Chapter Text
The King shone brighter than any light ever conjured by the gods. He was beyond human comprehension, beyond anything anyone had ever seen. He truly was a hero in his own right.
He was attentive and thought highly of the citizens, despite his haughty and proud exterior. His golden hair and ruby eyes made him out to be the pinnacle of perfection. He was a treasure to those who knew him. He was Uruk’s beloved king.
Yet you were humbled daily, knowing that despite the two of you being engaged, he would never open himself up more. You could see cracks in the facade he built up, his larger-than-life personality mellowing into quiet and cold reflections. He was untouchable, even by you. Yet you did not mind.
You did not mind how he often would go days on end without saying a single word to you. How he would almost never seem to let his guard down around you, as if you were just as much an enemy as those he would have fought on the battlefield. How he would satiate his desires with others, while you were left in your large, cold room all alone. It was fine. Someone like you- someone like anyone else in Uruk- had no business being by the King’s side.
You were just grateful for the opportunity.
He was never a bad man; a devoted husband, however, he was not. But that was okay. The moments where he would remark to invite you to a trip down the Euphrates, or a small gift he would leave you when it was your birthday or anniversary, all those things would make your heart soar. But the walls he kept up around himself were impenetrable. Nothing would tear them down, no matter how many times you kissed him, breathlessly murmured his name, or cried for him after all these years.
You were numb to the pangs in your chest, instead choosing to remind yourself how a god had allowed you to be his betrothed. You did not know why you were chosen. No one knew, perhaps not even the King himself. Perhaps you sparked his interest. Maybe he fell for you. Maybe your birth as a noble’s child had suited him enough, or maybe you were just a fun toy for him to use. Nothing was made clear.
Nothing was ever clear with Gilgamesh.
You had always wanted to ask him ever since the first day he had called you there, why you? But you hesitated. Every time. You could not form those words, because really, what right did you have to ask him? What right were you given to ask, to even question, his choices? He made it and that was final. And… maybe you were scared of what he would say if he were to answer honestly. That you were nothing more than a doll for his side, for when there would be a festival or meeting, and to just look beautiful next to him. But how could you compare next to the blinding figure that was him?
You couldn’t. And you never would. But as long as he had you, you would remain. You would fight tooth and nail to make him happy, allowing anything at all for the chance to repay him for giving you the opportunity to be by his side. Even if that happiness was with someone else, you would allow it.
Siduri was often the only figure in the castle you could consider a comrade. She was the only one to strike a conversation with you, one that was casual enough. The servants would never even look at you, for fear of losing their life if they angered you. As much as you loved the palace, it was lonely. You had missed the bustle of life down below, with conversations with friends and family. But those days were long gone. Instead, you had remained in the room, holed up with book after book to understand everything around you.
Siduri had informed you of plans that Gilgamesh was enacting, something he never really let you hear before he shooed you out, citing that it was a personal business matter. It was nice to be kept up to date. Occasionally you chimed in with your ideas on improvement, gained from so many hours of merely watching the people below. She was impressed, yet was confused why you never would bring them to your husband.
Husband. Husband was perhaps too great a title for the relationship you actually had. But it was not your place to fight back and demand more of his time. He served the people, and that was all you could ask for. That’s how you justified it. You were not meant to argue or ask. You were meant to help him as much as you could. She did not respond, merely giving a pitiful glance.
She did notice how you longingly watched outside, and how attentive you were when the door was opened, hoping, praying, wishing, that it was him. She would give him a piece of her mind for that. But she knew you would never accept that.
Time and time again you would brush off the pain, saying it just was not your place. She didn’t know whether to be grateful for you being so understanding and patient, or to yell at you for treating yourself like that. She knew how hurt you were, if the ornate fabrics you had weaved and art you had made were anything to show for it. Rugs and pots, all with his signature gold and red. Sculptures of two people side by side. Paintings of objects that were given by him to you. Poetry and stories of a yearning and mourning lover. Songs and instruments decorated with a pleading cry for him to return to you. You had dearly missed him, but you would not allow that pain to be revealed to him.
