"Humans are the only animal that blushes, laughs, has religion, wages war, and kisses with lips. So in a way, the more you kiss with lips, the more human you are. And the more you wage war."
"What does the farmer have that I do not?"
Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes. Bright with desire. Lust, burning, blazing lust, roaring like a bonfire.
"The farmer gives flax for my clothes, grows barley for my table."
She stood before him, her chin jutted out in defiance. Her golden gaze flashed.
"Then I will give you white wool," he replied. "If he gives you beer, I will give you sweet milk."
The sun glittered above their heads, a silent sentinel. They faced each other, man and woman, and although neither moved, both were dancing.
She wore a royal white robe, and anointed herself with scented oils. She smelled of summer and rain. He stood before her in plain clothes, worn from roaming the world with his herd. He smelled of spring and loam. In his grip, a frosted glass of ice cold milk.
"Shepherd. Without my mother, you would be driven away. Without my father, you would have no roof. Without my brother…"
"Do not start a quarrel," he said. "My family is equal to yours. Drink the milk of Tammuz and know this."
He stepped forward and she looked at him with murder in her stare. But when he held the cup to her lips, she drank, and her eyes widened as he eased her robe open.
The milk overflowed, cascaded down her chin, down her neck, down between her breasts, down her stomach, down her legs, and down onto the ground. Where it dripped, plants sprouted, growing and curling around the two. She knocked the glass out of his hand and pulled him close. She kissed him deeply and he caressed her jet black locks.
The overgrowth thickened, shielding them from view. There was a low moan –
A rustle woke Arturia.
She sat up, wide eyed and breathing heavy, her pupils blown open. Beads of sweat stood out on her brow. There was a clatter and Arturia twitched, now on edge for an entirely different reason.
But it was only a servant. Young and male, his face still round with baby fat. It took Arturia a split second to realize he was speaking.
"What?" she asked.
"Ah, ah, um, I am sorry, your ladyship! King Gilgamesh wanted me to deliver some breakfast but not disturb you and I failed, please do not –."
"It's fine." It wasn't fine. She felt too warm, too taut, too tense. She wanted to lunge at him and rip his clothes off. That fact made her feel all the more off kilter. "Just – just, leave me."
The servant scrambled to comply, backing out of the room, bowing and stammering inane apologies. Once he left, Arturia pressed the heel of her palm against the socket of her eye and sighed.
The dream had been about Ishtar. She supposed it was a result of their connection. Arturia probably should've expected erotic visions, given that her master was the goddess of love, but she still felt thrown for a loop.
Arturia fell back onto her bed. She'd changed into a simple shift, unable to bear the thought of trying to sleep in her regular garments. Not that she would ever let Gilgamesh know, although he no doubt would figure it out. He was annoyingly perceptive, a silver tongue accompanying his golden visage.
It wasn't fair, Arturia mused, grousing somewhat. That someone could be born athletic, handsome, intelligent, and well-spoken, and still manage to be an out-of-touch egomaniac. Then again, she supposed that was the most dangerous kind of person.
Arturia's arms fell to her sides, and she stared at the ceiling. Her heartrate began to return to normal, her breathing no longer erratic. Her cunt ached, begging for release, but Arturia refrained from giving into temptation. She'd never defiled herself before, and she wasn't about to start now. The day she became king, she'd forsworn all mundane pleasures. The only sex Arturia ever participated in had been strictly to fulfill her duties and obligations, except –.
She didn't want to think about that.
Arturia tried to focus. A plan. She needed a plan. But, if she was honest, she felt lost. Her entire life and purpose was defined by her desire to protect and rule Britannia. Now she was here, trapped in the past, in a strange land with a strange king, whose ideals were so far removed from her own they might as well be on opposite planes of existence. Arturia had decided to shield the people of Uruk, but she didn't even know where to begin in that regard.
On the edge of her peripheral vision, Arturia noticed the tray of food the servant left for her. She got to her feet and approached her breakfast with a critical eye. Bread, cheese, and a cup of wine sat there. Arturia was more of a beer person, and she made a mental note to mention that fact to Gilgamesh next time she saw him. Then she realized she was contemplating consuming alcohol early in the morning on the regular, and scowled. She also didn't technically need to eat. Ishtar's mana sustained her, and quite easily.
