Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter One

"When will you cease this battle and become my wife?" Gilamesh said, his tone lengthy and matter of fact. Male. Smooth. There was a sureness to it. A debonair that would have had women sinking to their knees to worship him. And they had. Desperate to be in his presence, women had crawled to him. Begged. Rubbed against his thighs like a feline in heat. They showered him with petals in his own bed to worship him. In his time, they sought him out.

And he drew that same attention in this time a millennia later. They couldn't help but look when he passed. They couldn't help but whisper in awe. For he was glorious to behold. It made them question. It made them want.

But not Saber. Not Artoria Pendragon. Not the woman who stood before him as if he were the insect. She truly was a great ruler. A ruler meant to rule at his side. It wasn't just her beauty—because oh, she was beautiful. But it was her courageous spirit. It was the way she held herself so proudly even after having lost the grandest of battles. It was in the way she was kind even in the face of her enemy.

Strength was a formidable thing that had nothing to do with the physical aspect.

"I have already won, Saber." Gilgamesh reminded her as he lifted his right hand. Golden light twisted into existence above his palm, energy floating and swirling. The Grail, but imageless. It held no shape. It was just a massive radiant of energy.

"You are no better than that Undead Apostle." Saber stated, her eyes narrowed.

"Do not compare me with that foolish wight. My greatness has survived even death."

"Then be done with this foolishness." Saber said, her beautiful stance holding as she stared at him, hands wrapped around the hilt of her invisible but formidable weapon.

Because he had won the Holy Grail.

He had simply won what was already his.

It was only a matter of time before they all faded back to their own time of existence. But he would not go alone this time. Saber would be by his side.

Saber—ever defensive when it came to him. She had good reason to be. He had never been kind to her in battle.

"You've already lost to me once. You wish to lose to me a second time, Saber?"

"I will fight you to my dying breath."

Gilgamesh floated to the ground slowly—like the God and King he was. Holy. Radiant. Because that was who he was. "Then we will fight." Gilgamesh said. A golden array of light appeared beyond his left shoulder. Gilgamesh reached beyond and into the light and withdrew a steel blade. "I will fight you on your terms." Blade to blade. Steel against Excalibur. A King against his future Queen.

Her eyes lowered to the sword in his hand before lifting back to his face. Confused that he would even consider a hand-to-hand combat when it was not his way. Especially when faced with Excalibur. And it was obvious—she did not trust him.

"I will fight on your terms." Gilgamesh said again.

"A fight to the death." Saber said, her eyes narrowed.

"Indeed." Gilgamesh said. "Because if you do not kill me, you will consent to be my wife."

A vow.

Saber stared at him, going over his words. Mulling over his direct tone and what he staked on his own life. They would fight here regardless of the stakes—there was no walking away from this last battle.

Gilgamesh held his free hand between them until the Holy Grail was floating between them in immense radiance. "I could ensure your obedience. But I will not. You will come to me of your own violation." His eyes met hers from the space separating them. "On this I vow on the Grail."

She fought to kill him. He fought to win her. Such a battle had never been heard of. Saber didn't want to trust him—but his words to the Grail itself vowed obedience. He would win or lose this fight on fairgrounds.

He would lose. And he would die by Excalibur.

Saber nodded. "On this I vow on the Grail." She echoed his words and felt the answering jolt of the Grail's acknowledgement of vows spoken.

"Are you ready, Artoria Pendragon?" Gilgamesh asked.

Saber lifted her sword, holding it upright in front of her and nodded. "Ye—"

Steel struck blade before she'd even finished the sentence. Faster than light. Swifter than the highest of striking winds. Sparks lit between blades with each defensive. The cool slide of steel echoed with each parry. Saber spun in defense. Gilgamesh thrust with intent.

The swordplay echoed in the night. Loud and heavy, two Kings fighting for dominance over victory. One fought for the right to own. The other fought for the price of freedom.

Saber was light on her feet. Swordplay was her forte. The footwork, the way she danced to escape, only to strike her own blow. Gilgamesh fought with a steadiness that Saber wasn't expecting. She'd only ever seen him fight with his inventory—but he was more than capable of up-close combat.

"Is that admiration I see in your eyes, Saber?" Gilgamesh said as he jerked his head backward, narrowly missing a swing of Excalibur's blade.

"No." Saber said. "What you see is disregard."

"You lie." Gilgamesh said, lifting his sword as Saber striked again and again, driving him backward in calculated steps.

That was the game. Saber struck and Gilgamesh merely defended. No twist of his hand or wrist was in deliberate movement towards her. "Fight me, Gilgamesh." Saber hissed, anger tightening her features.

"I have no wish to kill you. Merely to see you submit." Gilgamesh side-stepped again, spinning so that Excalibur thrust into empty air instead of warm flesh. "But if that is your wish, then so be it. Who am I to deny my future queen?"

Excalibur vibrated heavily in her hands from the sudden forward motion of Gilgamesh. His blade hit heavily with the weight of his body behind it—both their swords crossed together so that they stared at each through the cross of steel, their faces inches apart.

And then the battle began again anew.

Two powerful Kings. One male. One female. Both from different times but both with the same goal of besting the other. But it was Saber who found herself on the defense this time, parrying his attacks, her steps careful with each backward motion. Roles reversed.

"Why did you not fight like this before?" Saber said as she sank to one knee to avoid the swipe of his arm.

"There was no need." Gilgamesh murmured as he withdrew his arm from the attack. A five second reprieve for them both as he looked down at Saber. "You should take to your knees more often, Saber. The way you worship me is delightful." And then his lips curved. Devilish in his eyes. "Or perhaps there was a more intimate reason you went to your knees before your King."

Her eyes widened, the color of blue skies staring up at him before she moved. Excalibur in one hand and a sudden thin dagger in her right. Her right arm arced outward.

Gilgamesh's eyes flickered to his left cheek at the sudden sting. A thin line of blood appeared along his cheek. "You've drawn first blood, Saber." He said, swiping his thumb along the line of red. "But I am not yet dead!"

He disappeared.

Saber's senses flared outward, searching for his energy signature. It was everywhere. In the air. The ground beneath her feet. The dark of the night sky. The lake that rested quietly behind them. A powerful foe. Both enemy and ally.

His thin blade came crashing to the ground in front of her, soil spewing as it penetrated the tip to stand still. Saber muttered beneath her breath and then stabbed Excalibur into the ground before lifting her face to the night sky. "The ground is our battlefield, Gilgamesh."

"Our battlefield is whatever we deem fit." Gilgamesh called out.

Her blue eyes narrowed.

Saber took to the air in a blur of speed. Blade and steel were left to the ground, impaled to watch the two fight from above.

Gilgamesh blocked her fists with his arms, delicate female hands striking golden armor. "I will make this easier for you, my future Queen." He said and then the golden armor faded away. Fine woven cotton of this era—the luxury of the rich was buttoned down and tucked into tailored midnight blue pants.

Saber hit warmth directly. She hit flesh and blood. She almost hit the hardness of an abdomen well-toned. His arms blocked every length of her arms. He twisted a leg behind hers when she would have kneed him in the stomach. It didn't matter that they were mid-air. They were both formidable opponents.

Gilgamesh grabbed her arm and spun her around. He wrapped an arm around her waist and jerked her armored body against the front of his. Saber hissed as she turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Will you fight me in our bed, too, Saber?" Gilgamesh whispered against her ear.

Light exploded—Saber hit him with the force of her armor, letting it explode from her body with such force that it slammed him to the ground in a wide crater. She didn't call the armor back to her body—like him, she could fight without it.

She watched as golden discs of energy provided him with upward steps out of the crater. There was an ethereal beauty in the way he walked from the crater and past her. Saber turned to watch him silently.

"You're magnificent when you fight, Artoria Pendragon." He murmured.

His fingers caressed the hilt of Excalibur. He touched the hilted gold and jewels like a lover.

He curled his fingers around the hilt.

Saber watched it in silence, already knowing the outcome. She saw the play of muscles tense at his forearm to no avail. "Did you really think you could wield Excalibur?" She asked.

Only one could wield Excalibur. And she was the one who had pulled the Sword from the Stone.

Gilgamesh turned his head to look at her. Her gaze drifted towards his outstretched arm and to the long, thin blade he held stretched to her throat. The tip pressed against her jugular. Blood pooled between skin and blade.

Golden light heated her back—a circular array of pulsing energy.

"Did you really think you would win?" Gilgamesh murmured.

Energy vibrated inside her. A throb that pulsed once to the very heart of her from the inside out. Just once. But it was felt throughout her entire being.

Succession.

Revelation.

Saber inhaled roughly.

No.

It pulsed again against her insides. The familiar warmth of the Holy Grail. A vow. Binding. Whole. Ritualistic. Something that both parties had went into with willing consent.

An unbreakable vow.

"I could have slain you a thousand times over." Gilgamesh said, his arm never lowered. The tip of the blade at her front, the powerful array of a single phantasm at her back. "Every blade. Every ax. Every sword. Everything within my arsenal."

Not the battle itself—but in this moment. The second it took for Gilgamesh to caress the hilt of Excalibur. The second it took for him to turn and look at her. And then the ease with which he raised his arm, his own sword in hand.

It was in those three seconds that he had her from the front of a blade and the single second it took for his array to form at her back. He could have killed her a thousand times over.

She would have been dead.

She should have been dead.

A miscalculation on her part.

And yet he let her live.

He was…

Victorious.

Denial filled her. The binding of her own vow nearly choked her as she watched the blade disappear from Gilgamesh's hand. She watched as he held his hand out to her.

A binding vow. A ritual that both knew, and both had acknowledged.

And she'd lost.

Saber's hands shook as she slowly pulled the glove off her right hand. Silence. The universe itself seemed to be holding its breath. Saber reached out as if in slow motion. Her fingers hovered over his—for just a moment. A second of hesitation. And then she took his hand.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

Gilgamesh's fingers curled around hers, the warmth of his bare hand heating her own. "Take it." He said quietly without looking at ex-caliber. "A king without her sword would be a dull sight."

Saber removed her hand from his but still felt the same warmth against her palm—a vow in itself itched beneath her skin. Her fingers closed around Excalibur's hilt, the familiar weight steadying her racing thoughts. She searched his face for mockery. For arrogance—for the triumphant cruelty she expected. She found none.

Only a strange conviction.

She picked up Excalibur, letting the weapon disappear until she called for it once again. "You expect me to fight beside you after this?" She cautioned softly.

"I expect you to stand beside me." Gilgamesh corrected. "The rest is inevitable."

"That is not the same thing as winning my heart."

Gilgamesh smiled. He was not offended, nor angered. Amused, maybe. "I have eternity for that battle."

The words settled between them like a second vow.

Saber turned away first, watching as drawn crept across the sky. Gold spread across the clouds, mirroring the king who stood behind her. She'd fought for freedom in both her living life and the afterlife. And as a hero. Freedom had been the prize she fought for. For herself. For her knights. Instead—she was claimed.

She felt the heat of him at her back, though he did not touch her.

"You understand what this means." He stated.

Saber nodded. "I understand the terms." She said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. "I will not break my word."

Gilgamesh studied her. He did not celebrate victory with laughter or triumph. Not this time. His expression softened into something quieter. Dangerous.

Possession.

"You speak as if this is a burden." He said.

Saber turned. "It is not a gift."

Silence followed her statement. Gilgamesh did not dine to answer. He simply stood beside her—and then she felt it. Power gathering in intensity. Suffocating. Thick and ancient, older than the modern age she knew. The world around her didn't change all at once. It slowly began to unravel. The surrounding area began to blur and spin. Stone stretched into gold. Night turned into a burning twilight. The distant hum of modern society began to fade into something older.

And finally, she looked at him.

He didn't look surprised in the change of era. His doing. "This era is far too small." He murmured. "A king should not begin his reign in borrowed time."

Caution tightened her hand around Excalibur's hilt. "What are you doing?" She asked as the world began to fracture.

Gilgamesh turned his head to look at her. "Taking my Queen home."

The world around them shattered like glass.

Warmth. Heat. It hit her with the breath of a sullen desert. Dust and incense filled her nostrils and voices followed. Thousands of them. They rose in layered chants. Saber frowned and then lowered her shielding arm.

Gold. Everywhere she looked there was gold. A long stretch of city that towered the sky. Banners snapped in the wind. The city opened its gates in welcome. They bowed. And beyond those gates the streets stretched—and they were waiting. Bowing. More bowing.

But they weren't bowing to her, she were bowing to him.

"Welcome to Uruk." Gilgamesh said.

Her breath hitched. Ancient Mesopotamia. It was a civilization buried in textbooks and ruins. It was a kingdom long turned to dust. She turned her head. "You brought me to the past."

"I brought you to my present."

Trumpets sounded. Drums beat. Soldiers slammed their spears into the ground. Saber watched as flowers reined from balconies. And then she heard it.

"Long live the King!"

Had anyone ever celebrated her return in such a way?

She watched as Gilgamesh stepped forward without breaking stride as if this was the most natural sight in the world. But then he paused. He turned to face her. He offered his hand. "Come."

Saber stared at his hand. She lifted her gaze to his. "They bow to you, not to me."

"They will bow to you as well."

Saber hesitated. Confused, perhaps. Or unsure. "I have done nothing to earn it."

"You defeated me once in another life." Gilgamesh murmured. "That alone is more than most kings can claim."

Saber hesitated for another moment. And then she took his hand and Gilgamesh guided her forward at his side. She felt the weight of the sudden ripple that moved through the kneeling crowd—the sight she presented. An unknown warrior at their kings side. A woman. Her hand in his. Curiosity. The whispers were loud.

The Golden King had returned and beside him stood a woman in armor, carrying a sword. She met them with unwavering calm. That was what they saw.

Gilgamesh's smile widened. "You see? They already understand."

Did they, though? Saber could feel the heat flushing her cheeks. "You forced me into this role."

"I forced you into nothing." Gilgamesh corrected as he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "You chose your honor and your word."

She almost snatched her hand away, her cheeks heating all over again.

Saber let him guide her through the golden gates and instantly they were swallowed in sound and color. He lead her further until they reached a staircase leading up to the Palace. And then he stopped once more. Silence filled the streets as he turned to face his kingdom.

"My people." Gilgamesh called out, his voice carrying. "Behold your queen."

It was the last word. Queen. It struck harder than any blow she had taken in their fight. Her heart lurched. Because thousands of heads began to bow not to him, but to her.

Gilgamesh watched her, silent, as if expected resistance. His lips curved. "You may glare at me later." He murmured. "At least look regal while they celebrate."

Saber looked him dead in the eye. "I am not celebrating."

He gave a soft laugh. "Neither am I. This is merely the beginning."

He continued his ascension. Saber followed because there was nowhere else to follow—and she would not retreat in front of the thousands watching. That was a surrender she would not give.

The palace doors opened and Saber inhaled as the cool air hit her skin. Fragrant. Lotus. Something else. The loud sounds beyond the doors slowly began to fade. But quieter did not mean less overwhelming. Servants knelt as they passed.

And every pair of eyes lingered on her.

"Stop walking like you're heading to an execution." Gilgamesh commented lightly.

Saber inhaled softly. "I might be."

He laughed softly. "You wound me."

They reached a massive chamber with carved doors of gold. Gilgamesh pushed them open himself. Saber stopped just outside.

The Throne room.

And two thrones sat at the far end of the hall—as if it had been waiting for her. Uncertainty settled deep. Twisted in her gut. Confusion before she looked at him. "You planned this." She accused softly.

His expression didn't change. "Of course."

Saber stared at the twin thrones before slowly walking forward. Each stepped echoed. She stared up at the empty seat meant to be hers. Had the choice really ever been hers? Since the moment Gilgamesh laid eyes on her?

"I don't belong here." She said.

Gilgamesh came to stand beside her. "You belong where you choose to stand."

Saber stared at the thrones for another moment before closing her eyes. She inhaled again—a coping mechanism, perhaps. And then she opened them, her gaze steady. "This does not mean I am yours."

And Gilgamesh smiled. "No. But it gives me the chance to prove you wish to be mine."

Saber inhaled again. "You are impossible."

He held his hand out to her. "Come. There is much to show you."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The days that followed did not feel like captivity. And that unsettled Saber more than any battle ever could have. Uruk woke with the sun. The city bloomed every morning in golden sunshine and a blue sky. Every morning Gilgamesh expected her at the palace gates. Looking at him, she knew he expected. He did not summon. Expected—as though her presence had always been a part of his everyday rhythm.

On the third morning, he was left waiting.

"You are late." Gilgamesh said, pushing away from the wrought iron gates.

"You gave me no hour." Saber retaliated. She spoke no lie.

"You should know it."

Arrogant—but Saber stepped beside him anyways. He didn't lead her towards the familiar path to the throne room. Instead, they descended and walked into the city.

No guards made to follow. Saber realized this immediately. "You walk unprotected among thousands."

"I walk among what is mine." Gilgamesh said. "There is a difference."

The streets parted for him like water around stone. Merchants bowed. Children waved. Saber watched as women through flowers from balconies. No wonder Gilgamesh's complex was that of a God. Gilgamesh acknowledged it all with a lazy confidence. He didn't question the devotion. He expected it.

And yet...Saber watched the city carefully. Her palm never strayed from Excalibur's hilt. The streets were overflowing. She watched as bakers argued. Labors laughed as they hauled stone.

But no one looked hungry. No one looked afraid.

Her eyes narrowed. "This is Prosperity. You wish me to admire it."

"I wish you to understand it." Gilgamesh corrected her.

A river shimmed in the distance like molten glass. Everything was…

A kingdom.

"I built this." He said simply, though there was no boast in his voice. There was only fact. Whereas her kingdom...had been failing. He and Rider had told her that many times.

Saber crossed her arms. "Kings often claim the work of others."

"I do not."

Saber didn't respond to that.

A group of children ran by their feet. One tripped and skidded at Saber's boots. He looked up—wide eyed and then grinned before scrambling away.

"They do not fear you." Gilgamesh told her with quiet interest.

"They do not know me." This time she corrected him.

"They know strength when they see it."

Saber looked away. "You speak as if strength is all that matters."

"It is the foundation of everything that follows."

They reached a terrace and he leaned against the stone railing, the sunlight catching his hair like gold. It was no mistake that he gloated that she was finally here with him. In Uruk—his. But he would not let her continue to dwell on a past that was lost before she had even gained it. So he turned his head and looked at her. "You ruled a kingdom that destroyed itself to save others and you carry that grief like armor. I see this as surely as I breath, Artoria."

She stiffened. "Saber." She corrected. "And you presume much."

He waved her name correction away with his hand. "I observe much."

The wind tugged at her hair again. Silence stretched, warm and heavy.

"You stare at our people as if searching for a rule that must be cruel or fragile." Gilgamesh said.

Our people—a reminder that while she didn't yet bear his name—his people were still hers now.

"And if I find none?" Saber asked, because she honestly had yet to find the cruelness of a kingdom ruled wrong.

Gilgamesh turned his head and looked at her. His gaze met hers. Slow. Intentional. "Then you will have to reconsider me."

The words landed like a challenge. Of course they did. Because she would have to reconsider everything about him—the way he ruled. The way he was as a man. Not the king who had so crudely demanded she marry him—but to reconsider the man who led her through his kingdom with no guards.

He pushed away from the railing and resumed walking. She followed without thought.

They moved through gardens carved into terraces, where fountains arched like silver threads through the air. Musicians played beneath shaded archways. The scent of dates and figs lingered on the breeze.

Everywhere they went, the city opened itself to him.

And to her.

By afternoon, the sun was already burning high. Gilgamesh led her to a shaded pavilion draped in linen curtains that stirred with the wind. Silk draped pillows. Servants appeared silently with cool water and fruits, then vanished just as quickly.

He sat first, stretching like a lion at rest.

"You study everything," he said, watching her remain standing. "Yet you refuse to sit."

"I prefer to remain prepared."

"For battle?" His smile curved. "Or escape?"

"For reality."

He laughed softly. "Saber… this is reality."

The way he said her name—low, almost thoughtful—made her chest tighten in a way she did not appreciate.

She finally sat across from him.

"Is this your strategy?" she asked. "Show me your kingdom until I forget why I'm here?"

"You will never forget," he said. "Nor would I want you to."

He reached forward, brushing a stray petal from her shoulder. The gesture was so casual she barely had time to react before his hand withdrew.

But the warmth lingered.

"I want you to choose this place," he continued quietly. "Not endure it."

Saber held his gaze, refusing to look away first. "You assume my choice can be changed."

"I assume your will is strong enough to change itself."

The pavilion curtains lifted in a warm gust, sunlight spilling across the floor between them. For a moment, neither spoke.

The city hummed around them—alive, thriving and golden.

Gilgamesh leaned back, moving to recline on his side, studying her as if she were the only puzzle he had yet to solve.

"This is only the beginning," he said softly. "Uruk has not finished courting you."

And for the first time since her defeat, Saber felt the faintest, most dangerous crack in her certainty.

Evening in Uruk arrived slowly. The brutal heat softened into warmth and the city began to glow with the warmth. Lamps flickered to life along the streets. Gilgamesh did not return to the palace immediately. Instead, he lead her to the highest terrace. Higher than even the throne hall below. By the time they reached the top the sun was already melting into the horizon in a blaze of crimson and amber.

The wind was stronger here. Cooler. She could hear the distant sounds of laughter and music from below. Saber stepped towards the edge and paused. She knew what he was showing her…

Different sides. Different views.

Including himself.

From this height, the kingdom stretched endlessly. Fields. Rivers. Distant settlements. The walls of Uruk. The city no longer felt overwhelming. It felt...unified. He didn't have to do this. She'd already given him her word. And maybe that was why it was so unsettling—the fact that he didn't have to do this.

"You bring me here to admire your domain again?" she asked quietly.

Gilgamesh stood beside her, but not too close.

"I bring you here because this is where I come when I must remember why I rule."

She glanced at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.

"You need reminding?"

"All kings do."

He folded his arms against the stone railing, watching the sun sink lower.

"Power is intoxicating. It whispers that everything exists for you. That the world is smaller than your will." He exhaled slowly. "Up here, I am forced to see how large it truly is."

The admission felt strangely intimate. Like a door left slightly open.

Saber studied him in silence.

"You show me your people, your prosperity and your humility." She turned fully toward him. "You are being very deliberate."

"Of course."

"You are trying to win me."

"I am trying to deserve you." Another correction. Trying to show her why he did deserve her. That he was capable.

The answer came so easily it stole the breath from her lungs.

Gilgamesh turned then, finally closing the distance between them by a single step.

The fading sunlight caught in his eyes.

"You lost the duel," he said quietly. "But that victory gave me only your presence. Not your trust. Not your respect. And certainly not your affection."

Saber's heart beat faster, traitorous and loud in her ears. "You believe affection can be earned like loyalty?"

"I believe it must be."

The wind tugged at her cape, pressing the fabric against her armor. For a fleeting moment, the world felt reduced to the space between them.

"You are very confident," she murmured.

"I am very patient."

He reached up slowly—giving her time to stop him—and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. His fingers barely touched her temple before withdrawing again.

The restraint was worse than boldness.

"You look at this kingdom," he said softly, "as if searching for its weaknesses. But you have not noticed the most obvious truth."

"And what is that?"

His gaze held hers, unwavering.

"It has already begun to revolve around you."

Saber opened her mouth to protest, but the words faltered. Memories surfaced unbidden—children smiling at her, servants bowing to her, citizens watching her with curiosity that slowly warmed into acceptance.

She had thought herself an observer. Not a presence. A presence that was becoming more and more each day.

"That is manipulation," she said, though the conviction felt thinner now.

"That is inevitability."

Gilgamesh stepped back, breaking the charged stillness before it could snap.

The markets below grew denser as the night deepened. Lanterns hung like constellations just below. Somewhere nearby, laughter erupted in a burst of joy so bright it made Saber's chest ache. She could hear the soft flow of music from somewhere below rising and falling like waves. She watched as couples took to the terrace directly below the one they stood on. She leaned lightly against the stone railing, watching.

"You have shown me strength," she said. "Prosperity. Loyalty. Celebration." She glanced sideways at him. "You are thorough."

"I dislike leaving battles unfinished."

"This is a battle to you?"

He studied the dancers for a moment before answering.

"No," he said. "This is a siege."

Saber almost laughed despite herself. "And you believe I will surrender?"

"I believe," he said quietly, turning to face her, "that one day you will stop calling it surrender."

The music below swelled, drums beating in steady rhythm. Without warning, he held out his hand.

Saber blinked. "You cannot be serious."

"You faced me in combat without hesitation," he said. "Yet you fear a dance?"

"I do not dance."
"You were a King in your time. You have danced." He said, beckoning with his fingers.

"This is pointless, Gilgamesh. I do not dance."

"Then tonight will be a night of many firsts."

She stared at his outstretched hand as if it were another weapon.

Refusing felt easy. Natural. Safe.

Accepting felt like stepping onto unfamiliar ground with no armor. It felt foolish.

Slowly—so slowly she almost didn't notice it happening—she placed her hand in his.

Gilgamesh's smile was small, but undeniably triumphant.

He led her down into the square, into the lantern light and music and laughter. The crowd parted, then closed behind them as the rhythm carried on.

His hand settled at her waist, steady and warm. Not possessive.

Certain.

Saber's heart hammered louder than the drums.

"This changes nothing," she murmured.

"Of course not," he agreed softly.

But as they moved together beneath the glow of a thousand lights, she realized something dangerous.

For the first time since losing the duel…

She had stopped thinking about escape.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The music slowed.

At one point Saber stopped noticing the crowd around them and started noticing the softness that Gilgamesh held her hand with. The warmth of his palm against her own. The hand at her waist didn't keep her against him—it simply settled into place.

He did not dance like a King showing off.

He danced like a man completely certain the world would move in time with him.

And Saber realized, with a sharp flicker of irritation, that she was moving in time with him, too.

"You are thinking too loudly." Gilgamesh murmured.

"I am not thinking loudly."

"You always frown when you lie to yourself."

Her brows furrowed. "You presume much."

"And yet I am correct."

The music shifted again, slower still, forcing the dancers closer together. Saber stiffened as the distance between them shrank. The warmth of his chest radiated through the thin layers of cloth and armor between them. Her armor. Not his. He choose not to wear armor.

"You are uncomfortable," he said quietly.

"I am cautious."

"Of me?"

"Yes."

His hand tightened ever so slightly at her waist—not trapping, not forcing, just reminding her he was there.

"Good," he said. "You should be."

She blinked up at him, startled by the unexpected answer.

"I am many things, Saber. Gentle is not often one of them."

The honesty struck deeper than any smooth reassurance could have.

"Then why this?" she asked, gesturing faintly to the dance. The city. The night.

His gaze softened in a way she had never seen on a battlefield.

"Because you are."

Saber scoffed. "I am a king and a knight. I am not gentle."

Gilgamesh didn't respond, just continued to guide her with him as the drums faded into softer strings. Couples around them began to drift apart—Gilgamesh did not release her. Not immediately. When he finally did, the absence of his warmth was so abrupt it made her notice.

And that annoyed her.

He stepped back, studying her as if searching for signs of his victory. He found it. "You did not hate it."

"I did not fall over."

"A remarkable achievement."

Saber exhaled slowly, forcing her heartbeat to steady. "You mistake tolerance for enjoyment."

"Do I?"

Before she could answer, a group of children rushed them chasing fireflies. One paused, tugging on Saber's cape with wide, curious eyes.

"Are you the king's knight?"

Saber hesitated. Gilgamesh's lips twitched.

"Something like that." She said. She wouldn't admit to anything else. The child grinned and ran off before she could say more.

Gilgamesh arched an eyebrow. "You see? Even they sense it."

"Sense what?"

"That you belong at my side."

She turned sharply. "Belonging is not decided by children in a marketplace."

"No," he agreed. "It is decided by time."

They began walking back toward the palace, the crowds thinning as the hour grew later. The city's noise faded into a gentle nighttime murmur.

At the palace gates, Saber slowed.

The towering doors stood open, lanterns glowing warmly inside. The place no longer felt like a cage.

That realization unsettled her more than anything else.

Gilgamesh stopped beside her, following her gaze.

"You are quieter tonight."

"I am thinking."

"Dangerous."

She ignored the comment. "You have shown me your kingdom. Your people. Your world." She turned to face him fully. "You have been patient. Deliberate. Calculated."

"All true."

"And now?"

He stepped closer, just enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

"Now," he murmured, "I wait."

"For what?"

"For the moment you stop standing beside me out of obligation… and start doing it because you choose to."

The night air felt suddenly too warm.

Saber held his gaze, searching for arrogance, for smug certainty.

But for once, Gilgamesh looked almost… hopeful.

She turned away first, stepping through the palace gates.

He did not follow immediately.

And for the first time since he had won the duel, Gilgamesh allowed himself the smallest breath of uncertainty.

Because sieges took time.

And he had just realized he wanted this one to last.

Days passed after that night and the rhythm changed between them in ways that Saber refused to name. Gilgamesh no longer needed to ask for her presence in the mornings. She appeared. She never questioned the reason why she woke in the mornings and sought the presence that she knew would be waiting for her.

That realization irritated her enough that she spent an entire day avoiding him.

He let her.

Which somehow irritated her more.

It was late evening when they met again. By accident or perhaps by design, Saber didn't know. She stood in the palace gardens in the setting sun where the water threaded through carved stone. She had come for quiet. Instead she found Gilgamesh leaning against a pillar.

"You hide poorly," he said.

"I am not hiding."

"You did not appear this morning."

"I am not required to appear."

He grinned. "No. You are not."

Silence settled between them.

The fountain murmured nearby. Night-blooming flowers began to perfume the air.

Saber folded her arms. "You said you would wait."

"I am."

"This does not look like waiting."

"It is the only kind I am capable of."

She should have left. She knew she should. Instead, she stayed rooted where she stood.

"You are persistent," she said.

"I am inevitable."

She rolled her eyes, but the familiar arrogance felt… comforting now. Predictable. Safe in a way she hadn't expected.

"You have shown me your kingdom," she said quietly. "You have shown me your people. You have shown me a patience I did not think you possessed." This part of their conversation had become familiar.

"And?"

"And I still do not know what you truly want from me."

Gilgamesh pushed away from the pillar and crossed the small distance between them.

This time, he did not stop an arm's length away.

He stopped close enough that she could feel the warmth of him in the cool night air.

"I told you," he said. "I want you."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the only one that matters."

Her breath faltered despite her best effort to steady it. "You speak as though this is simple."

"It is simple," he murmured. "It is not easy."

The honesty struck her again.

Saber searched his face, expecting triumph or smug certainty.

Instead, she saw restraint.

"You have not tried to take what you claimed you won," she said.

"I told you," he replied, voice low. "I want you to choose this."

The night seemed to hold its breath. Because his words didn't make sense to her. What did it matter if she choose this or not? The end result would be the same. She would end up in his arms regardless.

Her hand moved before her thoughts caught up—lifting, resting lightly against his chest as if to test whether he was real.

His heart was steady beneath her palm.

Warm.

Alive.

Gilgamesh went utterly still.

"You are infuriating," she whispered.

"I have been told."

Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric at his chest.

"This changes nothing."

"Of course not."

But she didn't drop her hand.

Gilgamesh lifted his hand—slowly. His fingers trailed down her cheek.

Her heart skipped a beat when he lowered his head. She should stop him. But she didn't. He was going to kiss her—
His lips pressed against the corner of her lips.

He didn't kiss her. Not like she thought he was. Saber frowned up at him and he arched an eyebrow.

Her eyes narrowed. "...do not get ahead of yourself, Gilgamesh."

Morning sunlight poured through the palace windows. Saber had slept poorly. Not because of danger. Not because of unease. But because the memory of the gardens refused to leave her alone. She was already awake when a servant arrived with a message: The king awaits you in the lower courtyard.

She nearly ignored it.

Nearly.

Almost.

When she stepped into the courtyard, she stopped short.

Two horses waited near the gates. Tall, powerful animals. One was deep chestnut and the other was pale gold. Gilgamesh stood beside them, one hand resting casually on the golden horses neck.

"You took your time," he said without turning.

"You summoned me without explanation."

"I invited you."

"That is not the word your servant used."

He smirked, finally glancing back at her. "

Saber folded her arms. "What is this?"

"A ride beyond the walls."

She stared at the horses, then back at him. "I did not realize this kingdom required inspection by horseback."

"It does not," he said. "But I require sunlight, distance from court, and your company. All at once."

She should refuse. She opened her mouth to do exactly that—but paused. The chestnut horse snorted, pawing the ground impatiently. The open gates revealed rolling land beyond the city walls, green and wide beneath the morning sky.

Freedom, just outside reach.

"…Fine," she said.

Gilgamesh's smile flickered. He grinned like a man who said he had won before he'd even come to battle.

A servant approached with folded garments draped over their arms—soft fabric in deep blue and white, light and flowing in a way her armor had never been.

Saber frowned. "What is this?"

"Clothing," Gilgamesh replied. "You may find it difficult to ride clad in steel from throat to ankle."

"I have ridden in armor before."

"I'm aware. I would still prefer you not terrify the countryside."

She narrowed her eyes. "I am not wearing a dress." Not the kind of dress that he no doubt had picked out. Something revealing? Something that would hinder movement. The clothing beneath her armor was not a typical dress. She'd had it specifically made for battle. Practical.

"It is not a dress." Gilgamesh called out.

She unfolded the garments with suspicion. A fitted tunic. Trousers. Riding boots.

Practical. Functional.

Unarmored.

Her fingers lingered on the fabric.

"You expect me to abandon my armor."

"I expect you to try one morning without it."

"That is unwise."

"That is trust."

She looked up sharply.

"No battlefield waits for you beyond those gates," Gilgamesh offered. "Just fields, wind, and time you do not need to spend preparing for war."

Saber hesitated.

Removing armor felt wrong. Like stepping outside without a sword. Like walking into danger unprepared.

But she had walked through Uruk unchallenged for days.

Slowly, she turned toward the palace doors. "I will return."

Gilgamesh watched her go without comment.

When she emerged again, there was a silent pause that followed her arrival.

The tunic fit her perfectly, the deep blue fabric contrasting with her fair hair. The trousers allowed easy movement, the boots rising to her knees. Without armor, she looked younger. Lighter.

More human.

Gilgamesh said nothing for a long moment.

Which was somehow worse than teasing.

"You are staring," she said flatly.

"I am appreciating."

She ignored the warmth creeping into her cheeks and walked straight to the chestnut horse. Of course he was—Gilgamesh never did anything that did not benefit himself.

A servant hurried forward with a small mounting stool.

Saber glanced at it, then at the saddle.

...side saddle?

She turned slowly toward Gilgamesh. "No."

He blinked. "No?"

"You test my patience this morning, Gilgamesh." Saber warned.

And he had the nerve to look innocent. "It is traditional."

"It is impractical." Saber said through clenched teeth.

"It is dignified."

"It is inefficient and unstable in the event of danger."

"There is no danger."

"There is always danger."

Gilgamesh studied her for a moment, then laughed—a rich, unrestrained sound that startled the nearby servants. He knew the outcome before he had even started this game.

"Very well," he said, waving them back. "Ride as you please."

Saber mounted in one smooth motion, swinging into the saddle astride the horse with effortless familiarity. As if she needed help mounting a horse, she thought in disgust.

The chestnut stilled instantly beneath her, as if recognizing competence when it felt it.

Gilgamesh watched with open approval, his eyes twinkling in something far too close to amusement.

He mounted the golden horse with equal ease. For a moment they sat side by side, sunlight warming their backs, the city gates wide before them.

No court. No crowds. No duties.

Just open land.

Gilgamesh nudged his horse forward.

"Try to keep up," he said.

Saber smirked despite herself and urged her horse into motion.

They rode out of Uruk together—no armor, no throne, no titles.

Just wind, hooves, and the wide open world waiting beyond the walls.

The countryside felt impossibly wide. Uruk's golden walls faded behind them and there was nothing before them but rolling hills and blue skies. Wind rushed her—the familiar feel of freedom and….and...home. Almost like she was in Camelot again. Just...the rhythm of hooves against earth. She laughed before she realized she was doing it.

Gilgamesh glanced sideways from atop his golden horse. "There it is."

She frowned slightly. "What?"

"You."

"I am always myself."

"Not in the palace."

She didn't answer. Instead, she urged the horse faster, rising slightly in the saddle as they crested a hill.

The land opened into a sweeping valley painted in green and white. Wildflowers dotted the grass like scattered jewels. The river cut through the earth in a shining ribbon.

Saber slowed at the top of the ridge, breathing deeply.

No walls. No expectations pressing from merchants or a throne room that she would sit in the future. Just wind and open space. Just the open sky stretching endlessly. She inhaled softly. "I missed them. I almost forgot what it's like."

Gilgamesh stopped beside her. "Freedom?"

"Solitude."

He chuckled softly. "You are not alone."

"That is why it feels strange." Because sometimes she forgot what it was like to feel human.

They rode in comfortable silence for a while, letting the horses pick their path along the riverbank. The tension that usually existed between them softened into something quieter. Something easier.

Peaceful.

And then Saber's posture changed.

It was subtle. A shift in her shoulders. A tightening of her grip on the reins.

Gilgamesh noticed instantly.

"I warned you," she said quietly, turning her head. "There is always danger."

Figures appeared along the rocky rise ahead—five riders stepping out from behind a ridge. Their armor mismatched, their cloaks worn, blades already drawn.

Bandits.

The leader called out, voice rough. "Turn back and leave the horses."

Gilgamesh sighed.

"I leave the city for one morning…"

Saber was already sliding from her saddle.

The familiar weight of a sword felt right in her hand again, even if it was not the blade she once carried. The metal sang as it left the sheath.

Her pulse quickened.

Her stance shifted.

Alive.

Gilgamesh dismounted more slowly, though he didn't draw his own blade.

The bandits charged.

Everything sharpened.

The world shrank to motion and instinct and steel.

Saber moved first, her blade flashing in the sunlight as she met the charge head-on. The clash of swords rang across the valley like a bell struck too hard. Sparks burst where steel met steel. Fools, the lot of them. Because they had no idea who they had dared just charge.

And Saber—she had missed this.

The clarity. The purpose. The rush of adrenaline in her veins. She had someone to protect, even if it was not her choice. Her future king and husband. She may despise him, but that was the truth.

Gilgamesh didn't fight like the king of Uruk. He fought like he was bored. Precise movements that he dodged. But every strike was devastating. He was lazy in his confidence. Every swing landed where it needed to.

Back to back, they moved like they had fought together for years. Out-numbered but easily swayed to their own win.

The last bandit fled before the fight had fully ended.

Silence rushed back in.

Hair clung to Saber's cheeks. The wind returned, carrying away the echoes of battle.

She turned toward him—he was already there. His arm snaked around her waist, jerking her against him. Her breath rushed out and she braced her hands against his chest.

"Well, you were right." Gilgamesh said, as if they had truly been in danger.

"I usually am." She hesitated. "Let me go."

"Why?" Gilgamesh asked as his free hand lifted. He cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her jaw. Adrenaline had her pulse throbbing. His lips twitched. And then his gaze lowered. His head lowered.

"Gilgamesh…" Saber whispered, tilting her head back, her eyes wide. No, no. no.

He was going to—

His lips paused an inch from hers, a soft laugh escaping. "Are you going to stop me?"

So close she could feel the breath of his words. So close...another soft laugh…

And then the careful restraint of his lips touching hers. Saber stilled. Though she wasn't sure if it was because of his audacity—or because of the softness of his lips. His lips shouldn't be soft. They shouldn't be warm.

And then he pulled he pulled away, that same arrogant and yet soft expression curling his lips. Triumph.

