Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are a great many cities dotted along the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. Ancient Eridu, Enki's beloved; Bad-tibira, so proud of its copper; sun-kissed Larsa who Utu favors above all; Sippar, perched beside the Euphrates; Kish, built after the deluge; Ur, whose fortunes rise with Nanna; graceful and towering Nippur with its temple to Enlil. But they are all cities in the shadow of Uruk, Uruk with its great population, Uruk with workers building day and night to create a more glorious city, Uruk with its great network of trade, Uruk with its wealth beyond compare and power beyond any and all of the other cities. Uruk, beloved by Inanna, whose blessing of fertility acts as a supplement to its great status among the cities of Sumer, rather than the sole cause.

The love Inanna has for Uruk is always repaid in kind. There is always a daily offering left in her temple’s innermost room in addition to prayers and daily rites, and not a single one of those offerings are left unnoticed. Visiting that room and examining what is left is the only routine Inanna follows - all other is whim - and it is rare for there not to be some sort of confirmation of a visit. A piece of fruit will be left nibbled. The beer will be drained dry. And every so often, Inanna chooses to stay and enjoy the luxury of the offerings, and surprise the priest who comes into ensure that no mice or other pests are enjoying the food and drink meant for the goddess.

Today Inanna lingers in the lapis lazuli-coloured room, resplendent with tables painted in the finest gold, and expertly worked stone votives, choosing to remain in human form. She reclines on the finely woven yellow rug beside the table that lies in the center of the room, lounging like a great lion on the steppe. Reaching up towards the fruit offering that was brought in this morning, she plucks a single grape, and holds the fruit up to inspect it. It glistens a brilliant shade of reddish-purple in the low light of the lit candles, and then is eaten in a single bite.

“Not bad,” Inanna murmurs to herself, pausing to spit out the seeds. Somewhere beyond her, the door to the innermost room of the temple opens, coupled with a sharp gasp.

“My lady!” the high priestess manages to choke out, before rushing into the room and throwing herself prostrate on the ground. The bright robes of red-orange, dyed to look as close to carnelian as possible, fall around her, cover her face, and Inanna can only laugh at the display, even as the priestess continues, “I had no idea that you intended to visit!”

Inanna flaps her hand at the display, dark brown eyes flickering with delight. “I am full of surprises, Beletum. I thought your late predecessor told you.”

“She did not,” Beletum says. “All the same--”

“Stop,” Inanna says, making it clear the word is a command. “Pick your head up and let us speak.”

Beletum’s robes make no noise as she does as asked, shifting herself so she is seated across from Inanna, both of them on the ground. There’s no cracking of old bones as was the case with the late high priestess or sighing about it being harder to sit on stone flooring. Inanna smiles at the memory, lost in it until Beletum dares to speak.

“My lady? What did you need to ask me?”

“Essentially, I wanted to see how you are fitting into your new duties here,” Inanna replies. “You are one of my priestesses, which means that I look after you and your well-being as much as you look after my well-being.”

“I didn’t know that the matter would be so personal, my lady. But since you ask, it has been,” Beletum hesitates, her body tensing, searching for the right words. “It has been rocky, if only because of the weight of duties upon me. A number of new initiates to the temple are having conflicts of personality with older members, and the wisdom to deal with such matters comes with experience.”

Inanna nods, hearing the unspoken words. “And the other priestesses have no wisdom to give?”

“They have much,” Beletum says, shaking her head like a fond mother. “But it is contradictory and requires careful navigation.”

“Whatever your decision is on the matter, I will see it enforced.”

Beletum’s head inclines slightly. “Thank you. I’d consider that the be-all and end-all of my troubles so far, but the upcoming royal birth is--”

“Ah, yes,” Inanna responds, her voice making it clear that the subject is an all too wearying one. “Ninsun’s due soon, isn’t she?”

“So we’ve been told by the palace, and asked to have all the celebration rites ready to go at a moment’s notice. Although--”

“Although?” Inanna repeats, leaning in ever so slightly.

A flush of red colours Beletum’s cheeks, and she waves one of her hands quickly, as if trying to dismiss the blush. “It’s nothing, my lady, nothing at all!”

Inanna’s eyes sparkle, and she rolls over onto her stomach so that she can look up at Beletum, the curiosity plain on her face. “But I am now very intrigued.”

“My lady! It’s nothing but idle gossip!”

“I love idle gossip!”

“Fine,” Beletum sighs, walls crumbling down. “A few of us were speculating about the child’s divinity, since Ninsun has always been a goddess, but Lugalbanda was a man who became a god.”

Inanna’s face switches from delighted curiosity to genuine consideration in one fell swoop. “You know,” she says, once she realizes the answer. “I can’t say that this has happened before. We’re looking at something completely new.”

“Then I consider myself blessed to share the experience with you,” Beletum says, all of the impish gossip of the sex lives of gods replaced with piety.

“Blessed,” Inanna murmurs darkly. “Of course.”

The garden of Uruk’s palace sits at the very edge of the royal family’s living quarters, with three sides of it surrounded by buildings, and the last side protected by a towering wall. It is a recent addition, added by Prince Gilgamesh’s late father, meant to act as an oasis for himself and his wife, and a means of escaping palace life. The garden’s center is dominated by a reflecting pool fed by palace cisterns, and four irrigation channels pointed at the cardinal directions ensure that the greenery will remain gloriously lush even in the driest of months. Leafy ferns populate the area, mixed with flowers in a riot of blues and purples and yellows, and shade is provided by great palm trees that view the nearby wall’s height as nothing more than a challenge. Grass is clipped weekly by the palace gardener to ensure that the soft bedding does not overgrow, and as one walks closer and closer to the reflecting pool, there’s a sense of being a million miles away from Sumer and its dry climes. Inanna has seen such places on her travels, and she finds this recreated version of them far more desireable.

The grass kisses her feet as she pushes ferns aside, following the sound of flowing water to find Ninsun. The goddess is precisely where Inanna expected her - seated by the pool, enjoying the shade of the tallest date palm in the entire garden.

Ninsun’s human form is what it always has been - the face of a comely, motherly woman with thick black hair and deep green eyes that sparkle like the sea. The gold necklaces she wears glint in the morning sun, contrasting with the orange of her gauze-like dress. She has none of the exhaustion about her that human mothers have when their children are young and hyperactive and demanding, but then, Ninsun has always been a goddess of seemingly infinite patience for all those around her.

“I hope that you are well this morning,” Inanna remarks, once she’s solid in the world. There’s no change to her usual form, all curves and wild black hair, ready to command the world around her with a flick of the wrist. The only difference is that her dress is a dark lapis lazuli blue, making her stand out against the sea of greenery.

