King of All

Gilgamesh (Archer) from the Fate series || Affilated with Eidolon Path

[hexennxcht]

too much to handle. // sarkalu

@sarkalu liked for a starter

          {♠} —; Sonya was never really one for pets, and yet it seemed she attracted them at every turn. She was supposed to be coming back from a hunt, supplying some local meat for one of the villagers. It seemed that personal little quest would have to wait though. She wasn’t sure who to approach with her problem, so she supposed she’d pick whoever seemed most capable of helping her.

          {♠} —; “Hello, do pardon me.”

          {♠} —; “I’ve come back from an unfortunately dismal hunting trip. I was looking for bigger game, but I wasn’t able to focus considering…well…”

          {♠} —; She gestures underneath her, a few small creatures running laps around and nestling softly. She bends down to pick one up, holding it in her hand to properly show the man that stood before her. It was soft, fuzzy, and oh so small.

          {♠} —; “I’m not quite that knowledgeable on the local fauna in this area, so I’d rather not do anything with these guys until I know more. For all I know these could be some sort of sacred animal. Would you be so kind to assist me?”

[sarkalu-blog]

His presence had become a constant in the streets of Eidolon. Quite often, Gilgamesh could be seen roaming them and the near outskirts of it, with no other purpose than familiarizing himself with it. Analyzing it. As if a way to make that place his own, even though he loathed it oh, so much.

His keen eye had already seen a few improvements that could be made to improve the town’s efficiency, but he still did not care enough as to do something about it.

Just then, lost as he was in his thoughts, someone approached him. He turned around, with a stern expression. Unusual, for someone to dare address him with such familiarity. Most of the inhabitants of Eidolon already knew his character, and the King of Heroes had already gained the reputation of someone you should not carelessly involve yourself with. 

He was face to face with a woman (a warrior, a noble, a peasant? His eyes could not tell the difference anymore), with, as he could see when his gaze followed her gesture, a bunch of little animals at her feet. 

She asked counsel about them and even brought one to his level. Gilgamesh looked at it for a moment, seemingly unmoved by its adorable appearance, only to look back at her more sternly soon after, red eyes brimming with indignation.

“Do I look like a farmer to you, woman? Yo insult the King of All, expecting him to care about the vermin that crawl at his feet”. He dug the tip of Ea, which had never left his side since he arrived, in the snow, the strange weapon dormant but still imposing. “I shall forgive you for your ignorance this time. Now go ask the animal-keepers or the priests at the Crystal Château if you are so worried about it”. 

Both his voice and his tone said it clear: he could not care less about what those little creatures were. 

[sarkalu-blog]

first-hero‌:

The Caster made a short noise of acknowledgement. He couldn’t agree more, but he had had some weeks to flush out the worst of his anger over the biting cold and mundane living he’d be thrown so carelessly into. Looking over his counterpart, he knew well it would take about the same amount of time–if not more–to reach his level of tolerance. 

Well, perhaps he cared for himself enough to help ease his journey. 

“Come, it’s best we return to the village.” A gloved hand met with the Archer’s shoulder in a reassuring grip, and he pulled him forward, turning to walk at his side. “There’s a warm place to receive a meal, and the beer is decent. Don’t get your hopes up for the wine, however. It’s truly pitiful.”

One might expect him to address this odd happenstance–two of the same man speaking to one another and walking side by side–but he let it speak on its own. They both knew that the nature of their existences called for such a possibility, though the Wise King had to wonder whether this other him, this younger, rasher King, had put much stock in the result that stood before him. Surely he had seen visions. Surely this was not the first time he was seeing this thinner body, adorned with amethyst in his golden hair, with an air about him that spoke to a difference kind of king. 

“There are many of us here. Heroic Spirits,” he told him, as they left a second trail of footprints next to the first. “There are some mages as well. Other than that, those from places I’m unsure of.”

Archer was stiff when the other one pushed him in the direction they both came from, but did not resist. He didn’t seem convinced by the promise of food and warmth, the sourness never leaving his expression, but he followed without arguing. 