Still, Arturia found herself tearing apart the bread and sticking it into her mouth. It was good. Made of white flour, soft on the inside and tough on the outside. She chewed, lost in thought, and took a seat to better enjoy it. Someone knocked on the door to her room.
"Enter," Arturia said. She doubted it was Gilgamesh. He would've just barged in. She let her blue dress reappear anyway, as a precaution. The whisper of magic still sang on her skin when Shamhat appeared, her expression mild.
"Hello, my lady," she murmured. Arturia blinked at her, surprised, and then tilted her wine in greeting. She sipped the drink and found it was also very, very good. Gilgamesh had spared no expense, it seemed. If he thought he could win her over with fine food and drink, he was mistaken…
Shamhat let her plain tunic and skirt drop to the floor in one smooth, practiced movement.
Arturia inhaled her wine and started to cough, spewing alcohol on herself. Her nostrils burned almost as hot as her cheeks.
"Are you okay?" Shamhat sounded concerned. She began to step toward Arturia, who raised a hand, using the other to wipe at her face. She was blushing so badly even the skin of her arm was turning red.
"S-stop, put your clothes back on," Arturia managed to spit out, staring at a fixed point beyond Shamhat's head.
"Okay." She ducked out of Arturia's field of vision. There was rustling, and then nothing.
"Are you decent?" Arturia asked.
"Yes," Shamhat said. Sighing with relief, Arturia locked eyes with the green haired girl. Shamhat studied her, appearing puzzled. "I apologize. King Gilgamesh requested I visit you. He said you were lonely."
Damn him. Arturia kept her face blank. She was going to punch Gilgamesh, the next time she saw him. Without a gauntlet this time. It would hurt her more and him less, but it would also be more satisfying, because she'd be able to feel his jaw give under her knuckles.
"Do you want me to leave?" Shamhat asked. Arturia opened her mouth to say yes.
"No, stay," she blurted out instead. Shamhat looked at her. "I – is there anything you want?"
Arturia found herself fumbling, struggling to pull herself together. Her nerves were frayed, the memory of Ishtar's dream pulsing under her skin, and it required all her considerable restraint to stay abreast of the humiliating situation.
"Ah." For the first time, Shamhat hesitated. "Well, I do not wish to impose, but, hm, could you show me how you did your hair in those braids?"
Arturia started and then nodded and said, "Yes, that's not an issue."
Her servants had tended to her hair, when she was still alive, but Arturia had never been one to let someone do something to her body without having knowledge of it. She'd demanded they teach her, although it felt like a lifetime ago. Arturia pulled her chair out from the table and Shamhat glided to sit between her knees.
Silent and thoughtful, Arturia ran her fingers through Shamhat's long hair. It was soft as silk, a verdant waterfall that spilled down the priestess's back. Arturia said, "Does it bother you? What Gilgamesh asked of you?"
"No," Shamhat replied after contemplating the inquiry. "It is who I am. Besides, you are also an agent of Ishtar, are you not? I was – I am honored."
Arturia didn't respond. Then she wrapped some of Shamhat's hair around her fingers, and began to explain her methods in a low voice. The other woman listened, interjecting on occasion to ask a question, but otherwise kept quiet. It was quite cathartic, although Arturia had the nagging sense that she was a terrible teacher.
Maybe she wouldn't punch Gilgamesh, after all. His intentions had been misguided, but he'd meant well, in his own, ridiculous fashion. The again, he could've done it just to fluster her. She wouldn't put it past him. Paranoia gave Arturia pause.
Still, spending time with Shamhat was simple and easy. And it was the most feminine experience she could remember having in – ever. It took a long while to finish, given the copious amount of hair, but Arturia felt rather proud when she leaned back to admire her handiwork.
"Thank you," Shamhat said, touching her new braids.
Arturia smiled and felt better then she had since coming to Uruk.
…
After Shamhat took her leave, Arturia meditated in an effort to regain some semblance of control. She half-expected Gilgamesh to come invade her privacy at any moment, but lunchtime came and went and he still didn't show.