She hadn't pulled away.

"You're insufferable." Saber muttered.

Gilgamesh smiled, victorious in an entirely different way. "And you," he added, "are finally beginning to enjoy my world."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The valley had settled back into an easy quiet. Wind bent the tall grass in gentle waves as they let the horses graze in peace not too far away. Saber ignored the presence of servants in the distance; at least they were no longer alone. But still, Saber stepped back and ran a hand through her hair as her pulse began to slow to a steady beat. The rush of combat, no matter how short, thrummed in her veins. It was bright and restless.

And Gilgamesh watched that with open amusement. "You look happier."

"I look sweaty."

"Both can be true."

Saber rolled her eyes and walked towards her chestnut. The familiar comfort of the saddle awaited and the thought of riding again was suddenly irresistible. But before she could fit her foot in the stirrup, a servant from the traveling escort hurried forward—breathless and nervous.

"My king," he said, bowing low. "We brought the alternate saddle as requested."

Saber froze.

Gilgamesh's smile widened.

Saber's eyes narrowed.

The servant presented a polished saddle. Elegant, curved and unmistakably designed for side saddle riding. Saber turned slowly, her eyes meeting his. "Gilgamesh."

"I prepared options." He defended.

"You planned this." She accused. Because she knew—as if he was waiting for a reason to present the side saddle again.

"I knew you would refuse."

She stared at him. "Then why bring it?"

He gestured lazily toward the saddle. "Because watching you refuse it is entertaining.

The servant looked deeply confused and quietly retreated.

Saber planted a hand on her hip. "You are insufferable."

"You have said that before. I take it as affection."

"I will never ride side saddle."

"I know."

"I am a knight." Saber said, her eyes still narrowed.

"You are a king." Gilgamesh corrected. "And soon to be my queen."

"I am a warrior."

"And warriors ride—" Gilgamesh said, but she cut him off.

"Then stop offering it."

"No."

"Why?" She asked, annoyance filling her.

"Because you become wonderfully indignant."

Saber swung into the saddle in one smooth motion, boots settling firmly into the stirrups. "I am not indignant."

Gilgamesh's lips twitched. "You mounted faster than usual."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Saber urged the horse forward before he could say more. He laughed behind her as he mounted his own horse and followed.

"You may be a lady," he called after her, "but you will never ride like one."

Saber glanced over her shoulder, a hint of mischief finally breaking through her usual composure. "I will not." She said, and the words carried easily in the wind.

Gilgamesh leaned forward in the saddle, exhilaration shining in his eyes. Yes, he thought in agreement. Side saddle would never have suited her. But he would never stop offering it.

Several days passed in a sense of peace. A sense of quiet and acceptance. Uruk had slipped into a routine that she didn't even realize. Morning councils. Afternoon walks. Evenings spent arguing over philosophy and warfare. She would argue over governance… wondering if maybe—just maybe—she was beginning to enjoy the argument itself.

But it was quiet outside of that.

And she should have known that peace would not last. Which was precisely why she grew suspicious when Gilgamesh behaved unusually well for three days after offering her side-saddle. It wasn't like when he had welcomed her to Uruk. This was...different.

He was too polite. Too agreeable. Too calm.

It was unnatural.

It was on a fourth morning that the trap revealed itself. Saber entered the training courtyard expecting silence and practice dummies. What she found instead stopped her dead in her tracks. A long rack of weapons stood arranged in perfect order. Swords. Spears. Bows. Shields.

And hanging at the center…

A dress.

White. Flowing. Ridiculous.

She stared at it as if it might attack first.

And behind her, she heard Gilgamesh's footsteps drift lazily across the courtyard. "I thought you might enjoy expanding your skill set."

She turned slowly. "You have lost your mind."

"It is a training exercise."

"That is a dress."

"It is training attire."

She crossed her arms. "Explain."

"You insist you are prepared for any danger at any time."

"I am."

"Then you must also be prepared to fight in inconvenient clothing."

Her eyes narrowed. "You think I cannot fight in a dress?"

"I think you will hate every moment of it." Gilgamesh murmured.

Saber walked toward the rack, staring up at the garment like it had personally insulted her honor. "You are trying to provoke me."

"And I am succeeding."

She grabbed the dress from the rack and turned back to him, expression dangerously calm. "If I defeat you in this… training attire…"

Gilgamesh's grin sharpened. "Yes?"

"You will never mention side saddle again."

He paused. Actually paused. Which told her everything she needed to know. "…You drive a merciless bargain."

"Do we have an agreement?"

His smile returned, slow and dangerous. "Of course."

Saber disappeared to change before he could add another infuriating remark. When she returned, the courtyard went very quiet. The dress was simple and light, designed for movement, but it flowed around her legs with every step. She looked like nobility instead of a knight.

Gilgamesh stared for a fraction longer than he intended.

"You are staring," she said flatly.

"I am appreciating."

She sighed. "Draw your sword."

He did.

They circled each other slowly, sunlight glinting off steel.

"You planned this for days," she accused.

"I plan everything."

"You are insufferable."

"You keep saying that."

She attacked first and the dress did exactly what she expected—it tugged. It pulled. It caught in the wind and demanded awareness. Every movement required adjustment. Which meant she focused harder. She moved sharper and she fought smarter.

Steel rang across the courtyard in bright, joyful bursts. Sparks flew as their blades met again and again, laughter slipping between strikes. Gilgamesh stepped back after a near miss, eyes bright with delight. "You are enjoying this."

She did not hesitate. "I am enjoying defeating you."

"You have not done so yet." Gilgamesh called out.

Her eyes narrowed again. "Give me a moment." She pressed forward with renewed determination, skirts swirling like a storm around her legs even if the hem was now caked in mud.

Gilgamesh laughed as he parried, excitement shining in his eyes. There it was again—that spark he loved provoking. Annoyance. Fire. Life. And as their swords clashed beneath the morning sun, he decided he would never stop finding new ways to tease her. Because every time he did, she burned brighter.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

Gilgamesh was...not what she expected. Saber would admit to that. He was teasing and cheerful in a way that she wouldn't have thought. His patience was...astounding. Considering why she was here….

The courtyard was the start of it. Every few days a new scheme appeared. A hunting falcon delivered to her window at dawn—because queens should learn falconry.

As if she would ever need to learn such a thing. Ridiculous.

A poetry reading forced upon her during sword practice because—culture sharpens the mind.

The poetry was cringe worthy.

A dinner banquet where he deliberately seated every noble in the city across from her—to test their composure.

And Saber endured it each time with growing suspicion and mounting irritation while Gilgamesh watched with bright and unapologetic amusement. By the end of the second week after their ride, Saber had had enough.

If he wished to wage a war of provocation…

She would simply change battlefields.

The palace buzzed with the quiet excitement that only Uruk seemed to carry. A small gathering of nobles filled the main hall. Music drifted softly. Gilgamesh stood near the throne, half-listening to a merchant drone on about trade routes while wondering how he had allowed himself to be corned into such a boring conversation.

...the doors opened.

The hall changed. Conversation halted mid-sentence. Musicians missed a note. Even the merchant stopped speaking.

Gilgamesh turned.

And forgot what he had been thinking.

Saber stepped into the hall wearing a dress.

Not training attire. Not practical clothing. Not anything designed for battle. A real dress. Something silk. Something, perhaps, made for royalty. She may have dressed in feminine clothing in the past, but there had always been armor present. But this…

Deep sapphire. The fabric traced her waist and hips before falling in elegant folds to the floor. The neckline was simple, but the fit was unmistakably deliberate. His gaze almost lowered…

Her hair, usually left free or in a deliberate high bun, had been carefully arranged to frame her face. She looked every inch a queen. And absolutely none like the warrior he had grown used to provoking.

Gilgamesh stared. Completely and utterly unprepared.

Saber walked toward him with calm, measured steps, fully aware of the stunned silence rippling through the hall. She stopped in front of him and inclined her head slightly. "My king."

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Her eyes sparkled with unmistakable satisfaction. "You are staring," she said softly and the words echoed his own far too perfectly.

Gilgamesh inhaled softly and then blinked. "I am...appreciating."

Saber's lips curved ever so slightly. Victory—because for the first time since their duel—the King of heroes look genuinely caught off guard. "You wished to test my composure." Saber murmured, her voice calm and polite. "I thought it only fair to test yours."

Around them, nobles pretended very hard not to watch.

Gilgamesh let out a quiet breath that almost became a laugh. "You planned this." A mimic of her own words.

"For days." Saber said unashamedly.

"Inevitable," he murmured, almost to himself, but his gaze softened. Admiration burned in his eyes. "You are merciless."

"You taught me well."

Gilgamesh leaned slightly closer, voice dropping just enough that only she could hear. "You have just declared war."

Her answer was a whisper of triumph. "A war you started."

Gilgamesh recovered quickly. He always did. Shock never lasted long when one's pride refused to allow it and by the following afternoon, the palace servants were whispering again.

A message arrived for Saber with suspicious speed and very little explanation: The king requests your presence in the lower vaults.

Saber narrowed her eyes at the parchment. "Vaults," she muttered. "That is never a good sign."

Still, curiosity won.

It usually did where Gilgamesh was concerned.

The palace corridors grew cooler as she descended, torches flickering against stone walls that had not seen sunlight in centuries. The air carried the faint scent of metal and old treasure. And when she opened the heavy set doors, she stopped dead.

The chamber beyond glittered.

Rows upon rows of weapon racks stretched across the vast vault. Each were filled with blades, spears, bows and artifacts that shimmered with quiet ancient power.

Gold along the walls caught the torchlight. Jewels gleamed from hilts. The air itself felt charged with history.

Gilgamesh stood at the center like a man in his natural habitat. He didn't turn when she entered. "I wondered how long you would take."

Saber stepped slowly into the vault, eyes wide despite herself. "You brought me to a treasury."

"I brought you to my treasury."

Her gaze drifted across the weapons—each one more exquisite than the last. Perfect balance. Impeccable craftsmanship. Blades that looked as though they could cut the wind itself.

Her fingers twitched.

Gilgamesh noticed immediately. He turned, golden eyes bright with victory. "You chose your battlefield yesterday," he said. "Allow me to choose mine."

She folded her arms, determined not to react. "And this is meant to… intimidate me?"

"No."

He lifted a sword from the nearest rack. The blade shimmered like liquid sunlight as he tested its balance. "This is meant to torture you."

Saber's composure cracked. Just slightly. "That is cruel."

"Yes." Gilgamesh said simply. He moved slowly down the aisle, selecting weapon after weapon, testing the weight, the balance, the craftsmanship with deliberate care. A curved saber with a jeweled hilt. A spear balanced so perfectly it seemed weightless. A bow carved from pale wood that gleamed like ivory. Each one he handled with casual familiarity and each one he set back with equal care.

Saber followed despite herself, trying very hard not to stare. She failed completely. "You are doing this on purpose," she said through clenched teeth.

"Of course."

He picked up another blade. Sleek, elegant and perfectly forged. Saber stepped closer before she could stop herself. The sword practically hummed with potential. Her mouth watered.

Gilgamesh glanced at her. "You see something you like." He murmured the simply fact.

"I see many things I like."

"Good." He turned the blade in the torchlight, admiring it as though he had all the time in the world. Then he set it back.

Saber made a small, strangled sound of frustration.

Gilgamesh laughed softly. "You wore a dress to conquer my composure," he said. "So now you will watch me ignore weapons you desperately want to test."

"That is barbaric."

"That is war."

She stepped closer to another rack, eyes drawn helplessly to a long sword with a grip wrapped in dark leather. It looked perfectly balanced. Perfectly suited to her hand. She reached—

Gilgamesh plucked it away first.

Her glare could have split stone. "You are insufferable."

"You are predictable." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You look at weapons the way you looked at me while you wore that dress."

Saber's breath caught. "That is absurd."

"Is it?"

He held the sword between them for a moment longer before finally placing it gently into her hands. The weight settled perfectly into her grip. Her irritation evaporated into pure, undeniable delight. Gilgamesh watched the transformation with quiet satisfaction.

"Yes," he murmured. "This battlefield suits you far better."

Saber tested the balance, unable to hide the small, dangerous smile forming on her lips.

War, it seemed, had officially resumed. Because this was not a war he would win.

YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME

Chapter Text

She had been on her way to the training yard for entirely innocent reasons. Saber pushed open the heavy doors, expecting the usual clash of steel or the distant hum of Enkidu's chains. Instead—

Silence.

Warm sunlight spilled across the stone courtyard and in the center of it stood Gilgamesh.

Shirtless.

Shirtless. Sword in hand, the muscles of his back shifting with each slow deliberate move as he practiced alone. His back was to her. His golden hair clung faintly at the neck from sweat, skin glistening beneath the sun like polished marble. Every motion was precise. It was beautiful in a way that was almost infuriating—

Saber stopped. She should leave. She was leaving. But her feet wouldn't move as Gilgamesh pivoted, blade cutting through the air in a smooth arc. He exhaled slowly but he never turned. And then he spoke. "You may continue staring, Saber. I will allow it."

Her entire body snapped rigid. "I— I was not—"

He turned and his eyes red eyes met hers with wicked amusement when he realized her eyes were glued to his naked chest.

The King of Heroes smiled. A slow, predatory smile. "Well," he said, voice rich with satisfaction, "this is a delightful turn of events."

Saber immediately looked away. "I came to train."

"Of course you did." Gilgamesh started towards her. Unhurried. Confident. He lifted his sword and let it rest against his shoulder. "You came to train…" He repeated, stopping just close enough to feel the heat from between their bodies. His bare chest. "And yet you have not drawn your blade."

Her grip tightened around the hilt at her side. "I will."

"Eventually." Gilgamesh murmured. "Oh, how the mighty fall. The proud King of Knights, undone by a bare chest."

"I am not undone!"

"You have yet to blink."

Saber blinked instantly.

His grin widened.

Saber felt heat crawl up her neck. This was unbearable. Completely unbearable. This was exactly what he did to her—every few days, some new method of torment.
And now she had walked directly into his territory.

Gilgamesh stepped closer still, voice lowering into velvet mischief. "Tell me, Saber… was the view to your liking?"

Her pride rallied instantly. Chin lifting, posture straightening. "If you are attempting to distract me," she said coolly, "it will not work."

"Oh?" His eyebrow rose.

She finally drew her sword, steel singing softly in the sunlight. "Put a shirt on," she said. "Or prepare to spar."

Gilgamesh laughed—genuinely laughed. "Excellent," he said, eyes gleaming. "Then I shall train exactly as I am." He raised his blade. "And we shall see how long your focus survives."

Saber lunged first.

Steel rang against steel again and again. She was fast. She was precise and she was ruthless as Gilgamesh had known she would be. But normally...she would have had him pressed back by now.

Normally.

But every time their blades locked, every time he stepped in close—every time sunlight slid across the ridged muscle of his shoulders and chest—

Saber's jaw clenched. The view was not distracting! He was Gilgamesh!

Her focus slipped—just for a second. And that was all Gilgamesh needed. Their swords vibrated against one another. He twisted his wrist and blocked her blade, stepping between her feet with infuriating ease. The tip of his sword stopped a hair from her throat.

"Again." Gilgamesh said smoothly—another victory.

Saber knocked his blade away with a look of disgust. "I slipped."

Gilgamesh tilted his head. "I suppose you did."

They circled and she lunged. He parried. He smiled. "You are slower today." He said, sounding suddenly thoughtful. "Perhaps you did not sleep well?"

"I slept perfectly."

"Hmm. Then perhaps your eyes are tired."

"They are not tired." Saber seethed.

"Strange," he said, tilting his head. "They seem to wander."

Her blade struck harder than necessary but Gilgamesh caught it easily, their faces suddenly close. "Eyes up here, Saber."

She shoved him back with a growl and attacked again.

Missed again.

He tapped the flat of his blade against her shoulder in a mock strike. "Another point to me."

"I am not keeping score!" How dare he—

"You are losing." Gilgamesh pointed out.

"I am not losing!"

He didn't even try to hide his grin. "You have yet to land a single decisive blow."

Rage flared hot and bright in her chest. This was ridiculous. She was not distracted. She was not flustered. She was not noticing the way sweat traced his collarbone. She absolutely was not—

Gilgamesh disarmed her.

He disarmed her.

Her sword clattered to the ground heavily between their feet. Silence fell.

Gilgamesh looked towards her in sympathy. "How unfortunate."

Saber stared at him, her chest lifting with each heavy breath. The bastard…. Her pride was in shambles.

Gilgamesh started walking towards her, entirely too pleased with himself. "Shall I fetch your blade, or would you like to—"

Saber moved. She kicked the hilt of her blade so that it kicked up into the air. She caught it easily and then swung the blade sideways. But not towards him. Towards the large wooden barrel sitting beside the training wall.

Gilgamesh paused, curious. "What are you—"

The wood split with a loud crack and a tidal wave of water burst outward and slammed directly into him.

Silence. Absolute silence as the water cascaded from his hair and down his face, over his shoulders, soaking him completely. His mouth fell open—golden hair clinging to his cheeks wetly. His sword dripped. His entire body glistened wetly.

Saber simply stood there. "I win."

A drop of water slid down his nose. Then another. And then Gilgamesh laughed. Not annoyed. Not even angry. He sounded….delighted. A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face as he wiped water from his eyes. "Oh, Saber…" He said, his voice rich with amusement. "You truly believe this is victory?"

She crossed her arms. "You are soaked."

"I am." He took a step toward her. Water splashed beneath his boots. "Which means," he continued, eyes gleaming with wicked promise, "you have declared a new kind of war."

Saber's confidence wavered for a moment. "…What kind of war?"

He stepped closer. "An unfair one." And judging by the look on his face—he was enjoying this far too much.

Saber did not retreat. She refused to retreat. Even when Gilgamesh stalked towards like a predator who had just discovered something far more entertaining than swordplay. She lifted her chin, her eyes lowering… water still streamed from his hair. Down his neck and his chest. His trousers clung heavily and darkened. The sunlight turned every droplet into liquid gold against his skin.

Oh no. This had been a mistake. A terrible mistake.

Saber inhaled and straightened her shoulders anyways. "You were winning. I improvised."

"Improvised?" Gilgamesh echoed softly. "You assaulted your king with a barrel."

"You provoked me."

"I did," he agreed, stepping closer. "And I would do so again."

She refused to step back.

REFUSED.

Even when he closed the last bit of distance between them. Even when the heat of him—sun-warmed and rain-soaked—was suddenly right there. He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. "You have been distracted all morning."

"I have not." Her lips curled in disgust

"You have."

"I was not distracted."

"You stabbed a barrel, Saber." Gilgamesh reminded her.

"…It was tactical."

His laughter rumbled low in his chest, rich and pleased. "Of course it was."

She turned away sharply, marching toward the weapon rack to retrieve her sword. "The training is finished."

"Oh no," he said behind her, voice silk and danger. "It has only just begun."

She grabbed her sword, trying very hard not to notice the sound of his footsteps following her. She tried very hard not to notice the water dripping from him onto the stone beside her boots.

"You declared a war," he continued. "A war of distraction, mischief and retaliation."

"I declared nothing."

"You soaked me."

"You deserved it."

He moved to stand beside her, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed hers. "Then allow me to respond in kind."

She turned to glare at him—and froze.

Because he was close. Too close. Still dripping. Still smiling.

And entirely too pleased.

"What are you doing?" she asked, far more quietly than she intended.

"Considering my options," he said.

"For revenge?"

"For balance."

Her heartbeat quickened despite herself. "You are insufferable."

"And you are beautiful when you are angry." The words landed like a thrown blade. Her breath caught.

Gilgamesh watched the reaction carefully, triumph flickering in his crimson eyes. He stepped back at last, satisfied, as if he had just scored a point only he understood.

"This war will take time," he said lightly. "I intend to savor it."

Saber stared at him.

He sheathed his sword and turned toward the palace, voice drifting back over his shoulder. "Try not to attack any more barrels without me."

She stood alone in the courtyard long after he left. And for the first time since arriving in his kingdom—

Saber realized she might be losing a battle she had never intended to fight.

YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME

Chapter Text

The next day began peacefully enough. Which, Saber was beginning to learn, was always a warning.

They rode out again beyond the city walls. No court. No servants. Just the open land and the slow morning river. The air was warm and heavy with the late sun. Gilgamesh looked entirely too comfortable and that alone should have made her suspicious.

They stopped near a shallow bend where the water widened into a calm, reflective pool. Their horses drank nearby, tails flicking lazily at flies. It was days like this that Saber felt...calm. But her eyes scanned regardless. "No bandits today." She said—reminding him of his own error.

"Disappointing." Gilgamesh murmured

She shot him a look. "You were enjoying yourself yesterday."

"I was enjoying you yesterday."

"That is not—" She stopped, shook her head. "Never mind."

The sun climbed higher. The heat grew heavier. Gilgamesh exhaled slowly, tilting his head back as if listening to the sky itself. "It is warm."

"It is summer."

"It is excessive."

Saber crossed her arms. "You live in Uruk. You are accustomed to heat."

He hummed thoughtfully, then—without warning—reached for the hem of his shirt.

Saber froze. "You are not—"

"I am," he said calmly, already pulling it up and over his head.

The fabric came away easily, revealing sunlit skin, the lean strength of him, the faint sheen of sweat from the ride. He tossed the shirt aside without looking. "I will not sit in armor in this heat," he added casually.

Saber's eye twitched. "You are impossible."

"I am practical." He walked toward the water's edge.

Saber followed slowly, narrowing her eyes. "This is not practical. This is—"

He glanced back at her. "What?"

"Strategic nonsense."

Gilgamesh smiled faintly. "You are thinking too loudly again."

He stepped closer to the water. Closer. Saber realized exactly what he was doing.

"You are provoking me," she said flatly.

"I am cooling off."

"You are provoking me." She said again.

He lifted one foot as if preparing to step into the water. Saber moved. Not fast enough for most people to see clearly. But fast enough for him. She grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved—hard.

Gilgamesh didn't even try to resist. He went straight into the lake with a loud splash. Water exploded upward in a wild spray. Silence followed. Then bubbling. Saber stood at the edge, breathing slightly harder than before, staring down at the rippling surface.

His head broke the surface, golden hair plastered to his face. Water dripped from his lashes. His expression was entire stunned for one second before he laughed.
Golden hair plastered to his face. Water dripping from his lashes. Expression utterly stunned for exactly one second. He pushed his wet hair back with both hands before looking up at her. "You have become dangerously bold."

Saber folded her arms. "You were asking for it."

"I was removing clothing."

"You were performing."

"I was hot."

He waded closer to the edge, water sliding down his chest, sunlight catching every movement. "You have now attacked your king twice with water."

"You started both incidents."

"I am beginning to see a pattern."

"Oh?"

"You escalate when you are flustered."

Saber went still. "That is not true."

Gilgamesh's smile widened. "You are flustered now."

"I am not."

Gilgamesh stepped closer to the edge, leaning slightly forward. "You are staring again."

Saber's composure snapped. Without thinking, she stepped forward and shoved him back into the lake a second time. Another splash, this one louder than the first.

Then—Gilgamesh was laughing again. "I am going to enjoy this war immensely."

Saber turned away when he made a small humming sound. It made her stop and look over her shoulder. "What is it?"

Gilgamesh stood in the shallow water near the muddy edge, one leg angled slightly behind him. His posture was...off. Not quiet the effortless arrogance he usually wore. He frowned.

Saber narrowed her eyes. "What now?"

He glanced down at his leg. "I appear to be… stuck."

Saber stared at him before her gaze lowered to his ankle. "You are...what?" She asked flatly.

"My foot," he repeated patiently, "has sunk into the mud."

She didn't move. "You are the King of Heroes," she said slowly. "You cannot be defeated by wet soil."

"I am not defeated," he replied, perfectly calm. "I am inconvenienced."

Saber exhaled sharply through her nose. "For God's sake."

She stepped into the water. The shallow edge rippled around her boots as she waded closer, every step heavier with suspicion. "Move your leg."

"I am attempting."

"You are standing perfectly still."

"I am conserving strength."

She stopped beside him, close enough now that she could see the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Her eye twitched. "You are enjoying this."

"I would never."

"Gilgamesh." She warned softly.

He sighed, as if burdened by her lack of faith. "Very well. Assist me."

Saber muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse and reached down toward his leg. "Fine. Hold still."

"I am always still," he said.

She grabbed his arm for balance, leaning slightly forward—And in that exact moment, his hand closed around her wrist. Saber barely had time to register the shift before the world tilted. "What—"

He yanked. Saber went airborne for half a heartbeat—

Then landed directly in the water with a loud splash. The cold of it exploded around her as she hit the surface armor and fabric dragging her under before she pushed herself up, sputtering. Water streamed down her face. How dare he—

Gilgamesh stood where he had been, completely upright and completely unstuck. He watched her with open satisfaction.

"…You—" Saber coughed, brushing wet hair from her eyes. "You were not stuck."

"No," he admitted pleasantly. "I was not."

Her glare could have split stone. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Gilgamesh stepped forward, water rippling around his calves, and crouched slightly so he was closer to her level.

"This," he said calmly, "is retaliation."

Saber wiped water from her lashes, breathing hard—not from exertion, but from sheer indignation. "You are insufferable."

"And yet," he replied, eyes glinting with amusement, "you continue to engage me."

Saber opened her mouth but closed it. Because unfortunately, there was nothing she could say. She had walked straight into his traps for two days in a row.

Gilgamesh tilted his head, studying her soaked expression like a priceless artifact. "I believe," he said softly, "you are beginning to enjoy this war as well."

Saber shoved water off her face, glaring up at him. "I am going to kill you."

His smile widened. "I look forward to your next attempt."

The next morning, Gilgamesh's saddle was nowhere to be found.

He wasn't dramatic, but even his horse seemed aware of his irritating confusion. The stamp of a hoof. A sharp exhale through flared nostrils. Gilgamesh stood beside it, one hand resting lightly on the reins, expression unreadable.

Saber leaned casually against a nearby post, watching in perfect silence.

There were no other saddles present.

"Irritating," he said at last.

"The horse?" she asked mildly.

"The situation." He said when he noticed leather in the far end of the horses stable. The reins were missing.

"Perhaps it dislikes being ridden." Saber offered, as if the horse itself had shredded the leather with its teeth.

"It has never objected before."

Saber hummed thoughtfully, as if this were a profound mystery of nature. "Animals can be unpredictable."

Gilgamesh glanced at her.

Just a glance.

But she felt it. She straightened immediately, hands folded behind her back in the most innocent posture she could manage. "Is something wrong, my king?" The words were soft, practiced and sweet.

He turned slightly toward her. Her expression was pure concern. Open eyes. Calm posture. The picture of sincerity.

A masterpiece of deception.

Gilgamesh looked at his horse and then her. Slowly. Deliberately. He could ride without a saddle. He'd done so before. But it was not a comfortable situation.

Saber straightened, one hand sliding through her own horses mane. "I shall return in time for dinner, my King. I apologize that you cannot accompany me today."

"I see." Gilgamesh murmured, completely unbothered. He turned and his hands caught her waist, lifting her up into her own saddle.

Her boots barely caught the stirrups, confused at his sudden move. Gilgamesh followed, swinging up behind her on the horse, his thighs on either side of hers, his chest against her back. His arms caged her in as he reached around her and took hold of the reins. The horse shifted under the added weight.

Saber froze.

"We will ride together then." Gilgamesh said triumphantly.

Her head whipped around. "This is my horse—"

"It is now our horse."

"That is not how ownership works."

"It worked with you." Gilgamesh said and then gently guided the horse forward into a low gallop before she could respond.

Saber sat rigid, every instinct screaming at her to move but there was nowhere to go without brushing into him. He knew this. Of course he did.

"You are entirely too pleased with yourself," she muttered.

"I have you exactly where I want you," he replied.

"That sounds like a threat."

"It is a statement of fact."

Saber huffed, refusing to look back at him again. "I will throw you off this horse."

"No, you will not."

"I absolutely will."

"You will try," he corrected.

The confidence in his voice made her grind her teeth.

Behind her, she felt him shift slightly—subtle, controlled. Not invading her space. Not yet. Just close enough so that she was constantly aware of him. Every breath. Every movement. He leaned in just slightly, voice lowering. "You are tense."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I am perfectly calm."

A pause. Then, quieter— "Your heartbeat disagrees."

Saber didn't say anything else. Because they both knew that he'd already won this round.

The horse moved at an easy pace through the open fields. The wind was soft here. It wasn't claimed by war or duty. She may have despised him in that, but they were out in the wild winds again. Her eyes slid closed as the wind caressed her face. This meant nothing—Gilgamesh had taken advantage of the situation.

She could almost pretend that they were human. She could almost pretend that they hadn't lived multiple lives serving in a corrupt war that would end hundreds of thousands. He didn't say a word—he simply sat behind her, his arms caging her in as he held the reins loosely. Not...distant.
Not anymore.

He had stopped being the only thing she knew him as.

He was no longer a king or a conqueror. He wasn't just arrogance carved into gold and myth. That version of him was still there, she knew. It was there in battle. It was there in command and in the terrifying certainty of his strength. But now…

Now…

There was something else layered over it.

The sound of his laughter from the lake. The ridiculous patience of his teasing. He hadn't looked at her with anger when she had pushed him into the lake. He'd looked at her with delight. Even now, she could feel the faint vibration of it in his chest when he shifted slightly behind her. Not threatening. Not commanding. Just… present.

God, this was so...unfamiliar. Because she had always understood Gilgamesh in terms of war. She understood him in opposition. She understood him in strategy and power. But this…

This was not a battlefield.

This was something quieter.

Saber didn't understand it.

He was still a warrior. That had never changed. But he was also…. A man who leaned back in the saddle as if the world simply could not demand more from him. He was a man who did not look at her as an enemy. Even in the Grail war he had not looked at her as an enemy. He'd looked at her as a prize, perhaps. But…

But he also looked at her as if she were the only thing worth watching in a predictable world.

Her throat worked as nervousness crept through her. He was supposed to be her enemy. But he was now her king. He was her conqueror—

But now there were gaps. There was space between them where something unguarded was growing. His laugh was no longer a weapon. His silence was no longer a threat. When had that happened?

"Your thoughts are loud again," Gilgamesh said behind her, voice calm.

Saber blinked. "They are not."

"They are when you try to hide them."

Saber inhaled softly. "You assume too much."

"I observe," Gilgamesh said.

The horse kept moving. Wind brushed through the fields. And for a moment, neither of them spoke.

But Saber became painfully aware that the warmth behind her was not just heat or proximity or inconvenience. It was him. He wasn't the King of heroes as legend described him. He was simply Gilgamesh in the present. He breathed. He watched. He existed in a way that was not frozen in history, myth of conflict.

He was a man who laughed at being shoved into a lake. He was a man who sat behind her in silence without turning it into dominance. He was a man who she could no longer fit into the boundaries she had built for him.

"This is distracting," she said finally.

"What is?"

"The arrangement."

Behind her, she felt rather than saw his faint smile. "I find it efficient," he replied.

"That is not what I meant."

"I know."

Of course he did. And that, more than anything, was what unsettled her now. Because somewhere between war and ridicule and lake water and stolen horses—

Gilgamesh had stopped being someone she fought. He was now someone she noticed.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The palace was quieter than usual that afternoon. She hadn't meant to wander that far. Saber told herself it was out of habit. Mapping exits. Noting patrols. Understanding the layout of place that was….her home. It was a knights instinct.

But the corridor she followed became unfamiliar.

A tall set of doors stood slightly ajar at the end of the hallway. Light spilled through. She could see the flow of fabric in the gentle breeze of open windows. Saber hesitated for a moment before pushing the doors open.

The room itself was large. State use, perhaps—though it had been transformed into something else. Silk and embroidered cloth lay across tables. Needle cushions. Threads of golden were woven into silk. The air smelled faintly of dyes and lined. And in the center….

Saber's steps slowed.

A dress.

It hung from a carved stand, unfinished but unmistakable in what it was. It was elegant. It was royal. The fabric shimmered with quiet wealth. It left no room for armor. It wasn't travel wear. No, this was something else. Something elegant. Something deliberate. It was something meant for a queen.

Her breath caught. And then the memory surface, sharp and unwelcome. Their duel. The ultimatum.

Fight me. If I win, you will marry me.

And she had foolishly accepted that dare. She had accepted it as she did most impossible things. She had accepted it as a challenge and as a battlefield. And for once—she had lost.

Her fingers curled slightly at her side. She hadn't forgotten the terms of that duel. She had simply set them aside. But staring at the dress…

Her dress.

The dress she would wear when she married Gilgamesh.

...she remembered all too clearly why she was here.

She stepped forward slowly. The silk shifted slightly in the breeze from the open window again. It was beautiful in a way that made her uneasy. Her throat tightened. The dress was a reminder of the future she had no chosen. She didn't like that feeling. But worse than that…

Was the curiosity that followed it. Because she didn't turn away from the dress. She touched it. She caressed the soft silk between her fingertips.

A soft sound came from the doorway behind her. Saber lifted her head and turned, her hand instinctively reaching for her blade.

Gilgamesh leaned against the frame. His expression was unreadable. What she could read wasn't teasing nor was it mocking. "So…" He murmured. "You've found it."

Her throat worked again. "This is for me."

"No," he replied evenly. "It is for what comes after your decision."

"My decision?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at her. But she remembered. She knew. And she didn't understand it. She inhaled shakily. "I remember." But… "I gave my word." She said softly.

He stepped into the room, his steps unhurried. The sound of his boots were quiet against the stone.

"You are uneasy," Gilgamesh said just as softly as her own words.

Saber exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing her attention away from the dress and back to him. "This was always the arrangement."

"Yes."

He didn't pressure her. He never had, had he? During the Grail War, perhaps. But since the dual? Words left her. He was the same man who had thrown her into a lake—after she had done the same to him—he was the same man who had stolen her horse after she sabotaged his. He was the same man who laughed as if the world could not touch him.

He was the man who had forced her hand and yet...the same man who was giving her free will. He was waiting...waiting when he didn't have to wait. He was the man who was waiting when patience was not something he was known for.

Her eyes met his. "I am not afraid." She said quietly.

He didn't mock her. "I never said you were." Silence followed, and then— "You are allowed to question it."

Saber looked away. "Why does no one question it?"

Gilgamesh's brow shifted slightly. "Question what?"

"The arrangement," she said. "Us."

He paused. "They do."

"They do?"

"They are simply intelligent enough not to say it aloud."

That earned a faint, reluctant exhale from her. "And the marriage?"

Another pause. Longer this time. "The court assumes it is inevitable," he said. Because it was inevitable.

"And yet it has not happened." She said slowly.

"No."

Saber hesitated. "...why has no one questioned why we have not shared a bed?" He was a King. She was to be his queen. She wasn't foolish enough to think that Gilgamesh wasn't a man of bodily pleasures.

Gilgamesh turned his head slowly towards her. "That, they question more carefully."

Saber frowned slightly. "And?"

"And they are still alive." he replied simply.

That was not an answer so much as it was a boundary. She studied him for a moment. "You could force it." She spoke softly.

"Yes." Gilgamesh's tone changed—softer, perhaps. More dangerous than any command.

Saber surprised herself by her own question. "Why haven't you?"

This time, he did not answer immediately. But his eyes met hers. Eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness. Red. She'd grown used to those eyes.

"Is that what you truly believe I am?" He asked.

"That you would not?" she countered. At one time that was exactly the kind of man she would have taken him for. Especially when he demanded she be his wife.

"I have taken many things in my life," Gilgamesh said slowly. "But what I want from you does not require force."

Saber searched his face. His eyes. Searching for mockery—but she found none. "Then why this?"

"Because I do not wish for you to see this as your prison."

She looked away again. "You are so sure of yourself that I will choose...this.…of my own violation." She had expected they would wed long before now. She had expected he would...their very first night here. And yet weeks had passed.

Her lids lifted when he placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. "You did not kneel to me, Artoria." He said. Nothing more.

She stilled. "That is not an answer."

"It is the only one that matters."

She choose her words carefully. "And if I said I would not marry you...you would be humiliated, would you not?"

"I would not be humiliated." Gilgamesh said.

Saber frowned.

But Gilgamesh continued. "Humiliation is what others assign to failure." He waited until her eyes met his. "I do not fail, Artoria."

Her breath caught. It should have sounded arrogant. But it was steady.

And then, because he was Gilgamesh— "But...I would be unamused."

Saber looked away, moving herself away from the finger that held her chin. "You make this sound so simple."

"It is not simple, but it is direct." Gilgamesh corrected her. "You are not here because you were conquered and I am not waiting for you because I lack alternatives."

Her chest tightened.

"We are here because you have not left." And there were so many meanings to those words.

He was so sure...she would choose him.

Saber stared at him, her eyes searching his face. She didn't see a king. She didn't see a legend. She saw….him.

She saw the beauty in the man before her—

Her chest tightened again.

Because his gaze wasn't a challenge or even a conquest. It was the gaze of a man who was simply waiting. He wasn't impatient. He wasn't demanding. He was simply waiting as if he already knew the ending.

Saber exhaled slowly. "This is more complicated than war."

Gilgamesh's expression softened. "Most things are."

"I am still deciding." Saber finally said quietly after a moment.

"I know," he replied just as quietly before he offered her his hand to guide her out towards the open terrace doors. She let him guide her. It was simply becoming second nature to her. She told herself it was practical. But the truth was... his presence was easy to stand next to. Not gentle. It wasn't safe because he was the reason she was here to begin with. But just...steady. A silence stretched between. It was comfortable in a way that was far too quiet. She didn't like it. So she fixed it.

And casually, as if it meant nothing, she said, "I ate the last of your fruit."

Gilgamesh turned his head and looked down at her. One brow lifted. "...my fruit."

"Yes." She murmured.

"The one from the Eastern orchards." He said in a curious tone.

"I believe so." Saber said without missing a beat. Perfectly composed.

Gilgamesh let out a low hum of breath. "You break my heart." There was no real offense in his voice, only lazy accusation wrapped in humor.

Saber glanced at the city light as she let the silence stretch between them again. Uruk truly was a beautiful place. And Gilgamesh...was a good king. She hesitated over her next words. "And if I did agree to marry you...on the next day of your choosing? If I gave you my consent—would that stop the rumors?"

Gilgamesh lowered himself to lean his forearms against the railing as he looked over the lights shining from below. He didn't answer right away.

Saber's fingers tightened over the railing. "I don't want…." She hesitated. "I don't wish you to be mocked for this." Because she knew from his earlier words that Uruk had begun to wonder. Why were they waiting—why didn't the King take what already belonged to him.

She waited for his response, but none came. His expression simply shifted. He wasn't offended but he wasn't amused, either. But he was….attentive.
Saber kept going anyway, because stopping felt worse. "If we did this...would you give me time on our wedding night?" She may have grown to accept his presence, but there were still things…

That made the air change. More focused. Saber looked away from his side profile. She swallowed. "Until I'm ready?" She clarified, somehow managing to keep her voice steady. He didn't have to give her that. He didn't have to give her anything. But she was asking anyways. She was asking for more than he had already given her.

She hated the silence. She hated that he wasn't teasing her now. She hated that he wasn't arrogant. He was letting her question everything.

And when he finally answered, his voice was calm. "Yes."

A single word. A simple answer.

Saber inhaled. Exhaled. She'd expected resistance. She didn't know what to do with the absence of it. "Just like that?"

He turned his head and looked at her finally. "You assume I require immediacy to prove ownership."

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it," he corrected, though not unkindly.

Then, softer—less declarative, more honest than before: "I do not take what is not offered."

Saber went still at that. The words should have reassured her. And in some ways, they did. As if all of his boasting in another time had been nothing but words. And words meant nothing if she gave herself freely.