“I thought I felt a searching eye,” Ninsun replies without missing a beat. “What brings you by today, Inanna?”

“I wanted to check on you and yours,” Inanna replies, leaning against the tree just a little.

Ninsun tuts, turning to face Inanna directly. “I’m well enough, and my son is enjoying the fact he isn’t being forced to sit still for an hour.”

“Oh, right,” Inanna says, snapping her fingers. “I heard that Dumuzid the Fisherman was letting Gilgamesh sit in on sessions at court. How’s it going, in your estimation?”

“Aside from the fact I don’t think an eight-year-old has the temperament for legal proceedings?” Ninsun asks, a smile playing at her lips. “Fine. It does Uruk well to see that there is accord between their present and future kings.”

“Would Gilgamesh say the same?”

“I doubt it,” Ninsun replies, her eyes turning back to the gardens. There’s a flash of red, then a flash of dark gray, and then a loud yelp as something falls to the ground. “But if you want his opinion, you’ll have to catch him first. He’s somewhere in the foliage playing lion hunter with the the children of our grandest court advisers.”

“I think I can catch an eight-year-old.”

A dismissive gesture accompanies Ninsun’s words. “As you say.”

With no more words, Inanna rises, the dust and dirt of the ground falling off her clothes as she begins to walk through the garden itself. Like so much of Uruk, its water channels are carefully directed so that life can thrive. Inanna regards the largest channel for a moment, the water reflecting the dusty-blue sky above, and follows it at a leisurely place. The cry of birds sound overhead, mixed with the distant noises of the city beyond the palace walls. Inanna’s city. She smiles at the thought and continues walking, until a small body jumps out from the ferns just ahead and tiny arms wrap around her legs.

“You’re not Pirhum!” is the disappointed cry from the eight-year-old boy wrapped around Inanna’s legs.

Inanna laughs lowly, watching as the boy releases her from his grip. “No, I’m not, Gilgamesh. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Gilgamesh glares up at her, his grey eyes brimming with all the impotent anger of a child whose game has been interrupted by a stranger. “Are you looking for Mother? Because she’s over the--”

“I’m not,” Inanna says quickly. “I was looking for you, actually. We’ve spoken before, but--”

“Shh!” Gilgamesh hisses, pressing a finger to his lips. “I hear Pirhum just beyond us. C’mon.”

The prince turns his back to Inanna before she can respond. There’s a quick gesture made over his shoulder, begging for Inanna to flow his lead, and Inanna does so. Playing the games of children is hardly an ideal way to spend a day, but for the future king of Uruk, well, Inanna knows that to refuse can sow seeds of dislike that blossoms into fights in the future. So Inanna crouches down so she is the size of Gilgamesh, and lets herself be led. Where Gilgamesh steps, Inanna steps. When Gilgamesh struggles to move a sizeable branch out of the way, Inanna holds it firm. And when Gilgamesh crouches down on his hands and knees, certain he’s found his playmate, Inanna crouches down beside him.

“He’ll be just beyond this bush,” Gilgamesh says confidently, grinning at Inanna. His voice is low, as not to give away his position. “Thanks for playing with me, Inanna. I haven’t been able to go outside lately.”

The goddess smiles at the recognition. “You’re welcome. Although is it really so bad to be inside?”

Gilgamesh nods his head in confirmation, prompting his wild set of curls to go everywhere. “It’s just people talking about unimportant fights between each other and thinking the king should solve them. I don’t know why it’s his job.”

“The king’s word establishes laws so that the next king doesn’t have to deal with the same problem,” Inanna replies. “And that in turn ensures Uruk’s well-being as well as my own.”

“But I’ve never seen the king do anything for himself either,” Gilgamesh says, huffing. “No adventures outside of Uruk’s walls, no hunts to see lions, nothing.”

Inanna nods sympathetically. “Some kings practice self-denial.”

“I won’t,” Gilgamesh begins, only to stop when he hears the panting of another just a few feet ahead. His head whips around to Inanna, and his face breaks into a great smile. “Follow my lead,” he whispers, before bounding out of the bushes in a full-body tackle. A loud yelp of surprise sounds from Pirhum as he and Gilgamesh tumble onto the ground. Inanna doesn’t follow after.

Beletum steps back after she lights the last of the incense in Inanna’s innermost temple, unsure of what to expect next. Over her seventeen years as the high priestess of Uruk, Beletum has never had to summon the goddess - Inanna had simply appeared. But now, now the goddess needs to be consulted and that means performing sacrifice after sacrifice to entice her down from the heavens.

“If you could hurry,” Beletum whispers, knowing that it’s no part of the ritual, but closer to an earnest prayer than anything else done so far.

Silence responds to Beletum’s request. Minutes pass by, becoming an hour, then two, then three. Beletum turns to leave when the fourth hour comes, but as she walks towards the door, Inanna appears in front of it.

She wears jewels befitting her station, but no clothes. Her hair is thick and wild, but her usually entertained expression has been replaced with genuine concern. “You called for me, Beletum?” she asks, frowning.

“I did,” Beletum replies, her shoulders sagging. “Forgive me for not bowing upon your appearance; I am sore from the past few days. I have done nothing but run around like a madwoman in response to the new decrees from the king.”

“Is that why you’ve summoned me?”

Beletum nods. “Yes. May we sit, Lady of Heaven? I’ve been standing in anticipation of your arrival, as the ritual says to do, but--”

“Of course,” Inanna says, wasting no time in approaching her own altar. The sacred lion skin reserved for her and her alone has already been laid out, and she doesn’t so much as sit as flop down, ready to learn of Uruk’s troubles.

“Join me on this,” Inanna adds, patting the spot on the fur across from her. “You’ve earned it.”

“My lady, I couldn’t--”

“That was a request, not a suggestion, and as such it is acceptable for you to sit on such a beloved thing.”

Beletum does as instructed, sitting and then crossing her legs. She fidgets for a moment, rearranging her bright lapis lazuli-coloured robes, then meets Inanna’s eyes. “The king has become a tyrant.”

Inanna stays perfectly still. “Elaborate.”

“Since he came to power after King Dumuzid’s passing, he has slowly but surely found ways to entertain himself in ways that go against the nature of his position. For all that he speaks of building walls to better defend the city and for all the suggestions his mother gives him about restoring old rites to the gods, he takes sons from their fathers and humiliates them in combat to satisfy his ego, and daughters from their mothers to satisfying his sexual urges. And then today, he issued a new law saying that any and all who marry must allow him into the marriage bed first with the new bride, before her husband. The outrage has come to my own feet, as Uruk’s people do not understand why the gods have let this get so out of hand.”

“I see,” Inanna says after a long silence. Her hands fold together, she leans forward. “What have you told them?”

