Work Text:
To his eyes the future was clear as the waters of a spring, and yet just as evasive, slipping between the gaps of his fingers as he brought nature’s sweet bounty to his lips. The King of Heroes could no longer grasp a time when he was not casually leafing through the book of life, finding curiosities littered across humanity’s great hereafter. The days without his only friend stretched long as the two great rivers that surrounded his homeland, and in the brief blinks of respite he was granted, his sole comfort was his success.
Humanity would survive; would move on to build a great legacy that the gods could never have granted. As long as the better third of his existence triumphed over his divine side, then he had played his part. So, the King of Heroes solidified his cast, procuring actors from all eras to stand beside him in his final role in the great play that was humanity: a protector.
He would perform as was expected of a legendary king such as himself. All that was left now was an exercise of patience for the stagehands that had yet to arrive: a valorous Master and their ever-loyal, loving shield.
A glimpse was all he needed to know that the girl and her Master had destinies intertwined, their threads of fate fastened together so indefatigably it was impossible to pull them apart. However, what bound them was not alike to that which fastened the king to Enkidu, his beloved equal, rather, it was a concept that escaped the King of Heroes for as long as he’d walked the earth.
The wise king spared a glance to his right, at a space that had always been empty. There was a time he’d offered a throne to Enkidu, an offer the latter refused. Instead, his friend perched on his armrest, at the stairs of his feet, for that was their purpose, they did insist. The area remained unoccupied, even when his friend had gone, for the only other yet worthy of the king’s love resided only in his dreams.
The King of Heroes found himself with an emotion he was not acquainted with, for Fujimaru Ritsuka possessed something he had yet to attain. Few were such things to a wealthy ruler like himself. His anticipation for the Chaldeans arrival rose like the bubbles in the yellow drink his people enjoyed. At last, some entertainment, though it would take some time.
Gilgamesh waited, burying himself in the affairs of his city, for there was always much to be done. The war and all its ferocities had already begun, and yet the matters of running his kingdom had certainly not ceased. He waited, reading through the neat writing of the many scribes in the many facets of Uruk and its surrounding villages. He waited, his wise words spared only for the welfare of his people.
When finally, the Chaldeans stepped through the door, they did so in such ordinary fashion, he wondered if they could handle the great burden upon their shoulders. Even when the oddball wizard uncertainly announced their arrival, the king hardly felt the need to rouse his red irises to appraise their worthiness. However, if the mage had returned with the Tablet of Destinies, then it was an effort well-spent—
The burning flames within his irises doused in an instant, reduced to cinders by a sea of glittering green.
She took over the busy recesses of his mind like a flood, her waters flushing his mind of his kingdom’s affairs, the architecture of his defenses, Siduri’s warnings. The clay tablet that had been in his hands shattered by his ankles, forgotten as her gravity roused him from his solitary throne.
Gilgamesh did not notice the flurry of words his high priestess sent the mage’s direction. He cared not for the wizard’s questions as the Chaldeans were herded away. How could he ponder anything else, when before him stood a dream?
Impossible , the king declared, even if he felt her breath on his chest. Improbable , he reasoned, though his fingers caressed the curve of her cheek.
Though the wise king led his people to prosperity for years without error, he was made tactless faced with her miracle.
“Arturia?”
Like the fickle gods withdrew their calamities at the slightest shift of mood, the King of Knights retreated at the sound of her name. Great walls rose between herself and Uruk’s ruler, erected as quickly as she placed Excalibur to his throat.
“...You recognize me,” she spoke, her melodious voice no longer distorted by the echoes within his visions. “Then you understand why I draw my blade, fiend.”
The red-eyed king raised his hand, halting the advance of the royal guard. Loyal as they were, none of them would ever be a match, not for her . An imperative voice left his lips, pregnant with the burning desire to be left alone with the one who dared threaten him in his own court.
“Siduri. The Chaldean’s mission is as I have discussed. Take them to their assigned barracks at once to await orders.”
The surprise that took her wavered her hold for barely a millisecond, but that was all Gilgamesh needed to push her holy sword away and claim her wrist. Arturia meant to leave, following her Master and Merlin through the wide exit, but the loose hold the wise king had on her arm prevented her escape.
“Stay.”
The young Master spared their Servant a worried glance, one which the Saber returned in earnest. Even the half-incubus’s forever smile had disappeared from his face, replaced by a look of doubt. Their concern was wasted.
“As long as your Master stays within these ramparts they are under my direct protection. They are regarded as I regard my citizens. They are protected as I protect my people,” the wise king implored, releasing her wrist. “Your party is generously offered respite, for only your company in exchange. Do not deny me, King of Knights.”