She looked back out over the city again, trying to settle the strange weight in her chest. "I am not easy." She murmured after a moment.

"I am aware," he replied.

That almost made her huff under her breath. She leaned against the railing and then shook her head. "You should have chosen someone simpler."

Gilgamesh didn't answer right away, but when he did, it wasn't what she expected. And again, there was no mockery. No arrogance. He simply said, "No." Just the single word. No explanation.

Saber frowned slightly. "That's it?"

His voice carried faint amusement again, but gentler than before. "That is sufficient."

She didn't know what to do with that either. So she fell quiet.

And for a while, they simply stood there together—warriors, kings, and something in between neither of them had fully named yet—watching a city that would have spoken loudly about them if it ever dared to look up. Gilgamesh had been right—because she came to him of her own freewill. She did. And when she asked when, he answered, as if that would always have been the answer. Gilgamesh wasn't simply a man who waited. He was a man who planned. And that plan had come to fruitation.

"On the next moon."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

She would marry him on the next moon. Her words. His. Saber expected relief with that knowledge. Instead...there was an awareness. Or maybe it was stillness. Acceptance.

Because Uruk heard.

The first day was subtle. The silence was respectful. But by the second day, she could feel it everywhere. The weight of it, the knowledge of it. The entire of Uruk had adjusted for her decision.

Saber stopped playing pranks on Gilgamesh. She stopped teasing him. She didn’t sabotage saddles or barrels of water. The moment no longer...required it.

Or maybe she was nervous.

She didn’t know what to do with nervous.

A battle was simple. Where there was a battle, there was an enemy. And there was always strategy. There was always an impact.

But this—this was something she was waiting for. She was waiting for the next moon to rise in the sky. She was quiet now. The knights noticed. The servants noticed. The courts noticed. They looked at her like something ceremonial.

She stood in the training yard that afternoon, blade drawn but not yet swung. She was nervous. That was the truth.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

“You are quiet.” Gilgamesh said from behind her. 

Saber lowered her blade slightly. “There is no need for noise.” An excuse.

“That is not the reason.” Gilgamesh murmured. 

Of course he knew. 

Saber exhaled slowly through her nose and finally turned. He stood a few steps away. “I’m fine...I will be.”

“You are adapting, Saber. That is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Adapting to what?”

“To being known,” he said simply.

That landed more accurately than she liked. She looked away first.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this.” She admitted after a moment.

“How does it feel?” Gilgamesh asked. 

Saber hesitated. Because the honest answer was complicated. “Everyone is watching.” It was something she should have been used to. But this felt...different. 

“Let them observe.” Gilgamesh said, his tone low. 

Saber looked back at him sharply. “That is easy for you to say.”

“It is easy because it is irrelevant,” he replied.

That should have sounded dismissive, but it didn’t. He made it sound so easy. “I’m not used to being something people look forward to.” She murmured. “In Camelot… they simply wondered why I was. Why I was a knight when I was a woman. They wondered why I was able to pull Excalibur free. They wondered why I was queen…”

“This is not Camelot. Uruk simply looks forward to what you will become here.” Gilgamesh said. It was that simple. 

That made something in her chest tighten slightly. She looked down at her blade. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t. She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t.

She was just…

She looked down at her blade again. The way her fingers held the hilt far too tightly. The weight in her chest hadn’t gone away. It never had. She’d simply buried it for weeks.

She did the only thing she knew how to do with that weight. She gave it form.

She lifted her head. “Fight me.” 

Gilgamesh blinked once. Then, slowly—almost lazily—his brow lifted. “…Hmm?”

Saber’s grip tightened. “Draw your sword, Gilgamesh.”

He paused. The kind of pause that suggested he was deciding whether this was strategy, frustration or something more interesting. But his hand moved at least, drifting lazily to the hilt of his weapon. 

“Is this necessary?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Your nervousness manifests as violence now?”

“It manifests as clarity,” she corrected sharply.

That earned a faint smile. Gilgamesh stared at her but instead of drawing his blade he spoke. “Shall I remove my shirt first?”

Saber stopped. “What?” 

“To ensure fairness,” he continued, perfectly straight-faced. “You seem easily distracted.”

That did it. Her eye twitched. “I am not—”

“Or perhaps,” he added thoughtfully, “this is your strategy. Exhausting my composure before the duel begins.”

Saber stepped forward sharply. “That is not my strategy.”

“Pity,” he said. “It is an effective one.”

She raised her blade slightly. “Will you fight me or not?”

Gilgamesh finally straightened. He lifted his right hand and flicked his fingers. A golden array appeared behind him. He didn’t use the blade at his hip. He withdrew a golden sword from his treasury. “I will.” He said simply. “If this is what steadies you.”

Steel met steel. That first strike rang through the yard like a bell. And just like that, the world narrowed into something she understood. Distance. Timing. Impact. Breath. He met her without hesitation. He gave her something else to think about. 

And for the first time that day, her nervousness had somewhere to go.

Steel rang through the training yard in sharp, controlled bursts.

Saber moved like she always had when the world made sense—when there was nothing but an opponent in front of her and the clean language of battle between them. Every step was measured, every strike intentional, her body remembering what her mind had been struggling to settle.

Gilgamesh met her blade without strain, as if her speed was an interesting conversation rather than a threat. He deflected, pivoted, stepped inside her rhythm only to disrupt it again—never fully committing, always just enough ahead of her to force adaptation.

It should have been frustrating.

It was, in a way.

But it was also—

Thrilling.

Saber lunged, forcing him back half a step for the first time. Her blade cut low, then snapped upward—

He blocked her. Their swords entwined. She pushed. He didn’t budge. 

“Focus.” Gilgamesh said mildly. “You are slipping again.” 

“I am not slipping,” she snapped, breaking the lock and circling.

“You almost did.”

“I adjusted.”

“You hesitated.”

Saber’s grip tightened. He was right. And that was the worst part. He knew it.

They exchanged another blow of swords. Her tension bled out with every strike. Because this was what she was. This is what anchored her. A warrior first and foremost. But Gilgamesh no longer fought like he had in the Grail war. He didn’t respond to her strikes. He provoked.

“If I sprayed you with water now,” He said suddenly, stepping back just out of her reach. “Do you think it would be more effective with the shirt on?”

Saber’s eyes narrowed instantly. She nearly missed her next step. “Focus.” She snapped. 

“I am focused,” he said. “On your performance under distraction.”

Her jaw clenched. Why was he like this? “I am not distracted.”

“You are thinking about water, are you not?”

“I am thinking about hitting you.” She admitted. 

“Same difference, lately.”

Saber’s jaw tightened. She pressed forward harder. Steel clashed again, sharper this time.

“Should I fight with my clothing off as well? Would that satisfy your depraved mind?” she said without thinking, the retort snapping out before she could stop it.

It hung in the air between them for half a heartbeat.

Then—

Gilgamesh smiled. His eyes glinted like gold. “Oh yes, Saber.” He almost purred the words. “You should.”

It was her fault. She spoke without thinking. He provoked her. And that did it. She froze—and he moved. Of course he did. His blade slipped past her guard. She recovered instantly. “You are impossible.” She hissed.
“And yet,” Gilgamesh replied, stepping in again, their blades meeting with a clean, ringing impact, “you continue to engage me.”

Saber drove forward. He met her strike. They locked again—closer this time, almost chest to chest, both blades trembling under equal pressure. Her breath was steady now. The world was finally fading. The noise wasn’t so deafening.

His lips curved behind his blade. “You are calmer like this.”

“I am always calm.” 

“No,” he said simply. “You are true like this.” His blade shifted and slipped past hers just enough to break the stalemate, forcing her to step back.

She inhaled. Exhaled. “You talk to much during duels.” 

“And yet you respond to everything I say,” he replied. Another rhythm formed between them—familiar now, dangerous in how easily it came. 

Saber didn’t answer because the truth was, she didn’t have a response that didn’t involve him being right. She refused to give him that satisfaction. So she attacked instead.

Gilgamesh blocked the next strike. He didn’t counter immediately. “You’re overcompensating on your left side.”  
“I am not,” she snapped.

“You are,” he replied, and stepped in.

Saber adjusted—too late.

His blade slipped past hers, forcing her guard open. She twisted to recover, but he was already there. He disrupted her balance with a controlled sweep of his foot. Her sword arm faltered for half a heartbeat and that was all he needed.

Steel at her throat. 

Gilgamesh exhaled once, satisfied but not smug. “And there it is.”

Saber glared. If looks could kill… “I was distracted at the end,” she muttered.

“You were improving,” he corrected.

“That is not the same as winning.”

“No,” he agreed. “It is not.” He lowered his sword. 

A pout formed before she could stop it. Irritation.

Gilgamesh noticed immediately. Of course he did. And he responded. “You look displeased.”

“I lost,” she said flatly.

“You learned.”

“I still lost.”

He hummed in amusement as he sheathed his blade with infuriating calm.  “You rely too heavily on momentum,” he began.

Saber crossed her arms. “I do not need a lecture.”

“It is not a lecture,” he said. “It is instruction.”

“I did not ask for instruction.”

“You are receiving it regardless.”

Her eye narrowed.

And yet he continued anyway. “If I had followed through, you would have been—” 

Saber swept her leg behind his knee without warning. His eyes widened just briefly. And then he went down. One moment he was standing and then the next he was on his back and staring up at the sky. She stood over him, blade already sheathed as if nothing had happened. 

“…You,” Gilgamesh said slowly, “did not just—”

“I adjusted,” Saber said immediately and then added, “You were talking too much.” 

For a long moment, neither of them moved. And then he laughed. “You cheated.” 

“I adapted.”

“You knocked a king onto his back.”

“You were overconfident.”

“I was instructing you.”

“You were distracted.” Saber threw his own words back at him. 

He stared at her for a moment longer, then let his head fall back against the ground again, still laughing under his breath.

Saber folded her arms, looking very satisfied with herself.

“By default,” he muttered.

“That still counts,” she replied. She turned to leave but after a few steps she stopped and turned to face him again. He was up on his elbows watching her, though he hadn’t stood yet. She hesitated. “...can we do this more often?” She gestured to the yard between them. “The swords. The fighting…”

Gilgamesh was quiet for a moment but his gaze never left her face. And then he nodded. “Of course.”

As if he understood.

=YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME=

Chapter Text

The moon.

The Grand Hall of Uruk was filled to the edges with expectation. Gold light spilled through carved stone windows. Banners were hung. Nobles lined the raised walkways in hushed reverence.

Like the Kingdom itself was waiting for a single breath to be released.

The God's knew she couldn't breath.

Gilgamesh stood at the end of it all.

Saber didn't see a Tyrant. She didn't see a legend. She saw a man waiting.

She felt naked without her armor. There were too many eyes on her. On Gilgamesh. The gown was too soft. Too unfamiliar. Too light. She was painfully aware of every step. Every gaze and every silent judgment.

Not once in all the wars she had fought against Gilgamesh would she have imagined she would find herself here.

Before him.

And it was worse when his eyes found hers and refused to look away. Saber swallowed. Deep breathes.

All she had to do was breath. This was no different than Camelot. This was no different than when she had ruled. This was no different than when she had pulled Excalibur free.

But her heart was pounding.

All the while he looked unfairly composed. Regal. He wasn't just a king dressed for ceremony—he was dressed for inevitability.

And when she reached him, he extended his hand. She hesitated for only a second before she placed her hand in his. He felt the hesitation. He knew it. And his fingers closed around hers gently. Gilgamesh—gentle. Not tight enough to command. Not loose enough to doubt. He guided her up the steps beside him. Silence settled between them as the Kingdom waited.

For vows.

For fate.

For something irreversible. Saber inhaled as she stared forward, trying to silently steady her heart.

Gilgamesh leaned in just slightly closer. "So," He murmured low enough where only she would hear. "Please do not knock me on my back in front of the entire kingdom."

Saber blinked.

What?

She turned her head and looked at him. "What?" She whispered.

"You have a tendency," He continued calmly. "to violence."

Her lips twitched. "This is not the time."

"I disagree," he said. "This is exactly the time."

Her tension eased slightly. It shifted just enough. Something….bearable. Her eyes met his. "You are impossible."

"And yet," he replied softly, "you are still here."

That did something to her. It wasn't loud or dramatic. It was simply quiet. She stared at him. The King of Heroes was still there. But this was the man and ruler of Uruk.

The Hall continued to watch them in silence, unaware of the exchange beneath the surface of ceremony. Saber took another deep breath—and then released it.

She didn't let go of his hand.

She stood in silence as a Priest stepped forward layered in ceremonial robes, lifting his golden cup that caught the light like molten sun. She stood beside Gilgamesh—still aware of everything. Aware of every heartbeat she couldn't control.

The Priest spoke first. "By the laws of Uruk and by the witness of the gathered Kingdom, we stand before the union of king and chosen queen."

A ripple passed through the crowd at the word chosen. Saber didn't look at them. She could not afford to.

The wine caught the light.

"Let this bond be sealed in truth, strength and in witness." He offered the goblet to Gilgamesh who drank first.

And then Gilgamesh spoke. His voice—his words—sent her heart pounding all over again. His hands tightened around hers as if he felt it. "I have ruled long enough to know that kingdoms bend under fear."

He paused. A few nobles shifted.

And then Gilgamesh turned his head and looked at her. "But you," He said, his eyes steady on her. "Do not."

Saber's breath caught.

"I did not choose a queen to soften my throne." Gilgamesh said, her voice rising over the congregation. "I choose one who could stand beside it."

The priest offered the goblet to her. Saber exhaled shakily as she took it. The weight felt different in her hands. It wasn't just a ritual. She glanced at Gilgamesh. He did nothing to guide her. Nothing but patience.

So she drank. The wine lingered on her tongue. Warm and grounding.

The priest lowered the cup. "And so it is witnessed."

For a moment nothing happened. And then the Hall erupted in controlled acknowledgment. Declarations. The Kingdom accepted what had just became real.

She squeezed Gilgamesh's hand.

"You are doing well," he murmured without turning his head.

"I am standing still," she replied under her breath.

"A difficult task for you, I know."

Her lips twitched again despite herself. And then— "I could still bring you to your knees." She said quietly. A reminder that she had tripped a king to his back more than once.

Gilgamesh paused. And then he replied. "I would be disappointed if you did not try. But perhaps...not today."

Reluctant amusement slipped through her nerves.

Chants. Blessings. A slow formal procession of symbols and spoken bonds. A ring. A vow of alliance. And when it was her turn to speak, the hall seemed to hold its breath. Saber stepped forward half a pace and she felt the weight of it instantly. She glanced at Gilgamesh—he didn't interrupt. He simply waited.

She had ruled once. She knew how to speak. But this…

She inhaled again. And again. "I am not...a woman of courts." She said carefully.

A few nobles stiffened.

She ignored them.

"I am a warrior." She continued. "That is what I know. That is what I have always been." She refused to look away from the hundreds of eyes staring up at her. "But I understand strength." She looked at Gilgamesh. "And I understand what it means to stand beside it." Her voice lowered. "I will not weaken this kingdom. But nor will I stand behind it."

The Hall shifted. Not quiet understanding, perhaps.

"I will stand with this Kingdom. For this Kingdom." She said.

And her heart leapt in her throat when Gilgamesh lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He didn't care who saw.

The priest stepped forward. "Then let it be bound."

The Hall erupted. It wasn't a deceleration. It was a celebration. The sound rose like a tide. Breath. Breath. Breath.

Gilgamesh leaned in a fraction. "Still nervous?"

"…Less," she admitted.

"Good."
He paused. Then, almost casually— "You did not knock me over," he added.

Saber glanced at him. "I considered it."

"I know."

And for the first time since she had entered the hall— she smiled properly. A real smile.

The Hall did not quiet when the vows were spoke. It simply changed. Now it was movement. The very air seemed to flow and breath with celebration as Gilgamesh guided her through it all. He offered his arm with a practiced ease. Her fingers settled on his arm—a familiar brace. And together they stepped down and into a seat of people waiting below.

The kingdom surged around them.

Nobles bowed first. Warriors followed with sharp respectful nods. Servants and attendants offered congratulations. Names were spoken. Blessings were given.

She was entirely aware that every step she took was being watched. Gilgamesh looked as if he had done this a thousand times and was already bored.

Which meant, unfortunately for her—he was talking. Constantly. "Do not look so rigid." He murmured as they walked. "You are not marching to execution."

"I'm aware."

"Then act like it. You look as though someone is about to challenge you again."

"That is because someone usually does."

"Only when you are armed."

"I am always armed."

A faint hum of amusement came from him. . "Even now?"

Saber glanced at him sharply. "…Especially now."

That earned a quiet, satisfied sound from Gilgamesh. They moved through another cluster of nobles.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty," one woman said, bowing deeply.

"May your union bring prosperity to Uruk," another added.

Gilgamesh acknowledged them with minimal effort—small nods, lazy grace, as if the entire kingdom had simply rearranged itself into something mildly interesting.

Saber, however, felt every greeting like a weight she had to hold still under.

And Gilgamesh noticed. Of course he did. He seemed to notice everything.

"So serious," he murmured near her ear as they passed another group. "Would you prefer I begin insulting you to lighten the mood?"

"That would not lighten anything."

"It would for me."

She shot him a look. He looked entirely unrepentant. Her eyes narrowed. He simply continued on with her on his arm—

He stumbled.

Barely.

So slight it almost didn't exist.

A misstep in rhythm. A shift in balance that lasted less than a heartbeat. As if someone...had tripped him. And he looked at her as he straightened, though he didn't say anything. But his eyes spoke as if to tell her, I know what you did.

His lips twitched. He recovered smoothly. Satisfaction purred at his side. Gilgamesh leaned slightly closer. "You are becoming bold."

"I am becoming precise," She said.

"Is that what we are calling it?"

Saber didn't answer.

And Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh—before guiding her onward through the celebrating kingdom.

The celebration didn't slow as the sunk began to sink. It only deepened. Torches burned brighter. Music threaded the halls. Laughter rose freely.

Saber simply drifted with Gilgamesh. Food. Drink. The formality of a ceremony.

And somewhere along the way a cup was placed in her hand. And then another. And then something stronger. She was a knight—she'd tasted her fair share of drink.

She stared at the liquid in her current glass as if it might explain itself. It didn't. She took another sip anyway before murmuring, "This is not wine."

Gilgamesh, seating beside her and his arm across the back of her chair, turned his head and looked at her with mild interest. "It is wine."

"This one is not." If he wanted to argue over wine, she would.

"That one is."

"This one burns." She said.

"Yes," he said calmly. "That is how you know it is good."

Saber exhaled slowly through her nose and took another sip anyway, as if stubbornness could replace certainty. She was all too aware that she was not pacing herself. She was even more away that she didn't care.

Not tonight.

Tonight…

She didn't want to care.

She didn't want to think.

Tonight had been vows and eyes and weight and expectation. Too much stillness pressed into too many hours. And tonight...tonight…

Tonight.

So, she drank. Something warm and sharp. Then something dark and sweet. Then something she definitely could not name.

Gilgamesh's lips twitched. "You are attempting to solve nervousness through consumption."

"I am managing it." Saber defended.

"With what appears to be enthusiasm."

She gave him a flat look. He merely smiled. A servant passed, offering another cup. Saber took it before thinking too much about it.

Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed just slightly. Not totally in concern—perhaps a mixture of interest and concern. Or he knew why she was drinking. "Be careful, my queen." He teased.

The words landed gently in the space between them. She paused mid-sip. "That does not make me yours."

Gilgamesh tilted his head. "No." He agreed. "But it is a start. You are sitting in my hall. You drink my wine and you wear my kingdoms vows like they were tailored for you."

"That does not make me yours."

"No." He agreed easily. "It simply makes you mine in the way storms belong to the sky."

Saber stared at him for a moment. And then took another sip. "…That metaphor is unnecessarily poetic."

"It is accurate."

"It is insufferable."

"It is also true."

She set the cup down a little harder than necessary. Saber leaned back slightly in her chair, exhaling. Her nervousness had not vanished. It had just become… softer around the edges.

"You are quieter when you drink." Gilgamesh observed.

"I am less aware of everything." She said.

And there it was. The truth.

"That is dangerous." Gilgamesh said.

"That is the point."

Gilgamesh leaned back in his chair. "...you do not need to fight the entire kingdom in your head tonight." He murmured for her ears alone.

"I am not fighting." She murmured against the rim of her glass. "I'm adjusting."

"Then adjust less violently."

Her lips twitched. Saber couldn't help it. Her heart was racing and...and he said something like that. And she smiled.

The Grand Hall was blurring at the edges before Saber even realized it. Just...softly.

Voices overlapped.

She narrowed her eyes at her cup. "This is inefficient."

She caught fragments of a conversation as they passed another group of nobles. Another blessed union. A strong pair—history would be well known.

A repeated gesture.

The same words over and over.

Her thumb slid over his knuckles.

Gilgamesh noticed. But he didn't comment on it. Nor did he comment on the frustration on her face when their people continued to congratulate her. But his lips curved.

Arrogant.

She inhaled. "You're insufferable. I don't even like you."

There was a brief silence. A nearby servant pretended very hard not to hear.

Gilgamesh laughed softly. "Oh, but you do." He said softly.

"I do not."

"You are holding my hand," he pointed out.

"I am stabilizing myself."

"You are tracing my hand."

"That is incidental."

"You are standing in my palace after marrying me."

"That was procedure."

Gilgamesh's smile deepened. "You are very committed to your denial."

Saber opened her mouth—but she didn't speak. She closed it. The argument was out of her reach.

And then Gilgamesh asked the obvious. "...are you drunk, Saber?" He asked, his tone light. Too light.

She looked at him for a moment as if she were considering that question. And then she replied very carefully. "Possibly."

Gilgamesh's quiet laugh slipped out before he could fully restrain it. Heads turned. "I see."

"You already knew." Saber said, looking away as if she were suddenly offended.

"I suspected."

She remembered her earlier declaration and lifted her chin. "I still do not like you." That was possibly true.

"That is unfortunate," Gilgamesh said, patting the back of her hand that rested over his arm. "Because I rather like you."

And Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, simply guided her onward through the glowing halls. Because the truth was—she belonged here. He'd known the moment he first set his eyes on her.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

Gilgamesh guided her away from the noise without announcement. Without explanation. Just a steady hand at her arm as they left the glow of the celebration behind and started up the winding palace stairs. Saber followed because it was normal to follow him. Another corridor. Another turn. This was what he did when she needed guidance. He guided her.

But the details began to change.

Few servants. Less display. The lighting was warmer. The air was quieter. And then a door that did not resemble an office or study fixture.

Saber slowed.

Gilgamesh pushed the door open.

The room beyond was large and masculine. It wasn't meant for an audience. It was rich. Uruk's wealth stood out in contrast in every carved surface and every woven fabric. A private space. Not hers.

His.

Now theirs.

Saber stepped inside quietly and carefully. The door closed behind them with a soft 'click' of finality. It felt far louder than it shoulder have. Her gaze followed Gilgamesh as he crossed the room without hurry. She watched as he poured amber liquid into two small glasses.

And then he was within distance again, offering her one of the two. She took it immediately. She drank it immediately. She didn't ask what it was. It burned a path down her throat before she finally spoke. "...now what?"

As if she didn't know. As if they both didn't know.

He didn't answer right away. He simply moved further into the room with a familiarity that she didn't have. This was his room. He shed the heavy cloak that clung to his clothing before tossing it over a nearby chair. He didn't undress. He merely shred the expectation of ceremony.

And then he looked at her. "You're nervous again."

She took a deep breath. "I am not." She lied. She knew...and then she gave in. "I'm aware." She said softly. She was aware she was nervous.

Gilgamesh hummed softly. "You will have to be more specific." Gilgamesh pushed softly.

Saber lifted her head. "About what?"

"'Now what,'" he repeated, echoing her words.

Saber sat down on the edge of a cushioned chair. The room suddenly felt small. Or maybe she was suddenly more aware of it. Aware of the intimacy. Aware of the bed in the corner. Aware of the silence and the fact that they were alone. On their wedding night.

Aware of the fact that this was—in every legal and political sense...expected.

She swallowed. And then she spoke. "I did not think about this part." She had thought about it. But that wasn't what she meant.

Gilgamesh's gaze sharpened. Not in annoyance or arrogance, but in understanding. "You thought about battles," he said.

"Yes."

"Kingship."

"Yes."

"Crowds."

"Yes."

"But not those doors closing behind you." He finished.

Saber looked away. "...no."

Silence again. Softer, maybe.

"You are not required to rush anything." Gilgamesh reminded her.

Saber looked at him. Looked at the man she had fought in golden armor. The man who had demanded she marry him. A man who had teased her. Annoyed her. A man who had challenged her.

"That is not what the Kingdom expects." She said in a low tone.

"They will adjust."

"And you?"
He paused. "I already have." He didn't cross to her. He didn't try to offer her physical comfort. He simply stared at her. "I promised you time, did I not?" He reminded her softly.

Saber inhaled softly. A wedding night that wasn't a wedding night. Had she been afraid that he would go back on his word?

Was that why her hands shook?

"We will have our wedding night…." He said slowly. "...when you are ready."

The words settled between them. It would have been easier if he had demanded. She wouldn't have told him no. It would have been so easy if he simply expected everything from her that was owed.

But he hadn't. He didn't.

Her fingers flexed slightly at her sides. "…You say that as if I will eventually be ready," she said quietly.

Gilgamesh didn't move closer. He didn't press. "I say it because I do not intend to treat you as something that must be claimed in a single moment."

She had married him, hadn't she?

Would she ever want him?

She wanted him now—

Gilgamesh spoke. "And because you would likely attempt to throw me into a wall if I did."

Her shoulders slumped as she gave a soft breath of laughter. "I would consider it." She admitted.

"I'm very well aware." He reminded her without words.

Her eyes moved over his face. "You're a patient man, Gilgamesh."

His expression softened. "I am not known for it." His next words were soft. "But I find I prefer you when you are not afraid of me."

"And if it takes too long?"

His gaze held hers without hesitation. "Then it takes too long," he answered simply.

No pressure followed the words. No hidden condition. The room didn't rearrange itself into something familiar. Nothing changed. Everything remained the same. The silence held steady.

But finally, she moved. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap. "…I can take the couch," she said after a moment. Practical.

Gilgamesh turned and looked at her. He shook his head, no hesitation in the action or the word— "No."

Saber stared at him. His tone left no room for misunderstanding. There was no challenge or arrogance. It was just a certain fact.

No.

She straightened slightly. "It is not necessary for me to—"

"You will sleep on the bed," Gilgamesh cut in. Calm and final.

Saber frowned faintly. "That is not practical."

"It is not negotiable."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "You are making this about status."

"I am making this about comfort," he corrected.

That made her hesitate. Comfort was not usually a factor in decisions like this. Comfort was not usually a factor in decisions like this. She looked down at the edge of the bed again, as if it might argue back on his behalf. "…People will talk," she said after a moment.

"They already talk," Gilgamesh replied.

"That is not a reason to encourage more of it."

He finally moved. He crossed the room with unhurried steps until he was in her space. "Which is why we will share this room at night. And when you are ready…"

Then and only then would they take the next step. And until then they would share this room, if not the bed. But still…

Gilgamesh reached out and drew her hair over one shoulder. "When a King shares a room with his Queen," He said mildly. "no one questions where she sleeps."

Saber opened her mouth—and then closed it again. Because it was true. No one would question what they didn't know. Gilgamesh wasn't just kind in that. He was thoughtful. He was caring.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, visibly weighing arguments that all seemed to dissolve before they reached her tongue. "…You are very stubborn," she muttered.

A faint curve of amusement touched his mouth. "So you keep telling me."

Saber shifted slightly on the bed before slowly toeing her heels off and then reluctantly adjusting herself more fully onto the soft surface. Gilgamesh watched her for a moment longer. They would share a room. For appearance. For their kingdom. For all the reasons that made sense in daylight and politics.

The rest… would wait.

Gilgamesh would wait not because he had to, but because he said he would.

He was already on the couch when she turned her head. He looked pathetic. Too big. Too long. Too everything on velvet cushions that had his knees bent slightly. He'd already decided it before she even realized it.

She sighed and slid up the bed, her head sinking back against the pillows.

The bed was softer than she expected. Too soft, almost. She shifted once.

Then again.

And again.

It wasn't exactly discomfort. It wasn't awkwardness. It was...awareness. An awareness of space and silence and him.

And fabric.

Gilgamesh turned his head slightly from the couch. "Is the bed not to your liking?" he asked, voice laced faintly with amusement.

Saber sat up immediately. "I did not say that."

"You did not have to."

She shot him a look. He looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had just been married. Saber exhaled through her nose and looked down at herself instead. At the dress. At the layers. At the buttons she could feel mocking her fro behind.

"...I can't." She said finally.

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow. "I am beginning to suspect you are declaring war on inanimate objects tonight."

Saber ignored that. She turned slightly, awkwardly reaching over her shoulder. Her fingers fumbled at the fabric but the buttons were too small and too low. They did not yield.

Of course they did not.

They weren't made for her to remove alone. She certainly hadn't put the dress on alone. Her jaw tightened. She slid from the bed. "Would you please unbutton the back?" That was nothing to be ashamed of and she refused to be ashamed of what she was asking him. "I can't sleep in this dress."

Gilgamesh didn't move immediately. His head turned.

And then he stood. "I see."

Practical. It was honestly ridiculous that she'd even let them place her into the dress. Nothing about the dress was practical. She turned when he approached her.

"I can call for an attendant if you wish." He murmured—another thoughtful gesture.

Saber shook her head. "No." Because he had already given her enough time and freedom. There was no reason why she couldn't allow him this. Why she couldn't allow herself this. This was practical. They were married.

Then his hands moved. Careful. Deliberate. One button. And then another and another until the fabric began to loosen. Saber remained still while his movements remained controlled. Her breathed slowed without realizing it. And then,

"It is done." Gilgamesh murmured.

Saber nodded once, still facing forward. "…Thank you," she said after a moment. She adjusted the loosened fabric slightly and then finally laid back down. This time with far less resistance.

Gilgamesh returned to the couch without comment.

Silence stretched in the darkening room. She lay on her back, one arm resting over her midsection. Her eyes drifted across the canopy of the bed. The tension from earlier had eased, even if it hadn't disappeared. He remained on the couch composed as ever. Quiet.

"…You did that rather well," she mused at last. And then she added lazily, "Do you wear dresses that I'm not aware of?" A daring question.

For a heartbeat, there was no sound between them. Then Gilgamesh turned his head slightly towards her. He laughed softly. "Careful." He said calmly. "You are becoming comfortable enough to be insolent."

Her gaze shifted to the ceiling. "I am becoming observant."

"That is not what that was."

"It was an inquiry."

"A poorly disguised accusation," Gilgamesh murmured.

A faint silence settled again. Then Gilgamesh adjusted slightly on the couch, propping himself more comfortably. "No," he said at last, tone even. "I do not wear dresses." One arm lifted to lie over his head.

Saber hummed softly. "Pity," she murmured.

He laughed again, the tone soft and low. "Goodnight, wife."

"…Good night, Gilgamesh." she murmured shortly after.

But neither of them slept. The room remained dark except for the soft moonlight that filtered in through the open terrace doors. Somewhere far below the celebration was fading, but not enough to where the music had completely faded.

Saber had moved to her side, an arm tucked beneath her head. Eyes open. She could just make out the shadow of Gilgamesh's form on the couch. He hadn't changed position. The couch looked almost too small for him, but he occupied it with an ease that suggested it had simply accepted its purpose.

"Are you awake?" She finally asked.

"Yes." Gilgamesh replied. "As are you."

Saber's lips curved faintly. "I am a warrior. I do not surrender easily to sleep."

"That is not what I am witnessing."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, though there was no real heat behind it. "And what exactly are you witnessing?"

"A woman who is thinking too loudly to rest." That earned him a soft exhale from her.

"…Careful," she said. "You are becoming observant enough to be annoying." She mimicked.

"I have always been annoying, or so I've been told."

"Yes," she admitted. "But usually in motion. This is worse."

That actually drew a low, genuine chuckle from him. Silence followed again. A routine in the darkness.

She sighed. "You would make a terrible knight."

Gilgamesh did not hesitate. "And you would make a terrible court dancer."

Saber's eyes narrowed immediately. "I am not a court dancer."

"That is precisely my point."

She pushed herself up slightly on an elbow. "My swordsmanship is not poor." She said firmly.

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow. "You tripped over your own foot earlier in training."

"I was adjusting." Saber defended.

"You were losing." Gilgamesh didn't hesitate to remind her of that.

"I was observing your arrogance."

"I was standing still."

"You were provoking me."

"I was breathing." He said, as if his breathing alone was enough to cause her irritation.

Saber stared at him for a long moment. Then she lay back down again with a frustrated exhale.

Gilgamesh spoke again, his tone lazy. "You are still thinking too loudly."

"I am not."

"You are considering whether to strike me or deny it."

Saber shifted without warning and grabbed one of the pillows beside her and threw it. It cut cleanly through the dim space.

Thump.

It hit Gilgamesh squarely in the face. Silence followed. It was as if the palace itself seemed to pause in shock. Saber merely laid there in perfect innocence. Her hands folded neatly over her stomach. "I did not strike you." She said calmly. "The pillow did."

Gilgamesh slowly pulled the pillow from his chest. His expression was unreadable. "…The pillow," he repeated.

"Yes," Saber said firmly, still refusing to look at him.

Gilgamesh exhaled through his nose—an unmistakable sound of restrained amusement. "I see," he said. "So you have begun delegating your violence."

Saber turned her head just slightly toward him now. "I am a strategist."

"You are a menace."

"I am married to a king. I must adapt."

That finally broke him. A low laugh escaped him.

"If you are angry, you may say so." Saber murmured.

"I am beginning to suspect I am entertained." Gilgamesh said instead.

"That is worse."

"It is far better."

They settled into a comfort silence that was only broken by the mild conversation between them. It was obvious that neither sought sleep. Not yet. But Saber was just beginning to drift when Gilgamesh spoke again.

"You have pushed me into a lake." He mused. "You've stolen my favorite fruits. You've sabotaged my saddle. You've tried to drown me and you tripped me at my own wedding." His tone remained maddeningly even. "You have a tendency to violence, my queen."

Saber went very still. "That is not violence."

Gilgamesh shifted on the couch, as if adjusting to enjoy this conversation entirely too much. "It is not?"

"No," she replied firmly. "It is correction."

"Of what?"

"Your behavior."

Gilgamesh hummed faintly, as if considering this in the same way one might consider a flawed but interesting theory. "I see," he said. "So the lake was correction."

"Yes."

"The saddle?"

"Yes."

"The fruit theft?"

Saber hesitated just a fraction too long. "…That was necessary."

"For what purpose?" He asked.

"…Hunger." Saber murmured.

Gilgamesh exhaled a quiet laugh again. "I am beginning to suspect," he said slowly, "that you are far more dangerous in peace than in war."

Saber frowned slightly into the darkness. "That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense."

"It does not."

"You are relaxed enough to be creative."

"That is not an accusation I accept."

"It is observation."

"Then I suppose," Gilgamesh said. "I shall have to endure your 'correction'."

"You will survive." Saber said haughtily.

Silence stretched again. Long and lonely. Her mind was racing as the city outside began to grow quiet. Perhaps he was right. She was thinking loudly. Thinking about...

The past. The present. The future. Things he didn't know. The reason why.

"Gilgamesh?" She called his name softly.

He didn't turn his head this time. He just responded with a soft "Hmmm". One knee bent, an arm over his head casually. She had the feeling his eyes were closed.

She inhaled shakily. "I've never been with a man." Quiet words. The teasing was gone. There was nothing but a quiet truth in those words. A reason.

Across the room, Gilgamesh went still. His head turned. Red eyes stared at her across the darkness. Confusion for a moment. Disbelief afterward. He sat up slowly. Because he understood the distance. Now he understood. He stood and crossed the distance, all amusement and teasing bickering gone.

The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge.

Saber sat up slowly.

"In all your years of playing the King…" Gilgamesh said slowly. "You've remained untouched?"

In the moonlight filtering into the room, Gilgamesh saw the emotions play across her face. The innocence—that innocence. Artoria Pendragon. It was the woman who spoke now. It was the woman's voice who wavered. It wasn't the warrior who told him a secret she had carried to her grave more than once.

Saber.

His wife.

His Queen.

How had he not noticed that innocence in her eyes before?

She looked away from him. Gilgamesh finally saw it for what it was—that innocence. "I was a King, Gilgamesh. I was a son and a brother-in-arms. I was a symbol. I was not a woman to them. Merlin made sure of that. The heart...the body...they were irrelevant to the crown."

Gilgamesh almost snorted. Were they blind to the very woman who had been before them?

She looked at him then. "I lived for my people and I died for them. I have never lived for myself. Not like this."

If she'd wanted to shock him—she had. For a man who claimed to own all the treasures in the world, he realized he had just been handed something he hadn't known existed.

A part of Artoria Pendragon that not even the Grail could touch. For the first time, the King of Heroes was at a loss for words.

"That is not a flaw, Artoria." Gilgamesh said slowly.

"And yet it is not something spoken of freely." She countered almost defensively.

"No, it is not." Gilgamesh said. She was a warrior explaining her hesitation—and that didn't sit right with Gilgamesh.

"I'm aware that you've...known other women. I do not have that experience. I cannot claim otherwise."

"I have." Gilgamesh said cautiously. He'd known more women that he would care to admit. "Artoria...your lack of experience is something to be cherished. Not something for you to fear."

"And if I disappoint you?"

"There is nothing you can do that will disappointment me. You've done more for me today than you will ever know."

She inhaled softly. As if gathering herself to be more than just brave. "You should have your wedding night, Gilgamesh."

She was offering herself to him. With her eyes hazy with the Sumerian wine and her shoulders taut with a duty she was clearly forcing herself to accept—the sudden heat in his blood tempered.

A century of loathing stood between them. A history of blood and a Holy Grail. Gilgamesh knew if he took her now, he would be taking nothing more than an obligation. He would simply be taking her because it was their wedding night.

He didn't want an obligation. He wanted her.

He shook his head and then gently guided her back onto the pillows. "No. We will wait. When you can come to me of your own free will...then and only then will we do this." He leaned down and kissed her temple.

"Now go to sleep, wife. We have an early wedding breakfast that requires our attendance in the morning."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

Morning light had already begun to seep through the high windows when the edge of the mattress dipped. For a moment, Saber didn't remember where she was. This wasn't her bed. The pillow that cradled her cheek was too soft and smelled faintly of Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh.

Saber's lids fluttered—Gilgamesh was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hip near her fingers. He was fully dressed. Composed. His gaze was already on her. Waiting. He tapped her shoulder with a deliberate familiarity.

"Wake up, WIFE." He said, the word carefully and purposefully emphasized. He was cheerful. He was up. He was ready for the day.

Saber sat up slowly, her hair disheveled, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him. "Do not say it like that."

He didn't move from where he was perched. He merely shifted more comfortably until he was sitting on one leg. If anything, he looked amused now that she was awake. "You are my wife. The title is accurate."

"It is unnecessary. You may continue to call me Saber." She frowned. "Why are you awake already?"

"I did not sleep," he said.

Saber paused. Her lips opened.

"We have a wedding breakfast to attend." He interrupted her.

Saber blinked. "A what?"

Gilgamesh's expression did not change. "A wedding breakfast."

"That is not a thing."

"It is now."

She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly swung her legs off the bed. "This is unnecessary."

"Yes," he said calmly. "And yet, it is expected."

Saber exhaled through her nose, still clearly waking up into the reality of too many people, too many expectations, and far too much attention.