“I have said that I do not know, and that I would try my hardest to learn the decisions of the divine. But finding the time to try and speak to you was eaten by the sheer number of citizens of Uruk who are furious over this.”

Inanna lets out a tired sigh, and her usual confidence leaves entirely. “The gods cannot decide what to do.”

The wide eyes from Beletum say everything, and Inanna continues before Beletum can find the words to reply. “The king is two-thirds divine, and so some say he needs to learn to work the balance out for himself. The others think that we must interfere, but the question of how is a matter left to opinion right now. I myself believe that he must be stopped, as while both he and my people belong to me, he is only one man and they are many. Uruk has no use for a tyrant king.”

Beletum frowns, hugging her knees close to her chest. “Do you know when a decision will be made concerning what to do?”

Inanna shakes her head no. “I do not.”

“Then what should I tell the people of Uruk?”

“Nothing,” Inanna says firmly. “The louder they raise their voices, the more pressure on the gods to respond. And as for yourself,” she continues. “Take no further complaints from Uruk and focus on daily temple activities only. Tell those that berate you for it that the decision is my will, rather than your personal choice.”

“I will, Beletum replies. “Thank you, my lady.”

“You shouldn’t be run into exhaustion on the behalf of all the gods.” Inanna smiles, small and fond, and reaches over to rest her hand atop Beletum’s knee. “Is that all you need from me?”

“Yes,” Beletum says, inclining her head. “But if things continue on this path with no response from the gods, I will ask for your presence again.”

“You would be right to.” Slowly, surely, Inanna rises to her feet, and gestures for Beletum to do the same. “I hope that will not come to pass.”

“I hope so as well. Until we next speak, my lady--”

“Be well,” Inanna concludes. And with no theatrics or further words, Inanna’s form disappears from the room, leaving Beletum alone.

Beletum’s office is a small room, with a single great window that looks over the main courtyard of the temple complex. It’s there that she typically sits with scribes to record the temple’s vital information, or else she mediates disputes of a religious nature away from the public eye. It is, in Inanna’s estimation, unspeakably pitiful for a head priestess, and in need of expansion as well as decoration. A few small ritual items understate Beletum’s position in Uruk, as well as the temple’s riches.

But all things in good time. Inanna perches herself on the window’s ledge, waiting quietly for her priestess to return from whatever matter she is attending to. The wait is short, as Beletum sweeps into the space within a few minutes.

“Er--” Beletum manages upon seeing Inanna seated so casually. “My lady, there are more comfortable chairs here.”

Inanna’s attention turns from the courtyard to Beletum, and she smiles happily. “I like to look over the grounds. Besides, I am only here to deliver information, not linger.”

“Oh?” Beletum asks, moving so that she can seat herself behind the table she relies on to create a barrier between herself and whoever she must speak to. “Do tell.”

“Anu finally responded to Uruk’s cries for help in relationship to its tyrant king, and bid Ninhursag to create someone who will equal the king’s stormy heart,” Inanna says simply. “The crisis’ll be over soon.”

Beletum leans back in her chair, considering. “What kind of companion will he have? Do you know?”

“A wild man, as I understand it.”

“Ah,” Beletum murmurs delicately. “Well then, we’re well on our way to seeing him arrive in Uruk.”

Inanna blinks, and swings her legs around so that they are on the floor of the room. “How are you accomplishing that so quickly?” she asks. “You’re the first human to know of the plan.”

“A hunter appeared in Uruk’s court complaining of a wild man threatening his livelihood,” Beletum explains. “Helping animals escape traps and so forth. So Gilgamesh sent the man out with one of the temple’s women in order to show this creature humanity. I fought him on it, as the notion that just lying down for an evening will tame such a creature is ridiculous, but--”

“Who did he choose?” Inanna asks, her entire body tensing. Beletum straightens up as well, recognizing the undercurrent of anger in the Inanna’s tone.

“Shamhat,” she says. “One of of the women who give themselves over no matter the man--”

“Why did he ignore your reasoning?”

“I couldn’t say,” Beletum sighs. “I’m worried for Shamhat’s safety, my lady, but I was overruled because he is the king, and I am a priest.”

Inanna shakes her head, exasperated, and pinches the bridge of her nose for the lack of any other way of expressing her frustration. It prompts an immediate apology, coupled with a regretful, “I did try to reason with him otherwise, please know that.”

“Of that I am certain,” Inanna says, rising to her feet. “I will travel with Shamhat then, as an owl or some other slight creature, and ensure that this ridiculous idea of Gilgamesh’s works. But please tell him that I wish to speak with him soon, as he is overstepping his bounds by using my devotees for his ends.”

Beletum nods, obedient. “I will make it so. They left two days ago, heading north.”

“Thank you,” Inanna says, walking towards the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

The Inanna district bustles as it always does. Priestesses in brightly coloured carnelian robes mill about doing their duties, collecting offerings, speaking to those who wish to confer with the gods in some manner. Merchants come in and out with the grain and beer and vegetables and meat that the temple needs to survive, and the bleating of goats that pull some of the smaller carts echo off the walls. Inanna smiles, standing at the center of it all. The temple pulses with energy, and her heart beats along with it.

She knows all of those around her, of course, but there is no reason to greet any of them. They don’t know who she is in this guise, an older woman with a shabby brown cloak and greying hair, and that is precisely the point. To observe them is to ensure that everything is being run properly, and--

--Inanna perks as Beletum walks over, recognizing the goddess for who she is. She’s aged well over the past ten years, Beletum, the streaks of white in her hair being something that flatters her face rather than makes it seem ancient. Her eyes are still bright, and the lines on her face show a well-lived life.

“No formal greetings, please,” Inanna says before Beletum can say a word. “No one should know this is me.”

“I figured that much from your cloak,” Beletum replies with a thin smile. It’s the kind of joke Inanna only permits when her priestesses have served her well, and Beletum is worthy of that. “Be careful if you go near the livestock, some of the goats ate something bad and, well--” Beletum shakes her head rather than finish the sentence. “You can imagine the issues.”

Inanna beams back, showing off the crooked teeth of an old woman. “I’ll be sure to avoid the area. Would you mind if I looked at the grain supply?”

“Not at all. In fact,” Beletum begins, but Inanna’s attention moves elsewhere. There’s something going on in the far corner of the temple courtyard, and she narrows her eyes in order to determine its nature. Beletum must notice the squint, because she suddenly stops her droning in order to ask, “Are you alright?”

“Is that the king’s companion over there?” Inanna asks.

Beletum turns around to look in the same direction as Inanna, then nods. “Mmm. Enkidu and Shamhat have remained friends since she brought him to Uruk. Why?”

“I suppose I just didn’t expect to see him here.”