Eventually, curiosity propelled Arturia out of her quarters. She walked around the palace, feeling rather lost and out-of-place, until a servant found the courage to ask if she needed anything. Grateful for the opportunity to receive directions without compromising her dignity, Arturia allowed him to lead her to Gilgamesh's throne room.
She realized, as she stepped beyond the threshold, that the reason she hadn't seen Gilgamesh at all was likely because he'd been busy granting his subjects audience.
A priestess dressed in flowing, colorful garb stopped talking upon becoming aware of Arturia's presence. Gilgamesh hadn't even attempted to hide his boredom, the insensitive ass, slumped in his throne with chin in hand, while the other stroked the mane of a lion resting on his knee. He perked, red eyes lighting up when they met Arturia's.
"My lord, is that not the woman who assaulted you and desecrated Eanna Temple?" asked the priestess, frowning as she scrutinized Arturia. The little king folded her arms and returned the stare, concealing her emotions out of instinct.
"Do not concern yourself with my personal business." Gilgamesh looked annoyed. The priestess bowed her head and muttered an apology. "Did you wish to observe the proceedings of the court, Arturia?"
Arturia was still angry at him for the stunt he'd tried to pull with Shamhat. But her time with the other girl as well as her meditation had brought it from a boil to a low simmer. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and sequestered herself in a corner.
Gilgamesh and the priestess continued their discussion. Well, it wasn't so much a discussion as the priestess imploring Gilgamesh for reparations. Realizing that this was concerning the damages from their fight, Arturia felt a stab of guilt.
"Yes, yes, I will look into it." Gilgamesh ran his fingers through his hair, his jewelry clinking. The priestess thanked him profusely and then, with his permission, vacated the premise. Gilgamesh gestured toward one of the scribes recording the meeting, and sent him off to find someone named Basheer. The scribe returned shortly with an older, balding man in tow.
"My lord." He prostrated himself before Gilgamesh. In Arturia's opinion, it was quite unnecessary.
"Basheer. I want rough drafts drawn up by the end of the week concerning the new entrance for Ishtar's temple. Also, I walked the wall yesterday, and noticed that the eastern section looked dilapidated. Fix it." Gilgamesh's tone brooked no argument. Basheer, who Arturia assumed was some sort of architect, licked his lips.
"My lord... the builders alluded to frustrations about the stress of work. They still have not gotten an answer about their request for a pay increase, either," Basheer said.
"I cannot increase their pay without increasing levies to compensate. People have already been bitching and moaning at me about the last tax hike. I do not want to deal with that right now. Also, inform the builders that they should be grateful they have a steady source of work," Gilgamesh said.
Arturia tried to imagine anyone complaining to Gilgamesh and getting away with it, and failed to envision such an occasion. She made a face. Even so, she had to admit she sympathized with him on this matter. Trying to drum up funds to make changes was often akin to yanking teeth. Then Arturia remembered the ludicrous treasury Gilgamesh owned, and her sympathy withered and died.
"Ah, yes, of course, my king," said Basheer.
The rest of the afternoon proceeded without incident. It was, Arturia had to admit, a series of dull affairs. She tried to recall if her own meetings had been as boring. Perhaps being in the thick of things, rather than observing, made a world of a difference. Although judging from Gilgamesh's expression, perhaps not. Then again, his emotional range seemed stunted to only run the gamut of apathetic to amused.
Of course, Arturia also conducted her audiences in a more democratic manner. While she'd rendered the final verdict, she would listen to a council of trusted advisers first, and often hear out extensive arguments and engage in intricate debates with her subjects as they pled their case. It had almost been like a game at times, attempting to diplomatically maneuver vassals, often spoiled nobles, into giving her what she wanted, and vice versa.
Gilgamesh mostly listened to proposals, gave his consent or didn't, and that was that. Basheer was one of the lucky ones, because he actually got an explanation. It saved time, Arturia would grant Gilgamesh that much.
At one point, his lion wandered over to her side. She petted the big cat, threading her fingers through its coarse mane, and it emitted a low rumble deep in its chest. Arturia smiled, delighted.
