#OH YEAH ALSO. WHERE R MY NARINDER GOT HIS HEART RIPPED OUT TRUTHERS. DO NO EVIL!!!

[zarnzarn]

"You used to smile more," Lamb says.

Narinder flicks a ear to dispel the flies and looks out at the fading sun. "I used to have things to smile about."

"Am I not a thing to smile about?" Lamb teases. Narinder huffs and hits them in the arm, rolling his eyes, lips quirking.

"No, not that," Lamb says, an odd note in their voice. Narinder looks over. "These smiles I know. Amused, fond small ones or half-smothered flustered ones, or smug, annoying smirks. But you used to smile big in the Gateway, remember?" They stretch their cheeks with two fingers pointedly. "All teeth!"

Narinder shrugs and turns back to the sky. "Used to."

A few beats pass. Then, in a smaller voice than Narinder has ever heard it, "Do I not make you happy?"

Narinder sighs and closes his eyes. He had guessed where the conversation was going to go, but it didn't make it any easier to navigate. "Lamb..."

"Do you not enjoy my gifts?" They demand. "My compliments, my offerings, my touch? I have tried everything, Narinder, everything. But no matter what I do, not once in three hundred springs have I gotten that same easy smile from you, my one."

"Well, demanding it isn't going to get you one," He snaps back, irritation rising.

"Well then, what is?" Lamb sits up, crossing their arms. "What can I do to make you happy, Narinder?"

"I am happy," Narinder protests.

"Are you?"

Narinder thins his lips. "I am content."

"But you're not happy," Lamb says, raw and miserable, pushing themselves up to look down at him. "I- I understand you didn't like me taking the crown, I know your pride was hurt, I know you don't like being mortal, but how long are you going to sulk over it?"

They've raised their voice by the end of the sentence, face screwed up in repressed anger, cruel in the way they spit out the accusation. Narinder vaguely feels a pang of hurt at their words, but also mostly feels a whole lot of nothing. Mild resignation, maybe.

"I mean, seriously, the other Bishops are in the same place as you, but I'm out here playing knucklebones and ring toss with my murderers, and I'm still stuck at square one with you? What the fuck, Narinder, what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," He replies honestly. Even thinking about drudging up a smile, a fake one, makes him feel more tired than an entire month's labour ever had.

"Do you want the Red Crown, even now? Is that it? Then, here," Narinder's chest squeezes painfully at the inhale he takes when Lamb aggressively pulls the crown off their head and holds it out. "Take it. It's yours."

Narinder stares at them with wide eyes. Looks to the Crown, which looks just as taken aback as him, at the easy surrender. For a minute, fire itches behind his teeth, craving the familiar force of the Red Crown behind his movements and the joyful annihilation that came with it, the peaceful passing of souls he used to help with.

Then he remembers white, and looks away. Besides, the humiliation of being handed something won off him in fair laws out of pity was too much, even for his tattered dignity. "I do not want the crown, Lamb."

A surprised inhale. "So then what?" Their voice cracks. "What do I need to do to make you smile at me again?"

"Lamb-"

"I used to make you so happy," Lamb's voice breaks with tears. Narinder pushes himself upright in worry, painfully wondering how long they'd been holding this in. "I used to make you grin ear to ear just by being there, I used to make you laugh, you used to like my jokes and my songs and my stories and my antics, and now, even on our wedding renewals your eyes barely crinkle. What can I do, Narinder, to make you love me again?"

The wound in his chest pulses agonizingly. "I do love you, Lamb."

"How, if you're not even happy?" They demand, tears rolling down their face. "I miss you so much, Narinder, every day- because deny it or not, I remember what you were when we met, and I know i only hold a part of you now. I'm asking you again, how do I get the rest of you back?"

"I-" Narinder can't think of anything to say. Can't find the words to fix this, stop the tears.

Lamb's face falls as the silence stretches. They straighten up, out of reach. "I see."

Narinder grimaces and reaches out, missing as the other stands up and takes a step back. "Lamb."

"Never mind, then." They walk away, a hand to their face and shoulders shaking.

"LAMB!" He shouts, but they're already gone. Narinder groans and collapses back onto the grass, a hand over his eyes. He'll have to track them down later now.

How to tell them that he hadn't truly smiled since he'd fought with his siblings, all those centuries ago? That what they had seen was- sickness or madness or something, fuelled by the prospect of finally being free, of revenge, of a vessel he loved always so eager and excited to see him? That being happy was something that sat well on him, but joy had always taken over his mind and body and drove him to smile with too many teeth and burn those around him when it came?

That every time he felt happy enough to smile, all he could think of was the knife in his chest as his siblings clawed out his heart, and the axe in his ribs as the sheep he loved did the same thing again a thousand years later.

How to tell them that the only way he still could was if they weren't next to him to watch?

He knew Lamb would fall to pieces if he admitted that he thinks he could smile, had smiled, with people other than them. Their history had been messy and stained even when they first kissed, even before it had been subjected to the usual strain of a century-long relationship and Narinder had no intention of finding out whether this was the thing that finally did them in.

With a sigh, he lets go of the misery for now, resolving to find words to explain later. No need to borrow from future worries, as they say.

Still. Narinder holds a palm up against the sun, watching his fur turn brown at the edges, warming his bones. Away from others, from all the tumultuous relationships and bitter mistakes and traitorous loved ones, he smiles, properly, at the gentle light, gentle warmth. It was tiring, for the anger and shame to still have such a hold on him, after all these years.

Perhaps it was time to try harder. He had done so many impossible things in his life; how hard could loving without a heart be?