“They do spend some time apart,” Beletum replies. “Mostly when Gilgamesh has matters of the kingdom to attend to. Enkidu apparently finds sitting around in court unspeakably dull, so he comes here instead. Sometimes we use him to help move stuff around or check the health of the livestock.”

Inanna nods, understanding. “So long as the peace is being maintained.”

“That I can promise you is the case,” Beletum says. “It’s been a long time since that wild man’s showed up, and I don’t think anyone’s complained about the king since. The balance is,” she stops, then grins wickedly. “Nothing short of divine.”

There’s a very loud groan from Inanna at that, and the elbow she delivers to Beletum is well earned as far as Inanna’s opinion goes. Beletum only laughs and beams at the goddess. “Worth it.”

“Just show me the grain stores,” Inanna says with a fake put-upon sigh. “Please.”

“Follow me then.”

The aftermath of the matter of Humbaba sends the gods into madness. A guardian of great power murdered, all for the trees he protected and the satisfaction of a trophy. Enlil’s fit of rage caused half of what was once a great forest to the east of the Euphrates to fall. Laughing at the great god’s reaction, bright Shamash remarked, “Had you truly cared for your guardian, Enlil, you would have intervened on his behalf before Gilgamesh and Enkidu could even think about reaching for their blades!”

At that, Enlil had turned and embedded his fist in Shamash’s face, causing the heavens to shake. All of the gods fled to avoid the fight, including Inanna. Shamash would remind Enlil that Gilgamesh was the king of her city eventually, and the wind god would decide Inanna also was to blame for Humbaba’s death.

Free from the heavenly realm, Inanna takes on the form of an owl that glides over Sumer’s clear blue sky. Along the Tigris she watches a boy and his father fish, speaking in hushed whispers so as to not scare their quarry away. In Ur, a low retaining wall is built over several days between two properties, in order to settle a dispute. If anyone notices an owl out in the daytime, they say nothing. Shuruppak’s great grain silos permit shade as well as a chance to see scribes at work, seated over clay tablets and recording the amount still needed to ensure that there will be no shortage this year. The world sees Humbaba as no true loss, not really, and Inanna knows that the only real result of the whole incident will be Enlil harbouring an eternal grudge against Gilgamesh that will force her to take her king’s side whenever Enlil decides to ruminate on the past. Predictable, really.

Inanna lets out a little hoot of pleasure as Uruk comes into view, the white, gleaming walls around the city now a work in progress. She passes over them just as Gilgamesh and Enkidu re-enter the city’s main gate, and the cheers the two receive for their return catch the owl’s attention. With a flap of her wings, Inanna turns towards the gates and observes.

In their journey back to Uruk, Gilgamesh and Enkidu have taken no care to wash the blood of Humbaba off of their bodies. Their clothes cling to them thanks to sweat, and a thin layer of dust is visible on their skin. Most men would look exhausted - but no, they glow. Gilgamesh’s face beams in triumph, and Enkidu’s mud-brown eyes twinkle. The city rejoices, and Inanna follows them back to the palace in her owl form.

At once, the two men are rushed by officials, citing important matters that must be seen to by the king, but Gilgamesh waves them all off with a laugh. Enkidu goes a step further and offers an apologetic smile. “We’ll get to it tomorrow, promise,” he says. “Just give us the evening to relax and get used to being in the city again.”

There are disappointed mutters, and soon the crowd subsides as Gilgamesh and Enkidu cross into the royal household quarters, where no business is permitted.

“You didn’t have to put it so politely,” Gilgamesh chides, elbowing Enkidu in the side.

“They’re doing what they’re supposed to do,” Enkidu shrugs. “There’s no fault in explaining why you can’t do the same for the time being.”

Gilgamesh seems to want to roll his eyes, but ultimately doesn’t. “You’d be terrible at being king.”

“Which is kind of the point,” Enkidu counters. “You were great at being king and nothing else for a long time.”

That gets an eyeroll, and a low snort. “Were being the operative word.”

“You sometimes undergo setbacks.” This time, Gilgamesh receives an elbow in the side as Enkidu walks past him. “I’m going to take a nap. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Why are you going in the opposite direction of the bedroom?”

“I’m going to nap in the garden, obviously!” Enkidu replies, before waving at his friend.

“As you like,” Gilgamesh says, shaking his head fondly before walking over towards a guarded door. They’re the easiest way to get to his chambers, and once he has ascended the stairs, he makes quick work of requesting a bath be drawn. Inanna follows along, moving parallel to the king as he walks through the palace corridor and into the room reserved for royal bathing.

It’s not the biggest room in the palace, but it is luxurious as befits a king. A central basin sits, dug into the ground and lined with metal to ensure that no mud leaks into the bath itself. The rest of the flooring is done in immaculate tile, and paintings on white backgrounds show an idyllic steppe and the animals that live there. Gilgamesh walks in just in time to see the tub filled, and he unceremoniously disrobes himself. Inanna perches in the single window that the bath has, overlooking nothing in particular, and watches as the king settles into the warm water. It’s a shame seeing the blood and dirt leave his body, in Inanna’s opinion. Gilgamesh splashes his face after he’s gotten comfortable, and once he’s done so, the king notices the owl staring at him.

“Owls don’t usually do that,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to his beard and stroking it in consideration. “Inanna?”

Within a moment, the owl is gone, replaced by Inanna’s favoured human form - that of a young woman with gloriously long black hair and perfectly curved hips, and nothing else on at all. “I was admiring the view. Far better than waiting for Enlil to come after me for your actions. You’ve caused a hell of a fight in Heaven.”

“I’m sure I have,” Gilgamesh replies, a smug smile on his face. “Would you like to continue to enjoy the view, or do you need to keep one step ahead of Enlil?”

Inanna lets out a bright laugh. “Enlil will calm down,” she says, hopping off the window sill and approaching the bath. “I’d like to do more than just look.”

It’s impossible for Inanna not to watch the smile on Gilgamesh’s face disappear, and hear the temperature in his voice drop as he replies with a cold, “Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeats. "Would it be so bad? Your luxury would multiply tenfold. Think of the greater blessings with gifts from kings of Sumer, knowing that we share the same bed. The great obsiences, the blessings from abroad."

Gilgamesh’s face hardens as Inanna speaks, and when he finishes, he rises from the bath. A single gesture summons a servant with a towel, and he’s quick to dry off as he speaks. “And how long would that last, hm?”