"…You look too pleased," she muttered.

"I am married," he replied. "I am permitted to be."

That earned a faint, reluctant glance from her. "…You are insufferable in the morning."

"I will grow on you."

Saber rolled her eyes. His arrogance hadn't faded.

The breakfast hall was alive with sound. It was just like the night before—Uruk celebrated. It didn't matter the time or day. Platters of fruit, honeyed bread and warm pastries waited. And at the center of it all, they sat. Still newly married. Still being watched.

Saber eyed the final croissant on the platter like it had personally offended her. Because Gilgamesh stared as well.

"It is the last." She said, looking at him.

"Yes." He agreed.

They both reached for it at the same time. Their hands stopped just short of touching each other. Her eyes met his. "I saw it first."

"You were asleep when it was placed here."

Her eyes narrowed. "I saw it in spirit."

"That is not a recognized form of claim. You are a King of Knights—not a King of spirits."

Saber had no words and nearby, a few servants pretended very hard not to listen.

Gilgamesh leaned back slightly in his seat, studying her with faint amusement. "You are beginning to develop a concerning attachment to baked goods," he observed.

"I am developing priorities," she corrected.

"That is not a priority. That is pastry."

She looked from the croissant to him. "A wager."

Gilgamesh's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Oh?"

"If I win," she continued, "I get the croissant."

"And if I win?"

Saber hesitated for half a second. "…You already have too many advantages in life."

Gilgamesh snorted. "That is not an answer, nor is it a fair wager."

She exhaled. "…Fine. If you win, you may choose the next sparring match."

Gilgamesh smiled. "I accept."

Saber reached for the croissant again at the exact moment he did. Their hands collided lightly this time, more deliberate than the first. A few gasps from the nearby court table were immediately swallowed by nervous coughing. The King and Queen were arguing over a croissant.

Saber didn't look away from him. "…No tricks," she warned.

Gilgamesh's gaze flicked down to the pastry. "I would never cheat in matters of bread," he said solemnly.

"That is not reassuring."

"It should be."

In one smooth motion, they both made a move—

Saber was faster.

Her fingers closed around it first and she pulled it to her plate with a victorious inhale. "…I win," she said, almost flatly, as if trying not to sound too satisfied.

Gilgamesh leaned back in his chair, watching her. Then, to everyone's surprise but not hers, he simply nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "You do."

Saber glanced at him cautiously. "…You are not going to argue?"

"No."

"…You are not going to declare some alternate rule?"

Gilgamesh's eyes lingered on the croissant in her hand. "I am not so cruel as to deny a victorious warrior her spoils," he said.

Saber blinked once. Suspicion rose. "You are planning something."

"I am always planning something."

"That is not comforting."

She studied him for a long moment, then finally broke the croissant in half. After a beat she handed him the larger half.

"…You can have this," she said reluctantly.

Gilgamesh looked at it. "You would share with me, wife?"

"If you become insufferable without food, I will suffer later." Saber murmured.

Gilgamesh took the offering. "How considerate."

Across the hall, a few courtiers exchanged bewildered glances as their king and queen calmly ate a stolen croissant like it was a treaty signed between nations.

Saber, after a moment, spoke again under her breath: "…I still won."

Gilgamesh's voice came just as quietly. "Yes," he agreed. "You did." And then because he was Gilgamesh, "I will remember this when I choose your next sparring match."

Saber froze mid-bite.

The next sparring match came soon than expected. Gilgamesh lead her down another hallway and Saber followed him without suspicion. The palace seemed to grow quieter the deeper they went. The path was familiar, though. The air cooled. Silk and cold were played by stone. Torchlight replaced sunlight.

He was taking her to his vault.

"Why are we going to your vault?"

"So you may choose your next spar."

Over a croissant.

Wait.

What—

"Gilgamesh—"

He swung the double doors wide, cutting her off. He'd brought her here once before but the impact was none the less than the first. Her breath hitched at the rows of weaponry. The sight would never feel like storage. It wasn't his Babylonian gate, but it no doubt held the same impact.

Saber stopped beside him.

Gilgamesh's gaze shifted. "You may pick one," he said calmly, "to battle me with."

She didn't move for a moment. She didn't dare breath. Her eyes moved over silver. "…any of them?"

"…Any of them." Gilgamesh said, nodding.

Saber said nothing as she stared at what lay before her. The battlefield of treasure and blades was beautiful to her. And he had to know that. There was no other reason to bring her here again. Her heart softened as she started forward, her fingers finally—finally—trailing over hilts and sheaths. He didn't stop her from touching this time.

His footsteps echoed behind as he followed, though he said nothing.

Saber didn't choose right away. She couldn't. Opportunities had to weighed and balanced against her hand.

He didn't stop her when she pulled a sword from the wall and tested the grip of the hilt in the palm of her hands. She slid it back into its scabbard with reverence before moving on.

Where was the King of heroes who had mocked her view of Kinghood? Where was the Servant who had said she made a fine Knight, and yet not a good King?

The man behind her was neither. But looking back—she knew he was right. She had not led properly.

She didn't understand the change in him. If he was truly after her heart…

He was already halfway there.

The thought was an unsettling one, but it didn't frighten her as much as it had before.

Something in her shifted. The Queen softened. The woman wanted. The warrior surfaced.

She picked up a dagger, tested the balance against her fingers. "Most people do not deserve these."

"They do not." Gilgamesh agreed. And perhaps that was why he kept them.

Her fingers hovered as she walked, trailing—listening for something only she could hear. Steel called to steel. History called to her.

She stopped.

The sword rested slightly apart from the others. It was simple compared to the decoration of jewels that surrounded the other blades. She reached for it.

And Gilgamesh watched as she lifted it from the pedestal. "That one." Gilgamesh murmured. It wasn't a question. He simply knew.
She didn't have to test its weight. The calibration was perfect in her palm. She nodded.

Gilgamesh smiled.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The days that followed were...unlike the others. The routine was there—yes; but she was Queen. In Camelot, her existence had been a series of strategic meetings and heavy armor.

And the constant crushing burden of her people's expectations.

But Gilgamesh didn't expect battle from her. Under the blistering sun of Uruk and the soft ember of Gilgamesh's gaze, she found something she had known she was allowed to have.

Something...sweet.

She didn't feel like a Knight. Did she feel like a King or Queen? That had yet to be answered. But if there was one thing she was sure of…

Gilgamesh made her feel...soft.

He made her feel feminine in a way she hadn't felt in a very long time. He made her feel like a woman that she had been denied for so long now.

And as the first week passed into the second, they shared meals on the high balcony overlooking the city. Gilgamesh would spend hours regaling of tales of his conquests. He would mock the incompetence of priests while they sat on the throne. He would laugh at the horrified expression on her face. But he was also delighted when she genuinely laughed.

He was a man of infinite appetites and yet he showed a startling meditative self control where she was concerned. He kissed her knuckles when they met for dinner. He pressed his lips to her forehead when they retired for the night. He grueling treated her like a fragile, priceless relic.

How many times would she have to remind him she was not fragile?

And yet she knew he didn't think she was weak. He was, perhaps, delighted in being the only one to handle her with such care.

She didn't flinch when his hand brushed hers. She didn't pull away. The steel plates around her heart were slowly but surely beginning to fall away. And yet every night, the same ritual played out. They would enter their chambers. They would talk of the days events. And then Gilgamesh would retreat to the leopard, fur draped couch by the balcony.

He never asked. He never questioned. He never demanded more. He waited.

The moon was high that night and the room was filled with the rhythmic sound of the cicadas outside. Artoria lay in the center of the massive bed, staring up at the dark canopy. She heard the faint creak of the couch as Gilgamesh shifted his weight, his long frame clearly ill-suited for the piece of furniture.

She turned her head, her blonde hair fanning out over the silk pillow. "Gilgamesh?" she whispered.

"I am awake, little lion," his voice came from the shadows, low and resonant.

Artoria sighed, a soft sound of frustration. How did she say this? "If the couch is uncomfortable...you may…" No, that wasn't right. "You can sleep in the bed, Gilgamesh." Together. "You are a King. You shouldn't be cramped on a settee like a common servant."

She heard a low, amused huff of breath. Gilgamesh turned his head. "You are inviting a dragon into your nest, Atoria. Are you quite certain your trust is well placed?"

She trusted him. That was the thing. She trusted him explicitly. Perhaps not when she had come to Uruk...but now…

She trusted him.

"The bed was yours before it was mine, Gilgamesh." She said in a low tone, shifting over to one side of the bed. "Please."

His shadow shifted on the couch—he sat up. "Very well. If the Queen commands it, who am I to refuse the comfort of my own bed?"

The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He didn't move to touch her but his presence was a sudden radiation of heat beside her. The bed, though enormous, felt much smaller with him in it. And the scent of him, cedar and sun warmed skin—reached her.

He settled back against the pillows with a soft sigh, pulling a portion of the heavy silk blankets over himself. "I suppose this is an improvement." He murmured. "But a warning, wife. Do not think because I am being a gentleman that I will allow you to steal the blankets. I have seen how you toss and turn when you dream of battle. I will not spend the night shivering because my queen is a glutton for silk as well as honey-cakes."

Saber felt a surge of genuine warmth sting her cheeks. "I do no such thing!"

"Ah, but you do." He countered, his voice dropping into a sleepy, satisfied purr. He reached over. He touched nothing but the back of her hand, his fingers curling over hers. "Goodnight, wife."

Her heart felt strangely full. "Goodnight, Gilgamesh."

The golden light of Uruk's sun filtered through the sheer linen curtains. Artoria stirred slowly, rolling onto her side. She remembered before she even opened her eyes—they'd shared the bed last night. But his side of the bed was empty, though the sheets still carried recent wrinkles.

She blinked bleary eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her when she saw him across the room.

Gilgamesh was standing near a tall, polished bronze mirror across the room. He had already discard his silk robe and he was in the process of dressing for the mornings audience. He stood with his back to her, long powerful legs clad golden linen.

Artoria stared.

She had seen him in his golden armor. She had seen him in royal crimson robes. She had seen him untouchable. She had seen him once without his shirt and she had lost their dual because of it. But he was in the state of dressing himself. She could tell by the low state of his hands that he was lacing the front of his trousers and buttoning them.

Her gaze drifted upward.

She felt the sudden sharp sting of heat climb her cheeks.

His back was a landscape of smooth, tanned muscle. Every move of his arms rippled the muscle in his upper back and shoulders. The sun gave his skin a staggering glow. There was no scars—his divinity, perhaps. Or his sheer prowess.

He reached for a silk sash that sat on the dresser before him. Her eyes followed the line of his spine, the tapering of his waist. The powerful stretch of his shoulders.

She had spent her life surrounded by knights. She had spent her life around men of great strength stature. Why was this different? Why was he different?

What she saw was a physique that was aesthetic and primal. It was the physique of a man who was built not just for war, but for pleasure and presence.

And Gilgamesh knew that. His boasting would allow nothing else.

He was quite… oh my—

She didn't finish thought that. She was a King and she was a Queen. She was a warrior who had faced dragons and Gods. Yet she found herself paralyzed by the simple sight of her husbands bare skin.

Gilgamesh's bare skin, she told herself.

Gilgamesh turned to catch his reflection. He caught her stare in the mirror.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. He didn't reach for a shirt. He stayed exactly as he was, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "Admiring the view, Artoria?" He asked. "I told you, I am the owner of all the world's finest treasures. It stands to reason that I should be one of them."

Saber scrambled to sit up. The arrogance. "I didn't expect you to be—"

"Undressed?" He finished, turning fully to face her. The front of him was even more devastating—but she already knew that. The lean abdomen muscles. His chest. He took a predatory step towards the bed, his eyes burning with amusement. "It is my bedroom, wife. And you are my queen. Where else would I undress? Surely you aren't going to tell me that the King of Knights is intimidated by a bit of skin?"

Her eyebrows snapped down. The arrogance! "I am not intimidated."

Gilgamesh laughed. And then he leaned over the bed, his palms landing on the mattress on either side of her hips. He pinned her with nothing but his presence. And the scent of him—warm skin and expensive sandalwood—was overwhelming.

"Your face says otherwise." He whispered, his eyes dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes. "But do not worry. I enjoy being watched by you. Perhaps tomorrow morning I shall be even slower with the buttons."

By the time the sun set and Artoria stepped back into their champers, her hair was wet from the cool palace baths. She'd already pulled a silk robe over her modest shift of white linen. She'd grown used to this. She didn't feel as naked as she had that first night in her underclothes. She was still clothed. There was nothing to be ashamed of in that.

The humidity had her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck as her eyes moved around the room. Gilgamesh had already settled himself on one side of the bed, his back against the headboard.

He was also entirely shirtless.

The low light of the oil lamps caught the golden sheen of his skin and the defined contours of his chest and abdomen. She froze halfway to the bed. Her heart, which had just settled into a steady rhythm, gave a traitorous little flutter. Her lips opened. "Gilgamesh…"

He didn't move. He didn't even reach for the discarded silk tunic. She didn't know if it was purposeful or tactful. Or if the heat had truly gotten to him. But he stared at her with something that could have been mocking disbelief. Or the true heat of Uruk. Damn him. "You invite me to my own bed and then demand I dress like a common merchant in the dead of winter?" He scoffed. "The Uruk nights are sweltering and I have no desire to stifle myself."

"It is... unseemly," Artoria countered, her eyes still fixed on anything but him.

"Unseemly?" Gilgamesh laughed. He leaned up on one elbow. "We have been through a war, a wedding and several hours of combat training today. I would think the King of Knights was made of sturdier stuff than to be flustered by a bare chest."

"I am not flustered," she snapped, finally turning her head. She regretted it instantly. His eyes were gleaming with that familiar, predatory mirth. He was enjoying himself. Too smug.

"Then what is the problem?" He asked, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Are you afraid that if I don't cover myself, you might be tempted to reach across the middle of the bed? I am a man of my word, Artoria. I will stay on my side." He arched a single eyebrow. "I can hardly be blamed if you find the view distracting."

Artoria tightened the tie of her robe, her chin lifting in a gesture of pure, stubborn pride. "I find nothing distracting about your arrogance, Gilgamesh."

"Good," he purred, patting the empty space beside him. "Then come. Sleep. Unless you'd prefer I return to the couch?"

She knew he was baiting her. She also knew if she fled now he would never let her hear the end of it. With a soft sigh, she climbed onto the bed. And she ensured there was a space of silk that stretched long between them as she did every night.

She lay down, pulling her blanket up to her chin and staring resolutely at the ceiling. "Goodnight, Gilgamesh," she said firmly.

"Goodnight, wife," he whispered back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach out and extinguish the lamp.

In the sudden darkness, the scent of him—now clean and warm—seemed to amplify. She could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"And Artoria?" his voice came through the gloom, low and teasing.

"Yes?"

"I'm still not putting on a shirt."

Artoria squeezed her eyes shut, a small, involuntary smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts. "I didn't expect you to, you insufferable man."

"Truly," he murmured, "you are beginning to know me quite well."

The heavy canopy of curtains around the bed did little to block the brilliance of the Uruk sun. Usually, Saber woke to the pale cool light of the dawn and the distant sound of the city stirring. But it wasn't dim light that woke her. It was heat.

It wasn't the gentle warmth of a shared room or a shared bed. It was scorching. It was a blissfully overwhelming slow rhythm that moved beneath her cheek. She woke to a sluggish and deep rare contentment. Subconsciously she began to lean into it. To curl against it. She pressed her face closer to the source. Closer to the rise and fall of warmth that moved beneath her cheek.

The fog of sleep began to shift.

Her fingers, spread wide, weren't clutching silken sheets. They were pressed against the smooth, hot expanse of a mans abdomen. The rhythm beneath her cheek was the heavy, thumping heartbeat of the King of Heroes very breath and heart.

Artoria's eyes snapped open.

She realized with a jolt of pure, freezing adrenaline that she was draped over him like a ceremonial sash. Her arm was slung across his rib cage, her hand resting dangerously close to the waistband of his linen trousers. The heat of his skin was searing.

And more scandalously still—one of her legs had found its way between his. Her thigh was cradled firmly across his lap.

She hadn't just completely invaded his side of the bed. No—she had claimed it. And him.

She held her breath, her heart hammering. Slowly, with painstakingly precision, she lifted her head. And for the first time—through battles and arrogance—she saw Gilgamesh sleeping.

The transformation was staggering.

Without his mocking smirk or the sharp predatory intensity of his crimson eyes, his face was...a masterpiece of the divine. That was the truth. His features were softened by the vulnerability of rest. Golden lashes rested against his tanned cheeks. His lips were slightly parted. His breathing deep and even.

He looked peaceful. He almost looked...human.

The terrifying King of Heroes was gone. He was replaced by a man who radiated a quiet, terrifying and attractive power. The heat of his body felt like it was seeping into her soul.

She should have moved. She should have scrambled back to her side of the bed. But her limbs felt heavy. The heat of him was magnetic. His body was far softer than it appeared and yet it didn't yield beneath her.

Golden eyelashes flickered.

And for a fleeting second, they were clouded and soft with the remnants of sleep. They wandered over her face with a strange, quiet wonder. But as clarity return—so did Gilgamesh. The softness vanished. A slow smirk formed and her stomach did a nervous somersault.

"Well…" Gilgamesh murmured, his voice deep with sleep. "If this is how you wish to wake me every morning, I shall be more than happy to oblige you."

Her breath hitched. She didn't move. She was frozen by the sheer audacity of his tone. "You're on my side of the bed." She whispered.

He gestured lazily with the arm she was currently pinning down. "You are the one wrapped around me like a vine, Wife. You are very much on my side of the bed."

Oh God, he was right. Saber remembered. She rose, a hand pressing against his ribs, her thigh still draped firmly across his lap.

"A convenient accident." Gilgamesh offered. He didn't move to push her off. He looked more than content to allow her to remain.

A scathing retort was on the tip of her tongue when he shifted. His smirk faltered for a second.

"What now?" Artoria muttered.

"Move your leg, Artoria." Gilgamesh warned.

"What?"

"Move your leg," he repeated. He stayed perfectly still, his hands flat against the sheets. "And do it slowly."

Saber blinked, confused by the sudden shift in his manner. She shifted her weight, sliding her leg to return to her side of the bed. And as she moved, she felt it. His trousers did nothing to hide the reality of his situation.

She froze. A heavy, rigid hardness pressed firmly against the inner curve of her thigh.

Her eyes widened and the heat in her cheeks exploded. She didn't just move—she practically vaulted off him. "Stop it right now!" She muttered as he sat up slowly, leaning up on his arms and straightening his legs. Her gaze dropped instantly—she saw the outline. Saw the way it tented his trousers—

Gilgamesh ran his palm down his face. "It is morning, Artoria. And I am a man, not a statue in a temple." He defended. "I told you to move slowly. It is not my fault you did not listen. I can hardly help the basic functions of my body when my wife decides to use me as a heating stone in her sleep—"

A pillow hit his face.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The evening air was cooler that night. It should have insulted Gilgamesh, watching her as she placed a small fort of velvet pillows on the mattress between them. But he found himself….amused. Amused as he reclined on his side, head propped by his palm as he watched her. She was setting a boundary, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Is that a defensive wall or are you planning to lay siege to my side of the bed later?" Gilgamesh asked, his voice teasing.

Saber ignored him. "It is a necessary precaution, Gilgamesh. Since some individuals cannot seem to remember where their side ends and mine begins."

"Need I remind you who woke up draped across me like a victory banner?" Gilgamesh reminded her, shifting. The movement caused the muscles of his bare chest and shoulders to ripple in the lamplight. He made no effort to cover himself.

She felt significantly safe behind her velvet barricade. "That was an anomaly." She defended. "It will not happen again."

Gilgamesh finally laid back, his hands behind his head. He looked up at the canopy, a wicked smirk playing at his lips. "Please do not try to smother me by trapping me on the bed again." He was simply beside himself. "I would hate for the King of Heroes to meet his untimely demise under the enthusiastic weight of his wife's nocturnal wandering."

Artoria's face burned. She reached out and snatched the light, plunging the room into darkness so he couldn't see her flush. "Go to sleep, Gilgamesh."

"I am trying," he murmured in the dark. "But the view of your ridiculous wall is quite distracting. Is there a sentry posted on the other side? Or should I expect a formal declaration of war if my foot crosses the line?"

"There is no sentry. Just silence. I suggest you utilize it."

She heard him exhale, a sound that was half-sigh, half-laugh. The bed shifted as he settled in. Even with the wall of pillows between them, she could feel the heat radiating from him.

The silence hours later was absolute, broken only by the distant, rhythmic chirping of crickets in the palace gardens. The room had darkened to a soft glow. Saber's lids drifted slowly. For a moment, she lay still. The velvet pillows had scattered at one point, though a few remained in a thin line between them.

But she could see him.

He was asleep.

It wasn't the same as seeing him in the gentle glow of the morning sun. No—moonlight bathed him in silence. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned away from her. His arms were folded beneath his pillow, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the deep rhythm of a dreamless sleep. He looked less like a king and more like a force of nature caught in a moment of rare silence.

Her eyes moved over the gentle rise of his back and the elegant lines of muscles. His golden hair, usually so meticulously kept, was a chaotic halo against his arms and pillow.

Saber's breath faltered in her throat.

She spent so much time fighting with him, arguing with him, teasing him—and lately, trying to find her footing in this strange dance of marriage that she rarely allowed herself to simply look at him. But there was nothing to distract her now. His biting wit was silent, and his overwhelming ego was silent—the reality of the man was staggering.

He was, as her traitorous mind whispered, utterly sinful.

And he was all hers.

The beauty he possessed wasn't delicate. It was the kind of beauty that demanded attention and received it. Even in sleep he radiated it.

This was the man who had stalked her through Grail wars. This was the man who had demanded she marry him. The same man who had been willing to bet his very life in a sword fight just to win her hand. He seemed to find it thrilling in the simple clash of their swords. This was the man who had taken the couch instead of his own bed until she grew comfortable with him.

Saber felt a strange, tight ache in her chest. It was a mixture of lingered fear and a new blossoming warmth she wasn't ready to name. She couldn't help but wonder at the strange fate that had brought two enemies, two legends and then husband and wife into a single kingdom and bed.

She settled back onto her pillows. A quiet, nagging question echoed in her mind.

Why?

Why did she say no? Why...wait? She was his wife by law and ritual. He was arguably the most magnificent man she had ever encountered—even if he was as insufferable as he was golden.

But…

Giving in meant losing the last of her identity. It meant admitting that she—a girl who had pulled the sword from the stone—was also a woman who could be unmade by a single man's touch. Because she had the feeling...his touch would undo her.

She was used to having control. And that wasn't something she was ready to let go of.

The loss of control terrified her.

Saber rolled onto her side, clutching the blanket as if it were Excalibur as she drifted to sleep again.

When she woke again, it wasn't to the sun hitting her eyes. It was a familiar heat consuming her. The pillows were gone. And in their place was a tangle of limbs.

Gilgamesh had rolled onto his back at one point, and she was curled and tucked firmly into the crook of his shoulder, her cheek against his chest again. Her right leg was hooked high over his hip, and a heavy, warm arm was draped solidly across the small of her back, pinning her against his side.

She was perfectly and terrifyingly cocooned in him.

Drawn to the shape of his body.

Drawn to the heat.

Drawn to him.

Saber froze and she drew her leg back—but his arm tightened instinctively around her back. "If you move any faster, you'll give us both whiplash." His voice rumbled in a low, sleep filled tone.

Her head jerked up. He was already awake, watching her with a hooded, dark-red gaze.

He arched an eyebrow and spoke before she could even form a response. "I was sound asleep and woke to find you trying to merge your soul with mine."

Oh God.

"I am a Knight, Gilgamesh." She whispered.

"And yet you purred for me like a small blonde lion."

Saber groaned.

Gilgamesh dipped his head, still having yet to release her—his eyes moved over his chest. Lingered on the minute dampness that lingered. "If you were attempting to polish me, wife—I suggest you use a finer cloth." Gilgamesh drawled out.

Her breath absolutely froze and Saber sat up.

She saw it. The slight glisten on his chest.

"You've marked your territory." Gilgamesh didn't hesitate to continue.

"Gilgamesh…" Saber warned, humiliation heating her cheeks.

"What would your round table say if they knew their leader sought midnight snuggles and drooled on her King?"

"Gilgamesh!"

An arm swept around her waist, and he pulled her down against his chest. He laughed. "You are the most stubborn creature in my treasury, Artoria. But I find I don't mind the marks you leave. Even the damp ones."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The gardens of Uruk were a lush, emerald defiance against the surrounding desert. Gilgamesh had led her to a private pavilion nestled in a sea of silk and pillows. The air was heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine and the sweet fermentation of date wine. Gilgamesh reclined on his side, leaning forward on one elbow as they nestled among a sea of silk pillows in the afternoon sun.

Between them sat a golden platter piled with pomegranates, figs and translucent grapes.

"Try this." Gilgamesh murmured, picking up a honeyed slice of pear. He held it toward her lips, his red eyes hooded an attentive.

Artoria didn't recline like he did, though her shoulders had loosened. Her knightly instincts flickered like a dying candle. "I'm a knight, Gilgamesh." She murmured, reaching out to take the fruit from his fingers. "I can—"

"You are not on the battlefield, Artoria." He interrupted softly, the slice of fruit drifting closer. "You are in the garden of your husband. Humor the King. It is a small request."

Artoria hesitated, her gaze shifting from the fruit to his unwavering eyes. It wasn't the intimacy of it that made her falter. She wasn't sure what it was, honestly. But the look in his eyes made the protest die in her throat.

Slowly, she parted her lips and took the fruit from his fingers.

The taste was sweet and yet tart, a single drop of juice catching and glistening at the corner of her lips before rolling down her chin. Gilgamesh didn't reach for a cloth. Instead, he reached out with his thumb, catching the stray drop. And then he brought his thumb to his lips, sucking the sticky sweetness from his skin.

A shiver raced down her spine at the small move and she froze, her only motion to swallow the fruit. And Gilgamesh watched the small movement, the way her throat worked before his gaze lifted to her face.

The air in the pavilion seemed to thin. Her breath hitched at his next words.

"Artoria," he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating hum. "May I kiss you, Wife?"

The question was so soft—so devoid of his usual arrogance, that it caught her off guard. It was an invitation, not a command. He'd only kissed her twice. Right after that first dance and on their wedding day.

Her lips opened. But no words came out. He was asking...for a kiss. Her throat worked again. She nodded even as she formed the word. "Yes." She whispered.

And he leaned in with agonizing slowly, his hand cupping the side of her neck. His lips touched hers with a gentleness. A soft, tentative pressure that was lingering and sweet.

Gilgamesh told himself this was all he wanted. Just one moment of pure tenderness to still the gap between them. All because of the fruit that had glistened on her lips.

It was a brief kiss. A single, solitary brush of lips in the afternoon.

But she moved. Her hands, usually so firm and stead on the hilt of a sword, reached up. Her palms settled against his chest as she leaned into him, her fingers curling slightly in the fabric over his chest.

And the kiss he had wanted so badly for weeks now suddenly felt insufficient. He needed more. Just...a little more.

Gilgamesh shifted his weight, the hand at the side of her neck moving to the back of her head to tilt her face up. "Open." He whispered against her lips and the soft pressure of his lips became a firm demand, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips.

She did. Her lips parted and his tongue delved. He tasted. He teased. He guided her tongue to follow his.

The soft sigh she gave was lost between their lips.

Her world tilted.

Gilgamesh leaned further into her—leaning over her until he was pressing her back against the silk pillows. He was barely aware of the move—only that he was suddenly settling between her knees, pinning her to the cushions.

Saber's heart hammered against her chest as his tongue swept into her mouth—claiming her with a gentleness that left her lightheaded. The garden, the wine, the fruit—it all faded into the background as he kissed her.

It faded for her and it ceased to exist for Gilgamesh. He found himself drowning in the scent and taste of the woman beneath him. His Queen. His wife. All the weeks of careful distance, the nights spent on the couch, the way she curled up to him in their bed in the middle of the night—it was scorched away. His lips left hers but the contact didn't break.

He simply moved lower—wanting to taste more. He wasn't thinking about the future as his lips teased the line of her throat. He wasn't thinking about the 'respite' he had promised her. He was simply acting on the primal instinct that she kissed him back and the ancient instinct that whispered she was his.

Her toes curled when he hummed at the base of her throat, a low vibration of sound that had her head falling back against the pillows. Her breath came out shaky when a stinging bite against her pulse jolted her.

Gilgamesh was barely away of it—he simply sucked and kissed the sting away, his tongue sliding over the pulse throbbing frantically. His fingers, large and warm, rested against the thin silk covering her side. He felt the way her rib cage shifted under his touch—the way she inhaled too deeply.

His hand smoothed upward, tracing the delicate curve of each rib with a reverence he didn't even know he possessed. He hummed again, his lips moving lower—finding the elegant line of her collarbone. He tasted the salt and sweetness of her skin, lost in the sheer reality of her.

For all his treasures, nothing felt as vital as the woman beneath him, the way her breath hitched whenever his mouth hit a new patch of skin. His mind was simply a haze of crimson and gold.

His hand moved with a life of its own—it wasn't something he planned. He was simply following the soft curve of the body he wanted for weeks now. His palm slid higher, the fabric of her dress no real barrier.

His palm cupped the soft, firm weight of her breast and Saber let out a sharp exhale of breath. Her fingers tightened against his forearms.

But she didn't push him away. She was lost in a storm that he had unintentionally created—a whirlwind of sensation that the King of Knights had never experienced in all her years of stoic duty. The heat of his palm. The possessive weight of him between her legs. The way his mouth continued to worship her collarbone. It was too much and yet not nearly enough.

And oh, was that an encouragement to him. It pushed him to go further.

He squeezed gently, his thumb brushing the peak of her nipple through the silk.

He was the King of Heroes and she was the King of Knights, but in the sweltering shade of the pavilion they were two souls finally and recklessly colliding.

She didn't stop him.

And he didn't stop himself.

His lips left her collarbone, leaving a stinging trail of heat as they traced low as his hand squeezed rhythmically. Without a word, he hooked a single finger over the low edge of her bodice. He didn't ask—he simply tugged. The fine silk yielded with a whisper of protest until the pale, cream colored swell of her breast was bared.

Her lids lifted—eyes glossy with something undeniable. "Gilgamesh—" She whispered.

But he leaned down and closed his lips around her nipple without a single thought for the respite or the weeks of patience he had prided himself on.

His name ended on a moan—a pure sound of unfiltered pleasure. It fed his ego and his hunger in equal measure.

Her fingers were in his hair. Clutching. Pulling him closer. The feel of her nails against his scalp was a forbidden pleasure and it simply blinded him to everything else. He didn't stop. He couldn't. He tongue swirled and teased before he sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing.

The sensation drew a jagged, breathless gasp from her throat.

She was finally unraveling beneath him, and God, that was all he had ever wanted. He didn't want gold. He didn't want power. He already had those things. He only wanted the sound of her next breath.

His restraint was failing—it was burning in his gut. Desire. Lust. He'd never been a gentle man. He took what he wanted with the force of a storm and his lovers in the past had known him as a consuming fire. But for Artoria, he had tried. He had dampened his own flames to keep from scorching her.

And even now, he tried to maintain that tether. His hand shifted—sliding to cup her other breast. He squeezed with a steady pressure that matched the frantic beat of her heart. He was teasing her, his tongue swirling around one peak of one breast while he squeezed the other.

He was being gentle. He was being patient.

Until he wasn't.

Because his gut clenched hotly—demanding more than just a taste. Without conscious thought, he caught her nipple between his teeth again and nipped just hard enough to sting.

Her response was immediate. A sharp, high pitched gasp that caught in her throat. He felt the shudder that wracked her body. Her fingers convulsed in his hair for a split second until his golden hair was a disordered mess.

It only served to blind him further. He wanted more. He wanted to hear her gasps. Her moans. He wanted her shuddering beneath him. He let out a low, guttural sound, a vibration that caught around her nipple. He ignored the sting in his scalp, focusing entire on the pebbled nipple caught between his teeth. He sucked harder—like he was trying to draw the very soul from her.

A simple kiss that was no longer a simple kiss. The pavilion had become a sanctuary of heat and friction. He was only aware of the way her breathing had turned into a series of broken, desperate cries of hitched breathes.

He broke the suction over her nipple with a wet pop. And before she could even draw a single ragged breath, he surged over her.

The gentleness had faded. The softness that he courted her with for weeks didn't crack—it disintegrated. One of his hands speared deep into her golden hair, his fingers tightening with a stinging, possessive grip that forced her head back. This time when he kissed her—it was with an unbridled lust he was known for in legends. He wasn't asking for a kiss—he was taking it.

His tongue thrust with a rhythmic, demanding force that she had no choice but to take and follow. The broken moan—she moaned—she gave was swallowed whole, lost in the heat of his mouth. He kissed her savagely as both hands kneaded her breasts. Rough, insistent until the other side of the bodice peeled back for his palm.

And God, her head spun. She couldn't think—couldn't focus on anything but the raw, dizzying need gripping her. His body was suddenly against hers. Heavy, solid and utterly overpowering.

His right hand dived low, his fingers gripping the back of her thigh with a sudden bruising strength. He yanked her leg up and over his hip, pulling her flush against him. He didn't speak. Didn't question. Didn't ask. Didn't warn. He ground his hips tightly between her legs, the sudden heavy pressure making her gasp into his mouth.

And it was unmistakable. Through the tangled layers of silk and his trousers—she felt it. The hardness grinding directly against the heat of her. She whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair.

The air in the pavilion turned static. Thick with the scent of crushed jasmine and a sudden sharp desperation. Gilgamesh was simply a man driven by a singular thought.

He needed to touch her.

The hand that gripped her thigh didn't linger. It dipped low with a quick, frantic desperation. He didn't bother lifting the skirts. His hand disappeared beneath the silk, the fabric bunching roughly against the back of his hand as he pushed higher, his knuckles grazing the tender skin of her inner thighs.

He broke the kiss, his head dipping to her neck as he lifted his hips to make room for his hand.

His fingers found her.

He touched the hot, slick dampness and for a moment, his heart stuttered in his chest. The reality of it—the physical evidence of her desire for him—sent a jolt of lustful triumph through his veins.

"You're so wet." He hissed against her throat, the words a jagged breathless whisper. His teeth scraped her neck, marking her again.

Her hips jerked beneath his hand.

She should have stopped him.

He should have stopped himself.

Because she hadn't asked for this.

But she was suddenly blind and deaf to anything but the fingers sliding between the embarrassing dampness between her thighs.

And God help him, he was just as lost. The simple kiss was dead and buried beneath the crushing weight of the lust that gripped him. Something that had been simmering for months. He didn't see the sun dipping lower in the sky. He didn't feel the cool breeze that fluttered the pavilion curtains.

He only felt the wet heat of her.

His fingers slid through that wet heat with an agonizing slowness that made her vision swim.

He pushed a long, calloused finger deep inside her.

Her entire body stiffened, though not with pain. Her hips jerked, a low moan caught in her throat. Her internal muscles, having never known the intrusion of a man, clamped down on his finger with incredible force.

"Oh Gods." Gilgamesh hissed as he lifted his head, his eyes snapping open.

She was tight—he known she was going to be tight. The sensation of her body clenched around his finger was like liquid fire. It sent a shudder through his frame. He felt the rapid fire hum of her pulse against his finger. And God, it did something to him—knowing that he was the first. Knowing that all those moans—he was the first to bring them from her.

"So small." He whispered. "And so tight for me." Gilgamesh whispered, though he didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he moved his finger. A slow, rhythmic slide that forced her to feel every moment of the invasion.

Saber's lips trembled—her thighs trembled where his legs held them open. She couldn't form a single coherent thought. The world had narrowed down to the point of contact between them—to the finger slowly moving in and out of her body. Her hands had left his hair at one point—she was gripping his forearms, a long shuddering exhale escaping her lips.

He leaned down and kissed her again.

A kiss that was all teeth and tongue, desperate to swallow the sounds she was making as he added a second finger. Testing the limits of her tightness. Two fingers that drove in a slow dizzying rhythm. Gilgamesh thrust them deep as he kissed her. But it wasn't long before he abandoned her lips in favor of her neck again, sucking the skin with bruising intensity.

He wanted to do more than just bruise her neck. He wanted to break her silence. He wanted to hear the King of Knights—the woman who had commanded armies and faced Gods—reduced to begging. He wanted her to beg him for more and then beg him to stop. And then beg him for more all over again.

The weeks of patience simply burned away.

His fingers weren't gentle now. He twisted them inside her, exploring the heat and velvet wrapped pressure as he suddenly leaned up on one arm above her. Staring down at her.

Watching her fall apart for him.

Because he had to see it.

Then, he tested the limits.

He moved to add a third finger, pressing against her tightly stretched opening. She flinched, her body resisting.

He shook his head. "You can take three fingers." He coerced gently, his voice a wicked rumble of absolute certainty. She had to. He was bigger than three fingers. "Look at you." He continue in that same whisper. "You're soaking my hand, Artoria. You're practically weeping for me."

He didn't pull away. He didn't stop. He merely rubbed the tip of his third finger against the already tightly stretched entrance. And he knew—oh, he knew—if she struggled this much against three fingers, she was absolutely going to choke his cock when he replaced it with his fingers.

The thought made his blood thrum with possessive heat.

"That's it...just like that." He whispered, his gaze locked onto her face as he slowly forced the third finger inside. And he watched as she opened for him—as she took those fingers. A mix of pleasure and stretched sensation on her beautiful face.

Her body gripped his fingers with a brutal, instinctive tightness. It should have been painful. And Gods—he wanted to feel that tightness around his throbbing cock. But first he wanted to feel her throbbing around his fingers.

To Gilgamesh, it was the ultimate tribute. He felt the frantic, rhythmic contracts of her internal muscles simultaneously reject and yet welcome the intrusion of his fingers at the same time.

He laughed softly. "Beautiful." He whispered.

He moved his hand slowly—cautiously. His fingers, heavy and slick with her arousal, pulled and pushed with an easy rhythm. He watched the way her pupils dilated.

A sob broke in her throat and her head fell back—she lifted her hand, the back of it covering her lips—

Gilgamesh caught her wrist and dragged her hand down.

"Don't." He commanded, his thumb finding something sensitive even as his fingers thrust. He applied a sharp, circular pressure to that spot. "Let me hear you." He whispered.

She whined. Ye Gods—she moaned for him as his fingers pushed her higher. In and out. In and out—

Gilgamesh didn't slow. He watched her as he increased the pace, his fingers slick with her need—driving her towards something she had yet to understand. Her muscles gripped his fingers in a desperate rhythm. She was so close.

"That's it, little lion." he urged her. "Give it all to me. Break for me."

And with a deep thrust of his fingers and a sharp flick of his thumb—she did. She let out a choked cry as her body convulsed around his fingers. She clenched around his fingers with a strength that was almost violent as wave after wave of heat crashed over her.

And Gilgamesh watched it all—his eyes trained on her face—his fingers buried deep. And God, she was beautiful in her wreckage. No longer a soldier, but a woman whose body had cried for his.

He withdrew his fingers, dragged them over the mess her own body had made between her thighs.

He wanted inside her. Now. His hands were already lowering to his trousers—

The distant, rhythmic clack-clack of sandals on stone suddenly echoed from the garden path.

Confusion formed in Saber's green eyes. Because they'd just...she'd just...his hand was still wet from...from...The realization of what they had just done—and then the horror that someone was headed their way.

Gilgamesh was in enough of a right mind to realize that as well.

