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"I'm sorry for my inability to let unimportant things go, for my inability to hold on to the important things."
Gilgamesh dreamed.
He set sail in a land of mud and dust. Dark reeds waved on the river shore. Bodies floated in still water, bloated and grotesque. A lion and a sword accompanied him.
On the banks of the Euphrates grew a solitary willow. The magnificent Thunderbird dwelt amongst its branches. A great wind then tore it out at the roots and shattered its branches.
Ishtar wept. Her tears transformed into hail, striking over and over against muddy ground.
"Please," Gilgamesh pleaded with the lion, pleaded with the sword, "There must be a means to save my steadfast companion, the one who has counseled me, who has stood by my side through thick and thin. She has not been struck down in glorious battle, on the field of men, but by treachery and deceit and sickness.
Asked the lion, "How long until you sit on a pure throne?"
Asked the sword, "How long until you lie on a pure bed?"
"Oh, please!" Gilgamesh said. "There must be a way! She is my dearest friend, I fear I will be lost without her. She is the torch that lights my way. If ever you harbored even the slightest favor for me, aide me, I beg of you. You know well that I, great King Gilgamesh, will not beg, but for her I will, I shall crawl on my hands and knees and kowtow if that is what it takes."
The sword said, "We cannot intervene. However. The willow tree has witnessed much. Plant it in the Garden of Ishtar and listen to its wisdom."
Gilgamesh obeyed, and then he listened.
...
Enkidu felt restless. His injuries healed fast, but not fast enough. Arturia was dying. The rumor spread like wildfire throughout Uruk, and then Shamhat confirmed it for him.
"I do not know what is wrong," she said, frustrated, tears in her eyes. "She is weak and constantly getting weaker and I do not understand why. When King Gilgamesh heard this he threw me out. I have not seen her, or him, since."
Gilgamesh remained locked inside his room with Arturia. Enkidu was frantic and worried and also a little bit angry. The mood in the city soured. People whispered that their king suffered from weakness, that Uruk had not yet recovered from the war, that soon the wolves would scent blood and begin to circle. This angered Enkidu even more.
"Gil and Art just defeated a divine creature and already they are afraid, the cowards," he said, fuming.
"King Gilgamesh is being driven to madness," Shamhat replied, brooding. "When I saw him it was terrifying. He would not look at me."
That sealed the decision for Enkidu. He stood, wincing as his ribs twinged. "I will see him for myself."
"But your injuries." Shamhat looked alarmed.
"They are manageable. This takes precedence."
Enkidu hobbled toward the palace. Gilgamesh placed two guards outside of his room. They watched as Enkidu approached. He ignored them and hammered on the door.
"Gil! It is I, Enkidu. Grant me an audience, I wish to converse with you."
No answer. The guards folded their arms. They looked nervous, likely because they knew could not take Enkidu, even injured, in a fight.
"I swear, Gil, if you do not let me in I will break down this door." Enkidu raised his voice.
A pause. Then:
"Enter."
The guards seemed relieved.
Enkidu entered. He felt a jolt of shock and horror – his dear friends were borderline unrecognizable. Unkempt and unshaven and underfed, Gilgamesh hunched in a chair beside Arturia. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, clothes dirty and rumpled. Various miscellaneous objects from Gilgamesh's Gate surrounded him, scattered haphazardly everywhere. It looked as though a whirlwind had swept through. The room stunk of illness and alcohol.
Arturia lay asleep in bed. Face slick with sweat, sunken and gaunt. Every couple seconds Arturia tossed and turned, mumbling nonsense, expression a tight grimace. She appeared washed out, faded, as if whatever tied her to the world was slowly draining away.
"Everything happens for a reason," Gilgamesh muttered. He watched Enkidu with a bizarre glint in his eye.
"Gil, what is going on? Why are you sick at heart? What has happened to Arturia?" Enkidu asked, unnerved.
"Sleep is the cousin of death," he answered, "She who sleeps, she who sleeps, the Mother of Birth and Death, she who sleeps. Her clean shoulders no garment covers. Her breast like a stone bowl does not give suck."
"Ereshkigal?" Enkidu was puzzled.
Gilgamesh stood, abrupt, and crouched beside Arturia. He touched her hand, watching her with great intensity. Then Gilgamesh glanced at Enkidu.
"I had a vision. Of the netherworld. Secrets fill its crevices. I will save Arturia. They shall not take her from me."
No one had ever journeyed to the realm of Ereshkigal and returned. It was a desperate, foolish plan. But Enkidu understood, then. "Tell me."
That caught Gilgamesh off guard. He stared, expression impassive. Then he grabbed Enkidu by the collar of his shift and kissed him, hard, on the mouth. Enkidu blinked, taken aback.
"I feel as though I loved you in another life," Gilgamesh told him.
Enkidu felt something, then, although he knew not what. Regret, maybe. He did not care for the sensation.
Arturia moaned and they both paused. She opened her eyes, gazing upon Enkidu without seeing him, and spoke in a guttural, foreign tongue. Then she fell back into a fitful sleep. Gilgamesh hovered nearby, distraught, eyes glittering with unshed tears.
