapping the back of their fingers in that familiar fidget that always sets them at ease.

"You would run away as soon as there's danger?" they ask, voice so hesitant it barely sounds like them anymore. They feel so impossibly anxious they wish they could claw out of their body, and he hums softly in agreement, pulling them in gently like one pulls a boat to a dock. He pulls them into his lap, a familiar motion that seems to have solidified in their mind as something safe, because they can feel the tension leaking out of them again as he begins purring intentionally.

"I would not do something that so clearly frightens you, my love," he says, voice still so soft, and they bury their head in his shoulder, wrapping their arms tightly around his chest as they breathe in his scent. "Besides, you would be right there with me. I trust you will not allow anything to happen while you are there."

It's an insane amount of trust to put in them, and they feel breathless with it a little bit.

"I would try," they say, because it's all they have. They wish he could understand how little they trust themself, and he presses his nose to the crown of their head, taking his own deep inhale. It seems to soothe him as well, and he lifts a hand to their back, rubbing up and down until they're fully limp against him, panic chased away by the heat of his body.

"That is all I ask, Esra. I just need you to trust I will not endanger myself. Can you do that for me?"

It's another seemingly simple question, and Esra answers without hesitation.

"Yes," they say, again with that same gravity. It is so beyond anything they've experienced before, the first person in their entire life they can trust with this. The only person they can trust like this, and the weight of it is not lost on them. "But you need something before we go out. We can make a fleece-"

"Already done, my lamb. I found the talisman you had set aside and used it to make another fleece for me," he says, and they snort a bit as the anxiety turns to acceptance. Of course he had thought ahead. Of course he wouldn't go out into the Old Lands without a fleece, and they're grateful he's already done it so they don't have time to panic about it.

"Which one?" they ask, and he hums.

"I chose the cursed crusade. You have not seen it before, I do not believe. It will allow me to take advantage of tarot cards in a similar manner to your fleece of fates, though it is centered on curses," he says, and they make an interested noise.

"Show me?" they ask, and he presses a kiss to their forehead before moving them off his body. They watch as he goes to the wardrobe again, drawing out a fleece that look oddly torn around the edges, like it's been eaten by moths. He wraps it around his shoulders, over his under robes, and on him, it looks far more like a cape than an actual a garment.

"It is made for your size," Narinder says, smiling at them. His voice is still soft, and they appreciate it more than they can articulate. "Should you ever want or need it, it is yours first and foremost. I modified the others to fit me should there be a need, though I admit I am not much a fan of the choices you made for my own style."

Esra laughs, a quiet thing, but they feel so overcome by it, the fact that he felt confident enough to alter their clothes to fit him as well, that they think they may cry for a moment.

"Too much, my love?" he asks, but they're shaking their head before he can finish.

"Just right," they answer, and he comes over to kiss them again. Their hands drift up to his shoulders, and there's something to the fact that it's their wool, clearly spun and woven in the short time they've been gone that makes them warm like standing in front of a fire.

Their thoughts drift away as he leans over them, hand on their waist as his lips press against them, warm and soft and theirs. They can barely remember why they were so upset, washed away by how solid he feels beneath their hands.

"Are you better now, my lamb?" he asks, and they nod before leaning back in to reclaim his lips, pulling him down so he's pressed against them, weight heavy and comforting as it presses them into the mattress.

It's another long while before they let him pull away, needy in a way they rarely allow themself. His purr tells them he has no objections, and they let themself drift away for a while, allowing themself to just be in the moment with him.

When they finally let him go, his eyes are glazed over, like he's allowed himself to get carried away as well, and the smile they give doesn't have any trace of the mask.

They're about to speak when the soft chime of dawn plays in the room, stars giving way to the sunrise coming over the horizon, painting the room gold. It paints Narinder in it as well, and the feeling in their chest is so big they feel as though they can choke on it.

"Are you ready to give your sermon, my lamb?" Narinder asks, tone fond, expression fonder. "I did promise you could before you return to bed."

"Yeah," they say, brushing the back of their hand over his cheek before rubbing against the base of his ears, his purr gaining intensity. "I'm ready."

They're not sure if the statement applies to everything they've talked about tonight, but it's close enough to being true that the ideas no longer scare them. They trust him, a new and utterly terrifying concept after a lifetime of operating all alone, but it helps that he makes it so easy.