Her ire remained within her green eyes, vast and lasting as a stormy sea. Even when his servants escorted her to special quarters, the look in her irises never changed. They haunted him more than ever as he sat impatiently on his gold throne, for they were far more vivid than his visions had him believe, glowing like crystals struck by sunlight, ethereal as he beheld them.
Defying fate, she’d come to him, crossing eras upon eras for an encounter that should never have come to be. No number of reports could take her from his mind, his thoughts knew no rest. She tore across the landscape of his conscience without restraint, conquering even the darkest depths of his brain, until there was nothing and no one left but her.
Arturia stole herself away from him when he visited her quarters several days from their reunion, swift as the snake that took the Herb of Immortality, but this time the king had no distraction. The night was young, and yet bright, as if the god of the heavens had cleared it so Gilgamesh could behold her foreign beauty.
“Unhand me, else suffer the weight of my sword, King of Heroes,” she threatened, pressed against the sill of her open window. “I will permit no further trespass from the likes of you.”
The sound of his title felt unfamiliar, for it had been long since his conquering prime. Though now, he warred with beasts, he did so under a different name, abandoning needless arrogance for wisdom instead.
“The likes of me?” questioned the older king, withdrawing his hands from her face to cage her to the ledge. “Is this how rulers of your time treat their hosts? Contempt and disgust in exchange for munificence?”
His words brought shame upon her countenance, coloring her cheeks as she broke their heated gaze. Magnificent, she was; beautiful enough to ease his temper from only that simple, unintentional act. Suddenly, Gilgamesh understood yet did not accept the actions of his callous posthumous self. She was a temptress unaware of her wiles, the most dangerous and sought-after kind.
“Are you not Gilgamesh after all, he that handled me with cruelty and disrespect?” she breathed, folding her arms. Clearly, she was uncomfortable in the less modest attire of his city, and yet, she’d tried to respect their customs. “How can you share the same face and voice and yet be so different?”
Within her mind warred two kings, the first a cruel memory, the second a wise ruler. Dividing them was an abyss so deep and contrasting, neither side appeared to be cut from the same earth. The Gilgamesh she remembered was arrogant, this king was proud. Archer appeared mocking, but he looked upon her work with praise.
This Gilgamesh was true to his words, rewarding the Chaldean group with fair pay and ample sustenance for their services. He was a fair judge, resolving conflict with compromise. Even if he kept her in his ziggurat, away from her comrades, she was never leashed, free to come and go as she pleased.
“I am him of whom you speak, and yet, I too, am not,” he declared, restraining himself from tucking his head into the curve of her shoulder. “Until the day you entered my court, I had not met you.”
She tensed, then relaxed, as if a puppet hanging by the strings of his revelation. Her hair of gold silk danced to the rhythm of the wind as she leaned away from him, gaining what little distance she could, caged to the ledge as she was.
“Yet you conduct yourself like you have,” Arturia muttered, her voice so silent, it nary echoed in the sandstone confines of her room. Her emerald eyes landed on the hand resting on the stone beside her. Gilgamesh still pushed her limits, but one word of her discomfort and he’d withdraw just enough.
The king forgot his all-seeing-eyes was a gift she didn’t share, despite it also being granted to her court wizard. With those words, his queen begged of him an explanation, and that, she was owed. For indeed, he did differ from the “ him” in her memories. It was clearer, with every day that passed, that she suffered much anguish from the sheer dissonance between his living self and his Servant form. Though his short, nightly visits gradually whittled down her walls, she would shut him out for as long as that brutal image of himself remained in her mind.
The wise king Gilgamesh sighed, his fingers pausing by her chin for her permission. She granted it, albeit reluctantly, still unused to being handled so frequently. Despite his articulate tongue, she was slowly learning he craved touch more than words. Adjust to him, advised her Master, who smiled as they performed errands for Uruk. Understand him, said her insouciant court mage, who’d similarly witnessed the Babylonian king’s two sides. So, she did.
She allowed him to lead her gaze upward until rubies and emeralds clashed. In the faint moonlight, his twin orbs glowed, coruscating with a myriad of reds she’s never seen before. In that moment, she understood. His eyes could see further than hers ever will, privy to the secrets of time and space, just as her wizard's were. He drew breath, blinked, and somehow Arturia knew his words would forever change how she viewed him.
“You...are a memory I have yet to experience and yet your mere presence drowns me in nostalgia,” he said, leaning close, as far as she allowed. She was sitting on the ledge now, entranced by his gentle stare, for it was melancholy, and yet joyous, guarded, and yet fond.
“Your contempt for me feels undeserved,” he voiced, touching his heart, “for you know only the side of me that’s waited eons upon eons, with bated breath, even at my deathbed, for the moment when we’d meet.”