After all, his other self had a point. There was nothing there, nothing better than what was at the village. But at least in the wilderness there wasn’t the pressure of those many faces he could not know. 

He felt blind for the first time in his life, burdened with an ignorance that was hard to carry. It was humiliating, being forced to crawl the same path as an ordinary man.

Gilgamesh was not entirely surprised to learn there were other Heroic Spirits in this world. After all, the first he had encountered was himself. Their meeting could have happened in any Holy Grail War –and haven’t he seen that Caster before?–, so it was logical to think there would be more.

Yet this was not a war not had he been summoned as a Heroic Spirit. That much he could tell. Diaidem, the wishes... Those words he had heard upon arrival keep repeating on his mind as he silently followed the other King back. 

They reached the town again, moving towards a building that Gilgamesh had not payed attention to before. Some kind of tavern, he decided, when they approached and he felt the smell. He had no further interest in the place though, entering the building with a scowl. 

Two of the same men. What a sight they must have been.

[torejoice-blog1]

@sarkalu , what skill do you not possess…?

It felt a little…comical. Perhaps it’s only because he’s grown unused to this over the years, it hasn’t been the norm in awhile–this priest interacting with a demigod of legend in such mundane ways. There Kirei sat, in a chair that had been dragged from the common room into the bathroom before the mirror. A towel laid over the simple shirt he had put on for this, catching dark hairs as they were snipped free of his person. 

“You always find ways to surprise me, Gilgamesh.” His dark umber eyes met with red in the mirror. Watching those nimble fingers work between the handle of those scissors was hard to look away from, but those serpentine eyes were forever enchanting, even without the magic behind them. Gilgamesh’s consistent anger was hard to see for once–that residual discontent with his situation–when he looked so focused. “I did not expect the King of Heroes to be a skilled barber. Did you not have servants for this?”

[sarkalu-blog]

“I’m offended, Kirei”.

Gilgamesh voice had an unusual tone in it, almost chirpy despite the remark in it. The scissors clicked and moved swiftly, removing short strands of dark hair that were slowly pilling up on the floor. 

“A King has to be better than his vassals at everything, even at something as mundane as grooming”. He raised his eyes just for a second, crossing glances with the priest on the mirror. “This is not a task befitting of me, certainly, but was I supposed to let one of those mongrels make a mess of yourself?”

His statement was clear: Gilgamesh did not trust the inhabitants of Eidolon. Perhaps with time, once he grew more used to the place, the king could bring himself to start judging the people without the veil of resentment covering his eyes. But not yet.

“Besides”, he stopped a moment to stroke Kirei’s recently cut hair in a gesture that could be called affectionate. “Who else knows you like I do? They would not know where to start to make you look good”.

He was sure that the priest’s intention had never been to look good and had only agreed to cut his hair because Gilgamesh insisted, but what else was he supposed to do? That horrible disgrace he had for hair was unacceptable.

[sarkalu-blog]

torejoice‌:

The King’s approach was met with a hand at his shoulder, bloodied fingers taking hold of clothing that surely was not the Archer’s own–all neutral tones that kept him warm against the harsh cold of Eidolon. Kirei was skilled, shifting his body as though he were putting his weight onto Gilgamesh with his good arm, feigning weakness as the crowd began to disperse. Some curious, concerned eyes remained upon him, but that needed to change. This little play was over, he had achieved what was needed, and now he had other topics on his mind. 

“You know me better than such, Gilgamesh.” Eyes shifted off in the direction towards where he understood the Warmhouse resided, a careful motion to have the King lead them off of this stage. Truth be told, he did need to get that arm of his–now hanging limp at his side–stitched up and healed. The gash that cut his command seals in two wasn’t exactly minor, though it was less severe than it was ironic. 

“You seem happy to see me.” There he was, holding back another smirk. Something about that thought was still amusing to him–this ancient king looking so pleased that they were in each other’s presence once more. It had been 15 years for Kirei, and he wondered if Gilgamesh had felt any of that time pass at all. “Did the King of Heroes miss me so?”

