An early November snow had befallen Camelot. A thin layer of bright white covered the landscape, a veil of mist engulfing the castle. The night's frost had taken over plants and windows. Although midmorning had come, Tintangel itself seemed to have frozen after the snowfall, an unusual, ghastly stillness had taken over each knight and serf. It was a spectral image, fitting of a spectral reign.

In the midst of a courtyard, a large man made his way across the snow. He was of a striking contrast to that of the white wonderland surrounding him. Everything but his pale skin seemed to be of the darkest black. The cape, the armour, the dark locks reaching to his mid-back, the piercing eyes. They made him a living shadow, moving in silence through the corners of the castle.

This black knight didn't appear to be phased by the penetrating cold that hung in the air. He carried strength and confidence in his stance, yet he would not let his guard down. His senses where all focused on his surroundings. A hand upon his sword, ready to unsheathe it at any sight or sound.

The castle loomed over him, casting a long, threatening shadow. The statues and gargoyles seemed to follow him with their lifeless, stone eyes, ready to pounce upon him at any second. He had made his way to an old section of the building, a forgotten corridor branching from the West Wing. The walls decayed further with every step he took. This building, forgotten by monarchs and tortured without mercy with time, was a safe haven for him.

He walked into the hall, never breaking stride. The trail of melting snow left behind him grew with each step. His boots were soaked, as well as his cape. Yet he never showed any sign of discomfort – only determination.

Soon, he found himself facing an old wooden door. He grabbed a pair of keys hanging from his belt and unlocked the padlock shutting it. The faint, yet warm light of candles greeted him as he walked into the room, locking the door once more.

"Lancelot."

Several pairs of eyes were locked upon the sight of the great knight. He furrowed his brow and looked across the candlelit room, examining the expectant faces.

Before him, with men sitting all around, was a round table.

The gardens were Gilgamesh's favourite place in the kingdom. In his eyes, Uruk represented the best the world had to offer.

Standing in one of the open gardens, he overlooked over the entire city. Magnificent plants of all sorts surrounded him, and there, he felt –no- he knew he was standing upon the most beautiful place on Earth.

The Mesopotamian sun shone down upon the flat land, plains extending into the horizon, much like a sea of soil. The Euphrates snaked across the scenery, its surface shining with under the midday sun. Within this flat, arid kingdom, the gardens were a true Eden. They rose over Uruk with twenty five meter walls at each level, creating the illusion of the edifications being lush mountains.

With the approach of the rainy season, days had become fresher. Gilgamesh took in the soft breeze that caressed him, and closed his eyes.

"Gilgamesh."

The call of his name broke him out of his haze, he turned to encounter a pair of eyes as green as the trees that surrounded them.

"Arturia, was it?"

He attempted to hide his surprise, not at her sudden arrival, but at her fierce impertinence. It was uncommon to hear his name without the company of a title or honorific. Normally, he'd be annoyed at such behaviour, but instead, he felt his curiosity rising.

The woman gave a quick nod.

Those were truly beautiful eyes. Large, round eyes, much like a child's. But, upon looking at her, it was immediately apparent that this woman was no child. Her eyes held immeasurable pain, regret, hatred. They carried within them weights that should have never been bestowed upon such a young girl. Yet…

She had embraced them.

That was the reason of why she stood before him, reduced to the humiliating role of a concubine, yet still held herself with strength and pride.

The king smiled.

"Arturia Arturia…" he repeated, savouring the name as if teasing her, "Will you kindly tell me the reason for you coming to my kingdom?"

She frowned, "I thought the reason was obvious enough already," she responded coldly, "I am a gift from the queen of Britannia. An addition to your court."

But Gilgamesh broke in a fit of laughter at her reply. His laughter resounded across the garden, scaring away some nearby birds.

He then shook his head, still laughing faintly, "No." he said, "You woman are no concubine. Foreign as you may be, no woman as such doesn't carry herself like you do. You do not move or speak to please or allure those around you," he tilted his head, with red, catlike eyes examining her, "You lack the elegance and femininity…hah, one could even say that you have the stance of a man." He scoffed.

"I will take that as a compliment, Gilgamesh. It is a relief I am not like the women you lie with. If I am not to your liking, you may send me back to my homeland." His mocking did nothing to make her shrink in his presence.

"On the contrary, that is why I'm keeping you by my side, woman," he chuckled, "That impudence of yours is truly fascinating. Surely you know that is no way to refer to your king in his court?"

"You are not my king. I have pledged my life to the rightful King of Britannia. This fact will never change."

Gilgamesh's smile disappeared, he kinked an eyebrow, "Britannia has no king."

Arturia gritted her teeth, had she said too much?

"Your loyalty is truly something to admire," he started, "However, it is clear that it isn't pledged to your nation's queen."

She froze. He grinned.

"Perhaps it is a pity that you were born a woman. You might've been a great leader."

"I will be!"

His eyes widened at her reply. Immediately, she regretted having spoken.

"A traitor? Is this your queen's way of punishment? My, what a kind queen she must be." She was far too young to have been the former king's lover or friend. Then, what was driving her into this sense of duty?

"Excuse me, your majesty," she mumbled, her attitude changed, "I have strong feelings for Britannia's reign, however, that doesn't matter anymore, as I am here to serve you." She fought against her pride to utter out the words.

Gilgamesh frowned, annoyance taking over him.

"Stop, woman." He hissed, "It is clear that you do not to wish to be touched by me, or any man for that matter. Do not humiliate yourself any further. It disgusts me."

"You're wrong, I do wish to serve yo-"

He walked to her, looming over her small frame, like a lion watching over his prey.

Arturia locked her eyes with his.

Gilgamesh took her chin with one hand and grabbed her by the waist with the other, pulling her close against her body. She tensed at the sudden actions of the Babylonian king. Her heartbeat quickened, the loud pounding filling her head. Eyes closed shut, and she braced for him to devour her.

-But he didn't.

The man sighed and released her. She opened her eyes once more, bewildered.

"You must know how easy it would be for me to take you." He said, "But I do not wish to force you."

What?

The king smirked once more before speaking one last time, "I will simply wait for you to yearn for my touch."

With that, their meeting was over. Gilgamesh left the gardens, leaving Arturia standing alone in his personal Eden.

A clod of clay.

It crumbles in his hands, even though he desperately holds to it, trying to keep it whole.

He screams. Anger and sorrow in his cry.

"It's okay, Gil…"

The clod speaks.

His voice is soothing.

"I was but a weapon in your collection. There is no worth in me deserving of your tears. So it's fine, you have a soul, a life ahead of you. I'm a little jealous, really, I've always wanted that. At least be happy for me, Gil."

This is his final breath.

Rain comes. It pounds over them.

"In all this world, only one shall be my friend. Thus-not for all eternity shall his worth ever change."

The rain increases, and slowly, the clod becomes a pile of dirt in the wilderness.

His friend is gone.

The Babylonian king slept on his chambers. He shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, brow furrowed and golden locks wet with the cold sweat of a nightmare. His breaths were quick and heavy. The woman beside him is wide awake, watching over his sleeping form. She did no effort to wake him.

In fact, she found Gilgamesh to be most beautiful at this state.

A smile crept upon her lips, her black eyes shining with a sadistic spark as she watched him in the darkness. She reached at his face with a small hand and caressed it.

He was almost hers.

A/N: Hey guys! I am sorry for the overdue update, but school has been a pain in the arse lately. I promise the next update will come soon. Who knows, perhaps within a week or so! Please tell me what you think! Also, yes, Gil is a shit. But he is the best shit.