But it was Artoria that scrambled first. She moved so fast she was a blur, sliding out from beneath him and nearly falling off the pavilion's edge in the process. With shaking hands, she yanked her bodice back into place and began desperately smoothing out the rumbled silk of her skirt.

Her lips trembled.

By the time the servant rounded the corner of jasmine bushes, the scene not one of suspicion. Gilgamesh had reclined back on one elbow in deceptive grace. He propped one knee up, a strategic move to hide the heavy, painful erection pressing against his silk pants. His face was a mask of bored arrogance, though his blood was still a roaring fire.

Artoria wouldn't look at him. Her face was a shade of scarlet that rivaled the Uruk sunset.

"You asked me to come retrieve you to look over the weapon bulls-eyes when they arrived, my Queen," the servant murmured, bowing low, entirely unaware that he had interrupted the near-unmaking of a legend.

Artoria cleared her throat, her voice coming out small and slightly hoarse. She murmured a reply that was lost to the wind before she stood with a stiff posture.

She still wouldn't meet his gaze.

"My King," she whispered, offering a shallow, trembling curtsy.

And then she turned and walked away. She didn't run—her pride wouldn't allow it. But she moved with a speed that spoke of a desperate need for distance.

He almost went after her.

Once he was alone, the silence in the garden felt deafening. Gilgamesh reached up and ran a hand through his hair. Which was now a tangled mess thanks to her clutching fingers.

"What the hell was that?" he muttered to the empty pavilion.

He exhaled, a long jagged sound of breath. He'd lost control—that was the answer. Completely. And he realized that if the servant hadn't made an appearance, he wouldn't have stopped. He would have replaced his fingers with his cock and in the state of blind, unbridled lust he had been lost in—he wouldn't have been gentle.

The rest of the evening was a study in avoided glances.

At dinner, the long table felt like distance. Her movements were stiff. She only spoke when he spoke to her. He could see it in her eyes. She blamed herself for something she didn't understand. She blamed herself for her own lack of control.

And that frustrated him.

Even if they hadn't stopped… the servant would have walked away. They wouldn't have been interrupted. They wouldn't have dared interrupted him.

When he finally entered their bedchamber late that night, the room was near dark. She was already in bed, her back turned to him, her breathing deep and even. She was either asleep or doing a masterful job of faking it.

He stood at the foot of the bed for a moment before he sat down on the edge behind her. He had crossed a line today.

But it wasn't her fault.

"I am sorry." Gilgamesh said into the silence. He hoped she understood the weight of that apology—the King of Heroes apologized to no one. Gilgamesh apologized to no one. "In the garden...I lost control. I allowed my own greed to eclipse your comfort, and for that, I am fault."

She didn't move. She didn't respond.

He knew she was awake.

"But do not be ashamed of what happened between us, Artoria." He continued softly. "What your body expressed was natural. It was beautiful. But I still wait for you." He reminded her. He knew Artoria now—he understood her. She may have been a warrior, but she was so innocent that it almost hurt his heart…

The loss of control on her part. The fact that she could want something so easily and out in the open...to a man she had once despised. She was so scared to give up that last part of herself.

He leaned in closer—just close enough. "But do not run from me. Please. To have you in my city and yet feel you a world away… it is a torture I do not care to repeat."

He didn't stay in the bed. He stood and turned—and for the first time in over a week, he took to the couch again.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The sun hadn't risen yet when he felt it. It was still the dead of night. He hadn't even been asleep that long when the soft hand pressed against his shoulder. He frowned as his lids lifted, red eyes looking upward—

Saber's face towered over his, her brows furrowed—the guilt still clearly written on her face. She looked uncertain. "Come back to bed." She whispered into the darkness, as if afraid all of Uruk would wake with her voice. And then the hesitation. "Please."

Her pride was in tatters but…

She didn't want to sleep alone again. She didn't want to break this fragile truce that had only begun to form between them.

She didn't step back until he sat up. For once he didn't tease her. He wasn't arrogant enough to haul his shirt over his head. He simply stood and then cupped the back of her head. He pressed a soft kiss against the center of her forehead.

Was it reconciliation?

Neither one of them knew. But it was something. Gilgamesh had apologized and Saber wasn't going to let him slip from his own bed again. It was something. And that was all that truly mattered in that fragile truce.

The morning light wasn't particularly bright. As Saber's consciousness slowly began to drift to the surface—she already knew. She was too warm not to know.

She should have known. Especially when she hadn't placed any pillows between them. She had merely turned her back last night as he had turned his. The fault wasn't his—she simply migrated to him in the middle of the night.

One of her legs was hooked high over his hip again like a wet sea animal. Half of her torso was against his chest, a hand curved against his neck. Gilgamesh radiated heat like a furnace more often than not and the close proximity left a sheen of perspiration between their bodies.

She didn't scramble away this time. She didn't bolt for the bathing chamber. She simply sighed and let her head fall back against his shoulder. "This is your fault." She murmured into the morning air. Just a sleepy, matter of fact observation.

He was awake.

Because the arm that she currently lay on lifted just enough so that his fingers could slide through her hair. "My fault?" He echoed carefully. "I stayed on my side of the bed. You are the one who spent the better part of the night trying to climb inside my rib cage."

And again, she made no move to detach herself. What was the point? "You are too warm. It's like sleeping next to a bonfire." She paused, as if searching for an excuse. "It is only natural that one would be drawn to heat in the cool of the night."

"A fire, am I?" Gilgamesh tilted his head, looking down at her. "A moment ago I was to blame. Now I am a necessary source of warmth. You are becoming quiet inconsistent, wife."

She sighed again—and let her hand fall against his chest cautiously, as if testing if it was truly the right thing to do. She didn't move it. "Fighting the inevitable was becoming...exhausting." She excused. She simply made no move to leave the male body she was currently curled around at all. She simply gave up. She would end up on his side of the bed no matter what.

And Gilgamesh knew this. His fingers teased through her hair gently. "The inevitable is quite comfortable, is it not?"

"It is acceptable." She reprimanded him. "Though, it is possible the bed slants."

"Of course." Gilgamesh laughed softly, silently thanking the God's that he hadn't pushed her away for his own lustful greed. "It has nothing to do with the fact that you find the King of Heroes to be the finest pillow in all of Mesopotamia."

Saber sighed again. "Do not push your luck, Gilgamesh." She scolded, though, once again, she didn't pull away.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

Routine came easily again—a cautious trust between them. Gilgamesh wasn't willing to break that fragile trust again. Especially not when she finally slept IN his arms. She didn't pull away from him in the mornings. She may have blamed him for the wild positions she found herself him when she curled herself around him—but she no longer pulled away from him.

It was something.

But something was not everything. Gilgamesh could see it in her eyes.

There was still a distance that he hadn't been able to breach since the pavilion. There was still a distance in her eyes that was thought far too loudly.

He had learned many things about Artoria in their battles and since bringing her to Uruk.

Her mind raced.

She focused on everything and one thing all at once. She tried to carry the burden of those thoughts alone. It didn't matter that those burdens weren't hers to carry alone—it didn't matter that she woke up on his chest every morning and no longer de-tangled her limbs from his.

Her mind was a chaos of unknown emotions that were far too new to an old soul.

She would claim the warrior part of her soul. She would claim the Knight and King.

But she had yet to claim the woman.

It wasn't until that night when they were in bed and she was curled against his bare chest that he finally breached the silence. "Talk to me." He murmured, his arm beneath her, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of her shoulder.

For a moment she was quiet. Too quiet. Too thoughtful. But her palm stayed against his chest. And then she took a deep breath. "You have taken everything from me, Gilgamesh." She said softly. It wasn't anger in her tone—it was simply an observation that instantly made him want to argue that.

But she continued before he could.

"You took my kingdom. You've taken my solitude. Even the city I live in, the food I eat—it is all yours."

His gut clenched. That was not what he wanted her to think of this union. She didn't lift her head from his chest as she continued speaking. "My innocence… it is the only thing left that belongs solely to me. It is the only part of myself that you have not consumed." She drew a shaky breath. "And if I give that to you, there will be nothing left of me. I will be entirely yours."

Was that so bad, he wondered.

"And that...that loss of control is a fear I do not know how to conquer."

The silence that followed was different from their usual nightly bickering. This was deeper. He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. He didn't smirk.

He lifted the hand from his chest and turned her hand, his eyes moving over her palm. "You think I want to 'take' it from you?" He asked. "Like a spice from a merchant or a city from a rival?"

"That is how you look at the world, Gilgamesh. Everything is something to be claimed. Something to be added to your treasury."

She wasn't wrong in that. That was how he looked at the world.

"You are not part of my treasury, Artoria." Gilgamesh countered softly. "The treasury is for things that are finished and can be cataloged and locked away. You...are a living storm. You would tear those treasures apart if I locked you away."

She was silent. She was so still and fragile in his arms. The feminine side of her that the Grail War had not witnessed. The silence was thick and suffocating. She didn't move. Her lashes didn't blink against his chest.

But her next words were so softly spoken that he almost didn't hear them.

"I want you."

Those three words landed in the quiet air between them like a heavy bronze seal. There was no explanation to the words. No demand. Just a raw, terrifying honesty.

Gilgamesh stilled. His gut clenched hotly at those words. He looked down at the golden head lying on his chest. His fingers tightened a fraction of an inch around the hand before he released. That same hand went to her chin. He lifted her head from his chest so that she had no choice but to look at him.

"Say it again," he commanded quietly.

Artoria took a sharp, shallow breath. Her green eyes remained locked on his. "I...want you."

His eyes darkened with a predatory heat. He shifted until she was on her back and he was leaning over her slowly. He didn't crawl over her, he simply remained on his side as he dipped his head, his lips seeking hers—

Her fingers touched his lips, halting him. "No." She whispered.

He stilled, his lips inches touching her fingertips. His brow furrowed. No? One moment she was confessing a desire that had his heart hammering against his ribs and the next, she way. He wasn't angry with her, but irritation and confusion flickered across his expression.

He'd waited so long for this moment.

Her tongue slid out to moisten her lips. "I will…" She said, her voice low and steady, though her heart was a visible frantic beat at the curve of her neck. "But on my terms."

Gilgamesh frowned. "Your terms." He echoed. His own body was already a traitor, his cock rigid and throbbing in his trousers the moment she spoke those three words.

And now she was drawing lines in the sand.

Frustration clawed at him again.

"I want you." She said again—she wasn't going back on those words. "But I need to be in control."

Gilgamesh stared down at her—the look in her eyes. Her face. It wasn't defiance he saw. It wasn't fear, exactly. But he realized it for what it was. It was the agonizing fear of losing the final territory that was hers.

Control.

It had always been about control with her. The discipline of a Knight. The burden of a crown. The walls built to keep the world away. She feared she would be erased if she simply gave herself to him. The frustration in his chest dissolved—because he understood.

He understood what she was asking for.

She couldn't submit. But she was asking to choose her own undoing.

In one swift, fluid motion Gilgamesh moved. He didn't move away. He rolled onto his back and grabbed her waist. With a firm tug, he pulled her up and over him until she straddled his hips. He leaned up on his elbows, looking up at her from the position of the conquered. His red eyes were filled with dark promise. "Then take it, Artoria. Rule me as you see fit."

The words hung in the air and Artoria's heart skipped a beat.

Not long ago, such a statement from the King of Heroes would have felt like a trap or a cruel joke. But looking into his red eyes, Artoria saw only a terrifyingly bright sincerity. It sent a jolt of heat through her stomach.

It reminded her of what had happened in the garden.

Her tongue darted out to dampen her lips, a nervous gesture. Gilgamesh eyes followed the movement with a predatory focus. He began to lift his hands, his fingers reaching to twine in her hair to pull her down for a kiss but she shook her head.

She intercepted his wrists slowly, her smaller hands wrapping around them with a strength born of years of swordplay. Gently but firmly she guided his arms back towards the pillows. She held them there for a long moment, pinning him to the silk.

Gilgamesh arched a golden eyebrow.

"You won't touch me?" She asked softly.

His jaw tightened. The request was a physical blow to his intent. He wanted to feel her again. He wanted to touch the smoothness of her skin. He wanted to pull her close until there was no air left between them. His body was already straining—a rigid testament to the agony of his restraint.

She had finally offered herself to him—but she was asking he didn't touch her.

But he understood. And God help him, he cursed himself for understanding. She wanted to be the one to choose every inch of this path.

So he didn't speak. He slowly lifted his arms, breaking the gentle grasp of her hands and laced his fingers securely beneath his head. Offering himself up to her.

She exhaled the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. This was the control she needed—the knowledge that the worlds greatest tyrant was—for the night, her subject.

She sat up slowly and her hands hovered for a moment before she touched the bar skin of his chest. It was her first act of a true, curious exploration.

She'd touched him before. She'd woken up curled around him far too many times to not have touched him. But this was different. Now she was touching and exploring for a different reason entirely. His skin was like sun-warmed marble. Smooth, firm and radiating a scorching heat that seemed into her palm. Beneath her fingertips his heart beat a heavy, erratic thud. It was racing as fast as hers.

She let her fingers trail upward, tracing the hard, defined line of pectoral muscles. His chest moved beneath her exploration—a slow inhale and shaky exhale.

The tension in his body was a physical presence. It was against his very divinity to be so still a docile. To Gilgamesh, to exist was to conquer. To desire was to claim. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to break his vow not to touch. He wanted to unlace his fingers and seize her by the waist—to flip her onto her back and drown her in the sheer force of his presence. He wanted to drive every day and every week of his stifled frustration into her until the King of Knights was a memory and she was only his.

But he didn't move. Because his Queen was finally curious.

He looked down, his lips set into a hard line when her thumb slid over one nipple. Curious. Watching.

He inhaled shakily. A tremor rolled through his pectoral muscles. His nipple hardened beneath the press of exploring thumb. But she didn't stay in one place. Her palms smoothed up his chest. She remembered the way he had looked in the garden. The way he had maneuvered her with such effortless, predatory grace.

She remembered everything he had done to her. And driven by something curious—something she couldn't name, she leaned down. Her golden hair fell forward, trailing tantalizingly against his collarbone as she flicked her tongue against his nipple.

His entire body went rigid.

A hiss of breath escaped his lips. The fingers laced behind his head tightened so hard his knuckles went white. His lids hooded as he stared down where she hovered over his chest. "You have no idea of the debt you are accruing." He murmured in a low tone that had her heart skipping a beat.

A debt—as if he meant to repay everything she was doing to him.

She liked the way he trembled beneath her. There was something about the way his muscles bunched and flexed. The power she held over him in that moment was ancient and intoxicating. She looked up at him through the curtain of her hair, her green eyes dark and heavy with the first real embers of her own desire. "You said I could rule you as I see fit." She reminded him softly, her voice shaking. And she liked this new territory.

Her hands moved again. Up and down his chest. Tracing his arms. She moved her hands down, eventually following the deep groove of his abdomen muscles. She felt him involuntarily suck in his breath, his stomach rippling beneath her touch.

She traced the indention of muscle at his abdomen. His skin was taunt, flickering with tension. When she reached the dip of his navel, she felt him shudder beneath her. She lifted her head—just for a moment. Just to look at him. He'd been watching her the entire time. Watching her exploration. And the look in his eyes was so heated and hot that it sent a jolt of heat straight between her thighs.

She shifted upward—just enough. Slow and deliberate. She leaned over him, pressing her chest against his. Leaning into him.

Leaning down.

He was already lifting his head when she leaned down. His lips met hers halfway. She kissed him slowly. Softly. She may have kissed him with gentleness—but he kissed her with a ferocity that made her head swim. With his hands still laced stubbornly behind his head, he deepened the contact, his tongue tangling with hers in a rhythmic dance of silken heat and fire.

She tasted the cedar he had drank earlier and tasted the faint, unique spice that was Gilgamesh himself. She leaned more of her weight into him, her fingers suddenly tangling in the strands of messy golden hair near his temples.

"Artoria." Gilgamesh groaned against her lips.

She angled to pull away and his shoulders lifted to follow her, keeping the kiss—keeping the heat locked between their mouths. "I can't breath." Saber gasped out when she finally managed to break the contact.

Gilgamesh laughed huskily, the sound low. "A King should be able to breathe even in the heart of a storm, Artoria." He whispered hotly as she dragged air into her lungs. His eyes were no longer just red—they were glowing with a terrifyingly beautiful, predatory light.

Her head was spinning from the sheer force of the kiss, her lips bruised with the taste of him. Cedar, sweet wine and desire. He was like a man starved and he had taken her lips in reclamation.

But her fingers were still locked in his hair.

"I have not touched you." He reminded her—reminding her that his hands were still beneath his head. His lips curved as he leaned up again. His teeth nipped her bottom lip before he sucked the sting into the warm heat of his mouth. "But you said nothing about my mouth, little lion. And I find you quite delicious."

The heat in the room was stifling. Not even the cool night air of Uruk's desert ruffling the curtains lowered the temperature gripping the two on the bed.

Gilgamesh's gaze lowered slowly—maddeningly slowly. She felt the heat of that gaze as it trailed over the white cotton of her underclothes.

He wanted to tell her to reach down. To find the rigid proof of his desire and to wrap her fingers around him. He wanted her to learn the weight of his hunger.

His gaze lifted slowly. His eyes met her. "Take your shift off." He guided, his voice dropping into a low, gentle rasp.

And there it was. The final barrier. The next step…

She didn't ask for it.

But he spoke it.

Her breath hitched and her lips trembled as Saber lifted her hands. Her fingers moved over the thin straps at her shoulders. Shyness gripped her. Unease, perhaps—but she eased both straps down. The fabric began to sag before she gathered the cotton and pulled it over her head.

Naked.

Her cheeks grew hot.

Gilgamesh's breath hitched. It caught in the back of his throat like a physical obstruction. Because she was a pale, smooth masterpiece of skin and curves. From the elegant curve of her neck to the soft, pale swell of her breasts. She was the most exquisite treasure he had ever beheld. Without armor. Without crown.

He moved before he could resister the betrayal of his own body or mind. His torso lurched upward, his hands flying towards her waist to pull her into him. To taste the skin he had kissed beneath the pavilion. But at the last second his hands twisted in sheets beneath his hips. The delicate fabric groaned under the strain. He stayed sitting, his eyes moving over her.

Artoria immediately hunched her shoulders, her arms crossing over her breasts. The sudden exposure was...a physical weight.

"Don't cover yourself." Gilgamesh whispered more harshly than he intended.

She couldn't breath. Saber swore she couldn't breath. It wasn't because he had almost touched her. It was because he'd stopped himself. He was simply sitting there, his hands fisted in the sheet, legs spread. She could see the physical strain in his arms. His shoulders.

She couldn't help but look again, her gaze moving over his chest. His breath came heavier with the sudden position. Her eyes moved over his stomach again and then lower—between his thighs. They settled on the unmistakable, rigid silhouette straining against the fine linen of his trousers.

She was a King. She was a warrior. She'd once been a servant in a great war. She had seen the world and its many wonders. But looking at the sheer, heavy physical manifestation of his desire for her...

Big.

The thought echoed in the silence of her mind, blunt and terrifying.

With a hand that shook she reached out without thought. She let her fingertips graze the top of his trousers—right over the straining length and the heat it permitted. Gilgamesh let out a sound that was less a human noise and more like the crack of stone under pressure.

She pressed her palm against the length of him.

He'd touched her in the gardens. He had touched her until she felt like screaming. She had screamed in her mind.

Curiosity drove. And desire.

He was scorching. She could feel the pulsing heat against her palm as she explored the shape of him. Her fingers curled around what she could reach. He was thick—impossibly so. And just as hard as the hilt of Excalibur.

Gilgamesh's head fell back, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ground together. His eyes squeezed shut. "Artoria." He choked out.

His arms were still locked at his sides, steel cords of muscle as he sat there.

Her mouth was bone dry as she looked from her hand to his face. Desperation tightened his features and God, it was intoxicating to see the King of Heroes at the mercy of her palm.

"Am I hurting you?" Saber whispered as her thumb slid over the broad, rounded head through the linen.

His eyes opened to stare at her. Pure fire stared at her. "Very." He managed to gasp. "If you intend to continue...undo the laces, Artoria."

Her fingers moved with a life of their own—already pulling until the vee of his trousers were suddenly gaping open. The weight of him simply fell forward once the laces were loose, resting against the back of her hand.

Saber felt a jolt of alarm that nearly sent her scrambling backward.

Oh my.

She was a virgin—yes. But she was also a student of anatomy and war. She knew the mechanics of the world. She knew what was expected. She knew what went where. Yet the reality of him...she turned her hand until he rested in her palm. And then she curled her fingers around him. What she could curl around him. He was massive—a pillar of velvet wrapped iron, pulsing with a life of its own.

She couldn't even close her grip entirely. He was too broad, his skin incredibly smooth and hot. Her thumb brushed over the weeping tip and she felt the wet heat that smeared against her skin.

"This won't possibly fit." She whispered, her voice trembling with a genuine, horrified denial. And awe. She stared. She stared. Her hand tested the weight and staggering size of him. She took a gentle risk—her palm sliding up the length in a slow, experimental stroke.

Gilgamesh let out a low sound that was a mockery of a laugh. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back. "It will fit, little lion." He managed to mutter. "The body adapts...to what the heart desires."

Saber was mesmerized. The contrast between her pale, slender hand and the sun bronzed heat of his sex was startling. She grew bolder. Her fingers tightened a fraction. She squeezed, wondering if he was as solid as he felt.

The sound that left Gilgamesh was a guttural, earth-shaking groan that vibrated the very air.

Her head jerked up instantly, her eyes wide with alarm. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, her hand stilling but not releasing him.

"Hurt me?" He laughed again, the sound low and husky. His face was flushed. "Artoria...that was heaven." He stared at her hand, the way her hand cradled him. "Do not stop." He commanded softly. "See exactly what you do to your King, Artoria."

Control.

Saber swallowed hard as she began to move her hand again, watching the way his cock throbbed in her palm. She was the one in control, but his hips gave a small, involuntary jerk in her hand.

It was a revelation. She understood the weight of a sword—but this was a different kind of weight. It was intimate. She watched as his thighs tensed and released with every downward stroke of her palm. Every time she moved her hand, he seemed to grow even more rigid, hot veins pulsing against her fingers.

One of his hands shot out—he touched her, his hand curling around the back of hers. But she didn't stop him. She didn't say anything. She just stared as his hand tightened around hers. Watched as he guided her hand into a motion that was faster.

"Squeeze it," he whispered, the command sounding more like a prayer.

And oh, she obeyed. She squeezed under the pressure of his own hand, following the motion he set before his hand fell away to the bed once more. A jagged low groan tore from his chest. His head fell back on his shoulders.

"Just like that, Artoria…" he urged, his voice a broken, beautiful wreck.

She increased the pace, her hand moving in a rhythmic, firm pumping motion. She stared, enraptured—enthralled in the way his thighs twitched. The way his hips gave involuntary little jerks in time with her hand. She felt the dampness at the tip slicking her fingers, making the friction smoother.

Watching him lose himself was utterly captivating.

She felt him swell even further, the heat becoming almost unbearable against her skin. She could feel the tension in his body, see the way it tightened his abdomen.

"Artoria," he groaned, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate tone. "I'm going to—if you don't slow down, I will lose this battle before it has truly begun."

She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy with a mirrored desire she was finally beginning to understand. She didn't stop. She was driven by the unfiltered need gripping his face. It was horrifying to watch, but enthralling at the same time.

Gilgamesh was a man who prided himself on absolute mastery. His kingdom. His treasury. Himself. But under the pumping friction of her hand, he was dissolving.

He intended to let her explore until her curiosity was sated. After all, the outcome would be the same. She would be his in every way imaginable when they were done. He had the patience of centuries. But he had underestimated her.

Or he had underestimated his need for her.

Or just himself.

She was undoing the King of Heroes with every pump of her fist. Every time she increased the speed, a fresh jolt of white-hot lightning shot to his groin.

His hips bucked reflexively into her hand. The perfect pressure. He was so close to the edge that his lungs were on fire. He warned her—he warned her to slow down. And when she actually leaned further into the task with a quicker motion—he snapped. One hand shot from the silk sheets, lashing around her wrist like a golden manacle.

He didn't pull her away, but his grip was iron, anchoring her hang against the rigid, pulsing length of him. "I'm going to disgrace myself if you don't stop." He muttered, his voice cracking.

His chest was heaving, his skin was slick with a fine sheen of sweat. But all he saw when he looked at her was a heated, morbid curiosity that made his blood boil. Her fingers squeezed him. Breath hissed out from between his lips. "Artoria…" He warned between his teeth. "I am seconds away from spilling like a common boy in your palm. Is that what you wish to see? My pride ruined before we have even begin?"

The threat of his 'disgrace' hung in the air, but Saber didn't see it as a disgrace. She saw Gilgamesh trembling before her. She saw her husband losing himself to her touch alone. And it was an intoxicating sight.

Her hand moved again even though he held her wrist. A slow glide up. A slow glide down.

His head fell back. "Artoria." He whispered her name, a broken sound of pure sensation. Because he could feel it surging. The first thick, hot waves beginning to pulse upward. His jaw was locked so tight something popped.

The dam broke within three more glides of her hand.

Gilgamesh groaned as his hips jerked, his seed spilling over her hand. Hot, thick and plentiful. It coated her fingers and the back of her hand, shooting out over the curve of one pale thigh. He didn't stop—it was too late. His body continued to pulse, his cock jerking in frantic, involuntary spasms as he emptied himself into her palm.

His grip finally went slack on her wrist before he fell back to the pillows, his breath coming in shallow, jagegd breathes, his eyes half-closed and glazed with an expression of such pure, shattered bliss that it was almost unrecognizable. He lay ruined, his pride and power spent. All because of a single, curious touch.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

Saber stared down at her hand, her fingers slick and dripping with the pearl-white heat of him. If he felt in anyway close to how she had felt in the garden…

The sight was primitive. It was almost shocking in its intimacy, but she couldn't look away. She felt a surge of triumph that she had pushed him beyond his limits. She had seen him move mountains and command the very gates of the world, but here—in the quiet of their chamber, she had reduced him to a tremble.

Seeing him so utterly undone...sweaty, his chest heaving...his eyes glazed with something he'd shown her once...that was a far greater victory than any war she had ever won.

Driven by a sudden, reckless impulse—a desire to finish what they had started and to truly know Gilgamesh—she moved. She didn't retreat to wash her hands. She shifted her weight over his lap and straddled his hips, one hand reaching between them.

Gilgamesh lay there, one arm draped over his face as he tried to stabilize his pulse. He felt the weight of her settle over his lap and he lifted his arm when he felt the unmistakable, slick friction of his own seed and her body's arousal acting as lubricant as she guided her hips down against him…

His cock had just started to soften when he felt the sheer hot dampness of her body and he hardened before he'd even fully gone soft. "You little devil." He whispered. He felt the slick heat pressing against the head of his cock, almost engulfing him.

She didn't respond. She was too focused on what she held between her thighs. She pressed the wide tip against her body...and sank down. Her body resisted for a moment before the slickness of her own arousal and the seed at the tip of his cock eased the way. The thick head popped inside and OH. OH. OH. That little bit stretched her.

Gilgamesh's jaw tightened. His hands had lifted at one point—he was gripping the headboard from where he lay.

She pressed down more and her body gave more—but she stopped when she felt the pressure began to stretch. She balanced a palm against his abdomen to steady herself as she sank down even more. Slow. Agonizingly slow. God, he was big. Too big. Stretching her. And he was barely inside. She'd barely taken an inch past the tip when she flinched.

She flinched.

The stretch started to hurt when she sank further down. So she paused. She adjusted just enough and then rose up on her knees until the tip snagged at her entrance. That gave her a moments relief before she sank back down again to find a better way...to take him. Something that didn't hurt. But every time she tried to take more, the burn of stretch halted her.

Gilgamesh's breath hissed out. He saw her discomfort. But the way her body gripped the tip of his cock… her discomfort was heaven to him. A suffocating, wet tightness. She took another inch and his thighs tensed beneath her.

She shifted her hips against the pain but stopped again. Again. She grimaced and stopped completely. She couldn't take anymore, not without it hurting. She hadn't even taken half his length.

"Help me." She whispered.

His jaw ached.

Gilgamesh sat up slowly. The movement forced another heavy inch inside her and she flinched again. He wrapped an arm around her waist while the other tilted her face up to his. "Look at me." He whispered.

She lifted her head. Her eyes met his.

He meant to apologize. He meant to say sorry for the pain he was about to cause her. But he couldn't form the words. Instead, the arm around her waist tightened abruptly. He shoved her hips down hard as he bucked his hips upward.

His cock tunneled deep. It barely caught at the barrier inside her body before it slammed through, hilting inside in one smooth thrust. Her entire body tensed and she cried out, a rough cry catching at her lips before her nails dug into his arms.

And FUCK.

Fuck.

Gilgamesh almost lost it.

He almost lost every sense of control he had at the brutal tightness that clamped around him. But instead, he wrapped his arms around her. He let her bury her face against his throat. His fingers tangled in the back of her hair. "I know." Gilgamesh whispered. "I'm sorry."

The room fell into a terrifyingly loud silence, broken only by the sound of her breathing. He held her in his lap, keeping her chest pinned against his, his arms wrapped around her. He was just as rigid, his heart hammering. The sensation of her—hot and slick and tight, gripping him with a crushing virginal tightness—it was a sensory overload.

She shifted as if trying to get away from the painful sensation of her first time. "Don't move." He whispered against her ear, his palm a caressing glide through her hair. "Just breathe. Breathe with me, Artoria."

Her face was buried in the crook of his neck—he could feel the hot sting of tears against his neck.

She could feel him inside her. A heavy, throbbing presence that seemed to pulse in time with her own heartbeat. "It hurts." She whispered.

"I know." Gilgamesh struggled to keep his voice calm. Struggled to stay still when he wanted to do nothing more than to thrust up into the tight, hot heat of the body gripping him so beautifully. "It will pass. Just stay still for a moment." For her—for himself.

He shifted his head just enough to press his lips against her temple. Her muscles were clenched around him even now. Tiny fluttering involuntary pulses. Each one made him want to hiss into the darkness. This was a divine trial on his restraint.

Saber inhaled. Struggling to accept his presence. The sharp, stabbing heat was beginning to dull, leaving behind a heavy, stretched ache that felt like it reached all the way to her core. All the way to her heart. Her mind was racing. Was this it? Was this all there was to it? Perhaps the poets were liars. Or she was simply a woman built for battle and not desire.

Gilgamesh eased his arms around her and forced her head up until her tear stained eyes met his. "Look at me." He commanded softly. "I know it hurts, but you are still in control." Every instinct was screaming to buck and drive into her until his world faded away.

He caught a stray tear with his thumb. "Kiss me." He murmured.

It was a distraction and she sank into it, a bridge to lead her away from the pain and back to the desire that had brought her to this point. Her lips parted for the glide of his tongue. It was slow. It was deep. It held none of the frantic desperation from earlier. And as she focused on the kiss, the pain didn't vanish, but it did begin to recede into the background. The heat she felt wasn't just him. It was hers. It was theirs.

She let out a small, muffled whimpered when he sucked her tongue into his mouth. Her fingers fisted in his hair. His hips shifted against hers. Not a thrust, just a slow shift that forced him a fraction deeper.

"There," he murmured against her lips. "She returns to me." His hands left the smooth skin of her back to trace over her hips. "The pain is the price of the gate, Artoria." Gilgamesh whispered. "The Treasury lies beyond it."

Gilgamesh waited—his eyes met hers as he gripped her hips in gentle hands and then slowly lifted her. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. He lifted her half way and felt the way her body tensed, as if expecting the brutal pain of penetration before….and then he slowly lowered her back over him.

Her breath hitched.

The pain was still there...but it had dulled into the sensation of just being...stretched. It wasn't unbearable.

Gilgamesh did it again. He lifted her hips halfway and then slowly guided her back down. He let her feel every inch of that halfway glide. "See?" He urged. "You can take me."

He guided her like that over and over. A slow rhythm with his hands at her hips. Up and down. He controlled it. He lifted her. He lowered her. And with every glide of his body into hers, the dull pain seemed to ease off into a heavy heat that made her toes curl.

Gilgamesh stopped after a moments, his hands still on her hips, his thumbs touching soft skin. He wanted to throw her onto her back and drive into her until she was screaming his name, but he kept his hands steady on her hips. He was her anchor, guiding her through the wreckage of her own innocence.

"No more tears." He whispered to the woman before him. Because it wasn't a knight he held or even a king. It wasn't the queen he held.

It was Artoria Pendragon.

He waited until he felt the panicked clench of her muscles begin to soften into a pulsing acceptance before he began moving her again. He lifted her once more—just halfway, just enough for her to take a deep breath before he drew her back down to the hilt.

She inhaled shakily.

"See?" He whispered again. "You were made for this throne, Artoria."

The sting of penetration was gone, replaced by a deep hollow ache that...that…

A shiver raced down her spine.

He drew her flush against him again, her naked breasts against his chest. His palms smoothed up her back with a little more force than the last. "Move." He whispered against her lips.

She did. She lifted herself with an exploration of movement—slow, stopping halfway before gently lowering herself.

That felt…

One of his hands flatted against the small of her back.

She rose again. She fell.

He inhaled against her neck. His lips pressed.

It was a slow rhythm that she started—but it was one that he corrected when he urged her up higher on the next upward glide. He didn't let her stop at halfway. The hand at her hip guided her up until the tip threatened to pop from her body…

And then he guided her back down. "Just like that." He whispered against her neck.

And oh my. The sensation.

The feeling of him stretching her completely on that downward glide...she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck as she did again. The tip snagged at her entrance before she sank down. Again and again. Over and over. Slow.

That felt…

Good.

Good as the minutes passed. Good as she finally settled into a rhythm all on her own. Good as her gut clenched hotly as she rode him, her breathes becoming uneven. So fucking good that she moaned against his slick skin.

"That's it," he whispered, his voice a jagged, low vibration that seemed to pulse directly into her. "Ride me, Artoria."

Her moan was a beautiful thing—because she was finally accepting this. Gilgamesh slowly fell back onto the bed, his shoulders and head catching the pillows. He dragged her down with him as he pulled her face to his. He kissed her, swallowing her moan as the position hit a spot high inside her.

His hands moved low, pushing and kicking himself free of his pants and the momement he was as naked as her, his arms wrapped around her again. His large palms found her back again, smoothing up and down the delicate line as she ground her hips against him.

He couldn't stay still any longer. He needed to move. The need to respond to her was too great. While he stifled the lust gripping him, he simply met her rhythm halfway instead. As she slid down, her lips locked with his, he tilted his pelvis upward, grinding it into her downward glide.

Over and over he met her downward glides. Sometimes gripping her hips. Sometimes gripping her thighs. Sometimes pulling her hair. Her nails dug into his shoulders and it wasn't long before the soft shy tones of her cries turned into rhythmic gasps.

The friction was building. His arms were tight around her waist. He pumped his hips upward again, slow, in time with her rhythm. She didn't need his guidance anymore. She was moving on her own. Grinding. Her hips shaking. Her body shuddering—

"Gilgamesh." She moaned his name against his neck.

Shuddering.

His entire body locked up. He froze at the convulsions baring down on his cock. No, she wasn't shaking. She was coming.

She was coming apart around his cock.

Her internal muscles was choking his cock with tight little ripples of release—convulsions that he felt over and over.

A rough sound vibrated in his chest and he lost his grip on his sanity. His arms locked around her tighter and he started thrusting, bucking his hips up between her thighs over and over. Right through her orgasm. He couldn't think. He simply lost it. The gentleness evaporated.

The force of his hips meeting hers was a sudden jarring, primal collision. Slap slap slap. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed in the bedchamber. He pinned her to his chest as his hips snapped upward with a heavy, rhythmic power that shook the frame of the bed.

And she cried out for him again, each cry jostled from the sudden rhythm.

He was relentless—he was striving for his own need now. Desperate to reach it. And he could feel it, his seed a violent surge all over again as it tightened his balls. Her nails were scoring his shoulders as he delivered three final, devastatingly sharp upward thrusts.

With a curse he followed her.

His hips twitched as his cock released inside her, pulsing heavily, filling her to the absolute brim with his heat. The room seemed to spin into silence around them, the only sound was the frantic panting gasps they gave as he held her tight against him.

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Chapter Text

The world beyond the bed ceased to exist. It was almost disorienting. She couldn't move. Her limbs were absolutely boneless. Sweat glued them together, slowly beginning to cool in the night air. He was still buried deep between her thighs—she felt the small twitches his cock still gave.

She should have move. Propriety demanded she clean herself and analyze this shift in their relationship. But a lazy contentment filled her. She simply didn't have the energy to move—she didn't want to move. And he didn't move her, either. The sweat slicked skin of his chest was her only pillow and the smell of him was her only comfort in that moment.

His arms remained wrapped around her, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over her spine that was growing slower as the minutes passed.

Her consciousness began to slip.

Saber didn't fight it. With her cheek against his chest, her lids slowly lowered and with a soft sigh of contented breath—exhaustion took her. Still wrapped around him, still full of his body and his release. Gilgamesh gave a low rumble of satisfaction and a hum of laughter before he followed her into sleep.

Morning light filtered through the heavy silken drapes. Saber felt the weight of the night before her eyes even opened. A heaviness in her limbs and a lingering warmth between her thighs. As morning consciousness return, so did the sensory memory of everything they had done.

And, as had been proven inevitable, she was completely tangled on his side of the bed. Her head was pillowed on his bicep and her body was tucked into the curve of his chest and hip. She slowly straightened her leg, stretching, and felt the distinct twinge between her thighs. It was a reminder of the barrier she had surrounded and the sheer, staggering size of the man who had claimed her. She bit her lip, a small intake of breath escaping her.

At the sound, Gilgamesh shifted. Golden lashes lifted, revealing eyes that were already bright with awareness. He looked at her with the smug satisfaction of a lion who had finally corned his prize.

"Good morning, wife," he murmured.

The word hit her like a physical weight. Wife. He called her that every morning and every night and yet the weight of it now was different. It was true in every sense of the word. Saber couldn't help it—her cheeks flooded with heat. "Good morning."

She tried to pull the sheet higher. It was trapped between their legs somewhere at the foot of the bed. She was all too suddenly aware of their shared nakedness and the dried evidence of their union on her skin.

Gilgamesh noticed her movement immediately and laughed softly. He slowly pulled her flush against his side. "There is no need for such modesty now, Artoria. I have mapped every inch of you as you have I and I intend to spend the day doing it again." He tilted his head and his nose brushed hers. "Do you hurt?" He murmured.

Saber's breath hitched as she was suddenly hoisted upward to straddle his hips again. The position was just as intimate as the night before—but more open in the daylight. "I am...sore." She admitted.

She frowned as he leaned up on his elbows beneath her.

Gilgamesh arched an eyebrow. "Can your husband not get a good morning kiss?" He asked in a low teasing vibration.

She inhaled softly, a moment of hesitation before she leaned down, her hair falling around them. "You are very demanding in the morning, Gilgamesh." She whispered, though there was no real bite to her words.

Her lips met his. A soft kiss. A kiss that tasted of the quiet of the morning. It was a far cry from the violent, desperate hunger of the night before. It simply carried a different kind of intensity.

"I am the King." Gilgamesh reminded her against her lips. His hands traced down her sides, sliding low to cup her hips before his thumbs slid over her hipbones. And despite her soreness, she felt a small, traitorous spark of heat flare up at his touch. "I demand only what is mine. And you, Artoria, are most certainly mine."

The ease of the morning seemed to evaporate—replaced by the familiar, heavy hum of desire. He pulled her hips against his own—let her feel the heavy desire between his thighs.