The king pauses just long enough to wrap his towel around his waist. "I am content enough with my station as king, and once you tired of me, what would I be left with? Tammuz is still stuck in the underworld, waiting year after year. You said you loved the bright-speckled roller bird, but you broke his wings and all he can say now is 'owe-ee'. The lion skin in the sacred temple was one of your lovers once, and you dug seven traps for him and once he fell into one, you let him die. After loving the stallion, you doomed his fate to the lash, the bit, and muddying his own water. After you finished with the shepherd, you turned him into a wolf who is chased off by his own, and," Gilgamesh finishes, throwing the towel aside, "when the gardener Ishullanu resisted your advances, you begrudged him, and when he finally gave consent, you turned him into a toad. You wouldn’t spare me a similar fate after your interest in me waned.”

Silence is Inanna’s response, slack-jawed and stunned. Gilgamesh lets his servants put his robe back on as the goddess struggles to find words to match the anger that bubbles in her stomach, that causes her to shake, that eventually causes her to dive at Gilgamesh from across the room. The king’s arms are up by his face in a second to defend himself as Inanna cycles through a number of creatures in quick succession. A lion to scratch at his arms, a snake to try and strangle him, a bull to try and gore him. The servants rush out in fear for their own safety, but soon enough, Inanna is in the form of an owl again, leaving through the window and flying off in a fit of white hot rage.

Gilgamesh stands beside the tub, evaluating his shredded robe and the fresh blood pouring forth from the wounds. He sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose. “She’s gone,” he announces, face turning towards the open door and ensuring that his voice can be heard down the hallway. “You’re all fine now.”

Uruk is in chaos. Along the city’s central road, a great crack has opened up in the earth, and the number of lives claimed by the sudden chasm is unknown. A giant bull thunders through the streets, its cries drying up river beds, its hooves causing foundations to crack, and its mere presence sending the people of Uruk towards the city gates in order to escape the beast. Inanna watches from atop the outer wall of the temple district, making no attempt to hide her presence or the anger that radiates off of her in waves.

As the bull moves through the city, a crowd gathers close to the temple district walls, a few sharp-eyed citizens of the city having taken note of her presence. To them she says nothing, and ignores the cries of, “Inanna must be here to stop that thing!” mixed with, “Please, Lady of Heaven, bless the city by ridding of us of such a beast.”

The only thing that causes Inanna to smile is watching Enkidu fall into the bull’s great strides as he attempts to confront the beast, and that the bull chooses the exact moment Enkidu gets stuck to take a great steaming shit. She’s sure the man curses, even as she notes Gilgamesh laughing at his friend.

But the smile fades as Gilgamesh helps Enkidu out of the hole, making a point to arm his companion. It’s gone entirely when Inanna realizes that the two men are luring the bull closer to the narrow alleys of Uruk, keen to limit its movements and kill it entirely. The crowd below’s cries and pleas for help only intensify as more and more of the people of Uruk join in, and soon enough Inanna can barely hear the bull’s frustrated cries over the din.

Moving now would cause a greater uproar, Inanna knows, and so she stays attached to her perch, razor sharp eyes watching as the bull is forced down a too-narrow street with Enkidu running after it, Gilgamesh ahead. For a moment, Inanna swears the bull kicks Enkidu and causes the man to go flying, but no. Enkidu’s grabbed a hold of the thing’s tail just as it has become wedged between two buildings, and Gilgamesh’s knife moves with the same speed and skill that was used to dispatch Humbaba. The bull thrashes, the bull groans, the bull brings down the houses that hold it still for Gilgamesh’s knife. But the bull still dies, and Inanna lets out a great cry.

“Gilgamesh!” Her voice echoes off of the walls of Uruk, so that all in the city can hear its patron god and her attendant anger. “When you are punished by the gods, you don’t go and murder that punishment!”

Before Gilgamesh can respond, Enkidu picks up a piece of the butchered bull thigh, and with his own great strength, sends the hunk of meat flying across the city. It makes contact with Inanna’s face before landing on the ground beneath the temple district’s wall. Silence radiates over the city, save for the shuffling of temple priestesses as they grab the bull’s thigh.

“What god punishes her own patron city for the mistake of one man?” Enkidu roars in response. “Come here, I’ll do worse than that thigh! I’ll start by draping these innards over you as if they were flowers to celebrate the spring!”

Inanna can only manage an angry snarl in response, deep and primitive and feral, and then retreats into the temple complex itself. In the courtyard, all of the priestesses have assembled, one of them clutching the bull’s thigh to her chest. Inanna regards the young woman, barely thirteen if she’s guessing human ages right, and lets out a quiet command.

“Bring an altar out here. Venerate that thigh, then burn it and sing mourning songs. The Bull deserves that much.”

Bowed heads respond as Inanna glides across the courtyard, then through the other wall entirely. Silence reigns over Uruk again, tense, terrified, and uncertain.

A month goes by after the bull’s death before Inanna returns to Uruk. Her temple sacrifices go untouched, her priestesses call out to her to no response, and the gods give her a wide berth. But then, the gods are quiet for a number of reasons. Ereshkigal’s husband was none other than the Bull of Heaven, and mourning him is her duty. Shamash has comforted a dying man created to reign in the tyranny of another, and Enlil has felt the rage of Uruk’s king to the point where it is oppressive. The whole Uruk Affair, as it is now being called, has drained them all.

Inanna walks the city again in the form of a scruffy cat, her head and tail held high and her bright green eyes taking in everything. The city is tired, with homes and businesses still being rebuilt, streets under construction, and the sense that all within have survived a battle where everyone lost. Inanna lets out a low and disappointed rumble at the oppressive air, then turns to make her way towards the palace.

The great building towers over the city, with firm stone arches painted a brilliant gold marking the entrance. Inanna scurries through the main entrance swiftly, the stationed guards finding no reason to bar a cat from entering.

Once inside, Inanna takes a sharp left down the corridor, past engraved scenes of Uruk’s riverfront and past portraits of its old kings. A great wooden door at the far end leads into the throne room, and from a distance Inanna can see that it is occupied. She wastes no time in making her way there, knowing that the scruffy tawny-brown bundle of fur she wears can only move so fast.

The throne room is as she remembers it. At the far wall is the throne of Uruk’s kings - an elaborate chair inlaid with precious lapis lazuli, with opals, with all the fine stones and ivory and gold inlay that any king would expect. Great windows on either side of the throne and behind it let in the light, and they ensure that to look at the king will be to have to block the light from one direction or the other in order to see. It’s a clever way of forcing humility, Inanna will admit that much. But as she nears the throne, ready to speak to Uruk’s king, she stops short.

“Ninsun?” the cat says in Inanna’s voice, surprised.

The goddess looks down at the feline, her usually calm and content expression replaced with a low, simmering anger. “Inanna.”

“Where is--” Inanna begins, only to be cut off tersely.

“He’s gone,” Ninsun says. “He’s been gone since the funeral. Why are you here, Inanna?”