It wouldn’t be right to tell him either, but she would encourage more ideas from you and ask about your work. Eventually, the work you had created to mourn became a way to pass more time and create a livelihood beyond waiting around. Your blood, sweat, and tears woven into every thread, every crevice of the clay, every word of your tapestries- all these things held a sense of longing that your citizens could feel and enjoy.
A silent virtuoso, that was what you became. If Gilgamesh was the stunning brilliant king, you were his shadow, wallowing amongst the dark. Unknowing of how deep your depression had lead you, and uncaring of how lost in the abyss you were. You kept creating, wishing and dreaming of the day he would open himself up. How he would treat you like a lover should, caring and cradling you like a tender flower in the harsh desert.
But that day would never happen. That day would never come, as after so many sleepless nights creating your magnum opus, you had succumbed to the darkness that had threatened to swallow you whole.
The servants had found you the next morning, collapsed by your work station, cold to the touch. Your face seemed calm, relaxed, no longer pained with the emptiness that palace life had given you.
Word traveled how the King’s beloved had passed. Their work was cherished, and the kingdom mourned. But the King seemed unfazed. After all, life goes on. Uruk needed him.
At least, that was what he told himself. The servants would quietly murmur amongst themselves how uncaring he was, to not even shed a tear for his lover. He heard them, but he did not have the energy to fight back. It was not his place, not when Uruk was grieving you.
Siduri was shaken up, he noticed. Of course, given how close the two of you were, she would be horrified at the discovery. But he went on. Life would continue.
He drank another cup of wine. How many had he drank? He could not count any more. None got him any more drunk than before. Sadly, he had retained his mind.
Ishtar of all people came to pay her respects. He was angered that she would come, come again to harass him and bother him even more but instead, she was somber. She offered her condolences and a gift for the departed.
He wanted none of those things. Those things were worthless since nothing would bring you back. Ereshkigal herself could say sorry and he would never listen to it.
Citizen after citizen would bring gifts, flowers, jewelry, food, wine- everything they had in order to repay you for the art you had brought to their life. These gifts were useless, and they remained indebted to you, he thought.
He had requested his bedroom be on the opposite side of the palace. It was a hassle to move, but as the king had asked, it was done. He wanted nothing from the previous room. He wanted nothing touched there. Even his belongings and bedding were to not ever touch this new room. They had complied.
He went on.
He had refused to ever enter that room again. It reminded him too much of what he had done to you, and what he was too cowardly to do for you. But that was for another time.
On the eve of the anniversary you shared with him, Gilgamesh refused all royal business. He had remained in his room, only asking for more wine and food. After the fourth bottle, Siduri refused.
“And who are you to refuse me?” He snarled.
“I am your friend, Gilgamesh. Enough of this,” she cooly responded, not shaking underneath his fiery glare. “They would not want you to do this.”
“And what would you know about what they had wanted for me, mongrel?” Before he could continue his verbal assault, he was stopped by a hard smack across his face. He was frozen, red eyes shocked at what took place. Siduri did not back down.
“How dare you? How dare you say this after all this time? Do you not understand how much they had loved you? How long they had quietly sat there waiting for you? Did you not even see what they had made before they had passed?”
He did not answer. He knew that she was aware he had no answer. He had avoided those questions for so long. He had avoided you for so long.
“Get up,” she ordered.
“I refuse-”
“Nope. Up,” she scolded as if she were his mother. He sighed and followed after her to the room he had feared plenty. “Go in.”
He couldn’t admit how frightened he was. Couldn’t share and reveal how weak and fragile and sensitive he felt. The immeasurable guilt eating and clawing away at him. He couldn’t share how cotton was filling his throat and that he could taste the bile in his mouth. It was a wretched feeling he never wanted to have.
And yet he continued forth.
The room was dark and cold, so unlike the rest of Babylon, so unlike the rest of the palace that was bright and warm. You could have fooled him into believing this was an entirely different place altogether, separated from the Uruk he ruled. The bed was left exactly it was the day you… the day you…
He was shivering in the frozen room. Was this his punishment from you? To be tormented and hurt so heavily by you in this room, as a reminder of how he had failed you?
Siduri pointed at a large cloth covering something over your desk.