Her breath hitched when she felt the hardness. "Again?" She whispered, her voice cracking.

Gilgamesh laughed softly as his hands slid lower, gripping the insides of her knees, settling her more fully over his hips.

She felt the hot, insistent pressure of him at her entrance.

"Again." He whispered as he slowly guided her hips down.

Saber inhaled shakily as his body slowly stretched hers. She tensed—expecting the pain from the night before. But there was nothing but the profound stretched and sliding heat that had her head falling back.

The stretch was immense, a heavy pressure that dominated her lower body. But there was no pain. And then he was so deep. So deep she swore she could feel him pulsing near her heart.

"See." Gilgamesh whispered, his hands already at her waist to guide her into that first, slow, upward push. "Your body has already learned its purpose. It welcomes its King."

She didn't have the breath to argue. As he began to thrust upward with a slow, rhythmic power, she found herself leaning into him as she chased the mounting friction.

The morning was no longer quiet. It was filled with the sound of their skin meeting. A slick rhythm of two bodies coming together and the soft cries of the Queen as her King made love to her in the morning glow of Uruk's rising sun.

The golden days of her time in Uruk bled into weeks of shimmering heat and an intoxicating intimacy. Their time became a balance of statecraft and seduction. The afternoons were filled with Gilgamesh's sharp, teasing wit and their nights a soft intimacy. And he always let her set the pace. More than often he initiated it—but he gave her control. He gave her the throne of his bed. He endured the agonizing test of his own restraint just to see the fire of confidence grow in her green eyes.

She grew used to that reality. Waking to his wandering hands. Spending her days as his equal. Falling asleep draped across his chest. She could forget about the past. She could forget about their involvement in the Grail. She could forget that he had once been the great King of Heroes who thought so little of those he called mongrels. The life he gave her now was worth far more than that.

It almost made her forget that he was man who had lived an entire lifetime before her.

Until one afternoon.

The sun was high and the scent of jasmine was heavy in the gardens. She was walking alone, enjoying a rare moment of solitude when she rounded a corner and found a cluster of women lounging near a reflective pool. They were dressed in fine silks. Their laughter sounded like the chime of bells—until they saw her.

They fell silent and straightened at the sight of her. The Queen of Uruk. They all nodded with small murmurs of acknowledgment, though one reclined back after a moment. Dark sultry eyes raking over Saber with an unsettling familiarity. She was beautiful—she held the exotic features of Uruk and a gaze that suggested she knew secrets hidden behind closed doors.

"So," The woman spoke, her voice like honey laced with a sting. "You're the one who managed to chain our King down. The little knight-king from the North."

Artoria stopped, her posture instinctively straightening into that of the King of Britain. The woman's tone wasn't just curious. It was possessive.

"I'm sorry?" Artoria asked, her voice cool and steady. Though, a small sharp prick of unease settled in her chest.

The brunette laughed softly. For once, Saber wasn't sure of the tone she heard. She simply watched as the brunette straightened from her reclined position. She shifted in a provocative manner that had silk clinging to curves. She stood slowly and then gave a delicate bow before offering her a place beneath the perfumed pavilion.

Saber almost turned and walked away. But pride had her sinking to her knees among the women. More than once Gilgamesh had suggested she make use of her time alone. The Kingdom welcomed her with open arms—but they wouldn't come to know Artoria Pendragon unless she gave them her time physically.

"Do not be sorry, my Queen." The brunette teased softly. "We were all wondering who would finally occupy his nights so thoroughly." Her eyes flickered to Artoria's throat before drifting upward again. "He's always had a voracious appetite."

Saber's stomach tightened.

"Though...you seem a bit delicate." The brunette paused. "Does he enjoy breaking you, or are you just very good at pretending he hasn't?"

Saber's fingers bunched in the silk skirts just beneath her armor. She didn't care for the opinion of others. Truly, she didn't. She had accomplished great things in her life and no manner of words could override that greatness.

But she was suddenly surrounded by female voices and risque stories. Wicked tales. Things that certainly didn't seem...pliable. Or comfortable. Or possible. She had been a virgin weeks ago. She didn't have the knowledge nor the experience these women had. Gilgamesh was the only man she had been with. He would be the only man she was with.

And there was something in the way they spoke...a familiarity. She suddenly...didn't want to be here. Unease settled in the pit of her stomach. She realized with a sickeningly clarity that all of these women had belonged to Gilgamesh at one time. Lovers. Past lovers.

Past. Past. Because Gilgamesh wouldn't. He absolutely would not.

One of them offered her wine. She declined.

Gilgamesh had lain with these women. Some of them at the same time. And the things they spoke of…

He'd done no such things to her.

"He's a magnificent lover, is he not, my queen?" The brunette questioned.

Saber opened her lips but couldn't form the words before she closed her mouth again because another woman was speaking.

His head between her thighs. Right beneath a table with nothing but a table cloth separating him from the world. How hard it had been for her to keep quiet.

Gilgamesh really did...that.

Another whispered how he had fucked her in a servants closet.

Another whispered how he had been insatiable with even three females in bed with him.

Rough in a way he hadn't been with her.

Her stomach twisted.

They laughed behind manicured nails.

"I saw him not too long ago." The brunette murmured, twirling a dark strand of hair around her finger. "He was rather...ravenous."

Not too long ago?

Nausea rose in the back of Saber's throat as she stood. "I'm needed at the palace." She said, her head held high. Regal. She refused to let those women see her hands shaking as she turned and left. She felt a coldness settle in her bones that no amount of sun could warm. She had seen Gilgamesh as a conqueror and a king. And lately, as a husband who treated her with a startling, almost reverent gentleness.

But those women…. They spoke of a man of hedonistic excess. They spoke of a man of public filth and sharp, rough edges that he had never once shown her.

Was she simply one flavor in a vast treasury of experiences? Did he temper himself for her? Or was she simply a "pure" diversion while he sought his more explicit appetites elsewhere? Or had he simply wanted a Queen of her stature? He had said so himself once long ago—that she was the only one fit to rule at his side.

But that wasn't what made her uneasy. It was the implication of the timeline. Not too long ago.

Gilgamesh wouldn't.

Would he?

Her thoughts whirled as she made her way back through the palace. She didn't even know he was in the main hall until she stepped inside. He was mid-sentence with a scribe when he saw her. The moment his red eyes landed on her, his entire countenance shifted. The bored, kingly mask fell away, replaced by a radiant genuine smile of welcome. The kind of look he gave only to her. He waved the court away with an impatient flick of his wrist, wanting her all to himself.

She frowned.

He started towards her, the room already empty. "Artoria," He began, his voice warm. "I was thinking—"

"I will not be made a fool of, Gilgamesh." She said softly, cutting him off. The words were soft, but they carried the weight of Excalibur.

His smile faltered before it vanished, confusion dancing in his eyes.

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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"You 'stop'!" she hissed again, her back hitting a shelf of folded silks. "I will not—"

"Be silent." Gilgamesh nearly roared before his palm clamped over her mouth. His other hand slammed against the shelf at her head. The scent of her rose up. Jasmine and sweat and sharp defiance. It drove him towards a breaking point he hadn't reached in what felt like hundreds of years.

Her words were muffled against his palm. Words meant to ravage and tear apart his pride and anger him even further. Oh, she was angry. Her anger heated the small confines. Or maybe it was from them both. "You will listen to me, wife." Gilgamesh said in a low tone as he leaned into her, his palm halting another scathing retort. "What is it that you are angry about? I cannot change the past. I have been with no other woman. They are in the past. Each and every one." His eyes moved over her face. "Or are you simply angry because you want the man who took ten women at once?"

The last of his words lowered in tone. Explicit. Her eyes widened for a moment before heat flooded her cheeks.

But he didn't stop there. He brushed his nose against hers—her lips still against his palm. "I was only gentle for you, Artoria. Not because I wanted to be. You asked for control—I gave it. If you wish me to be the beast I was in the Grail Wars, I can be." He murmured as he slowly dropped his hand from her lips.

"Show him to Lily." She breathed in retaliation the moment his palm left her lips.

She slapped him.

The sound of the slap seemed to echo in the small enclosure of the closet. And in one fluid, predatory movement, Gilgamesh spun her around, her silk skirts whispering frantically against the shelves until the wooden shelves hit her front. He crowded into her, his muscular frame pinning her smaller body against the shelves so tightly she could feel every ridge of abdomen muscle and the rigid, angry heat of his cock through his trousers.

Her breath hitched.

He hauled her arms across her chest and then held both of her wrists in one of his hands while his other hand cupped the front of her neck and tilted her head back against his shoulder. His lips touched her ear. "You would dare strike your King?" He whispered, the vibration of his chest rattling her spine. "Or is this the violence you have been craving? You took to the training yards viciously the other day. You want to be treated as I have others? You wish to be taken like a common prize—right here in the dark where the servants can hear every shattered sob you make?"

He didn't relinquish his hold on her wrists. The hand at her neck was suddenly at her hips, bunching in the blue silk of her gown. His hand didn't move with its usual reverence. He dragged the long skirts up with a rough, possessive friction of silk against skin. The fabric hitched higher and higher, exposing her trembling thighs to the cool air of the closet before he reached the junction of her legs.

He nipped her ear in a stinging bite. "Do you want me to fuck you in this closet? To take you like the beast you call me—until you forget every word those harlots said to you?"

His words sent a wave of forbidden heat straight to her core.

He didn't wait for a response. He didn't want her compliance. He wanted her surrender. He wanted her to realize the truth of his words. And if this was the only way...He dove his hand beneath the thin lace of her undergarments, his fingers sliding with brutal, unerring accuracy into the heat between her thighs. Her thighs instinctively clamped around his wrist, a desperate attempt at modesty and denial—but he was a conquer. He forced his way through, his thumb finding the swollen, sensitive nub of her desire and grinding into it with a relentless, rhythmic pressure.

Her hips bucked and a rough sound caught in her throat.

Gilgamesh let out a low, animistic keen of pleasure when he felt the sheer amount of dampness waiting for him. She was slick, her body betraying the fury of her words with the unmistakable evidence of her arousal.

"Look how you want me." He whispered, his fingers sliding deep inside her, stretching her as mimicked a rhythm she was all too familiar with. "You say you loath me and yet you're practically begging me to fill you. If you want the man who didn't care for your titles, the King who took what he wanted…then you'll have to be very, very quiet, my Queen."

He didn't tease her, he didn't wait for her body to soften or her heartbeat to settle. He wanted her to feel the crushing weight of the reality of what she didn't even know she wanted.

The raw power of the king she had accused of being 'gentle' out of boredom.

His fingers left her. She squirmed, her arms still crossed over her chest in his hold. She heard the sound of his leather belt sliding before it was hanging open on either side of his hips behind her. Her skirts were still bunched around her hips—she felt him. She felt the blunt, hot head of his cock as he suddenly positioned himself at her entrance. He was suddenly a massive, rigid pillar of intent that didn't tease or ask for permission.

"Remember to be quiet." Gilgamesh whispered against her ear.

"Gilgamesh—" Her protest was cut short by the sheer force of him.

He thrust.

A single, devastating thrust that drove him to the very hilt. There was no slow slide. No careful gauging of her depth. The impact jolted her body forward, even though the male arm at her chest kept her in place against him. The sound of his hips against the curve of her ass was loud in the small closet.

The shock of it—the sudden overwhelming fullness—forced a jagged high pitched scream from her throat.

His palm was there again, slapping over her lips with a firm, silencing heat. He pinned the back of her head against his shoulder, his fingers digging into her cheeks to hold her still.

"No screams either." He purred as he started moving.

He didn't give her a moment to recover. He simply started thrusting. Heavy. Rhythmic. Almost punishingly deep. His hips snapped forward with a violence that made her knees buckle.

Artoria could taste the salt of his skin against her lips as she fought for air beneath his hand. She sobbed at the hot white heat that gripped her. He wasn't gentle. He was pounding into her, the darkness of the closet nothing more than a slap of skin against skin. The savage tempo didn't allow for grace—it left only room for a single minded need for release.

Saber was a mess of blue silk and shattered dignity, her body jolting against the stacked shelves with every slap of his hips—her toes barely skimming the floor with the sheer force of his entry.

His hand remained clamped over her mouth, but it couldn't stifle the low, vibrating moans that rumbled in her throat.

"Look at you." Gilgamesh hissed against her ear, his voice a ragged edge of desire. The arm around her chest disappeared and he gripped her hip to tilt her pelvis back towards him. Her arms automatically reached out, fingers gripping the shelving out of instinct. Anything to hold onto. "You can't even stay quiet."

The moaning sob against his palm said as much when he didn't slow down. The friction of wetness and the tight, panicked pulses of her inner muscles gripped him tightly. It only made him feel more feral—angry at her for believing he would purposefully hurt her by seeking pleasure elsewhere.

He drove into her harder, the rhythm wet and heavy.

Her eyes were wide and blown out—staring at the dark shelving, every cry muffled against the palm of his hand. It was too much. All of it. Every thrust that knocked her onto the tips of her toes—it was too much. Her entire body went rigid before she bucked against him—a scream muffled against the dampness of his palm. She didn't just come—she exploded from the inside out. Crushing contractions that locked around his pounding cock like a trap.

"That's it." He whispered in her ear. "Come on my cock." Elicit. Wicked. "Come for your King and husband."

But he didn't follow her into release. He held off. He stayed on the edge, watching her burn and whimper against him. His hand suddenly fisted in the top of her hair, yanking her head back so sharply she had to gasp for air.. Her face was flushed—her eyes blown wide and glossy with the shock of pleasure.

"Is this enough?" His words snarled against her forehead. "Or do you need more?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He yanked out of her with a wet, heavy suction and spun her around so fast the room blurred. She stumbled against his chest, her legs like water before she stumbled back into the shelving.

Gilgamesh's cock glistened wetly from her body's arousal and release, pulsing with a need he had yet to satisfy. But he sank to his knees with a fluid predatory grace and gripped the back of her thighs before lifting her.

"If you think I was gentle because I was afraid to break you, " He muttered against her stomach, looking up at her. "Then you were wrong." He gripped her thighs and hauled her legs over his shoulders and then stood. He STOOD. Saber had to grip his head to steady herself before her back met the shelving again—and then his tongue slid through the place between her thighs.

"Gilgamesh—!"

He buried his face between her thighs.

And Saber sobbed, her fingers tangling in his hair as his lips and tongue pushed her even higher. Her head fell back, her nails scraping his scalp as he used his tongue with the same relentless hunger he had used with his body.

Right there in the closet the King of Britain, King of Knights—the Queen of Uruk was reduced to a creature of pure raw sensation. He devoured the place between her thighs like a man starving. He didn't stroke or tease. He punished her for doubting him until another broken cry twisted in her throat and she was coming for a second time.

Gilgamesh let her fall, jerking her legs off his shoulders. He caught her at the last minute, gripping her thighs and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her arms gripped his shoulders weakly.

His re-entry was near violent. He drove back into her with a single thrust that bottomed out against her womb.

"My turn." Gilgamesh rasped, his eyes crimson and wild at the same time.

There was no time to adjust. He began to hammer into her, his fingers a death grip on the back of her thighs as he held her to him. And the anger he had carried all week—the sting of her distrust, the insult of the lock door—the pain in her eyes, he purged it through the friction of their skin.

And she cried out with every thrust. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him for what felt like dear life.

He didn't stop—didn't give her time to gather herself after coming for him twice. He was simply taking his pleasure from her after giving to her twice. And then with a hiss of breath, Gilgamesh thrust once more and pinned her against the shelving with his weight as he finally broke—spilling hot and heavy inside her.

The air in the closet was thick and humid. Heavy with the scent of sex and salt. The only sound was the heavy pants and the jagged breath of the King and Queen as they struggled to come down from the high.

Artoria felt utterly undone, her legs still around his waist, the silk of her gown wrinkled beyond repair. He was still twitching inside of her—her body echoed each pulse with ripple of internal muscles. Gilgamesh didn't move, he simply stayed buried inside her, his forehead resting against hers for a long moment as his pulse slowed.

He hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her head up. He left no room for her to shy away. "Look at me, little lion." He commanded softly.

Her eyes were still hazy. Emerald green unfocused and shimmering with tears of overestimation and an anger that had simply burned out.

His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "Is this the man you've been starving for while you sat behind locked doors?" He shifted slightly inside her, a subtle reminder of his presence that made her breath catch all over again. "There are no secrets between us, Artoria. No lies. If this is what you crave, then I am here. But do not dare suggest that I would seek another when I have the only woman in history capable of surviving me."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

Gilgamesh searched her familiar blue eyes for even a flicker of hesitation.

He saw none.

Though she was physically shattered, she was a beacon of honesty before him. Still in his arms. Legs still wrapped around his waist. Her body a tight vise still rippling around his cock. The warrior-king who had faced him on the battlefield and the woman who had just been unmade in a closet were one and the same. She was demanding everything from him and he was demanding everything in return.

"If you wish to have all of me, Artoria," Gilgamesh said again, his nose brushing hers. "Then you shall have all of me. You shall have the king who would worship you on a pedestal of gold and you shall have the man who would take you in the dirt. You are strong enough to stand by my side—and you are strong enough to withstand the flames that I will burn you with."

Slowly, carefully, he eased out of her. The loss of his heat made her shiver. Her legs failed her and when Gilgamesh reached to lift her into his arms, she pressed a shaking hand against his chest. She drew the line at being carried. It didn't matter that her pulse still beat erratically or that his seed was a warm, heavy wetness sliding between her thighs now—she was a King and she would walk on her own two feet.

If she could walk. Her legs were shaking.

Gilgamesh smiled as if he knew. There was a smugness to it. But he didn't argue. He didn't try to lift her into his arms again. But he did step in close. His large hands were soft as he helped to straighten out the twisted silk of her dress. He smoothed the tangles from her hair and then pulled the long strands over each shoulder. Let the courts wonder—and they would wonder. Because her hair was no longer coiled at the back of head. Her skin was flushed. Her lips were swollen.

"I expect our door to be open tonight, Artoria." he said softly.

When they stepped out into the torch lit corridor, he could see the play of nervous emotions on her face. The way her hands tried to smooth the silk out further. Afraid of the knowing eyes of servants. She held too much pride in such a small body. He was a prowling heat behind her. He didn't even try to slink far behind.

She kept her chin high even though her legs were trembling. Even though he had just thoroughly and utterly fucked her in a linen closet. She kept her chin high even as his seed was tripping down her thighs.

As they rounded a final corner, a young servant rounded the corner, carrying a fresh bundle of linens. He stopped dead, surprised to see the King and Queen in the halls while a party was in full swing. His eyes grew wide—looking first at Artoria. Her flushed faced. The breathlessness. Her lips that were far too red. His eyes caught the forming bruise on the side of her neck before jumping to the King whose hair was a mess and his tunic unsealed. He was a king who looked utterly at ease and thoroughly and smugly….satisfied.

Artoria froze. Explicitly caught.

Gilgamesh let out a deep, booming laugh that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. It was a sound of pure triumph. He didn't care about the boys shock. He relished it.

"Go on then, little lion," he teased, his voice carrying clearly down the hall. Gilgamesh couldn't follow her to their chambers. The festivities still required their kings presence to keep the peace and wine flowing.

She didn't wait. Shifting her weight off her aching legs, she practically dove for their door. She slipped inside and closed the door with enough force alone as if that could keep the world from knowing what had just occurred in a linen closet. Beyond the door she could hear the linger tone of his laughter before his footsteps began to retreat.

Inside the sanctuary of their bedchamber, Saber didn't move for a long time. She simply leaned her forehead against the thick wood of the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. The silence was deafening after the storm of the closet.

Her emotions were a collision of shame and a terrifying satisfaction. She was a King who had lived by the code of chivalry. She was a woman who had tucked her femininity away behind cold steel for a decade. To be taken like that—pinned. Silenced. Handled with such a raw hunger…

The ache in her thighs and the wet heat Gilgamesh had left behind to stain her thighs was a heavy reminder of what had transpired.

She felt small, then massive. She felt ruined and then reborn. But more than that, the gnawing insecurity that had plagued her was scorched away. Gilgamesh was hers. Hers.

With trembling hands, she summoned servants to bring a bath. She needed to wash the scent of the closet from her skin, but as she stepped into the steaming water, she found herself tracing the bruises on her collarbone with lingering fingers.

She sat in the steaming water, her head falling back against the edge of the metal tub, her golden hair piled high. The heat of the water seeped into abused and sore muscles. She closed her eyes, finally letting out a long, shaky breath.

The door opened. Her eyes snapped open. She frowned as Gilgamesh stood in the doorway. He was already peeling over his formal clothing, leaving the white shirt beneath to reveal a triangle of tanned, muscular chest. His eyes lingered on her, still bright with a predatory light."

"You...you're back." Saber stammered, her heart leaping in her throat. "The celebration—it hasn't even been an hour—"

Gilgamesh waved her excuses away with his hand. "The wine grew sour and the company tedious."

He kicked the door shut behind him.

He didn't stay by the door. He walked towards the tub with a slow, deliberate stride.

He stopped at the edge of the bath, looking down at her. The steam curled around his legs and in the amber glow of the lamps, he looked every bit of the god-king he claimed to be. His gaze roved over her damp shoulders and the flush of her damp skin.

His gaze lingered on the marks he had left on her.

"Did you really think I would let you sit here alone…" As his fingers began tugging the laces of his shirt before hauling it over his head. "...after you so thoroughly told me what you wanted?"

Saber's gaze followed as his hands dropped to his trousers. The metal of the tub suddenly felt cold against her back—a blistering contrast to the heat rising in her cheeks. She should look away. But she couldn't. Her wide eyes were glued to his groin as he tugged the fastening loose and then stepped out of his clothes. No shame. Standing before her in the raw, unashamed glory of his nature. She inhaled sharply at the up-close sight of that part of his anatomy—

"Gilgamesh, the servants might—"

"The servants know better than to breathe near this door tonight," he interrupted, his voice a low, rumbling vibration.

He stepped over the rim of the high metal tub. The water rose dangerously high, sloshing over the edges. The tub, which had felt spacious moments ago, was suddenly cramped with the sheer force of his presence.

He sat facing her, his knees bracketing her hips, trapping her in the small space between his legs. He reached out and slowly dragged her between his legs until her damp breasts brushed against his chest. "I told you, Atoria." He whispered, a hand sliding up to cup the back of her nape. "I am going to give you every version of myself until you are so full of me that there is no room left for doubt."

"I have never sought to tame you." Gilgamesh murmured, his voice dropping. "I only sought to cherish the sun without burning my hands." He paused—his eyes met hers. "But if you wish to burn, Artoria...I will happily let the world turn to ash with us."

He pulled her closer, the water sloshing over the edges as he guided her to straddle his lap. Her breath hitched at the sudden friction. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders. "I thought I was not enough for you." Saber admitted. "I thought I was too disciplined for...what you truly desired."

There she was. The woman beneath it all.

"You are the only thing I truly desire, Artoria. You are the only fire that matters. The others were merely flickering candles extinguished by a breath."

Gilgamesh leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the hollow of her throat. "I am the man you deserved. I am a husband who respected your boundaries. But I am also the husband who wants to hear you scream my name until your voice fails. I am the King who will take you on the throne and in the dirt. I am the man who will take you in this tub and I will do it until you never have to ask if you are enough again."

His hand slid from her neck, moving beneath the water to find the heat between her thighs. Saber's lips opened but she couldn't form a single coherent word when he touched her—when his fingers began a slow rhythm between her thighs that was far more deliberate than the frenzied pace of the closet.

"Tonight there is only this." He murmured against her slick skin, his teeth nipping her pulse. "There is only us."

His hand left her thighs as he guided her down over him, the water acting as a weightless lubricant as he slid inside her once more. This time there was no anger driving his rhythm. The water swirled and shook as he guided her to move over him, sloshing over the ornate rim. He didn't care.

In the closet, it had been a storm of fury and friction. But here, it was the familiar, searing heat of something deeper.

She had missed this. The feel of his body in hers. She had missed being able to touch him without doubt or fear or anger. Saber shudder in his arms, her hot breathes coming out against his neck until Gilgamesh gripped her hair and forced her head back to stare up at him.

"Look at me." He commanded.

Saber did, her eyes a mixture of shimmering dazed pleasure and a raw vulnerability.

Gilgamesh gripped her hips as he surged his own upward, uncaring of the mess they were making. "Show me the woman who loathed the day we met. I want to see the woman who slapped me."

Her body jerked—tightened around his when his hips bucked up. Her nails dug into his forearms. A small moan broke from her lips.

"There she is." Gilgamesh encouraged, his teeth grazing her collarbone as he gave her no choice but to meet his rhythm. "Give me that sound. Not for the court. Not for the servants. Only for me."

His arms wrapped around her, encasing her slick back as she rode him. He showed her—he proved to her that no matter how many women walked the halls of their palace before her, none of them had ever occupied this space. None of them had ever been—never could be—his equal as she was.

And for the first time in weeks, she slept unguarded and dreamless. She slept in Gilgamesh's arms again, wrapped in his arms and heavy silk sheets. The tension was gone. She was weightless, exhausted and in the arms of the man she had so thoroughly fought against falling for.

The room was silent except for the distant sound of the cicadas and the night life of Uruk beyond the open terrace doors. Saber didn't wake slowly—she woke on the burning edge of an orgasm that was seconds away. Her lowered body was bathed in a searing heat.

Gilgamesh was no longer beside her. He was at the foot of the bed, his broad shoulders holding her thighs apart—his head buried between her thighs.

Saber's back arched, her hands suddenly fisting in his golden hair. "Gilgamesh." She moaned out, her mind struggling to catch up to the reality of what she was waking up to. The wet drag of his tongue. The rhythmic thrust. Her hips gave an involuntary, desperate jerk upward even as she held his head against her.

He didn't stop. He only hummed in response against her, the vibration in his throat echoing through her entire body. One of his large hands slid up her calf, his thumb tracing the back of her knee with a possessive caress, while his other anchored her hip to the mattress.

He looked up then, his crimson eyes catching the moonlight. "I told you I was ravenous."

Saber's head fell back against the pillows as his entire mouth opened over her and—

GOOD GOD.

Stars exploded behind her eyelids as a full body shudder rocked her body. She cried out, suddenly a ruin of soft gasps and frantic tremors, her nails digging into his skull as he forced her into such an overwhelming and sudden climax that she was sobbing his name.

He didn't give the aftershocks a chance to fade.

With a rough and possessive move, he caught her hips and flipped her onto her stomach, her face in the pillows. The transition was just as abrupt as her awakening.

Gilgamesh rose to his knees, straddling the back of her thighs. His palms gripped her backside—squeezing and kneading. He didn't touch her with the reverence of a husband; he gripped her with the raw intensity of a man who was still hungry and was still intent on giving her what she had been asking for all along. He touched her with the purpose of making up for all the time he had lost of her presence the last weeks.

"Look at you." he whispered. "Shaking like a leaf. And yet you still crave to be filled, don't you?"

He leaned forward, his chest pressing into her back, pinning her down. He tilted her pelvis up, arching her back for him—preparing her for the next assault. "I am going to mark you so thoroughly that every time you walk across Uruk—every time you sit at a council table, you will feel the weight of my hands on you. You will never again doubt my devotion to you."

His fingers dipped between her thighs. He spread her wise, exposing her. She was wet. She was glistening as he exposed her heated skin to the cool night air of the room before he replaced his hand with the rigid length of his cock. He didn't slide in slowly. He drove forward with a heavy, shallow thrust that had her arching her back even further and her breath hitching in a strangled cry.

"Quiet now, Artoria," he teased, though his own voice was breaking with desire. "I want to hear the sound of your skin hitting mine."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The silence that she had woken up to was completely obliterated by the rhythmic slap of his skin against hers. Gilgamesh was relentless—he took for time lost. He took for her. He took for himself. He took to own her. To worship her. His thrusts were powerful. They shook the heavy frame of the bed. Saber was lost in it—her body jolting with every impact.

She couldn't be quiet. She couldn't think about her composure or what the servants in the halls would think if they heard the sounds of skin on skin or her cries. The composed King of Knights was gone—replaced by a woman being unraveled. Shaken, broken cries spilled from her lips. Wet gasps as her lungs struggled to keep pace with the tempo he set.

She was driven by a desperate need to gain some semblance of control. She tried to push herself up—her elbows shook as she braced herself on them.

"Oh no." Gilgamesh purred, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that sent a fresh chill of desire down her spine.

A large and merciless male hand cupped the back of her head. With a firm pressure he shoved her back into the mattress until her cheek was pressed against the silk sheets.

"You stay just like you are." He whispered in a command.

He didn't let go—his fingers merely twisted in her hair, keeping her in that submissive position. He anchored her as the slap of his hips hitting her ass echoed in the bedchamber. From this position she was helpless, pinned by his weight and will. She could only feel the friction. The heavy stretch. The pounding rhythm.

"Look at how you take me. Your King. Your Husband. Face down like the lion you are. Do you feel that, Artoria? Do you feel who owns you? You're exactly where you belong. Beneath the King of Heroes and your husband." He didn't wait for an answer.

He increased the speed and slap of his hips, his thrusts becoming shallow and more frantic as he chased the peak—forcing her into it. The room blurred into a haze of silver light and white hot sensation as her body began to shatter around his.

She didn't want to be anywhere else.

The relentless rhythm reach a fever pitch. Gilgamesh's lips curled into a silent snarl. The air in the room was thick with the scent of sex and their combined heavy breathing. His grip on her hair tightened, his knuckles white as he felt the crushing tremors of her body finally locking around him. But it was her muffled cries against the sheets that drove him to his own edge.

His composure didn't break. It fractured. With a final and agonizing deep lunge that pinned her flat against the mattress, Gilgamesh let out a low groan that vibrated in his chest as his cock pulsed and throbbed inside her as he found his own release.

He held the position for a long, shaking moment, his forehead pressed against the back of her neck—his breath panting against her damp skin.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

It had taken months to reach this state of fragile, sun-drenched peace. Each step forward had been processed by two steps back into the mud of mistrust and the high walls of misguidance.

Gilgamesh never hesitated to remind the courts and all of Uruk that Artoria Pendragon—the King of Britain, the King of Knights, his wife, the Queen of Uruk—was the only soul in existence permitted to stand on his level. He forced her to see that she wasn't just part of his collection. She was the singular crown jewel.

They called it acceptance.

Neither used the word love—though Saber knew she was already past of the point of caring for him deeply. He never said the word, so neither did she. That single word felt too small and too human. Or perhaps too dangerous for two beings who had been forged in the fires of legend. Whatever it was, it was profound.

Yet as the sunlight hit the gold leafing of the bedpost, Saber was reminded that acceptance did not make Gilgamesh any less insufferable.

"Must you take up three-quarters of the bed?" she muttered, trying to reclaim a corner of the silk sheet. "For a man who owns the worlds treasures, you are remarkably greedy with a mattress."

"Everything within these walls are mine," Gilgamesh drawled, his eyes still closed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Including the space you occupy. If you wish for more room, you are welcome to lie on top of me. I find I am quite comfortable being your foundation."

Saber rolled her eyes, a gesture she would have found undignified months ago. Now it was necessary for her sanity. "Your ego is going to outgrow this palace, Gilgamesh."

"Nonsense. The palace was built to house it. It is you who simply needs to adjust your scale." He reached out, his hand catching her waist and hauling her back toward the center of the bed with effortless strength.

Saber sighed, relenting against his hold and tucked her head beneath his chin. Uruk was still quiet and waking beneath the rising sun.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A prickle of unease. She lifted her head from his chest. He must have felt it too, because his smirk had already faded.

She sat up slowly. "What is that?"

There was a disturbance in the air that hadn't been there before. A cold, oily slickness of magical energy that didn't belong in the golden atmosphere or Uruk.

Gilgamesh slid from the bed, steady strides carrying him to the open terrace doors, uncaring of his nudity. Saber followed, shrugging into a silken robe. His red eyes narrowed as he looked towards the shimmering horizon where the sky met desert sands. The blue sky was beginning to bruise. A strange, violet haze rolling in.

"Something's coming." Artoria whispered, her hand instinctively seeking the space where Excalibur would manifest. A weight she hadn't felt in far too long.

Gilgamesh simply stood in the open light, his naked form bathed in the morning glow. He didn't reach for his armor yet. He simply stared at the approaching shadow that began to darken the sky. "It seems," He mused in a low dangerous tone, "That some fool has forgotten who rules this world. They think to disturb my peace? To cast a shadow over my Queen?"

Was it expected? No. It wouldn't be the first time Uruk had been under attack. It had happened many times before. And each time Uruk rose.

He turned his head to her, his eyes already glowing with a renewed violent light. It would seem their honeymoon was over. The approaching danger didn't seem to care about treaties or shared truths or the fact that Gilgamesh wished to remain in bed with his wife.

Thunder boomed in the distance followed by an unnatural lightening. They could already see Uruk's guards marching through the streets.

"You may return to our bed, Artoria. I shall return." He said as gold shimmered over his body—heavy armor. "I am going to remind them why the stars bow to the sun."

Gilgamesh's command hing in the air like a discarded trinket. Utterly ignored—because Saber was already walking ahead of him on the terrace, one hand gripping the railing. The silk robe was gone, replaced with familiar weight of blue and silver.

"You forget yourself, Gilgamesh. I am the King of Knights. I do not hide in the wake of others; I cut the path." She tossed over her shoulder as she suddenly stood on the railing, her voice ringing with the authority of the King of Britain. Excalibur's rush of wind whipped against her palm—it's invisible hilt a long missed weight in her hand. Her fingers closed around the familiar weight of it. Oh, how she had missed it.

Uruk was her Kingdom as much as it was his. She would defend it.

She didn't wait for his retort. She disappeared. But she heard it. The sharp, dry chuckle behind her. The sound of a man who was both infuriated and deeply impressed.

"Impertinent woman." Gilgamesh whispered as he followed her, his cape fluttering behind him.

Blood was already a thick coppery scent in the fog that was rolling forward. Saber's eyes narrowed at the monstrous shadows beginning to take shape.

Gilgamesh raised a hand and the ripples of the Gate of Babylon began to shimmer in the air behind them like a thousand golden halos. "Pathetic." He looked at Saber. "If you insist on standing by my side, Artoria, do not expect me to hold back. I will erase this filth from my sight. If you happen to get in the way of my treasury—try not to die. It would be a waste of a perfectly good Queen."

There he was. The King of Heroes that the past and the present had come to know.

Steel clashed—a shadow vanquished as Saber tore through it before Gilgamesh had even finished his tirade. He was annoying. He was exhausting. But he was hers.

How long had it been since she had been in battle?

Too long.

"Try not to hit me with your flying cutlery and I won't have to cut your ego down to size." She countered.

Gilgamesh barked out a laugh as they stepped down into the streets of Uruk—the Golden King in his blinding armor and his Silver Knight wife with her swirling winds. They had seen the King of Uruk fight. They had never seen her wield a blade.

The monsters in the fog let out a collective, guttural roar that shook the foundations of the earth.

"A king's peace is a hard-won thing," Gilgamesh murmured, the ripples of his Gate expanding until they covered the entire sky above the palace. "And I do not take kindly to intruders."

"Then let us show them," Artoria said, her golden aura flaring into a pillar of light that pierced the purple gloom. "What happens when two kings share a throne."

She leapt into the fog, disappearing instantly in the thick depths. A heartbeat later the sky rained gold, Gilgamesh's laughter echoing over the thunder of a thousand treasures being launched at once.

The battlefield was a chaotic symphony of shadow and gold, but Gilgamesh stood at its center like a conductor of slaughter. Around him the Gate of Babylon was a relentless barrage of ancient blades. And yet for the first time in his immortal life, the King of Heroes was distracted.

His eyes kept drifting away from the targets in his own line of vision. They were drawn, almost magnetically, to the whirlwind of blue and silver that flashed in the shadows of fog.

She was magnificent.

He had seen her fight before through many lifetimes. He had seen her fight like a martyr when she carried the weight of a failing kingdom on her narrow shoulders.

This was different.

Now, as she lunged into the mass of shadows, Excalibur parting the air, she moved with a fluid grace. She wasn't fighting to save a ghost. She was fighting to protect the ground she stood on. And he could do nothing but stare at her with pride.

She was fighting at his side.

"So it's true. The King of Heroes has fallen."

Gilgamesh turned his head at the ghastly voice. A shadow beast towered over him from above. Gilgamesh arched a golden eyebrow. "I still stand, mongrel. You, however, do not." A spear from a higher Gate of Babylon took the shadow warrior out before he could even launch an attack.

The air tasted acrid, almost sour on his tongue. Almost like the residue of a Mage.

Interesting.

Gilgamesh turned his attention back to the flash of blue. Heat simmered in his gut as he watched her. It wasn't only the heat of battle that consumed. It was something far more intoxicating.

She is mine, the thought echoed in his mind, louder than the clashing of steel. He had always claimed her. But this time there was fact to his statement.

He watched the way the wind caught her hair. The way she dodged lunges and spun on her heel. He had run his fingers through hr hair only hours ago. He saw the sheer, unyielding power in her legs when her dress rose to her knees as she leaped into the air—powerful thighs that had held him close.

He watched as she landed with earth shattering force, her aura alone sending a group of shadow warriors staggering back. Golden sparks flew. Steel swung. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with the thrill of battle. And for a split second—her eyes met his.

Gilgamesh made no move to help her. He simply stared. Pride filled him, thick and sweet. He let out a low, predatory laugh that was lost in the winds of battle. "Watch her." He whispered to the empty air. "Watch the woman I have chosen.

He snapped his fingers and the Gates of Babylon tripled in size. If she was to be the storm, he would be the sky that housed it.

"Behold, you shadows of nothingness!" Gilgamesh roared, his voice carrying across the entire of Uruk. It struck fear into the hearts of monsters and courage into the men of Uruk. "You stand before the King of Heroes and his Queen! Do you truly think your darkness can survive our light?"

He unleashed a valley of weapons so dense it turned the air a blinding gold, clearing a path to her before he met her on the ground. He no longer wanted to tower above her. He wanted to stand with her.

Watching her drive Excalibur's blade through the heart of a night, watching the way her muscles coiled and snapped—it was more intoxicating than any wine. The heat that flooded him wasn't just the energy of the Gates of Babylon. It was lust. His physical reaction was immediate and demanding beneath his armor. It burned in his eyes and the grin that split his lips.

He had spent ages seeking treasures that could hold his interest. And he finally had her, the most precious thing he had ever stolen from the hands of fate. She wasn't just his equal in spirit. She was his match in viciousness.

His tongue slid over his teeth. The things he was going to do to her once this ground was cleared...the thought was dark and delicious and hot. It made his blood sing. He wouldn't just take her. He would unmake her all over again.

A shadow lunged from her feet, crawling upward. They were paying more attention to her than him.

And that was...interesting. Or odd. Or something else altogether.

Gilgamesh pulled a broad sword from a gate over his shoulder and swung the heavy blade, slicing the shadow in two before it could touch the fine strands of her golden hair.

Artoria spun around, Excalibur raised in a reflexive guard. Her breath caught in her throat. "Gilgamesh? What's wrong?" She demanded, her voice tight.

"Finish this, Artoria." He murmured. He reached out even though shadows were swarming them. He touched a stray lock of her hair before he pressed his thumb against her bottom lip. "Hurry. My patience is an increasingly rare commodity and the reward I have planned for you cannot be enacted on a field of corpses."

Her eyes widened. "Gilgamesh!" She hissed even as her heart skipped a beat. "We are in battle!"

He was insane.

"Our battle begins when we enter our bedchamber." He said even as a spear cut through the air behind her from his Gate, incapacitating another blow meant for her.