"I am done for the day," Gilgamesh said, out of nowhere. "Everyone, leave. Except you." He grinned at Arturia, who was distracted fending off the lion currently attempting to sit in her lap. She wouldn't have minded, if not for the fact that it was at least twice her size.
Arturia craned her neck to look at Gilgamesh, and then chuckled when his lion brushed its large, wet nose against her ear. It tickled. Meanwhile, the throne room emptied, leaving her alone with the king of Uruk.
"Shamash is quite taken with you already. He usually requires time to warm up to strangers." Gilgamesh sounded pleased. "Probably because he knows I'd turn him into a rug if he tried anything." And just like that, her mood was ruined. Then Arturia had a revelation and, aghast, gawked at him.
"Wait, you named your pet lion after your god of the sun?" she asked. Shamash yawned, displaying sharp, yellowed canines and a case of bad breath. She grimaced.
"It fits him." Gilgamesh's expression became fond. Arturia remembered, with startling clarity, that his weapon had been called Ea, but that it wasn't its original name. Which meant Gilgamesh christened it such.
It would be like her renaming her sword Jesus. Or her sheath Yahweh. The blatant disrespect was staggering. Stunned, Arturia almost fell over when Shamash, sensing an opening, tried to lay on her, as though he were a giant, furry, living blanket. Gilgamesh clicked his tongue and the lion flitted back to his side in an instant. Disheveled and mildly embarrassed, Arturia brushed her mussed hair and pretended nothing just happened.
Today was one of those days, it seemed.
"You appear to be in a better mood," Gilgamesh said. "Did you enjoy my gift?"
It took a moment to comprehend what he was referencing. Then Arturia glowered. She'd decided not to give him the satisfaction of showcasing her temper, but immediately threw that resolution out the window and said, "You cannot be serious."
"Oh?" Gilgamesh blinked at her.
"I don't sleep around!" Arturia shouted. Shamash's round ears twitched at the loud noise. "Certainly not with – Shamhat is a very nice girl, but that's not something I'm interested in."
"Oh." Gilgamesh had the audacity to appear offended. "I hope you apologized. You probably hurt her feelings."
"What? No, I didn't." Arturia felt taken aback, and then put on the defensive. How did he manage to turn her words against her so easily? This was his fault! Gilgamesh was the devil, Arturia was sure of it. He already had the eyes of a snake. There were times when she almost expected him to flick a forked tongue at her.
"Prostitutes have their own pride, you know. Doubly so for sacred ones," Gilgamesh said. Even Shamash peered at her with what resembled reproach.
Arturia hesitated, running through the meeting with Shamhat in her mind again. She'd thought everything was fine. Then again, Arturia had never done well with those of her own gender. Lord knew her relationship with Guinevere could attest to that. "Why are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid." Arturia snapped back to reality. Gilgamesh looked at her, his expression baffled, one eyebrow cocked. She glowered. "This conversation is finished."
"Oh, very well. Have it your way." It was the closest to angry she'd ever seen from Gilgamesh. His red gaze blazed. "Shall we have dinner?"
Arturia blinked. She didn't get why he wanted to spend so much time with her. He'd told her, after she'd awoken from their bout, that he considered them friends. She'd dismissed the declaration as insulting and juvenile, but he was serious from what she could tell. Ishtar had insinuated something similar, too.
Arturia didn't understand Gilgamesh. At all.
"Fine," she said, because she was sick of arguing. He'd managed to rile her up again, despite her best efforts. Arturia prided herself on her ability to remain calm, and yet Gilgamesh got under her skin so easily.
It was almost disconcerting.
…
"This seems excessive for two." Arturia's eyes widened as she took in the feast spread out before them.
A massive bowl of stew, laden with meat, took up the centerpiece of the large table. An assortment of fruits, such as dates, oranges, and pomegranates, surrounded the stew and provided a vibrant splash of color. There was wine, and beer, and milk (Arturia colored), gleaming in golden goblets. It smelled fantastic.
Gilgamesh grinned, his brief moodiness vanished.
"There is no such thing as too much." He chuckled and slid into his seat. Arturia sighed and took the chair opposite him, focusing on dinner, on anything other than him. She thought a brief prayer of thanks, and then tested the stew. She could feel Gilgamesh's eyes on her. "Do you like it?"