The King chuckled almost warmly. With each word Kirei said, a piece from a familiar puzzle fell back into place. Ten years had Gilgamesh spent in company of this man, and even though both had long parted ways, it was easy to fall into old habits.

He made a gesture towards Kirei, approaching him in a warm and welcoming way only reserved for a selected few. “Happy? I wouldn’t dare say that much. But it is good to find a known face in this absurdly unpleasant world”.

Oh, how he hated Eidolon still. It burned inside him, a thorn in his chest that he couldn’t pluck out. But the priest didn’t seem to share the sentiment or at least, he seemed to have found some entertainment in that dull place. Which was quite an event in itself, if Gilgamesh had to admit it to himself.

And there was something different in him. The King could sense it, even if he couldn’t see it clearly now –curse Eidolon, curse his gone clarivoyance. He grabbed Kirei by his unharmed arm, casually yet demanding, with a sly expression on his face.

“Now let’s go before you bleed to death on the snow. Surely, there ought to be a healer in this place”. 

Kirei had pointed in a direction, and even the villagers, eager to help that holy man, offered to accompany them towards the Warmhouse. Gilgamesh let the woman with the child the Priest had been protecting escort them towards the place. Only once did the woman turn to watch him with curiosity –as if she was looking at someone else–, and she immediately looked away, taken aback by the King’s piercing eyes.

The town was small, so it took them no time to reach the place. Gilgamesh was not familiar with it, and took a second to analyze the building. As if he decided it was enough for him, not even thanking their escorts, he stepped inside, chin held high.

[sarkalu-blog]

first-hero‌:

The Wise King was panting by the time he came to stand before this warped mirror. How pathetic, that a jog through the snow could tire him as he was, reduced to the level of humans, but there was nothing to be achieved in wallowing in self-pity. He took a few steadied breathes, regaining himself and mustering a tall and proud posture before the other King, a pillar of confidence in this uncertain setting. 

“Whatever you seek will not be found in these woods. Further onward is nothing but more ice.” He wanted to focus on his face, to retain eye contact, but he couldn’t help but look down to the sword in the Archer’s hand. This was no place for Ea, and his expression hardened upon seeing it up close, seeing it reduced to nothing but mere decoration. It was offensive, truly. 

“I swear I will gut this goddess should she ever show herself,” he muttered, dragging his eyes back up to the younger visage of himself. He sighed, and leaned his ax against the nearest tree trunk so he could pull his outer coat off. “Take it, you damned fool. Perhaps consider wearing one more often. It would be a pathetic death for either one of us to die frozen.”

Gilgamesh watched as his other self approached like he was seeing a ghost. Brows furrowed, he didn’t look precisely welcoming as the older king got near. 

For a moment, they exchanged looks. They didn’t need words to convey their feelings –understanding was easy when you were the same person. And Gilgamesh understood, just with a glance, that the other hated this situation as much as him. 

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. It was as if the strength to muster words had left him, and that was all he could give, all that this desolate place deserved from him.  

He took the coat the other offered him, almost yanking it out of his fingers not because he was unbearably cold but it felt like a start. To what, Gilgamesh was still not sure, but it was better than nothing.

“As if something like this could end me”, he said, full of disdain, but he put on the warm clothes anyway. His voice was a bit raspy, as if he hadn’t talked in many days. “This place is unworthy of us. No surprise it is run by a useless goddess”.

[sarkalu-blog]

blue-hound‌:

Victory was sweet, especially one with so many delectable rewards. The pieces settled into place, the start of this game already well in Kirei’s favor. The priest  didn’t look at all smug–he made sure not to–instead retaining his mask of desperation, or concern, as he turned and guided the child behind him towards a woman who parted herself from the crown to approach–the mother no doubt. 

“She has courage,” he commented, as the mother took the girl in her arms. She fussed over her, noting the blood staining her clothing, none of it her own. “May God bless her, and rest assured she is unharmed.” 