If possible, her eyes widened even further. "Let us finish this one first!" She said in disbelief. They were in the middle of battle and his mind was—

Gilgamesh laughed. He turned to the horizon, his Gates expanding until the sky was a golden, solid wall of pulsing light. "Do you hear that, you wretched shadows?" He shouted, his arrogance rising to a fever pitch. "You are an inconvenience to my desires! PERISH!"

The sky erupted, an apocalypse of golden treasures raining down.

The battle was depleted near instantly. Atoria stood in the midst of it all, Excalibur extinguished into the depths of her mind. She surveyed the damage of the land and buildings. Smoke rose from rotted areas. There wasn't much damage. Gilgamesh had done a fair job of pushing the shadow warriors back to the edges of Uruk's city lines—

Gilgamesh gripped her arm and spun her to face him. His other arm snaked around her waist, yanking her to him.

He kissed her. He didn't speak. He simply fisted a hand in her hair and yanked her head back—he kissed her, his tongue thrusting, lips crushing with bruising force. She pulled back and he followed instantly—she placed her palm over his lips.

"We must see to your people." She breathed.

"Our people." He corrected against her palm. He gently tugged her hand down. His voice was a low murmur when he spoke. "It's far more important that you see to me right now."

"No, Gilgamesh." Saber countered, still breathless from the sudden kiss.

For a moment, his eyes flashed the familiar spark of the old tyrant from before. The King who demanded. His arm tightened around her waist. But it wasn't the wife he held, was it? This was Artoria Pendragon. Her face was smeared with ash. Her hair was escaping its bun. The irritation in his chest didn't vanish, but it did shift into begrudging respect.

"You are an insufferable, stubborn woman." He murmured. "I have annihilated an army for you. Let the rear guard handle it."

"We are the lifeblood of this kingdom, Gilgamesh. We are not conquerors of ruins—Uruk requires our attention." She met his crimson gaze with a fire of her own. She placed a hand on his chest not to push him away, but the ground him. Because she knew Gilgamesh knew all this. Yes, they had an entire army at their disposal to look after Uruk. But Saber would rather see to it firsthand herself.

"You once told me I must accept every part of you...if I am to have both of you, then you must accept both of me. And right now, the King—" The King of Knights. She had to ensure her people were well. Her duty came first. "—must ensure the fires are out."

Gilgamesh stared at her for a long silent moment. His lips curved. A smirk. "You use my own words against me." He murmured. "A tactical maneuver. Very well, Artoria." He stepped back, though he did not relinquish his hold on the back of her neck. If anything, his thumb caressed the skin there. He looked out over the outskirts and the soldiers already tentatively emerging from behind barricades.

He leaned in one last time and his lips brushed the shell of her ear. His voice dropped low. "But do not think for a second that I have forgotten the debt you owe me for this delay."

Her lips opened—

He gave a stinging bite to her earlobe.

She didn't speak.

He continued. "For every citizen we tend to, I shall demand a minute of your absolute surrender. For every fire we quench, I shall start another in your blood." He pulled away, his eyes raking over her one more time with a hunger that promised she wouldn't be sleeping for days. Truly...he was the insatiable one. "Come then, my Queen." He said, extending a golden-glad hand. "Let us deal with the small things, so that we may return to the great ones."

Saber took his hand, her heart skipped a beat. How he could want her during battle, she didn't understand. But this was Gilgamesh. Nothing he did surprised her. She may have won the argument but he had won the night.

But no matter how arrogant he acted, she knew he cared for the people of his kingdom greatly.

She shook her head as she fell into step beside him. "I owe no debt." She said simply.

"Careful, wife—before you build up your debt to me."

Saber ignored him as she followed him into the depths of the city. That was often the wisest course—ignorance.

The streets of Uruk were a labyrinth of brick and gold, now dusted with the gray ash of the defeated shadows. As they walked the transition was noticeable. Usually when Gilgamesh walked the streets of Uruk they stared in religious awe and partly out of a well-earned fear of his unpredictable whims.

But it wasn't him they stared at. They stared at her.

Oh.

OH.

Gilgamesh laughed softly. "It would appear you have stolen Uruk from me."

Saber felt the weight of those gazes. It was a familiar burn at her back. She had carried it through Britain and the halls of Camelot. But this...this felt different. In Britain she was a King because of a sword and prophecy. Here, she was a Queen who had just fought and bled for a land that she was hers through Gilgamesh.

They stared at her in the same way they did Gilgamesh. Awe.

"They have never seen me battle," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of distant fires being extinguished.

Gilgamesh arched a golden eyebrow, his steps measured. "They have now. They knew I brought home a prize. They knew I brought home a beautiful blade to sit at my side. To them, you were a rare jewel from a distant shore. Fragile, perhaps. But now they know the truth."

He slowed his pace just enough to see the faces of the people. They didn't bow—they tapped their fists against leather breastplates. A soldier's salute.

They had seen her. They saw her she didn't just follow Gilgamesh—she anticipated his moves. Even if they were arrogant. They saw her parry blows that would have leveled buildings and returned them with interests.

Now they know I bought home a storm." Gilgamesh murmured.

The whispers followed. The Golden King—Gilgamesh. And now the Lady of the Wind. The Silver King. The Speak of the Morning—Excalibur.

Saber glanced up at him. "You said I owe you a debt." She said as she stopped at a nearby merchants stand to help him pick up his bruised fruit. "But I think I have done more for your image today than a year of festivals could manage."

The merchant coughed.

Gilgamesh smirked—he almost snickered. He stopped abruptly in the center of the square, ignoring the people who scrambled to make way. He turned to her, his hand reaching out to catch a smear of soot on her cheek. His thumb dragged across the smear. His red eyes narrowed as he took in the adoring crowd. The pride he felt was a double edged sword. He relished that she was recognized. But he sometimes hated sharing even the sight of her with the masses.

"Look at them." He muttered. "They adore you. They look at you with the same reverence they once reserved solely for me. You move through the streets in that wretched armor and you command their hearts without saying a word."

He leaned closer, his nose brushing hers, his breath warm against her lips even as the city watched. But his words were for her alone. "Careful, Artoria." He warned softly, a dark, playful spark in his eyes. "You have just stolen my own kingdom from me. If I am no longer the sole sun in their sky, I shall have to find other ways to ensure you remember exactly who you belong to."

She didn't even blink. "A kingdom is not a thing to be stolen, Gilgamesh. It is a thing to be served. If they look at me, it is only because I showed them that their King has a partner, not a puppet."

"A partner." He tasted the word on his tongue for the first time. It was foreign and heavy in his mouth. But...he didn't dislike it. He took her hand, his fingers interlocked with hers. Golden gauntlet hand against her silver one. "Then come, 'partner'. Let us finish this duty. I too, adore you, and crave your time. The faster we convince them the world isn't ending, the faster I can get you behind closed doors."

She sighed.

Gilgamesh simply leaned against a heavy cedar table and watched her. Watched as she offered guidance. Watched her as she helped a merchant pick up his bruised fruit that he could easily replace. The man was currently droning on about the sweetness of a particular pomegranate because Artoria had asked what the violet fruits were. Hadn't she wanted to be helpful? This was not helpful.

The merchant was blissfully unaware that he was in the presence of a predator who was mentally imagining five different ways to banish him to the furthers reaches of the desert.

Inwardly Gilgamesh was demolishing the man. Every word out of the merchant's mouth was a second from Saber's attention—attention that belonged to him by right of conquest, by right of marriage and by the right of the sheer adrenaline pulsing in his veins.

The battle had left him heady.

He didn't want to hear about trade routes or harvest yields. He wanted to bend his Queen over the very bed they had shared this morning. He wanted to feel her nails digging into his back as she remembered that while she may be a Queen to the people, she was a woman to her God.

But she was staring at an array of fruit cases instead. Her armor clinked softly as she leaned forward, her eyes scanning the exotic delicacies she had never seen in Britain.

"This one," she started, reaching for a small, golden-hued fig, "does it withstand the journey to—"

She didn't finish.

Gilgamesh moved like a shadow, closing the distance in a single, silent stride. He planted his palms on the table on either side of her from behind, effectively caging her within his arms. "Did you know some fruits are an aphrodisiac?" He murmured against her ear.

Saber stiffened. She was all too aware of the hundreds of eyes watching them, even if they perceived his action as nothing more than affection. She knew exactly what kind of affection lay beneath his armor at this very moment.

The hard kind.

"Stop it." She whispered back, though her voice lacked its usual command.

"Stop what?" His head dipped. His nose brushed the edge of her armor against her throat. "Providing my Queen with the education she so clearly lacks? You spend so much time worry about the hunger of the people, Atoria. Why do you ignore the hunger right behind you?"

"The merchants are watching," she pleaded softly, her fingers curling into the edge of a fruit crate.

"Let them watch," he growled into her ear, his hand moving from the table to her hip, his thumb hooking into the seam of her armor. "Let them see how their King devours the world. Or perhaps you would prefer I send them away and take you right here, amidst the pomegranate seeds and the wine?"

Artoria felt a shiver of terror and heat race down her spine. The King of Heroes towered over her from behind and he was bored with diplomacy.

"Go," Artoria managed to say, her voice cracking slightly as she looked toward the merchants, who were suddenly very interested in the architecture of the buildings. "Leave the crates. You will...you will be reimbursed for any damage done today."

The merchants bowed frantically and scrambled.

The silence that followed was heavy with the scent of jasmine and the raw, electric tension of the man at her back. Gilgamesh didn't move. He simply stayed there, his breath hot against her neck, his body a silent, tensed mountain. Were they absolutely needed? No. Their presence wasn't required to set the city back to rights. "Now...about the debt you owe, wife."

But Saber dealt in choice and action. But would she admit she enjoyed teasing Gilgamesh? No.

Uruk required her attention, whether or not he believed it did. She required it of herself.

She refrained from rolling her eyes again. "I do not owe a debt, Gilgamesh."

As often as he kept her in bed—she did not. She was a King—and he still didn't hesitate to make her miss prior events by keeping her IN bed. Or late to meetings.

Did she enjoy it? Yes. But she also took her role as King serious.

Gilgamesh must have taken her dismissal of the merchant as something else entirely. She rose up on her toes and kissed his lips softly. "You can wait, Gilgamesh. Uruk must come first." She said—and then patted him on the cheek.

His mouth dropped open as she turned walked further into the city.

He remained frozen where he stood—she just patted his cheek. A gesture reserved for a favored pet.

The King of Heroes, the man who owned the world, simply stared at the empty space where his wife had just stood. His mouth was indeed slightly agape. No one in the history of his many lives had ever had the sheer gall to tell him to wait—much less touch him with such a dismissive and yet fond condescension.

Slowly, his mouth snapped shut.

It was a critical hit. He watched the sway of her blue cape and the confident steps of the King of Knights. God, he was fascinated by everything about her. Even her defiance.

Because her defiance spoke it all. She was testing the limits of her leash—no, she was testing the limits of his. One he hadn't even been aware that he wore. She was learning that his absolute desire for her gave her a weapon he hadn't accounted for.

The power to deny him.

"Artoria!" he called out, his voice regaining its sharp arrogant edge.

She didn't stop. She didn't even look back. She simply raised a hand in a brief, dismissive wave.

He let out a sharp, jagged breath that was half-laugh and half-snarl. He was the King of Uruk; he could have ordered the guards to stop her. He could have used his treasures to bind her where she stood. But he didn't. Because as infuriating as it was to be left standing there aching and ignored and bored, the sight of her taking command—of her playing him like a lyre—was a new kind of aphrodisiac he couldn't have bought with all the gold in his treasury.

"Fine," he muttered in the center of the square, his eyes narrowing as he watched her disappear around the corner. "Wait. You wish for me to wait."

He looked down at the table, at the crates of exotic fruits. He reached out and picked up one of the dark, heavy pomegranates. With a single, brutal squeeze of his gauntleted hand, he crushed it. The dark red juice splattered across the wood and his gold armor, looking violently like blood.

"I will wait, Artoria," he whispered, a predatory smirk finally breaking through his shock. "I will play your game of duty. I will let you council the elders and oversee the granaries. But when the moon rises and those palace doors are locked..."

He licked a drop of the tart juice from his thumb, his red eyes burning with a renewed, terrible intent.

"I am going to make you regret teaching me the meaning of patience."

He turned and strode after her. He would follow her to her meetings. He would sit on the throne beside her. He would be the perfect, dutiful King—but he would spend every second of it staring at her, letting her see exactly what happens to a god when he is forced to wait for his prize.

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The day became a slow, exquisite torture of proximity. Was Gilgamesh obsessed with her? It was a possibility. A fact. He was obsessed with her in all the ways that mattered.

As the elders of Uruk spoke of irrigation and trade and rebuilding the walls, Gilgamesh merely sat on the throne, his chin propped on one hand with a look of bored majesty. But his other hand was not idle. His long, calloused fingers trailed over the back of Artoria's hand where it rested on the arm of her own seat. He traced the lines of her knuckles, a maddeningly slow motion that made it impossible for her to focus.

At lunch among the clatter of silver plates and the scent of roasted lamb, he didn't sit across from her. He sat beside her, close enough that their thighs brushed. When she reached for her glass of wine, his palm found the back of her neck. A soft caress. A moment of a gentle massage before he tugged on the golden strands that forced her to stiffen her spine to keep from leaning into him.

He was being inappropriate.

But he had always been like that, hadn't he? Even during the Grail War.

Representatives from the northern tribes stood before them, offering gifts and seeking reassurance after the morning's celestial disturbance. Saber stood tall. The King of Nights. Steady, graceful and flawless. Gilgamesh stood close enough that his presence was a literal wall of golden heat at her side. He didn't speak to the diplomats. He simply stared at them with his terrifying red eyes while she spoke—his hand resting at the small of her back. His hand lingered long after the intimate gesture should have ended.

When it came time to review the charts of the eastern territories, Artoria leaned over the map-laden table, trying to understand the jagged geography of the Sumerian plains.

"The elevation here," she murmured, pointing to a ridge. "If the shadows return, we should station a garrison—"

"Incorrect," Gilgamesh's voice rumbled right against her ear.

Saber stiffened as Gilgamesh leaned over her, his chest pressing against her shoulder blades. He reached around her, his hand covering hers on the parchment to shift her finger an inch to the left. His cheek brushed hers. "The wind shears through that valley at night, Artoria," He murmured. "Your knights would freeze before they ever saw a blade. You must look to the basin, not the heights."

He stayed there, draped over her like a golden shadow, the "guidance" he was providing serving as nothing more than an excuse to inhabit her personal space.

Saber finally snapped. She straightened abruptly, turning within the circle of his arms to face him. Her cheeks were flushed. He smiled.

"You are being utterly insufferable. There is a time for...for this...and a time for the governance of a nation."

Gilgamesh didn't move away. He didn't even have the grace to look sheepish. Instead, his hand slid from the table to circle her waist, pulling her closer.

"I have been a model of restraint." He countered, his smirk widening. "I have not once hauled you from this room."

"Yet." Artoria warned.

He arched an eyebrow. "Is that what you wish me to do—"

"Gilgamesh."

"I have let you play with your maps and talk to your merchants. You seek to memorize laws and mountain ranges as if they are a script for a play." He said. "Stop. You are not a clerk. You are a King. The land will learn your name just as it learned mine. You do not need to understand every grain of sand."

Saber looked into those crimson eyes and saw the man who had waited weeks after their wedding to have their wedding night—and now refused to wait another hour. It almost made her want to laugh at the irony of it.

"You are a tyrant," she whispered.

"And yet," he breathed, his hand moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling firmly in her hair. "You are the tyrant's Queen."

He didn't kiss her. He just let their words simmer in the air. Let her think. Let her ponder on when the evening finally ended—on how much her debt would be.

Their bedchamber was empty when she entered—surprisingly. She had expected Gilgamesh to either follow her or already be waiting after his foolishness throughout the day. But she didn't have to wait long. She was in the process of loosening her armor when the door opened behind her. It clicked shut, his boots sounding behind her.

"Would you help me with this, please—" She started.

But his arms stopped her. He spun her around to face him and then his hands were in her hair, yanking her head back as he lowered his. He kissed her. Rough. His tongue thrusting. Kissed her even as he turned them and began walking her backward to the nearest stronghold.

Her back hit the door.

He had discarded his armor hours ago. She could feel the burning heat from his body through his soft clothing. She gasped when he dipped his knees and gripped the back of her thighs, lifting her. Wrapping her legs around his waist.

Her gauntlets hit the floor loudly before the air in the room shifted. She had expected a slow evening of unwinding after the events of that morning. Even if nothing more than barbed jests because they were both exhausted.

She was wrong.

Gilgamesh didn't give her a slow evening. He didn't bother with fastenings of clothing or the removal of her breastplate. He hauled her higher, chest to breasts against him. "You made me wait." He muttered against her lips. "Do you have any idea the price of a Kings patience?"

"Stop talking." Saber whispered, her head thumping back against the door.

He laughed.

He didn't turn and move towards the bed. His hands moved with localized focus beneath her dress. She felt the sudden coolness of the room between her thighs as he simply moved undergarments to the side, felt his knuckles graze her as he pulled at the strings holding his trousers together. His fingers were blunt and sure as they guided his hardness against the slick, aching heat of her.

She hadn't even realized she was so desperate for him.

He didn't give her a moment to prepare. He didn't offer a gentle transition.

With a sharp, powerful surge of his hips, he thrust.

Right there against the door. Still fully clothed. She still wore her boots. Parts of her armor was still connected. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. Too large, too hot and too utterly thorough.

He gripped her waist with bruising strength, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hips. He pulled back, sliding nearly out of her, and then thrust forward with a violent, singular purpose.

The force of the impact was staggering. Artoria's hips slammed back into the oak door with a heavy, hollow thud that echoed through the silent room. The metal of her remaining armor rattled against the wood, a frantic, rhythmic percussion to their shared breath.

"Gilgamesh—" her voice broke, ending in a sharp, strangled gasp as he did it again.

Her arms convulsed around his shoulders, her fingers clawing desperately into the fabric of his shirt. She felt the powerful muscles of his back ripple beneath her touch, felt the heat radiating from him as he crowded her, his chest a solid, crushing weight against her silver breastplate.

He was relentless. Each thrust was deeper and more demanding than the last, driving her higher against the door until her legs were a tight circle around his waist, her booted feet locked at the small of his back.

Gilgamesh buried his face in the hollow of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he moved heavily. The thud of her hips and armor against the door, the slap of his flesh against hers became the only sound in the room. Her soft cries. Her world narrowed.

He was taking her with a savagery—slap slap slap slap—that spoke of every minute that he had spent watching her today. Every second he had been forced to be the 'the king' while his blood burned for her. There was no gentleness. There was no pedestal of gold.

A stifled cry escaped her and her back arched.

And beyond the thick oak of the bedchamber door, the guard's station at the end of the hall stared ahead—trying vainly to ignore the heavy, rhythmic thud of sound that thudded over and over. They had seen their King stalk through the hall and then disappear inside his bedchamber. Uruk could be burning and they wouldn't interrupt. No man in the kingdom would dare reach for that handle. To interrupt Gilgamesh in the throes of that possession was to court swift death. Because everyone knew how thoroughly enthralled of his new wife he was.

Gilgamesh hissed against her neck, his blood rushing, his balls drawing up painfully tight as he bottomed out against her over and over again. His fingers spasmed against her hips. "Artoria." He bit out. "Now."

It wasn't a whisper of affection. It was a command. A low, jagged warning. "Now—before I do." He hissed.

She buried her scream in his shirt, biting down on the material as her body exploded. And the pressure of her climax, the convulsions bearing down on him—he spilled into her with a violence that had him grinding against her, grinding her hips against the door. He let out a sound that was half pleasure and half agony.

They stayed like that for several long moments; her legs still wrapped around his waist. Gilgamesh lifted his head, pressing his damp forehead against her own. His eyes weren't open as he spoke breathless words. "Gods, I love you."

It wasn't a purposeful statement. It was more of a breathless notion that he spoke to himself.

But it had Saber growing still in his arms. It had her breath hitching in her throat. Her hands shook as she ran them through his sweat dampened hair. "Gilgamesh." She whispered softly, her expression shifting to something...more profound.

His lids lifted and for once—there was a strange silence between them. His eyes moved over her face. The words stuck in her throat. She didn't know why she couldn't say them back. But the sudden softness between them was enough—there was an understanding there that hadn't been there before.

"Watch her." Gilgamesh whispered, his face distorted in the reflective scrying pool. "Watch the woman I have chosen." The battle that raged around him was loud in the reflective surface—a replay of a battle passed. But the image wasn't focused on the battle. The image was a closeup of his face. The display of burning possession.

"Pathetic." The mage watching muttered.

"Behold, you shadows of nothingness!" Gilgamesh roared, his voice carrying. "You stand before the King of Heroes and his Queen! Do you truly think your darkness can survive our light?"

The arrogance.

"And?" The mage lifted his head.

"They destroyed our shadows as was expected." He waved his hand dismissively, as if the loss of those beasts were nothing. As if those shadows were merely the display of something far more terrifying. "The King of Heroes has truly fallen. His vigilance is gone. He could not take his eyes off her for a single moment."

The mage hummed. "Then he provides us with the very rope to hang him. The world's first ego has grown pathetic in its obsession."

"We strike at the girl, then?"

"Perhaps. But there is a greater vulnerability at play."

"Meaning?"

"I do not think the King of Heroes is yet aware...but the King of Knights carries more than just her pride. She carries his heir."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The golden dawn of Uruk filtered through heavy linen curtains, casting the room in muted shadows of gold and darkness. Saber lay perfectly still for a moment, her body still heavy with sleep and over sensitized, even as she slowly began to come to awareness. Every muscle ached with the memory of Gilgamesh.

Her heart ached with the memory of his words. It made her see him in a different light. It made her suddenly feel heavy because the King of Heroes...loved her. His confession the night before hadn’t been boastful. It hadn’t been his pride. It had been an unprotected confession that he couldn’t control.

Even now his arm was a heavy weight across her midsection—as if he had sought her out even in his sleep and refused to let her slip away from him again. But even as the fog of sleep lifted, it was replaced with a prickling wariness. It was a deep, instinctive alarm of unease.

Nausea filled her, turning her stomach.

She lay still for another moment—waiting for the sensation to pass. It didn’t. She swallowed the saliva gathering in her mouth and then slowly pushed at Gilgamesh’s arm; she needed out of the bed. She felt like she was going to vomit.

Gilgamesh stirred, a low grumble vibrating in his chest. The arm lying on her waist instinctively tightened, slowly beginning to pull her against his side. To him it was likely just another game, another attempt at morning independence that he intended to squash with a kiss.

“Stay, Artoria.” He murmured thickly, his eyes still closed, his nose rubbing against the crook of her neck. “The sun has barely risen.”

“Gilgamesh, let go.” She grunted as she shoved at his biceps with both hands, her skin turning pale.

His eyes opened slowly at her apparent urgency to leave him alone in their bed. He leaned up on one elbow, his crimson eyes moving over her expression and the way she swallowed uneasily. “What have I done now, little lion—“

He didn’t finish his sentence.

Saber lunged from the bed, her feet hitting the cold floor with a slap. She barely made it to the ceramic washing bin across the room before her body betrayed her. It was the closest thing available to her as she suddenly wretched. She gripped the edges of the bowl until her knuckles turned white, her small frame shaking. It was a hollow, agonizing sound in the quiet chamber.

Gilgamesh was out of bed in an instant, his naked form a blur of tanned skin as he crossed the room. He was behind her instantly, his hands reaching out from behind to sweep her golden hair away from the mess of her lips. His touch was uncharacteristically cautious.

“Artoria?” His voice was no longer teasing. The arrogance had been replaced by a sharp, piercing focus.

Saber couldn’t answer. She could only lean over the basin, struggling to breathe over the rising bile in her throat. Cold dread settled in her chest. She was a King. She was a Knight and a Hero. Her body was a temple of discipline. But she couldn’t command the nausea to stop.

Gilgamesh’s hand slid from the nape of her neck to the small of her back.

The sun was unforgivably bright. Saber stared at the platter of spiced lamb and honey cakes. The kitchen always prepared the richest of Uruk’s offerings—Gilgamesh would have nothing less.

Meats dripping in fat and heavily scented with cum and coriander. Usually, she would have cleared the table with her knightly voracity. Now, the very scent made her stomach lurch.

Gilgamesh was unnervingly close, a radiating heat that seemed to amplify her discomfort. He frowned at her lack of appetite, watching as she merely picked at her food. He cupped the back of her neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin just below her hairline.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Artoria,” he remarked.

Artoria leaned her forehead into the palm of her free hand, her skin looking like bleached bone against her golden hair. She felt entirely disconnected from her own senses. She was the King of Knights; she had survived sieges, famine, and the weight of a dying kingdom. She shouldn't be brought low by the smell of breakfast.

Her brow furrowed in a genuine confusion and irritation.

The meal smelled like rot.

She pushed the plate away with delicate hands. “Toast, perhaps.” She said softly. “Nothing else. Just...something plain.”

His eyes briefly met that of a servant over her head, and he gave an inclination of his head—a sign to retrieve what his queen had suggested. “Toast.” He repeated. “A simple request. But quite an unusual one for a King who normally eats like a starving mercenary.”

He used his other hand to signal a hovering servant to clear the rich food away instantly. He didn't take his eyes off her for a second.

She turned her head, frowning and then, “Shut up, Gilgamesh.”

His lips twitched.

Saber found herself moving with a hesitant caution the following days. The dining hall was no longer a place of comfort. It had become a place of sensory triggers and when the scent of roasted duck hit her—heavy and sweet and gamey—it was the final straw. She didn’t excuse herself. She bolted.

The nausea was a formidable force and undeniable. She didn’t make it to their bedchamber or even one of the open windows outside of the dining hall. She doubled over a large plant in the hallway, one hand braced against the wall, the other braced against her stomach as her body was wracked with miserable, liquid heaves. She felt utterly small, her royal dignity dissolving into the dirt of the planter.

A weight settled on her back. Warm. Calm. Smoothing and sliding between her shoulder blades soothingly. Another hand reached forward and gently gathered the heavy mass of golden hair and pulling it away from her face to keep it clear of the mess.

"It is alright," Gilgamesh’s voice murmured, surprisingly devoid of its usual sharp edge. "The servants will take care of it. Breathe, Artoria."

Her mouth tasted sour.

Gilgamesh stayed with her, uncaring of the rare plant she embodied with her sickness. But his eyes were dark with contemplation.

Suspicion.

“Do you wish to lie down?” He asked her after a moment and she nodded.

She was exhaustively tired and the day had barely begun. The hollow wretches left her weak in the knees and stomach. Gilgamesh followed her and stayed to help her, helping her to undress into something less heavy. When she didn’t climb into the bed and merely sat down to brush her hair in soothing motions instead—a coping mechanism—Gilgamesh took the brush from her hands and gently began to brush the strands for her.

She sat quietly as Gilgamesh ran through the brush through her strands, staring at her pale reflection in the mirror and the towering form of Gilgamesh behind her. She felt hollow, her mind struggling to make sense of the betrayal of her own body.

“Artoria.” He said her name.

Her eyes met his in the mirror. His eyes were soft and yet sharp—searching and unreadable. Silent followed for a heartbeat.

“Are you with child?” He asked, his voice low and clinical and unnervingly calm.

Saber blinked.

She looked weary and confused.

She stared. What? Her lips open to form the obvious question. No. It was on the tip of her tongue but no sound came from her lips.

She stared at him.

And then she inhaled shakily.

She broke the eye contact in the mirror and slowly looked down the reflection of her own body. Her eyes settling on the reflection of her stomach. Her flat stomach.

Everything within her stilled. No. She wasn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t possibly be. A strange unease filled her. The confusion. The unexpectedness. Shock. She couldn’t be.

She stared at their joined reflection—the golden King of Heroes and the King of Knights. She was a weapon. She was a ruler and a legend. She had never once considered the reality of being a vessel or giving life.

“We haven’t even…” She whispered, her stricken eyes lifting to meet his again. They hadn’t even been together that long. She wasn’t…

“How?” She whispered in horror.

Their reflections staring at one another, Gilgamesh slowly arched a slender eyebrow.

How?

How? As if he hadn’t spent the last few months stripping her bare and laying her before him to worship.

He had been very, very thorough in his possession of her.

The realization hit her. The nausea. The exhaustion. It was a terrifying truth.

She knew her body and now she reached deep down—she hadn’t recognized it before because she didn’t know to look. She hadn’t known the possibility was there.

But she felt it deep in her core.

The high vibrancy hum of another.

A heartbeat.

Her lips trembled as her eyes lifted to Gilgamesh’s once more.

Gilgamesh set the brush down slowly, his arm reaching over her shoulder. And then both of his hands settled over her shoulders.

A child.

Saber stared at her reflection. She saw a woman she barely recognized. Pale faced. Golden hair loose and falling past her shoulders. She trembled from the inside out.

A child.

She had never once thought that her body was meant to be a cradle.

She felt a dizzying sense of displacement.

Gilgamesh shifted to her side and then sank to his knees beside her. The satisfaction was in his eyes.

“You look as though you have been struck by a bolt from the heavens.” He murmured. He pressed a palm over her abdomen. “Does it terrify you, Artoria? To know that even your iron will cannot escape the world I have placed inside you?”

“I...I am a warrior.” Her words felt strangely fragile. “I was not made for this, Gilgamesh. I have spent my life on battlefields. I know how to lead armies. Not...this.”

“You were made for whatever I decree.” He countered softly.

“You are the only woman in existence whose spirit is worthy of carrying my legacy. Being a mother does not diminish your Kingship. You will bear a child of gold and steel, Artoria.”

He looked down at her stomach. His expression was solemn. For all of his arrogance, the reality had finally settled on him, too. He had finally built his dynasty.

“A child.” Saber finally whispered, the word taking root.

“Our child.” He corrected and then gently pulled her to her feet. He guided her to the bed. She was still pale and this merely shook her. But he didn’t leave her—he curled his body around hers. “Sleep, wife. You are no longer just a knight or a servant. You are the vessel of my future.”

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The days going forward were a fog. For the first time in her existence, Saber felt untethered from her own identity. Her mind was simply constantly drawn back to the terrifying, silent bloom in her womb. She felt numb. She felt like a stranger in her own skin.

She wanted this child desperately.

Knowing what she now carried—she wanted it desperately.

Gilgamesh didn't announce it from the balconies or summon priests to sing hymns of his virility. He treated their secret as if it were the most precious relic in his treasury. It was too rare to yet be exposed to the light.

But his eyes gave him away.

He watched her constantly.

Stared at her with a satisfactory pride. It was in the way his gaze dropped to her abdomen with a sharp focus. He no longer sought her out with a violent need in the dim light of their chambers. He was still demanding but his touch had shifted to something gentler.

The nausea was their only witness.

Saber looked at him one evening—he simply held her in their bed. "We must know for certain." She said. "The healers...they will arrive tomorrow."

"They will confirm what my blood already knows." Gilgamesh murmured.

"And if they say I am merely ill?" she asked, a small, desperate part of her almost hoping for the return to the simplicity of being just a warrior.

Gilgamesh kissed the back of her neck. "You are not ill, little lion. You are occupied. And you will find that carrying the gold of Uruk is a far heavier duty than any crown of tin you were worth to your past masters."

She felt the need for the wind in her face. It was a desperate desire for the familiar power of a horse beneath her. Something that reminded her that she was a rider. That she was still the King of Knights and not just a delicate vessel being watched by a golden hawk.

The moment her booted foot found the stirrup, the world lurched.

Hands like iron bands clamped around her waist. She was hoisted into the air as if she weighed no more than a child. Before she could even form a breath of protest, she was set down firmly on the stable grounds—several feet away from her horse.

Gilgamesh loomed over her, his crimson eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

Her fingers trembled with a mix of adrenaline and rising irritation. "I am going riding, Gilgamesh. My duties require a tour of the southern outpost, and the morning is wasting."

"You are with child." He reminded her, his voice dropping dangerously. It wasn't an observation. It was a wall he was slamming down in front of her.

"And I am perfectly capable of sitting a saddle." She said, her own eyes narrowing. Her voice sharpened. "I am not yet showing. My center of gravity is unchanged. The healers said it was safe until the second trimester, provided I avoid—"

"I don't give a damn what the healers say!" Gilgamesh roared, his voice echoing off the stable walls. "You are carrying my heir. You are carrying the future of Uruk. You will not endanger yourself, or that which is mine, for the sake of a whim and a beast."

She inhaled roughly. Her pride—the pride of a King—flared hot and bitter in her chest.

"Do not dictate my limitations to me, Gilgamesh," she warned, her voice low and dangerously steady. "I have carried the weight of a kingdom on my shoulders. I can carry a child and still sit a horse. I am not a piece of porcelain to be locked in your treasury."

"You are exactly that!" he countered, his hand reaching out to snatch her wrist "You are the most precious thing in the world, and you are far too reckless with your own safety."

The silence that followed was sudden and absolute.

It was the kind of silence that only happens when a dozen people simultaneously hold their breath. Saber froze.

Her gaze darted past Gilgamesh's shoulder.

A stable hand stood mid-brush, his tool frozen. Two guards by the gate were standing unnervingly still. A servant carrying a bucket of water had paused.

The words 'child' and 'heir' hung in the air like a ringing bell.

For weeks they had lived a fragile bubble of secrecy. And now here, under the harsh light of the morning sun, Gilgamesh's rage had shattered the glass.

The color drained from her face.

The damage was done. She knew that by noon, all of Uruk would be in an uproar over the news of their new unborn prince. By sunset, the city would be celebrating the news.

"Gilgamesh," she whispered, her voice failing her.

He didn't look away from her. He didn't care that he spoke too loudly. If anything—he suddenly stood taller.

"Let them stare." He said, his voice carrying across the yard. "Let them know that their Queen finally carries the lion's cub. And let them know that anyone who lets her near a horse until that child is born will answer to me."

Saber felt a surge of heat with his words. Fury. She was the King of Knights and she had just been grounded like a disobedient child.

She didn't just walk away. She marched, the silks of Uruk flickering around her thighs and shoulders.

They will answer to me.

Gilgamesh's words rang in her ears. They mocked her. He had said it with such casual authority.

She turned a sharp corner once inside the palace, narrowing avoiding a pair of handmaidens. They pressed themselves against the wall, their eyes wide as they bowed low, their whispers already fluttering like moths. The Queen. The child of the sun. The heir.

She was the King of Knights! How dare he?!

"Artoria!"

The voice was a booming thunder behind her. She didn't stop. She didn't even slow down.

"Go away, Gilgamesh," she hissed, her voice a low, vibrating rasp that would have intimidated a general.

A hand caught her shoulder—not gently. He spun her around, his fingers digging into the fabric of Uruk's silks, and slammed his palm against the wall beside her head, pinning her into a space between two towering pillars.

"You will not walk away from me when I am speaking to you," he growled. He was breathless, his face flushed with a mixture of lingering adrenaline and the arrogance of a man who had just claimed his greatest victory.

"Speaking?" She looked up at him, her golden eyes flashing with a cold, northern fire. "You weren't speaking, Gilgamesh. You were issuing a decree. You were treating me like a beast in your menagerie that had wandered too close to the gate."

"I was protecting the most valuable thing in this empire!"

"I am not a thing!" She shoved against his chest, her palms hitting the solid muscle of his pectorals. "I am a King! I am the ruler of my own movements, my own body! You had no right to tell them. You had no right to humiliate me before the servants!"

"Humiliate?" Gilgamesh's laugh was a jagged, ugly sound. He leaned in, his shadow swallowing her completely. "I have proclaimed to the world that the King of Heroes has found his equal, and that she carries the fruit of that union. There is no humiliation in being the mother of a god, Artoria."

"There is when the father treats her like a prisoner!" She was shaking now, her voice cracking. "You have taken my voice, you have taken my nights, and now you take the wind from me? You would leave me to wither in these halls, watching my stomach grow until I am nothing but a vessel for your vanity?"

Gilgamesh's expression shifted. The anger didn't leave, but it was joined by something darker, something more obsessive. He reached down, his hand sliding from the wall to her waist, his fingers splaying over her stomach with a terrifying heat.

"You are not a vessel," he whispered. "You are the treasury itself. And if I must chain you to the throne to ensure you remain whole, I will do it. I will watch your stomach grow, yes. I will watch every curve of you change as you craft my legacy within you. And I will not apologize for the walls I build to keep the world out."

Gilgamesh saw her womb as the ultimate victory in his siege. And the child she carried was the ultimate anchor.

"You think this is victory," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper of pure, cold steel. "But you will make me hate the very walls you think are protecting me."

Gilgamesh's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing. "Hate them if you must, wife. But you will stay within them. And you will bear me this child in safety, or I will burn the very stables to the ground so you never have to look at a saddle again."

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that tasted of iron and salt. It was a claim, a seal on a contract she hadn't signed, leaving Artoria trapped between the cold stone of the palace and the burning, golden cage of the man who owned it.

Chapter Text

The tension that settled between them was cold and smothering. She moved through the palace a ghost of her former self. She was still sharp and regal—but now she carried a heavy brooding resentment that not even Gilgamesh's lavish gifts could break.

Gilgamesh wasn't repentant in the least.

The midday sun poured into the dining hall, illuminating the long table with its usual daily bounty. Gilgamesh strolled into the room with his typical stride—his eyes sweeping over the layout. He was a man who knew the inventory of the world. His mind was a ledge of every treasure and every grain of wheat in his empire.

He stopped mid-stride.

In the center of the table, nested among the local dates and figs, sat a platter of vibrant fruits. They were the color of a bruised sunset and perhaps the size of his palm.

Gilgamesh's brow furrowed. He walked slowly to the table, his hand reaching out to pick one up. It felt unnervingly cold, the skin almost too perfect, its weight slightly heavier than it should be.

"Where did these come from?" he asked. His voice was low, carrying a sudden, crystalline edge that made the nearby servants freeze.

A young attendant bowed so low his forehead touched the floor. "The southern trades, your Majesty. They arrived this morning... a gift for the Queen's growing strength."

Gilgamesh didn't answer. He ran his thumb over the skin. It wasn't on the manifest. He had reviewed the trade logs from the south yesterday; there were no "sunset plums" listed. Something flickered at the edges of his mind. Intuition, perhaps. An alien element in his perfect treasury.

He slowly lifted his head.

At the far end of the table, Artoria was already seated. She was still ignoring him, her gaze fixed on the task at hand. She held a small, silver paring knife in one hand, her thumb expertly guiding the blade as she peeled one of the sunset fruits. A long, curling ribbon of silver-dusted skin fell away to reveal flesh that was a startling, sickly-sweet crimson.

A cold, visceral horror dived into Gilgamesh's gut, sharper than any blade.

He saw her lift the slice. He saw her lips—the lips he had claimed so many times—parting to receive it. He saw the glint of the juice on the steel.

"NO!"

The word was a roar that shattered the peace of the hall. Gilgamesh moved with the speed of a divine strike. He didn't run; he blurred across the distance.

Saber didn't even have time to blink before his hand clamped around her wrist like a vice. It was his pure strength that forced her hand away from her face. The slice of fruit flew from her fingers—skittering across the table and staining the white linen a toxic red.

"Gilgamesh!" Artoria gasped, her eyes wide with shock and the sudden spark of her own temper. "What is the meaning of—"

He didn't let go of her wrist. His grip was bruising, his knuckles white. He was looking at the wedge of fruit on the table. It was like a chemical reaction—waiting the time allotted since the peel of the skin. The silver embroidery of the tablecloth began to hiss and blacken where the juice touched it.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The horror that had filled Gilgamesh transformed instantly into a cold, murderous fury. Someone had bypassed his guards. Someone had calculated her exact morning routine. Someone had known that in her current state—distracted by her own resentment and the quiet demands of the life within her—she might not notice a fruit out of place.