“I wanted to check on the city and I was planning on observing court while I was in this form,” Inanna responds diplomatically. She pauses, taking on the shape of a woman with dark brown curly hair wearing a bright yellow dress. “I see that’s not possible at this time.”

Ninsun nods in confirmation. “It will not be possible until my son returns. If he returns.”

“If? That seems extreme,” Inanna says. She almost laughs, but knows better. There are courtiers peeking out from behind Uruk’s throne now, and their eyes speak to their nerves.

“He is grieving, Inanna. A direct result of your actions, I might add.”

“My actions?” Inanna repeats, incredulous. “Your son was unspeakably rude to--”

“Stop,” Ninsun interrupts, holding a hand up to gesture for silence. Inanna lets out an undignified snort at the gesture, but Ninsun’s voice ensures drowns it out. “You went after an entire city in response to the action of one man.”

“I was also threatened with--”

“The person who made that threat is dead,” Ninsun says, spitting the words out. “And the balance between my son and this position, never mind the balance between yourself and the crown, has been destroyed.”

Inanna glares, and makes a show of approaching the throne. Of walking up the dais to where it sits, and of ensuring that her eyes are perfectly level with Ninsun’s. The anger that was almost gone returns to Inanna, and she makes sure she’s heard when she says, “If you had raised your son better--”

Silence follows as Ninsun stares back at Inanna, cold and furious. Inanna shifts her stance and raises her forearms up, as if anticipating a punch. Instead, Ninsun only says, “My son is entitled to his grief.”

“Your son is king,” Inanna replies plainly. “His duties--”

“--Have been taken up by myself until he returns,” NInsun finishes neatly. “Please pick a priestess to be your envoy between yourself and the crown until Gilgamesh returns. I have no desire to speak with you in person while Uruk is under my care.”

Inanna opens her mouth to respond, but Ninsun’s exhausted, furious expression causes her to close it again. Inanna drops her arms to her sides and she backs off the dais. Her retreat out of the throne room is slow and steady, her walk imbued with confidence that the rest of her doesn’t quite feel. As she exits, Ninsun’s questions to her advisors reach Inanna’s ears.

“How do you suppose we should tell the people? And do we need to rely on legal precedent here or declare it a rational response to an emergency?”

She leaves with the trail of questions continuing, and Inanna imagines how her own temple will take the news. They’ll greet her with respect of course, but also with fear, remembering her anger and having to deal with Uruk’s dismay that their patron god would cause such disaster to fall upon their head - nevermind whatever their opinions on the matter are.

Gilgamesh returns as suddenly as he left, ferried by Utnapishtim and having shrugged off the desire for immortality. He returns with greys in his beard and hair, with the spring of youth gone from his step, with the eyes of a man who has seen all and experienced all. Or so Inanna hears whenever she visits the temple complex, thanks to Beletum’s reports, and the suggestions that Inanna speak to the king again.

“Beletum,” Inanna sighs, taking the form of a tawny owl rather than that of a human. “You have been asking me to have words with that insufferable child for six months now. How long until you understand that I will do no such thing?”

“Inanna,” Beletum replies, exhaustion so heavy that formalities are swept aside. “He’s the king of your city. You can’t avoid him until he perishes.”

The owl puffs up in response, and human words leave its beak. “It was perfectly fine having him gone for two years to grieve, and the past six months have run smoothly enough with our intermediaries. This arrangement is fine--ah,” Inanna says, realization smacking her upside the head. “The rest of you are tired.”

“Slightly,” Beletum confesses, and pauses to tug at her hair. It’s more grey than black now.

“It is tiring to try and work with the palace schedule, and you know that we do not have enough hours in the day ourselves. Gilgamesh’s advisors have been gracious enough with trying to accommodate the animosity you two share, but,” Beletum pauses, and moves her right hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose. “Lady Inanna, it is uncomfortable for everyone to be so aware of the hate between a city’s patron and a city’s king. It makes us all feel at the whim of both of you, and given what’s happened in the past, we’re all on edge and terrified that another shattering event might befall Uruk if some sort of accord isn’t reached.”

“Is that the feeling of the people, or the feeling of my priestesses and the palace staff?” Inanna asks, her amber eyes unblinking. That the response is so immediate and nearly dismissive doesn’t shock Beletum the least - it simply makes her shoulders droop more.

“Both.”

The owl remains perfectly still. “I see.”

“My lady, if any of this is speaking out of turn, I apologise, but--”

“No, no,” Inanna says, stretching her wings out. “It is something for me to consider. I have noticed that over the past two and a half years, the city has had little affection for me, and that does sit heavy in my heart. I’ll consider meeting with him, and that is all I can say for now. Does that satisfy you?”

Beletum nods. “It does, my lady.”

Inanna takes wing at that, leaving the temple complex behind and circling over all of Uruk. From high above, Gilgamesh’s great wall -now finished and standing tall - is visible, one of the king’s greatest achievements. The market and its attendant crowds are still bustling, and the city’s residents still mill about the more common streets. The fissures and cracks caused by the Bull of Heaven are long gone now, and the only sign of the beast having ever visited the city is the single horn of beautiful lapis lazuli that everyone knows sits in the throne room of the king. Uruk is beautiful from this height, and fluttering above it, Inanna can feel how little love there is radiating off of the city, a city whose love for her was once the tempo that everyone moved to. Inanna lets out a screech owl’s cry, and flies off.

Two days later, Beletum finds a simple written directive upon Inanna’s altar, carved into clay. Arrange the meeting as you see fit. I will attend.

The message is sent to the palace immediately, and Beletum waits for Gilgamesh’s advisors to talk the king into attending. A week goes by, then two, before it is agreed that Inanna and Gilgamesh will meet on neutral ground, along with five individuals of their choosing, as well as an intermediary. Further guidelines are drawn up, and a month after the initial message is sent, the meeting begins.

It is held not in the temple complex or the palace, but in the house of a merchant who happened to be paid a princely sum for the borrowing of his home. Nothing in the place is remarkable and indeed, it has been stripped bare. All furniture waits outside (guarded by Uruk’s soldiers, just in case of theft), the rug on the floor is thick and coarse, and nothing can be made into a weapon. Gilgamesh sits with his back to the east, surrounded by four advisors and Ninsun, and Inanna sits with her back to the west, Beletum and four other priestesses at her side. The two stare at each other, daring one to speak first, until finally they both mutter, “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

“I was waiting for you, Lady of Heaven,” Gilgamesh says, his voice a controlled neutral tone. “Gods before kings.”

“And that precedent was why I wanted you to speak first,” Inanna replies. “A mark of respec-- don’t snort at me!”

“Apologies. I thought you were telling a very good joke.”

“And that is why--” Inanna begins, but a louder voice cuts her off with a firm, “You’re both violating the first rules of the meeting.”