"Tell me," Enkidu said again. "Arturia is like a sister to me. I will assist you in your endeavor. But first, let us break our fast together."
Gilgamesh needed a moment to collect himself. Then he had slaves fetch food and drink. As they shared a meal, Gilgamesh spoke.
"If this day you are to go down into the netherworld, I shall give you instructions, instructions I heard listening to the willow tree. Follow my instructions.
"Do not dress in a clean garment, for they will surely take you as a stranger. Do not anoint yourself in sweet oil from the flask, at the scent of it they will surely surround you. Do not hurl a stick in the netherworld, as those struck by it will surely surround you. Do not grasp a rod in your hand, because the shades will surely tremble before you. Do not wear sandals on your feet, it will surely make the netherworld shake.
"Kiss not the wife you love, strike not the wife you hate. Strike not the son you hate, kiss not the son you love. Beware the one who lies, or the outcry of the netherworld shall seize you."
Enkidu did not quite understand. But the sight of a heartsick Gilgamesh and deathly ill Arturia filled him with determination. He wanted to help. Enkidu nodded.
...
"I wish you would not go," Shamhat said, morose. She seemed so sad as of late, still dressed in black, and nothing Enkidu tried cheered her up at all.
"I will not stand by, idle, and watch Art wither away, and Gil along with her," he replied. His ribs felt tender, but Enkidu would soldier through.
"King Gilgamesh could at least accompany you, then." Shamhat almost sounded resentful.
"He does not wish to leave Art alone, and I do not blame him. Besides, the netherworld is a perilous place. Uruk cannot risk losing Gil. I am expendable."
"Must you speak such awful portents?" Shamhat asked, frowning.
"It is true. Even if it was not, I volunteered. This is my decision."
Enkidu kissed her. After a brief hesitation, she kissed him back.
"Please come back home safe," Shamhat said.
"I shall try."
Enkidu turned and walked along the road, out of the city. Ugly scars from the war still stained the earth. After several minutes he glanced over his shoulder.
He liked Uruk a lot, much better than his old watering hole. The familiar walls gladdened his heart. He hoped to see them again soon. Enkidu took a deep breath and pressed on.
He would never return.
...
Gilgamesh dreamed again.
Before him stood Enkidu, pale and translucent. Gilgamesh tried to touch him, but the other man was a phantom.
"I did not heed your advice," Enkidu said, sober. "And surely the netherworld seized me. Forgive me. I am ruined."
Gilgamesh felt an intense sadness at these words, but also a driving need to know. "What did you see? What secrets did you uncover? Might they serve Arturia somehow?"
"It is a place akin to garments infested with lice, a crack in the floor filled with dust. When first I entered before me stood a somber-faced birdman. Oh, Gil, he scared me so much. He had feet like the paws of a lion and hands like the talons of an eagle. He made me transform, my arms became wings covered with black feathers. He fell upon me and dragged me into a house where people sit in darkness and dust. Even those who had once been kings of the earth had been forced to cast aside their crowns. I found these." Enkidu handed him a mallet and a ball. They were of expert craftsmanship. "Nothing I learned will help Arturia, however. She is lost."
Gilgamesh stared at the objects in his hands. They were made of wood and bone, marked by beautiful engravings. Grief anew overtook him.
"As are you, too."
He realized, then, that he had been tricked. Fresh tears trickled down his face and Gilgamesh wept bitterly. Enkidu hesitated.
"But perhaps what I learned might serve you," he said. "I witnessed the fates of many men. Some who bitterly lamented their lot in life, others who rejoiced with light in their hearts. Men consumed by maggots and men fine like the nimble hand of a scribe. I noticed those who had loved and been loved in return by many were those with the most joy. Those who lived alone continued to suffer alone."
"And what of men that die a premature death?" Gilgamesh asked, dully.
"They lie in the throne of the gods."
...
Gilgamesh awoke. He had fallen asleep on the ground, beside the bed. He felt stiff and sore. Arturia muttered something unintelligible above him. In his grasp were a mallet and a ball. Gilgamesh sat up.
He gazed at the gifts from Enkidu. A brief urge to break them and hurl them out onto the streets consumed him. But in the end, Gilgamesh placed them within his treasury.
Crawling into bed with Arturia, he curled around her. Outside he heard Gwawr scratching at the door and whining. Gilgamesh ignored the noise.
Arturia shook like a leaf, trapped in a fever dream. When healthy she always seemed so sturdy and dependable. Now she was frail. Small, too. She once towered above everyone despite her tiny stature. He also felt small. Small and defeated.
"How can I save you from something I cannot fight? It is all I am good for," he said. Gilgamesh buried his face into the crook of her neck and cried.
Arturia shifted, feeling his tears, and gazed at him, eyes clouded and hazy. There was a brief flicker of clarity. She touched his wet cheek.
"Sorry," she whispered, which just about broke his heart.
Gilgamesh choked on his grief, choked on the words, 'it is not your fault'. Instead, he held her close, because he did not know what else to do.