Every step felt heavier than the last. The desk felt as if it was eons away, further than any land beyond his kingdom. And yet, he had arrived there.
He composed himself as best as he could and removed the cloth, revealing a tapestry, woven with red, gold, and blue thread. Intricate details of flowers and stems, ebbing into the corners of the tapestry, with a circular golden frame in the middle. In the middle, was a portrait of him on a throne. A pattern of his Ea and his armor, was stitched carefully around the circle. All for him.
A smaller box was nestled on the desk and he opened it. In the box was two gold earrings, with a purple gem in between the dangling pieces. A paper on the desk written with your handwriting had shown his deepest regret.
It was for him. A gift to him, from you, for your anniversary. Crafted lovingly with your cut and bruised fingers, for someone like him.
He could not process this guilt as he fell to his knees and held the box against his chest, gripping the tapestry that carried a godlike image of him despite his awful treatment of you. A sob ripped from his throat as the tears he had tried to keep in flowed like the rivers in his kingdom.
In this cold, lonely room, there was a man. A man with golden hair and ruby red eyes, crying. Screaming your name in agony, yelling curses at the gods and himself for taking you away. Siduri rested a hand on his shoulder as he prostrated himself on the ground, begging for your forgiveness. Begging for this nightmare to end so he could finally reveal what he had kept so long from you. How he had desired to see you just one more night so he could apologize and admit what a coward he was for all he had done to you.
But it would never happen, and that was that. Life would move on.
And Gilgamesh would have to accept that no matter how much he cried that day, those tears would never amend the mistakes he had made.
At least, that was what he had thought.
But Fate is a fickle thing.
“Caster. I have answered your summons. Are you sure you wish for someone like me to assist you?”
Upon seeing the face of two teenagers, one, a female with red hair, and the other, a boy with black hair, you frowned. You were not worthy to assist your new master with their problems.
“I apologize, I am sure you would rather wish for someone else more useful than me. I am merely an artist.”
The boy shook his head.
“You are fine just the way you are!” He smiled. It was a lovely smile.
“And what is your name, child?” You asked, attempting to smile back. However, the emptiness in your soul could not complete that action, and you cursed yourself at being such an empty husk.
“I am Gudao! This is my sister Gudako!” The girl waved at you happily and you nodded.
“I believe it would be polite to reveal my name as well. I am… (Y/n) (L/n). Do not mind me. My past is not necessary to know. I am no one special or important. So please send me off where you see fit.”
That declaration started a new life for you in a place called “Chaldea”. Gudao and his sister were energetic and hopeful children, along with their friend, Mash. It had reminded you of seeing the young children in Uruk.
You did not want to explore this world. You wanted nothing to do with it. Information that you did not want was forced in your head, as was the curse that came with being a servant. Despite the new instruments that the modern day had, you refused to interact with it.
You continued in your room, threading and weaving by hand. No magic, no tools, just your fingers. As was the correct way to create. The only way you could create in your mind.
It seemed that the way you were summoned had made your grief worse. Or at least, from what you got from the Throne, the peoples’ idea of your grief and loneliness had made you become this husk.
Life was undoubtedly strange. You were not a hero or a fighter, yet you were placed alongside legendaries such as King Arthur or Amadeus Mozart. Yet, you were praised and loved as if you were something important. How strange.
Continuing to weave the hatred and grief you held, you watched as your canvas became a story of monsters that you had seen. You had endured the flames of Fuyuki, the dragons of Orleans, the rose of Septem, the seas of Okeanos, the mist of London, the thorns of America, the judgment of Camelot, and you were awaiting the next mission, whenever it would come.
Despite being one of the first servants that your master had summoned, you couldn’t form as close as a bond as he may have wanted. Cursing yourself again, hating more and more what a useless, worthless, ungrateful monster you were you-
“(Y/n)?” Your master asked. His blue eyes batted innocently at you, and you could not reveal how those eyes seemed to stare deep into your soul. It was as if he could read you like an open book, and you despised it.
“Yes, master?”
“I wanted to see how you were. You hadn’t come out in days…”
“I am simply working. As a servant, I do not need to eat or sleep. I can work without fear of dying again.”
“I know but you work so much. Wouldn’t you rather try doing anything else?”