It’s Shamhat that makes her voice known, and it’s Shamhat who both the palace staff and the temple decided should be the intermediary. The good will from both Inanna and Gilgamesh, earned over years of loyal service to both, protected her from most of their fury. “No insults or passive-aggressive comments.”

There are murmured apologies, before Inanna manages a polite, “I am pleased that Uruk has welcomed you back. The city seems lighter for it.”

“Thank you,” Gilgamesh says, folding his arms across his chest. “We should do away with further pleasantries and discuss the matter of how to restore Uruk’s trust in the partnership between heaven and earth. Does that sound fair to you?”

Inanna grins, almost vicious, and leans forward. “Incredibly. And we can start with what brought us all to this place: your blatant disrespect for me.”

“Which incident are you referring to?” Gilgamesh asks, propping his elbow on his knee and then resting his chin atop the palm of his hand. “The bull, the fact you made a pass at me, or the whole thing with Humbaba?”

“The first two,” Inanna clarifies cooly. “But Humbaba’s an indicator that it isn’t just me that--”

Shamhat’s voice rings in again. “You’re both speaking of something not directly connected to the problem at hand.”

“Sorry,” Gilgamesh murmurs, his eyes flicking to Shamhat before he returns to glaring at Inanna. “Fine, the incident in the bath I didn’t see that as disrespect, I saw that as a basic recitation of facts. Your history with men is an absolute nightmare, and I was within my right to refuse.”

“Except that it wasn’t a recitation of facts,” Inanna counters. “It was a point blank insult.”

“How is it an insult to say ‘after you had sex with so and so, a terrible fate befell them’?”

“How was your phrasing and dismissiveness not disrespectful to me as an individual, never mind as the patron god of Uruk?!” Inanna snaps.

“Oh!” Gilgamesh says, his eyes rolling. “So just because I’m the king you would’ve treated me better and prevented me from some humiliating fate?”

Shamhat’s attempt to silence them both is ignored as first voices rise, and then as Gilgamesh and Inanna get to their feet. Within moments their foreheads are pressed against each other’s, shouting, and it takes them a few moments to realize that there’s a palm on both of their stomachs, trying to push them both away. The yelling subsides, and looking down they both see Shamhat, doing her best to push them apart.

“Both of you sit down,” she demands, in the cold, angry voice of a disappointed parent. “The heart of the matter is clear now: Gilgamesh doesn’t see what was said as disrespectful, Inanna does. Good. Fantastic. You’re never going to agree about it. So what do we do now?”

Gilgamesh takes a step back from Shamhat, just so that he’s out of her reach. “We make it so that such a confrontation can’t happen to begin with.” He pauses, then looks back to his staff. “If I asked you all to come up with suggestions on formal ways, could you?”

A few nervous and terrified head nods respond. Inanna turns to her priest, asks them the same question. The response is the same. Shamhat sighs, bringing her arms down to her side.

“Great, see everyone in two days,” she declares. “Same time, same rules. Collaboration between the temple and palace is encouraged, just use this house. I’ll be staying here for the week anyway.”

Shamhat makes it clear as she walks towards the kitchen area of the home that she has no desire to speak to anyone, and so both groups shuffle out of the house in utter silence. The silence stretches after them down the street, stalks them as they return home to try and find some way to rebuild a shattered relationship.

For two days, Inanna remains in her temple, sitting and listening to the debates of her priestesses. Seated in the dining room where they usually only share meals, their words echo off the high ceilings. “A contract,” one says, only for it to be torn to shreds, as no god should be so beholden to a human. Another suggests, “Public appearances at rituals,” and it is given weight, until a young girl points out that it would only satisfy people who look at the surface of things. Uruk’s citizens are smart, she says, and this insults their intelligence. A murmur of agreement sweeps over them all, and the idea is dismissed.

It is tiring to listen to, and becomes even more so as the same ideas pop up again and again with minor variations. By the afternoon of the second day, Inanna has taken the form of a cat, and chosen to sprawl out in a sunbeam rather than pay attention at all. The palace, Inanna imagines, is probably in the same state.

Come the third day, Inanna and Gilgamesh both wear the exhaustion of the situation plainly on their faces. The earth weighs heavily on Inanna, making her seem to droop, and there are great bags under Gilgamesh’s eyes, making it clear that sleep hasn’t come easy to him. There’s silence as the two size each other up, and then Inanna gestures to the group behind her.

“We hope we’ve come up with something that can resolve this situation. If anything sounds incomplete or ill-thought-of, it’s due to late hours, not spite.”

Gilgamesh nods in understanding. “The same holds true for us. Who should speak first?”

“Your courtiers look like they’re about to drop,” Inanna says, peering just behind Gilgamesh. “Go first, please.”

“Mmm,” Gilgamesh says, pausing to let one of the men behind him let out a great yawn. “If someone who isn’t going to fall asleep in the next ten seconds would like to offer a summary of what we discussed, I can ignore anyone who passes out afterwards.”

That perks at least two of the men up, and one hand raises, asking for permission to speak. Gilgamesh nods, and gestures the man forward.

He’s perhaps twenty at the oldest, but the fine red robes he wears speak of great power. “Gidri, chief palace scribe,” Gidri says. “In short: we’d like to modify the existing festival celebrations that Uruk has and ask Inanna to participate in them directly. In particular, the one that marks the start of the planting season, as well as the one that marks the start of the harvest.”

Inanna raises an eyebrow at that. “Please clarify what you mean by ‘direct participation.’”

“That’d be up for debate,” Gidri says. “But we did imagine that you and the king performing rites side by side would be a powerful metaphor. Barring that suggestion, other things that came up included simple monthly meetings between the crown and the temple to make it clear that you are both on speaking terms and collaborating on taking care of the city.”

Gilgamesh’s face remains perfectly blank when Inanna’s eyes flick to him. Inanna’s lips thin, and she returns her attention to Gidri. “That’d be a very simple approach. Was there anything else discussed?”

“Those were the two that everyone seemed to think had the best shot, Lady of Heaven,” Gidri says, bowing his head slightly. “All others were dismissed as too fanciful, easily seen through by Uruk’s citizens, or else offensive to one or both of you.”

“How very wise of the crown.” Inanna smiles at that, before looking to Gilgamesh. “That is all?”

“That is all,” Gilgamesh confirms. “Your turn.”

Beletum waits for Inanna to gesture her forward before starting. “Beletum, head priestess of the temple,” she says. It’s not needed, the palace staff knows her well by now, but Gidri began formally, she must follow suit. “All the suggestions the crown made are ideas we had as well - although we dismissed the second as something that would be hard to maintain.”

“Fair point,” the king murmurs.