He looked down at her. She was pale, her gazed fixed on the smoking linen even as her own mind was calculating. The knife slipped from her other hand, clattering to the floor. Her hand went instinctively to her stomach, her fingers curling over the silk.

Gilgamesh's eyes were crimson pits of hellfire. He didn't look at the servants. He looked only at her. The thought of it—of her being snuffed out, of the golden potential in her womb being withered by a cowardly poison—ignited a rage so vast the very air in the room began to warm with the warning of his Babylonian gates.

"Lock the doors," Gilgamesh commanded, his voice a low, terrifying vibration that seemed to come from the earth itself. "No one leaves this palace. No one breathes until I have the names of the merchants, the harvesters, and the man who placed this platter."

He pulled Artoria up and out of her chair, not letting her go for a single second.

"You are not to touch anything," he warned. "Do you understand me, Artoria? Not a drop of water, not a crumb of bread, unless I have tasted it first."

Saber inhaled softly. A sudden chilling clarity filled her. The woman who had been nauseated by breakfast and frustrated by domestic restrictions vanished. The King of Knights stood in her place. She slowly pulled her wrist from his grasp. Her eyes narrowed, becoming sharp predatory slits as they swept across the high-arched rafters and the dark alcoves behind the pillars.

How dare they try to rip this child from her womb?

This was a sensation she knew well—the cold, electric hum of an invisible threat.

"Control your temper, Gilgamesh." Saber reminded him. "A panicked hunter catches nothing. Look at the servants. Look at the placement."

She ignored the acidic smoke of the table linen as she strode towards the center of the hall. She didn't look for a man with a dagger—she looked for the lack of one. There was no residue. There was no lingered scent other than the scent of rot and no servant appeared more guilty than the others.

They all looked terrified of the King of Uruk's rage more than any poison.

The room felt empty of the culprit. It was a phantom strike.

The wind against her palm stirred. "They knew my routine. They knew the exact moment I would seek out fruit to settle my stomach."

She turned to face Gilgamesh. She was now a King who had been handed a declaration of war.

"This was no assassins whim," she stated. "In my time, poison was the weapon of those who feared a King's edge. Here, it is an insult to your vault. They did not just try to kill your Queen, Gilgamesh. They tried to erase your future."

Gilgamesh's jaw clenched so hard the bone seemed ready to snap. His rage was a physical weight in the room, making the air feel thick with ozone. The idea of someone—some mongrel—daring to calculate their way into his most private sanctum to touch his greatest treasure was an affront his divinity could barely tolerate.

"I will burn the city to its foundations to find them," he promised, his eyes glowing with a terrifying light.

"No," Artoria countered. "They expect the King of Heroes to rage. They expect you to lash out blindly. But they have forgotten that I am not merely a treasure to be guarded."

She looked down at her stomach, her expression softening for a fraction of a second before hardening into iron.

"They have made this personal," she said. "They think because I am with child, my sword is blunt. They are wrong. If they wish to play at ghosts, then I shall show them that the King of Britain is well-acquainted with the shadows."

Gilgamesh stared at her, the blood-red fire in his eyes flickering as he processed the shift in her demeanor. He had spent weeks trying to cage her. Trying to protect her from the world. But he also realized that a caged lion was of no use in a hunt.

"Very well, Artoria," Gilgamesh said slowly. "If they want a war, we shall give them one. But you will do as I say. We shall hunt this shadow together, and when I catch them, I will let you decide which of my treasures will be used to end their miserable existence."

The laziness that Gilgamesh reclined with on the throne was a lie. His chin rested in the palm of his hand as he stared ahead, his ruby studded rings catching the light as he occasionally tapped a rhythmic beat against the golden armrest. But his eyes trailed everything. Every person. Every shadow. Every noble and every high priest. He dismantled and analyzed and weighed each figure with the divine clarity of his vision. His mind was a whirlwind of the realization that the trail of a rival was in the shadows but had yet to be caught.

The silence of the palace was not peaceful. No one whispered in the corners. No one gathered in the galleries. Gilgamesh trusted no one. The sunset plums had been erased from the palace, the ashes of the fruit and the scorched tablecloth scattered to the winds, but the memory of the blackening silk remained a phantom weight in the room.

She stood at the base of his throne near the last step. She stood with her feet apart, her hands clasped behind her back—her very posture that of a King presiding over a war council. Her new guarded nature made it clear she was no longer just protecting her own life.

How dare they strike at his greatest treasure?

She glanced up at him. "The southern caravans have been cleared of suspicion." She said. "The fruit was added after they entered the city gates. Someone within Uruk has friends in the shadows."

His lips curled dangerously. "Pathetic. Some mongrel things they can play at subtlety in the house of the man who owns the concept of it."

He shifted, jewelry clinking. His eyes moved over the empty hall as if he could see through the layers of stone and silk. "They think because I have not yet begun the executions, I am satisfied. They think that because the Queen still draws breath, their failure is a minor setback."

"They did not just reach for your life, Artoria," he said, his voice dark with the promise of violence. "They reached into my treasury and tried to steal my future. They tried to take the one thing I have fashioned that is truly unique."

He looked at her stomach, then back to her eyes. The hardness there was absolute.

"They are waiting for us to forget," Artoria noted, her gaze sharp. "They are waiting for the distractions of the coming months to make us soft."

"Let them wait," Gilgamesh drawled. "Let them believe they are safe in their silence. I am a King who has seen the beginning and the end of time itself. I can afford to wait a week, a month, or a year to find the hand that held the platter."

"Not tonight, perhaps," he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying certainty. "But I will have them. And when I do, I will ensure their transition from life to nothingness is a masterpiece of pain that even your knightly heart will find difficult to watch."

Gilgamesh found himself pacing the lengths of their chamber a week later. The air was cool but it felt suffocatingly dense with his mounting fury.

He was a blur of golden muscle and dark silk. His robe hung loosely, the hem snapping against his calves as he paced. He was no longer a waiting sovereign. He was a tiger in a cage that was far too small. Every few seconds, his hand would clench into a fist, the knuckles white and skeletal.

"The silence is an insult!" he snarled. "Every moment they breathe is a moment my authority is mocked. They touched what belongs to me. They reached for my future."

"Calm yourself, Gilgamesh," Artoria ordered softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He didn't. His strides were long and predatory. "I will not be calm while a ghost lingers in my halls. I will slaughter every merchant in the southern district if I must. I will bleed the trade routes dry until the one responsible is choked by the scent of their own kin's blood."

"You will not," Saber said, her voice soft but immovable. "You would destroy the prosperity of your own people for a shadow you have not yet seen. That is not the act of a King; it is the act of a child throwing a tantrum."

"A tantrum?" Gilgamesh stopped abruptly, spinning to face her. His eyes were burning pits of crimson, his nostrils flared. The frustration was radiating off him in waves of oppressive heat. "They tried to kill you, Artoria! They tried to extinguish the only life I have deemed worthy of my name! My jaw aches with the need to rend them apart!"

He began to pace again, his muscles wound so tight they looked as though they might snap.

"Gilgamesh," she said again, more firmly.

"I will raze the market. I will—"

Saber stood. She didn't approach him with a blade or a lecture. She moved into his path and took his hand in hers. She pressed it against her flat stomach. "Breathe, Gilgamesh. We will find this treacherous evil and they will pay for their crime."

Both hands held his palm against her stomach. "Our child is strong. I feel him, Gilgamesh. I feel his life force. He carries the bloodline of the King of Heroes and the King of Knights and all of Britain."

Gilgamesh lifted his other hand and cupped her cheek. "He is strong." He agreed. "But do not think for one second I do not feel your weakness. He draws his strength from your own."

Saber knew it to be true. Her weariness. The exhaustion. The subtle drain of her mana. Their child was a force to be reckoned with and she loved him while he was nothing more than a grain of seed in her womb. "As he must." She murmured. "Come to bed, Gilgamesh."

-YOUR REVIEWS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME-

Chapter Text

The call came a week later.

"No." Gilgamesh said, dismissing the summons.

Saber took the crumbled parchment and smoothed out the edges. "Gilgamesh." She said, her tone cautious. "The south calls for their King. You cannot leave them to fend for themselves in an upheaval."

He hated it—he hated it that she was right. He hated the growing paranoia—he had never been a man to let such emotions cater to him.

His departure that morning was choked with the dust of a thousand hooves and the oppressing weight of his own rage. His golden armor caught the light as he swung up on his horse. He hated the miles that he was about to put between them. He wasn't just leaving his wife. He wasn't just leaving his queen. He was leaving the most singular treasure in his treasury—currently housing the only legacy he deemed worth of the throne of Uruk.

But she was right.

They begged for their kings aid.

"The perimeter is doubled." Gilgamesh said, his tone low. He leaned down from the saddle and gripped her chin. "Do not leave the palace, Artoria. Stay within the walls I have fortified. If I return to find you have crossed the thresh hold of the gates for so much as a breath of desert air, I shall dismantle the city myself to find the man who let you pass."

It was a command and a decree and a threat all at once.

"I am the King of Knights, Gilgamesh." She reminded him softly. "Worry for your Southern borders, not the walls of your own home."

His jaw tightened. He didn't remove his hand from her chin. "Do not leave the palace, Artoria." he said again. "Do not. If a single hair on your head is harmed, the gods themselves will not be able to hide the perpetrator from my wrath."

Saber took the hand holding her chin and brought it to her lips. She kissed his fingertips. "Go, Gilgamesh. Uruk is in my capable hands."

He stared at her for a moment more before he spun his horse and snapped his fingers, taking off into the southern distance. Saber watched him disappear into the distance until his arm was nothing more than a glint caught in the sun.

She turned, heading back towards the palace.

She was isolated.

The lion had been separated from his mate.

Gilgamesh's two week absence was peaceful. It was silent. The palace was unerringly still.

The two weeks of stillness didn't break—it shattered.

She was in the dining hall when the first tremor hit. Her head jerked up. It wasn't the shifting of the earth. It was a concussive force of magnetic energy that vibrated through the floors of the palace and shook the walls.

She recognized the agonizing roar of stone hitting and wood splintering from her days as a Knights.

And then the screams began.

They were the screams of a city caught entirely off guard. She was on her feet before the echoes even died down, her heart hammering against her ribs. She raced to the balcony, her breath hitching at the sight. Uruk was bleeding smoke.

From the north and the east she could see it. Dark shadows slithering. Flickering images moving through the streets. The carnage. Forms that blurred like oil in water, wielding jagged blades of purple-black energy. They weren't just raiding; they were slaughtering.

She held her hand out immediately. Excalibur—

A hand curled around her arm and Saber whirled around, her lip curled dangerously—ready to slaughter whoever dared touch her—

"My Lady, you must retreat to the inner sanctum!" the Captain of the Guard shouted, gripping her arm.

Saber inhaled roughly to calm herself.

His hand was on his hilt, his face pale behind his bronze mask. "The King's orders were absolute! You are not to—"

"The King's orders were for a time of peace," Artoria interrupted, her voice a whip of authority that stopped the man in his tracks. "Uruk is in flames and his people are dying. My people are dying. I will not stand by!"

She didn't wait for a demanding refusal. With a burst of energy her silks were consumed by blue and silver. A familiar weight of prepared battle. Excalibur's weight was a humming vibration in her palm.

"Go! Close to market gates and funnel the civilians towards the palace gates." She hissed.

She didn't use the stairs. She vaulted over the marble railing of the high balcony. Wind gathered beneath her feet as she plummeted towards the chaos.

How dare they?! Did they think Uruk was so easily taken because its King was absent?!

She struck the earth in the center of the civilian square, Excalibur no longer an invisible weapon in her hand. It was a shrieking terror of shadows. Her eyes searched—a mother huddled over her child in a doorway as a shadowy figure raised a staff to rain down fire upon the huddled figures.

She was there in a heartbeat, a blur of blue that defied physics.

Fire rained against the steel of Excalibur instead of human flesh. With a fluid stroke she cleaved the shadow mage in two.

She was fighting for her Kingdom and the life she carried. She would have this done! She didn't lunge recklessly. She attacked with a fierceness.

"To the palace!" she commanded the huddling civilians, her voice cutting through the din. "Move! I will hold the line!"

The people of Uruk, who had only seen their Queen as a distant, pale beauty at the King's side, now saw the Legend. She didn't fight at their Kings side. She fought alone. They saw the golden hair, the shining armor, and the sword that held the light of the sun itself. She was a whirlwind of steel and wind, dodging the jagged spears of the shadow-warriors with a precision that seemed supernatural.

She took two steps back, parrying a strike that would have taken her shoulder. She spun to the left and down a smoking street to avoid the sweep of shadows beneath her feet. Screams echoed behind her and she was a blur of blue and silver armor down the further-est street. A step away here. A turned corner there.

It was a cold realization. These attackers—they weren't mindless monsters. They were moving with a tactical alliance. They were forcing her further and further away from the palace guards.

Rage filled her.

Did they think she was weak because she was a woman or because she carried a child? Or perhaps both?

They would come to learn that the King of Britain was neither.

The ground buckled and shook beneath her. A heavy weight that shattered the cobblestones and desert earth beneath her feet. A massive shadow rose at the end of the street. It towered over her, its eyes glowing with a toxic violet light. Saber adjusted her grip on Excalibur, the golden light of the blade intensifying.

The shadowy fiend was massive. It blocked out the light—larger than even the golden buildings. She struck—Excalibur merely vibrating violently in her hands from the force. No reaction?

Her hands tightened on Excalibur. She knew what she needed to do. But the city was a vast pillar of gold behind him. Homes. Streets older than her. Towering pillars of gold. Gardens. She didn't want to destroy it. But he was in her way. He was blocking her from the people of Uruk.

Her jaw clenched. "You're in my way."

She hesitated even as her eyes searched the streets beyond the shadowy mass. Gilgamesh would have laughed at her for her hesitation. She searched in vain. Listening for voices. Running feet. Praying that there was no one in that vicinity directly. She lifted her arms, Excalibur above her head…

But this would still be a level of devastation by her hand.

She had no choice. The beast before her had to go.

"Excalibur!" Saber yelled as she leapt forward. Light and a horrific energy tore through the air and cleaved through the beast with a sickening rise of smoke and a deafening roar. Excalibur tore through the streets behind him—obliterating everything in its path. Merchant stands. Suddenly abandoned houses. Bakeries. It was but a small section in the kingdom, but the knowledge twisted in her gut regardless. She saved lives by doing so.

An explosion rocked the ground from the distance behind her and she spun around in disbelief. The palace itself was in uproar. Golden domes smoking. She cursed and ran.

She spun to the side as a set of heavy doors exploded past her.

Her breath froze and she skidded to a stop.

Those doors.

She spun on her heel in the opposite direction, towards the lower bowels of the palace. The doors to Gilgamesh's human treasury were gone—the very same doors that had just a moment nearly taken her head off.

Rare weapons lay here. Dangerous weapons. Dread filled her at the thought of demons setting their hands to them. She ran down the darkened staircase.

The air in the subterranean vault was thick with the scent of ancient oils, cold bronze, and the acrid smoke of the blast that had unseated the massive doors. This was not the Gate of Babylon—Gilgamesh's personal, metaphysical treasury—but the physical armory of Uruk, a deep stone vault where the King of Heroes stored the spoils of his earthly conquests. Artifacts too large, too primitive, or too cursed to be kept in his spiritual collection were housed here, guarded by layers of magic that had, until this moment, been considered impenetrable.

She landed in a crouch, one palm braced. The golden glow of Excalibur lit a path along the floor as she stared.

Three figures stood at the center of the vault. They weren't the shadowy wraiths that had terrorized the streets; these were flesh and blood. Mages. She could feel the oil of their magic, thick and heavy in the air. One of them already had his hand on a massive, obsidian-black bow that pulsed with an unholy light.

"Get out," Artoria snarled. "You are not worthy of touching anything here."

"You sound like your King." The Mage with the bow said, turning. His face was hidden behind a mask of hammered silver. "The King of gone, little queen. He left his kingdom unguarded and his queen distracted by the rabble in the streets."

"Uruk is not unguarded." She stepped forward, energy crackling around Excalibur like lightening. She could feel the lingering drain of Excalibur. But her resolve was no less. "You have slaughtered innocent people this day. You laid waste to homes and lives just to reach the scraps of a master's table."

"Scraps?" The mage laughed, an ugly sound. He began to lift the bow. "This city is a graveyard of things that should have been forgotten. We do not want your gold, Queen. We want the power the King of Heroes is too arrogant to use."

The mage drew an invisible string on the black bow. Saber shifted her stance, lifting Excalibur. "You will find," she said, the golden light of her sword intensifying until the vault was as bright as day, "that even a King's 'scraps' have the edge to behead a thief."

She moved.

She didn't wait for him to loose the arrow. She blurred across the stone floor, her boots sparking against the rock. They chanted. It was a deafening tone of energy that rose between them.

The stone vault, once a silent tomb for the spoils of war, became a screaming sensation of light and shadow. She moved by muscle memory. She didn't waste breathe with threats—Excalibur spoke for her.

One mage lunged with a flail of darkened chains. It wrapped around her arm and she sliced through darkened chains with Excalibur. She pivoted at the same time, bringing her armored arm above her head to intercept a jagged wave of purple flames. Excalibur hissed as it collided with the filth.

"You speak of arrogance," Artoria hissed, her voice cutting through the roar of the magic. "Yet you dare to stand before a King and think yourselves her equal?"

The third mage—the leader with the obsidian bow—did not strike yet. He watched her with cunning intensity.

She spun around suddenly and whipped the hilt of Excalibur into the mages silver mask. The metal shattered and he collapsed with a choked cry.

She turned to the second caster—the Leader released his arrow.

It was not wood or steel. It was a long, thick void that cut through the air. She spun away from the second mage to face the leader.

Her instincts screamed.

She twisted her body to the side.

She was slow—or perhaps still exhausted from the nauseated mornings and loss of her own mana.

The bolt grazed her side. It didn't draw blood. It drew existence. The blue fabric and the sliver of armor it touched dissolved instantly as if by acid. It left a thin slice of pale skin exposed at her side. It felt like ice against her skin. It felt numbing. She stumbled from the near glide against her side and sank to one knee, her hold on Excalibur keeping her upright.

A miss.

A cold realization settled over her.

His aim had been her midsection.

Her child.

She froze. "You." She said, her tone breathless and cold at the same time.

This hadn't been just an attack.

Gilgamesh was across the desert sands. Even if she sent word, it wouldn't reach him for days.

A thorough separation.

"You tried to poison me." She seethed.

"You see?" The eldest mage spoke, another black arrow already notching itself to the string. "The King of Heroes has a treasury full of gold, but he left his most fragile treasure in a world of wolves. You cannot protect it, Artoria. You cannot even protect yourself."

It.

IT.

IT.

As if her child was no more than a simple trinket in this world. Her child lived and thrived in her womb!

Her chest heaved. She could feel her child—a faint presence that pulsed in her very soul. The numbness in her side was cold and spreading but the fire in her soul was reaching white heat.

"I am not a treasure to be guarded." She whispered. Her tone made the Mage pause. She gripped Excalibur with both hands once again and slowly began to stand. The golden blame hummed with energy at her feet.

"I am the King who pulled the sword from the stone. And if I must burn my own life to ensure yours is snuffed out, I will do it without a second thought."

She didn't care about the vault. She didn't care about the surrounding scraps of Gilgamesh's legacy. She was a mother protecting her unborn child, and a King protecting her realm.

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Chapter Text

She was Artoria Pendragon. She was the sword of Britain. She was a legend forged in dragons blood. She had been a servant in the Holy Grail War. She was the wife of the King of Heroes and the reigning Queen of Uruk. And within her she carried the golden legacy of an empire, the heir to every treasure in the world. She would not be shattered by a common mage!

So she waited. She wasn't foolish enough to take the first footing. She waited for the mage to unleash his attack.

But he leaned towards her and held his hand out—blowing a glittering black dust in her face instead. Saber blinked as it exploded in her face in fine particles.

What?

Her vision blurred—she looked down at the sudden weight in her arms.

Her very soul froze.

She no longer held Excalibur.

She cradled an infant. Golden hair. Shimmering eyes the color of sunset. Her mind screamed a warning even as she stared. The heat in her arms was soft and real and it had her heart clenching. Her armor was gone. She was in nothing but a simple dress that Gilgamesh had often teased her to wear

She lifted her head—she was no longer in the treasury—golden skies stretched. A city not in ruin. A city that was slowly rebuilding from the ashes. What? The damp smell of the vault was gone. The scent of blooming jasmine filled her nostrils. She looked down at the child in her arms again. Her fingers shook as she brushed back golden strands.

"Momma!"

Her head jerked up at the sound. Her knees nearly buckled at the sight. A small toddler jumped up and down at Gilgamesh's side, dressed in Uruk's finest silks. Long blonde hair braided—green eyes. Gilgamesh held a squirming young prince in his arms—the child giggling.

Her heart didn't just beat. It seized. Impossible. She was in a vault. She was fighting. Uruk needed her! The child in her womb, a seed of hope—needed her! Yet the weight in her arms felt so undeniably real. The warmth. The softness of the skin against her own sent a surge of material fierce love through her that threatened to shatter her mind.

"Momma! Momma, look!"

The high-pitched, jubilant cry caught her attention again.

Momma?

That was her daughter?

She couldn't have been more than three, her little feet thumping against the earth.

"Momma, I found a beetle! A gold one!" The little girl said.

The young prince in Gilgamesh's arms was currently tugging on the Kings golden earrings.

"Control your daughter, Artoria," Gilgamesh said. His voice was no longer a seething rasp or a command of iron. It was rich and warm, and layered with a deep, satisfied exhaustion. "She has been digging in the rose beds since the sun reached its height. She is as stubborn and filthy as a northern squire."

"Gilgamesh," Artoria whispered. The name felt like a prayer and a curse.

No, no, no. This wasn't real.

She looked down to the baby in her arms again, then at the two children coming towards her with Gilgamesh.

Her mind screamed. She was warrior. She saw it for what it was. It was a lie. The dust.

But the feminine side of her that had been numb for so very long...was drowning. The peace surrounding her was surreal. She wanted the child in her arms to be real. She wanted to believe that the war was over. She wanted to believe that she had finally earned the life she had so desperately craved.

"You look pale, little lion," Gilgamesh murmured, leaning down to kiss her softly. His lips were warm and solid and so very real that she faltered. "The midday heat is too much for the newborn. Let us go inside."

"Is it...?" she started, her voice breaking. "Is it over? Is the city safe?"

Gilgamesh chuckled, a low, melodic sound. "The city has been safe for years, Artoria. What ails you? You speak as if we are still in the shadow of the Grail."

He began to lead her toward the palace, his arm draped possessively around her waist. The little girl skipped ahead, her golden braids bouncing. Everything was perfect. The air was sweet. The weight of the baby was a miracle.

...and in the reality of the real world, the Mage drew his arrow to full tension again—the tip aimed at Saber's exposed throat as she stood motionless inside the vault.

It wasn't real. She knew it wasn't! It wasn't—

A small hand gripped hers. Saber's lips trembled. She held the infant in one arm and the smallest of hands in her other hand. "

"Please don't leave us again, momma. We missed you."

Her eyes burned because she knew it wasn't real. But the memories felt real. She remembered the three years she spent raising her daughter. She remembered in vivid detail how Gilgamesh exhaustingly and lovingly blamed her for their daughter being so defiant. Three children. Two sons and a daughter.

But she had to remind herself that she was Artoria Pendragon. She was the King of Knights. Gilgamesh had chosen her. Her. No one else.

It started to fade.

All of it started to fade.

A sob caught in her throat—her heart felt like it was being wrenched from her chest even as the air began to whistle sharply. The phantom weight of the three children. The daughter who loved beetles. The son who pulled at his fathers earrings. The newborn with his fathers eyes—they all evaporated like mist. But they weren't just dreams to her in that moment—they were a life she had lived for three agonizingly perfect years in the span of a single heartbeat.

Her lashes were wet as she brought Excalibur up at the last second—deflecting a flickering arrow aimed for her throat.

How dare they play with her heart!

The mage tilted his head. "You should have been lost in that peace until your heart stopped."

Saber lifted her head. Tears clung to her lashes.

"You have done a terrible thing, mage." Saber whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. She knew it hadn't been real. She knew it was wrong to mourn what hadn't been. He hadn't just abused her mind—he'd abused her soul. "You showed a King the one victory she could never achieve with a sword. You gave me a future, and then you murdered it before my eyes."

The pressure in the vault dropped. A soft breeze whistled through her hair. No—not a breeze. Her own energy whipping around her. Her hands were steady where they gripped Excalibur, but her eyes burned with tears. "A mother's instinct is the absolute destruction of anything that threatens the life she carries."

They didn't wait. They charged her from all sides. Three against one. Chains of shadow dove past her, narrowly missing her cheek—a staff whispered through the air.

She was a streak of lightening. She bypassed the shadow chains. She rammed the mages ribs with her shoulder while she brought Excalibur down.

It was a devastating strike. He didn't even have time to scream before he was reduced to ash by Excalibur's holy light.

That was one.

The eldest mage notched three arrows at once. "You are drained. You have used Excalibur more than you can bare while carrying all of Uruk in your womb."

"My mana is irrelevant." Saber hissed as she lunged. The arrows flew and she twisted in mid-air. She landed directly in front of him, Excalibur raised. "You wanted to see the Queen of Uruk?" She asked, her wet lashes shimmering in the light of her blade. "Look closely. You are looking at the King of Britain and the Queen of Uruk. And I find your presence in my husband's treasury offensive."

The vault groaned beneath the channeled energy of Excalibur. She didn't use a beam of energy. She used the raw, condensed heat of the blade. No more illusions. No more games.

His mask began to crack seconds before she was simply standing over the remains of his ashes.

She was breathing heavier than she liked.

Her mana was...critical. She was tired in ways that she hadn't been in past battles. It was a combination of grueling combat and the silent demand of the life within her. But she would finish this.

She would see to it that Gilgamesh returned to a Uruk that was still standing. Not whole, perhaps—but still standing.

She turned to face the elder mage.

The world shattered at her back, a heavy weight slamming her forward. It sent her skidding across the stone floor. She barely managed to catch herself from crashing into a rack of ancient bronze shields before she spun around.

Her breath rushed out.

Impossible.

Standing were the two mages she had just slaughtered. Their forms flickered from transparency—solidifying into reality with a mocking hum.

Phantoms.

A trick to lower her guard. She had expended her energy against phantoms

"You have been played, King of Knights." the leader said, his silver mask catching the light of the torches.

Saber didn't respond.

She had faced the King of Heroes in two separate wars. She had stood against maddened berserkers and the cold logic of a Grail war.

But those enemies had been blades.

These men were leeches.

Her breath hissed out as she threw herself forward. It was suffocating. It was defensive. She blocked a strike while using Excalibur to shield her abdomen at the same time. Shadow flames singed her hair. She pivoted to protect her back. She had to protect her front, back and sides all at once.

A shockwave of invisible force hit her dead-center.

She wheezed and collapsed to one knee, holding onto Excalibur with one hand. Her beloved blade was a dead weight in her palm, the golden light flickering like a dying candle.

"I have seen your future, Queen of Uruk." The eldest mage taunted, stepping closer. He looked down at her with the clinical detachment of an executioner. "You will lose this child."

"Never." Saber hissed.

The anger was a roar in her ears. She was pinned by the weight of her own exhaustion.

The air in the vault pressurized and then sang.

A ripple of golden light split the vault. Piercingly bright. It manifested in the empty air beside her head. It was a jagged tear in the fabric of reality.

Saber froze. Not even the Mages moved.

A heavy link of chain shot out of the golden portal in an unguided arc. It swung wildly. It didn't strike with precision—it lashed out like a panicked animal, slicing through the air with such violence that Saber had to duck to avoid being decapitated.

The single link of chain sliced through the shadow-chains of the approaching mage—turning them to dust in his hands.

Saber's heart skipped a beat. She knew those chains.

Her head spun—she stared at the golden gate. Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh. It was one of his many gates—but it rippled in distortion. It wasn't the perfect array of golden light. It was warped, even if still accessible.

"The child protects its mother." The leader murmured—his voice trembling with a mix of terror and awe. Terror, because, for a moment, they thought the King of Heroes had arrived. "He has the same reach as his father. A child not yet born, yet he accesses the Kings own gate."

It wasn't Gilgamesh.

It was their child.

That was why the chain had been flimsy and clumsy instead of striking with swiftness.

Pride filled her, sharp and fierce. It momentarily dulled her own fatigue and ache. Even as a grain of seed, their child was a King. Even in the dark, he was defending his mother.

"If the child has the fathers power, then the mother shall die by the fathers hoard." The tone sent a chill down her spine.

The elder mage lifted is hand and the earthly weapons of Gilgamesh's treasury lifted into the air. Massive broadswords. Spears. Dozens of blades hovered in the air—all at her.

A spear flew.

Saber jerked her head back with a sudden violence, her heart pounding. The iron tip flew over her head, an inch from her nose and forehead. It embedded itself in the opposite wall instead of her heart. Her jaw clenched. She was being besieged by the very history of the man she loved.

Hundreds of miles to the south, amongst the gore and dust of a border skirmish, the King of Heroes froze. His head snapped towards the North where Uruk lay across the desert sands. His crimson eyes narrowed into lethal slits.

He paid no mind to the Uruk soldiers at his back. He paid no mind to the heat of the southern desert. His attention was on the phantom sensation—a pull on the Gate of Babylon that did not originate from his own will. It was faint. An instinctive tug—like a child pulling at a fathers cloak.

Someone was inside his Babylonian vault. Someone was using his authority.

Chapter Text

She fought for her life. She fought for Uruk. She thought of the child growing in her womb—too weak to grasp power again so soon. She fought for that. She fought for everything at once.

She wasn't just fighting three mages—she was fighting Gilgamesh's entire vault. Ancient bronze. Curved obsidian. Forged iron—they hovered in the air. Some streaking through the air in attack, some waiting. The thin, burning line of blood on her cheek from a spear felt like a brand.

She fought from the front while spinning to protect her back. She held Excalibur's blade upside down when a broad blade would have pierced her stomach—the blade shattered against Excalibur instead. She didn't have time to breathe or even forge her own attack—she could only defend. Everywhere she turned there was a mage or one of Gilgamesh's treasure's whistling through the air.

She caught the serrated edge of a dagger's blade in the palm of her hand when it would have struck her face. The sharpened edge stung her palm, cutting through her flesh until bright red stained her palm. She sent it hurtling back towards the mage—

The breath wheezed from her body when a wave of dark magic exploded at her back. She crashed to one knee from the staggering, cold force of it—her grip on Excalibur's hilt the only thing keeping her upright when she hit the stone cold floor on that knee. For a moment she couldn't breathe. She could feel the burning static of that darkness sparking against her arms and the back of her neck.

The silence that followed was a stark reminder of the reality she was losing. Her lungs burned. Her side was aching and numb from the brush of an arrow. She tasted bile in the back of her throat, a mix of lingering nausea and her own rage. Her mana was an aching residue and the seed within had grown quiet, exhausted by its singular, miraculous effort to protect her.

Saber lifted her head—staring at the eldest mage as he started towards her slowly. She could see the truth staring back at her.

I am sorry, Gilgamesh. She thought. She was a warrior—she knew when death was staring her in the face. She had experienced it in many lifetimes. And she recognized it now. She was already mourning the child in her womb. And Gilgamesh… I should have told you. My pride and war. She had never told him she loved him.

"The King of Heroes will return to find his kingdom in cinders and his Queen void of life." He lifted the obsidian bow once more, his silver mask catching the light of the vault. An arrow notched. "He will find that his golden seed has withered and died in the dark."

"Die in the dark, Queen of Nothing."

Saber refused to close her eyes. If she was to meet death, she would meet it with eyes open.

The coldness of the vault warmed—a low vibrancy hum that made various shields and spears begin to vibrate. The light that began to fill the vault wasn't spontaneous. It grew slowly until the vault was as blindingly bright as day. The air rippled behind her, so hot that the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

The pressure in the vault intensified—a mana so intense that the weapons hovering in the air were physically pushed back by the sheer displacement of authority.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind her. Steady, rhythmic and terrifyingly calm.

The light from behind her was so bright it cast her shadow long and sharp across the floor. Golden armor stepped into her side view—Gilgamesh walked past her with a casual, predatory grace. He didn't run to her. He didn't cry out. He didn't touch her. He simply walked past her. He looked at the mages with the bored, clinical gaze of a God looking at a particularly offensive insect.

"What are you doing in my vault?" He asked. The tone was deadpan—almost conversational. But it carried the weight of a falling mountain.

The mages froze. The stutter of their spells was visible.

Gilgamesh finally drew to a halt in the center of his human treasures—his eyes shifting to take in the sight of Saber. The blood on her cheek. Her uneven breathes—her defensive position to protect their unborn child. The air in the room didn't just heat—it became a pressurized vacuum of pure malice.

"And WHAT," he continued, his voice dropping into a register that made the foundations of the vault groan, "are you doing to my Queen?"

It wasn't a question that required an answer.

"Gilgamesh…" The elder mage took a half step backward—the arrow in the obsidian bow was no longer pointed at Saber. It was pointed at Gilgamesh's chest. "You're supposed to be in the north. The mages said—"

"The mages said." Gilgamesh mocked. He raised a hand and golden portals began to ripple behind him. The weapons that emerged weren't of bone or bronze. These were prototypes of legend. They glowed with divine light.

"You have touched my treasures. You have walked within my house. And you have dared to draw the blood of the only woman I have deemed worthy of my name."

He turned his head and looked at Saber. "You may breathe freely now, Artoria. The King has returned." He murmured softly. "And he finds himself in the mood for a very thorough execution."

With a flick of his wrist, the vault exploded into a storm of golden light.

There was no battle.

There was only the sound of high-tier Noble Phantasms obliterating time and space and the mages. He silenced their screams before they could even echo the vault.

The sky above Uruk was no longer just a blue haze of smoke—it was a fractured canvas of gold. Hundreds of golden gates. It was a divine rain that slaughtered.

Inside the vault, the silence that followed the explosion of light was deafening. The mages had been erased so thoroughly that not even their ashes remained.

Gilgamesh stood in the center of his earthly vault, a golden God in the ruin of previous treasures. He didn't mourn the loss that Excalibur had brought. He simply looked at the scorched walls and toppled weapon racks. He saw the battle that had taken place. He simply stood—his breathing evening, his mana radiant and steady.

His eyes finally settled on the woman at the center of the wreckage. He didn't run to her. He didn't sink to his knees to cradle her, nor did he pull her into a desperate crushing embrace.

To do so would have been an insult to the woman-king who had held his city walls together.

Her armor was scarred. There was a tear in her blue cloak and a thin line of crimson blood stained her left cheek. Gilgamesh could see the exhaustion in her eyes—but the fire in her soul was still as sharp as the day she had pulled the sword from the stone.

He extended his palm to her. She placed her hand in his. With a single firm tug, Gilgamesh pulled her to her feet.

Her knees threatened to buckle. Saber inhaled—her center of gravity shifting. She leaned towards him instinctively before she caught herself. He didn't pull her into a hug. He simply braced his other hand against her shoulder, acting as a pillar for her to lean on until her balance returned.

"The city is purged." He murmured. His eyes moved to the cut on her cheek, a flicker of that malice returning for a split second before he mastered it. "And my vault remains mine."

He looked down at her midsection—at the silent, exhausted life she carried. He knew. He had felt the tug on his own Gate. He had felt the small, defiant spark of his own blood reaching out to protect its mother.

"Come." He didn't let go of her hand as he lead her out of the darkness of his human vault. "There is a healer waiting in the high solar and I find I am exhausted by the incompetence of this world. You will sit, and you will tell me exactly how my son managed to unseal my chains before he had even seen the sun."

With a slow, deliberate pressure, he pushed her back against the pillows. "Rest, Artoria. I will attend to to what is needed. You have done your part."

He insisted. She denied with a persistence. She carried his child and her mana was depleted. She had defended his entire kingdom in his absence. The walls still stood because of her.

She would rest.

She didn't know how to abandon a post.

"Gilgamesh…" She said softly. "The fires are not out yet. I must see to the casualty reports. If the shadows reached the well-districts—"

"The shadow-wraiths reached the abyss, where they belong," Gilgamesh condoned.

He didn't raised his voice but the authority acted as a physical barrier.

"I am not a flower, Gilgamesh." Her breath huffed out, frustrated but her defiance dying.

"No, you are a King who has spent her life force to protect my city and the life I have placed within you." He said softly. "And for that, you have earned the right to be silent."

He leaned forward and with a surprising gentleness, he tucked the blankets around her hips and waist. He treated her as his most precious treasure but for once it wasn't out of a desire to shelf her. It was out of a desperate need to see her restored.

"Rest, Artoria," he commanded again, his voice dropping low. "I will attend to the councils. I will speak to the mages' guilds. I will ensure that the smoke is cleared and the blood is washed from the stones. You have done your part."

He kissed her softly, his palm settling over her stomach for a brief moment before he stood. He looked down at her one last time—her eyes were already beginning to flutter shut. The days exhaustion was winning over her knightly pride.

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Saber dreamed of half-remembered battlefields and the phantom laughter of children she had never met. But the sudden shift of weight in the mattress acted like a cold bucket of water.

Her eyes flew open. Her arm lashed out.

Gilgamesh caught it, his hand tight around her wrist. "It is but I, wife."

Saber released the breath she had been holding and then turned her head, her vision adjusting in the semi darkness. He had stripped his golden armor, only wearing loose silk pants.

"Your reflexes are as tiresome as ever." he remarked, though there was no bite in his words. "Even in sleep you stay coiled like a spring. Do you truly think so little of my guards that you must stand watch in your dreams?"

"Old habits do not die easily, even in Uruk," she countered, her eyes searching his face.

He looked tired. The arrogant lines of his features were shadowed with the fatigue of a man who had spent the last six hours systematically dismantling a conspiracy with blood and fire. But his eyes—those crimson depths—were burning with a fierce, quiet intensity as they raked over her.

He reached out his other hand, his fingers surprisingly cool as they touched her cheek, just beside the thin, red line where the steel had grazed her earlier. His jaw tightened at the sight of the minor wound, a flicker of that lingering, murderous rage darkening his expression.

"The city is quiet," he murmured, his thumb moving to catch a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "The streets have been scrubbed. The mages who whispered in the dark have been found, and they have been made to understand the price of their curiosity."

Artoria let out a long breath, her head sinking back into the pillows. The weight of her exhaustion, which had been temporarily stayed by her fright, came crashing back down. She felt the heavy, quiet draw of her mana—the small, rhythmic pulse of the life within her that felt like a tiny echoed heartbeat.

"And the vault?" she asked softly.

"Repaired." he said, shifting his weight to lie beside her. He didn't pull her into a close embrace—not yet—but his side was a solid, radiating wall of heat against her. "You did well, Artoria. I have heard the tales from the survivors. They speak of a golden flash and a blue cloak that stood against the shadows."

He turned his head to look at her, his smirk sharp and lethal in the shadows. "The people are calling you the Lioness of Uruk. I find I rather like the title."

"I only did what was necessary."

"You did what only you could do." He reached across the small space between them, his splayed hand coming to rest flat over her stomach. His touch was possessive and for the first time that night, Artoria felt the last of the battle-static in her brain go silent.

"Rest now," he whispered, his voice dropping into that low, regal hum. "Truly rest. I am here, and I have no intention of leaving your side again until the sun is high."

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