“I don’t have anything else to do. I wish to work. My soul is dedicated to the countless works I weave. That is all I am capable of.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The man I had loved… would never love me. He would never look at me. He would never care for me. He left me alone, in the place that became my prison. I could only weave and cry and bleed for him. And yet, he would still never notice. I lived an empty life. And then I died, alone. A fitting end for someone as worthless as me.” The words poured from your lips as you tightly yanked the thread. Gudao gasped as in the tapestry of monsters, there you were, front and center. The biggest monster. “Someone like me… given a chance to be loved by god… dared to ask for more. I was a fool. I was a fool to think the gods would ever love me. I was selfish. And I would never be able to be of any use. It is pathetic that I, of all people, was summoned.”
“But that’s not true! You’re not a monster!”
“A monster is one who would selfishly behave towards their lover. As I am now… this is my bare essence. I am incapable of loving others, including you, Master. And I am sorry.”
Gudao threw his arms around you, shaking his head.
“No. You’re wrong. That’s not a monster. That’s just a person. Everyone wants to be loved, and everyone is capable of love. Including you, (Y/n). I know that guy hurt you but you have so much more than just him. You’re you. I mean look, you made such awesome things. Everyone loves them, and they want to get to know you.”
You stared at him in shock before blinking back tears.
“I apologize. Here I am, crying over silly things when you have such issues to face.”
“It’s not silly. You’re a person just like anyone else. Sometimes you gotta get it out.”
“Yes… thank you, Master.”
“Heh, do you think you could teach me how to weave like that too?”
“Are you sure? It is long and arduous. It is not the most fun thing to do.”
“I don’t mind, it’s gorgeous. I wanna be as good as you.” Gudao smiled. For the first time in a while… you remembered how to respond back. A small grin was etched on your lips, and it felt like a weight was off your shoulders.
With warning of a new singularity forming, you were transported to perhaps the last place you had ever wanted to be. You held your feelings back as you had to travel amongst the disasters of a place you had loved, but hated almost just as much.
Gudao most likely knew you were from here. But this felt like a cruel punishment to be back here and have to fight to protect it. You almost were about to threaten to let it rot and ruin, just as revenge for everything he had put you through. But that wasn’t right.
So you continued.
As you, your master, his sister, and the shielder had walked to the castle where he sat, you felt your heart rate quicken. How you despised that prison even more now that you experienced freedom alongside your master.
As the king had allowed you an audience, you were to meet him at his throne room. You swore you would not falter in front of him. You covered your face and trailed behind your master, hoping to not gain attention.
And yet… the moment his ruby eyes laid on yours, you couldn’t help but bow in respect, like you had done many times in your previous life. It felt too natural to just give up in front of him.
“Raise your head up,” Gilgamesh ordered. It couldn’t have been… was this a cruel prank from these visitors? Yet, those (e/c) eyes… they couldn’t be anyone else’s but yours…
Siduri seemed as disturbed seeing what looked to be you. But that was impossible. You were…
“(Y/n)?” was all he could struggle out. He gripped the throne he sat on tightly.
You raised your head and looked at him, and it was unmistakable. It was you.
“Do you mock me, visitors from Chaldea? You mock me by bringing MY dead spouse?” He yelled, losing his temper. It was not like himself, he admitted, but Gods, he barely was able to mourn properly before this copy of you appeared.
“Spouse…?” Gudao repeated, looking at you to respond. You did not face the king or your new master.
“It is as he says, Master. King Gilgamesh was… he was once my lover in my previous life.” You explained. Gilgamesh’s heart pounded out of his chest. It was you. You became a servant? And now you were here. But the way you talked, it was unlike you. It was cold and unfeeling, like the room he had once stepped in. It no longer held the reverence and shine that it once had.
That was because of me. I have none to blame but myself for that.
He refrained from spouting out the words he had wanted to say those months ago when he broke down in your room. This was his chance to make things right.
With the earrings you had made him dangling on his ears, he made a silent promise to honor you this time. Now that fate had given you a second life, he would properly say the feelings he ran from for so long.
This time, he would not mess up or run away like a coward. Because life won’t continue if he can’t make this up to you.