“One of our suggestions was, in fact, marriage, with the king taking one of Inanna’s priestesses into his household. But we quickly realized that it would be read as offensive to you both and dismissed the idea entirely. But that led us to thinking about the root cause of this being sex and trust, and the question of who has more power - Inanna or the king?

Gilgamesh nods vaguely. “Go on.”

“Which lead us to the idea of using ritual to clearly delineate the responsibilities of both god and king to each other and to the city, because to be put on the spot by the city’s patron god is unacceptable,” Beletum continues. Her eyes catch Inanna’s, and she murmurs a soft, “I’m sorry, my lady.”

“No matter,” Inanna says with a frown.

“But rather than modify any existing ritual, as has been suggested, we’d like to propose a new one.”

Both Inanna and Gilgamesh remain quiet for a few moments, and look not to Beletum, but to Shamhat as if needing permission to move beyond the exchange of ideas and into right and proper debate.

“Just keep the rules in mind,” Shamhat says with a shrug. “I’m here to keep you both to those, not to keep you from talking at all.”

From there, Beletum picks up. “Each king would be obligated to share a bed with Inanna for one night, shortly after being crowned,” she says. “It would be done in a precise way, one that has been written down and agreed upon by all involved to alleviate concerns about safety. Moreover, it would be the only time that the king and Inanna copulate. Such a ritual would tie the heavenly and the earthly together in a literal manner to satisfy any potential lust, but also to ensure a fertile and productive reign. It would also demonstrate a willingness to work together, as obviously this ritual relies on them both. If possible, select individuals from the temple and the palace could also be required to watch, just so that all of Uruk knows that the ritual has been done in full and that the harmony between the two is genuine.”

“Interesting,” Inanna says, turning to look at Gilgamesh. The king sits in silence, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Gilgamesh?”

“As Inanna said,” Gilgamesh manages. “Interesting. But how would any of this be binding?”

“Well, that’s the issue,” Beletum admits. “Like any ritual Uruk already goes through, it’s a combination of tradition and trust. For the first few kings, it might not seem binding at all, and--”

“--And we’d rely on Inanna’s word, while we’re dead and gone,” Gilgamesh cuts in sharply.

Shamhat clears her throat. “Bordering on disrespect.”

“Thank you,” Inanna says as Gilgamesh scowls and mutters, “My point stands.”

“No, I think it’s a good point,” Beletum says quickly. “Instituting a new tradition and making it stick isn’t an easy thing to do.”

“Neither is asking the next in your line to do something that you refused to,” the king adds. “That has lead us to this situation in the first place.”

Inanna pauses at that, and meets Gilgamesh’s eyes. No words cross her lips, but she gives him a brief nod that acknowledges that uttering such a statement is the mark of a very wise king.

“I have to admit, making the whole process formulaic would cause me to be quite bored and disinterested in anything more passionate,” she says. “A routine would, er,” Inanna snaps her fingers, searching for the right words.

“It’d remove the thrill of the chase and make any let down easier?” Offers one of the other palace staff.

“Yes,” Inanna says. “Thank you.”

The young man simply nods, and Gilgamesh offers him a grateful glance. The gratitude is gone as he readjusts his gaze on Inanna. “I still find myself uncomfortable with the concept, though.”

“That’s understandable,” Inanna agrees, stopping Beletum from saying the same. “But is my dispassion and boredom at making such a thing routine enough to make you take it under consideration?”

“It is,” Gilgamesh says. “Personally, I would rather you use a representative from the temple then appear yourself, but I believe that misses the entire point of this.”

Beletum smiles regretfully. “Yes, my king, it does. But perhaps if we come up with a general outline of the ritual, we can include flexibility in the specifics that would offer such options in the future?”

“And leave it to my descendants to determine what their own limits and relations with Inanna should be within that greater framework?” The king asks. He pauses to scratch at his beard, then says, “Very well, that sounds like a realistic starting point. Inanna?”

“I have no issue with that approach,” Inanna agrees. “But how to build that framework?”

Gilgamesh looks to Beletum. “If I left coming up with an initial draft to you, would you be able to complete it within a month?”

“Yes, I would,” Beletum says. “And we would revise from there?”

“And then pass it along to Inanna for her own thoughts.”

Inanna smiles. “I like it. Let’s begin.”

And with that, Inanna and Gilgamesh clasp each other’s wrist, signalling a final agreement. Inanna turns to Beletum, and simply says, “Rest for a week, and then we can begin to work in earnest. I trust the king to tell all of Uruk that he and I now have peace.”

Beletum nods, and doesn’t hide her sigh of relief.

Uruk has a new king.

One of many yet to come, Inanna knows. Knows it like she knows the courses of the Tigris and Euphrates, knows it like the steady rhythm of prayers in her temple. The details of what marks the king’s reign are the only things up for debate, and in the end, well, they’re just that. Details.

But she attends the ceremony anyway, wearing the skin of a noblewoman with threads of silver in her thick black hair and an all too knowing smile in her brown eyes. No one notices her as she approaches the king’s father. They are too busy concentrating on the sacred procession of men and women bedecked in flowers, loudly singing the virtues of the new king. A youth with fine black hair and emerald green eyes, as strapping and as muscular as his father and having inherited that same father’s wisdom. He will be a good king, a noble king, a compassionate king.

“Your boy looks very fine today,” Inanna remarks, low so that only Gilgamesh can hear.

Gilgamesh straightens, his eyes remaining ahead. “If that is a come-on--”

“It genuinely isn’t, although I doubt you’ll believe me.”

A dark smile flicks across Gilgamesh’s grizzled face, now wrinkled with age and a few extra scars from hunts and adventures over the years. “You have a history.”

“And you clearly haven’t learned from your own,” is the response, heat creeping into Inanna’s voice. “The last time you rattled off a list of misde--”

“--Yes, I recall,” Gilgamesh snaps. “We made our peace, stop threatening to shatter it.”

Inanna almost laughs, the argument feeling like an old, comfortable set of cushions rather than something to be truly angered over. “You’ve prepared him well.”

“Of course I did. With any luck, he’ll maintain what’s been built and ensure that the divine realm and this one are in harmony better than I did.”

Inanna nods. “Does he know all your past adventures?”

“Of course,” Gilgamesh replies. “Unlike me and Enkidu, he’s learned to respect the gods before making massive errors that put entire cities at risk.”

“Huh,” Inanna says softly. “You actually spoke of Enkidu to him.”

“He knows the man as if he were a living, breathing uncle who watched over him while he was growing.” Gilgamesh’s gaze is suddenly far away and no longer interested in Inanna. “If you ever decide to drag another beast like the Bull of Heaven here and attempt to raise the dead again, make sure that Enkidu and that boy get to meet.”

“I’ll try,” Inanna says. It’s nearly a promise.