It tasted delicious. The meat was duck, Arturia was certain.
"Technically, I don't require sustenance, since I'm a spirit." She ladled some more of the stew into her bowl.
"Interesting." She could hear the mirth in Gilgamesh's voice. Arturia frowned.
"That doesn't mean I can't enjoy a good meal," she sniped, snatching a loaf of bread.
"Of course," he said. "So you do like it?"
"It's satisfactory." If Arturia looked at him, she would hit him.
"The chef would commit suicide if he heard that." Gilgamesh laughed openly now.
Arturia took a deep breath and ignored him. The next several minutes passed in awkward silence, punctured by the scraping and chewing of food. It really was a very disgusting sound, the noise two people eating made.
"I was considering getting you something cooler to wear." Gilgamesh broke the quiet.
"Absolutely not." She refused to have her wardrobe decided by a man who didn't seem to realize there existed a thing known as a shirt.
"Why? You must be sweltering, Arturia," Gilgamesh said. She was, but she was also stubborn as a mule, and she didn't intend to budge on this matter. She knew how to dig her heels in better than anyone.
"I like my attire," Arturia said. He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.
"This is ridiculous," Gilgamesh said. "I demand a reasonable explanation."
Demand? Demand?
Arturia opened her mouth to ream him out, and then paused. She'd thought of something. Maybe it would work, maybe not, but now was as good a chance to try and test Gilgamesh as any. She had some sort of influence over him, for whatever reason, she might as well try to take advantage of it. She took another bite of food and swallowed, making him wait.
"It's about restraint." Arturia met his gaze. Gilgamesh blinked.
"What?" he asked, leaning forward with an expression of interest, his annoyance evaporating.
"Self-control. Moderation. Prudence. Discipline." She glared at him.
"I know what it means." Gilgamesh scoffed and popped a date into his mouth. He was almost delicate when he ate. Arturia watched the muscles of his neck work and, disturbed, looked away. "I do not understand what your point is, however."
"Think of a man who fasts before a meal. By waiting, hunger sweetens the food," Arturia said.
"So you will wear something more reasonable. Eventually," Gilgamesh said.
"No! That's not what I mean," she said, frustrated.
"I do not think you understand how metaphors work," he informed her.
"This isn't about me!" Arturia snapped. "This is about you."
Gilgamesh gave her a resigned smile. He murmured, "Everything is, in the end, is it not?"
Arturia opened and closed her mouth. She gave up, then, and stared at her stew's remnants. When the words left her lips, they exited unbidden.
"This gown is one of the few things I have left from my kingdom." Arturia was suddenly tired and overstimulated from a very long day.
She didn't know how to handle the current situation. Give her an objective, give her something to fight for, and she could accomplish it. Whatever – whatever this was, whatever she was supposed to do with Gilgamesh, be for Gilgamesh, Arturia had no idea. She knew how to win wars, but not hearts. If she did, maybe she could've saved Britannia.
She felt a surge of homesickness. She missed Camelot, and her knights, and her people. A culture that wasn't alien to her. Where she understood the rules, and wasn't constantly tripping over herself trying not to look a fool. She had knowledge that wasn't her own, as a result of Ishtar's magic, but it wasn't enough. Arturia was floundering, treading water, trying her hardest not to drown.
"Okay," Gilgamesh said softly. The gentleness of his tone surprised her. She looked up, but couldn't decipher his inscrutable expression.
"Okay," Arturia said.
She didn't understand Gilgamesh at all. She didn't want to understand him. She was afraid if she did, she would lose a precious part of what made her, her.
Arturia really was unsuited for this endeavor.
…
Gilgamesh walked Arturia back to her room.
"You are bored, are you not?" he asked, leaning against the entrance.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Arturia said. She still felt melancholic from their meal together.
"You are a women of action. Like me," he said.
"You're a woman?" Arturia asked, unable to help herself. Gilgamesh laughed.
"A person of action, then." In the darkening light, his red eyes glowed like twin balls of fire.
"What are you getting at, Gilgamesh?" Arturia asked, resigned to whatever he had planned. She admitted she was a little intrigued.
"Tell me, have you ever heard of a creature called Humbaba?"