He gestured between them as he spoke, but Arturia didn’t break their locked gazes. She couldn’t, not when at last, she was hearing the truth.
“You surpassed my expectations, yet dashed them to dust at your rejection. You will forgive me if I was impatient ; if all my arrogant self desired was your hand...” he explained, shaking his head as if admonishing his actions as a Servant.
“For in my mind, I’d kissed your lips a thousand times, caressed your skin till I had your curves memorized...” he trailed off, tracing her silhouette with his eyes. “Hundreds of years, I courted you, waiting for our union to come at last. I could no longer bear to stall a moment more.”
Arturia tilted her head as he awaited her response, for though his words were meant to explain his behavior, his motive was no less clear.
“Our paths crossed only briefly in the Holy Grail Wars, King of Heroes,” she spoke, observing him the way he did her. “I can hardly believe one such as you would attach yourself to a vision of a mere acquaintance.”
The wise king’s eyebrows crossed, not with ire at her dismissal, but because she believed it was not possible for men to fall for her at a glance. He could name at least two mongrels who’d done so. However, he would not let her discount the emotions that had plagued his heart since the first time his foresight granted him her face. His affection was not so shallow.
“Arturia,” he called, treasuring the curious, cat-eyed look she gave him. “You have known me for a mere blink of eternity. However, I...”
Puzzled, she placed her hand in his when he offered it, and it is this way Gilgamesh knew she'd begun to trust him. He put her palm to his chest, right above where his heart lay. The gods knew that no lies ever left his lips, but now, she too would know without a doubt that this was his truth. Let the moon be his judge, the stars his witnesses. What the demigod king Gilgamesh said tonight was more than just an eternal verity, it was a promise.
“I loved you before you wore your kingdom’s crown; before the many wars you waged in the name of Camelot. I loved you before you pulled the sword from the stone, before your feet ever touched the ground, when the gods had only yet sent your soul to its birth. ”
The King of Knights waited for his heartbeat to alter, but at a fixed pace it remained, sure as the cycle of night and day. It was hers that erred, stirred from its calm by his words and face. If the sagacious god Ea were to peek on whom he blessed, he would have beheld something remarkable. At long last, King Gilgamesh had found an end to the lonely days on his throne.
“I have witnessed the failures and triumphs of your choices,” Gilgamesh continued on as her heart beat like a rabbit’s. “I have celebrated your highs and stood with you in your lows.”
Arturia withdrew her fingers from his, too shocked to process what he was saying, but his own fingers gave chase, catching them once more.
“Even if you only met me past the grave, I had long since ascertained your worth for myself,” he said, moving the back of her hand to his mouth in a gesture that was a custom of her time, not his.
“Surely you see, oh King of Knights, that it is only I who deserves your heart,” the man declared, caressing her cheek. “For what other on this earth has known you as long as I? Who could say they loved you before you were ever born? Who else could claim their affection persevered past your death?”
Silence stretched between the two kings, for the younger had no answers to provide the Mesopotamian with. Naught but God himself could ever claim such a ridiculous notion, and yet Gilgamesh did so, proving it with that last kiss.
Arturia closed her eyes and inhaled, revisiting her final memory of the Babylonian King. He held her just like this, gently, in spite of everything that occurred between them. The British King had gone over the details of her Holy Grail Wars with Master several times. Without fail, Ritsuka would insist that Gilgamesh was more than the villain that Arturia made him to be. Each instance, she’d dismiss them, for how could the words of an enemy be trusted?
Some things are all the more beautiful because they are unattainable.
Now that she was aware of a broader truth, Gilgamesh’s last words struck a chord in her heart when they didn’t before. Even if he was granted their reunion, it was fleeting. She was a Servant, given form for the sole purpose of saving humanity, and he...he lived and breathed within a Singularity, doomed to forget they ever met this way.
Once again, she would be stolen from his arms by fate, fulfilling that which his Servant form had said.
The woman’s eyes fluttered open, finding the older, calmer Gilgamesh closing the few inches left between their mouths. Her chest ached as he approached, but she did not move nor push him away. It was a miracle that allowed them to meet as the Servant Arturia Pendragon and the wise King Gilgamesh of Uruk. A time like this would never come again.
Their lips collided in a burst of feeling. Excitement, reluctance, relief, surrender, all of that and more delivered in a searing kiss. Her arms looped over his shoulders; his hands locked behind her lower back. Though this Gilgamesh hadn’t yet waited eons for her touch, he couldn’t bear to let her go.
In the short moment he left her mouth to breathe, Arturia surveyed the eyes of her enemy-turned-ally, finding naught but his desire for her in his ruby orbs. As he dipped forward to taste her kiss once more, she felt herself finally concede.
He had loved her for the better part of forever.
Who was she to deny him this one moment?