Servants did not sleep.
Oh, they could, just as they could eat, but they did not need to, nor did they gain anything from it, aside from the lowering of one's guard. Thus, they did not.
Saber was the exception – as she was with anything – but on occasion, Gilgamesh liked to sleep. He was not so low as to need to worry about an attack while he did so; there was no one worthy of the concern.
But Gilgamesh liked to dream. When he dreamed, he was home in Uruk, once again afforded the respect he so rightly deserved – what was the modern expression? - Men wanted to be him, women wanted to be with him.
And Enkidu was there.
His dearest friend, once more sparring with him, going on adventures together, drinking together...
And Gilgamesh would wake, and once more feeling the crushing sadness and despair that he was in a world where his friend was not. And he would weep bitter tears, and wonder if the momentary joy of seeing his friend once more – even if it was only in dreams – was worth the pain of waking up.