He couldn’t say the same about himself, but the cuts were nothing compared to the gash along his right arm. It was deep, and the bleeding had only been agitated by the fight, though it was hardly the most lethal wound Kirei had bared. He should be in pain, and he was, but it was hard to focus on anything but those eyes upon him–those deep pools of bloodied wine that he was oh so familiar with. It had been 14 years since the last he’d felt them settle upon his form, and yet it felt like no time at all. 

In a brief moment, he met them. His deadened gaze flickered with a light like a flame in that meeting. A spark of promise, of a new chapter in an old partnership. 

But then it was Cú who drew that gaze away, and Kirei could focus on little more than that sword in the Archer’s hand. It surprised him, to see it so blatantly in the open. Even he had been privileged to see only mere glances of the legendary weapon, and yet Gilgamesh held it proudly now–or perhaps he had no other choice. That thought nearly brought an amused smile to Kirei’s face, as he wrapped his tattered sleeve around his wounded arm as best he could. 

The crowd, the snow, all became a distant, gray misshapen, Cú’s eyes stared ahead, as cold and dead as the dulled end of the current Gáe Bolg. 

His stance had not changed, nothing in his poise revealed the will to attack. He had become strangely unreadable for someone as honest and wild as Cú Chulainn.

He passed by Gilgamesh’s side, his red glare was almost the edge of the jagged edge of the spear, promising to bite the soft flesh of his kingly neck.

But he didn’t. Instead, the Child of Light openly looked down on Gilgamesh. 

“You’re powerless here. You’re unworthy of Gáe Bolg right now, King of Heroes. I rather wait until you’re a challenge again.” 

And he continued his way, the rattail waving behind him. 

“Be grateful I enjoy a real fight instead of a shallow victory”. 

His back seemingly open and offered to a treacherous attack.

@sarkalu​

As far as he could remember, Gilgamesh had never received such a look from the Hound of Culann. It is true that in the past they had neither been in the best of relationships nor held a grudge for the other; they simply minded their own business, both servants of the same man with different purpose.

Perhaps this was the first time they truly stood face to face with something similar to equality, even if the King of Heroes was reluctant to call it such. 

“Oh?” A sardonic expression left Gilgamesh’ lips, twisting even further into a vicious smile. “You speak brave words, even if deluded. That toothpick you carry can barely be called a weapon now; something like that isn’t worthy of even grazing my skin”. 

Yet, despite the insult, he understood Cú’s desire. To battle the strong, to give it all in one duel. Gilgamesh could count the times he had felt that same whim with his fingers, but he recalled the feeling easily. Something he had been given so scarcely, something he wished for.

He accepted Lancer’s challenge, not because he felt weaker than him, but because a fight right now wouldn’t be satisfying. He was not so much of a coward as to stab someone in the back, and so, he let him go, watching over his shoulder as the other man went away.

With that issue solved, Gilgamesh approached the priest. Compared to yesterday, the King was in incredible high spirits now that he had found a good source of entertainment. 

“My, Kirei, you look terrible. You never had problems with dogs before, was this one too rabid for you? Should you get these wounds inspected?” 

@torejoice

[sarkalu-blog]

blue-hound‌:

This was all too easy. 

A hand on the young girl’s shoulder, Kirei moved her behind him, even though his hands were bloodied and only stained her clothes with more red. He had to protect her, after all, as much of a horrendous display it would be for Lancer to harm a child. He could hear a gasp from the surrounding crowd, no doubt a parent. The pieces were all settling into place perfectly. 

“Put down your spear before you hurt anyone else,” he spoke, clear and level, keeping himself between Cú and the child. He breathed out in pants, the sleeves of his clothes slashed and tattered, even some slices on his shoulders, and there was a slight slouch to his form as if he were truly exhausted. The truth was he could go on for much longer than this. 

But there was that all too familiar voice, and even more familiar laughter–unmistakable golden hair and rich bravado parting himself from the crowd, and Kirei hid a smile behind the glint in his eyes. Things just kept getting better and better. 

“Indeed, he has decided to make a second attempt on my life.” Words spoken loud enough for onlookers to hear. “Before a child, no less. Have you not spilled enough blood, Lancer?”

The shapes of the circle shifted behind him. Something, someone, the smug voice was an unpleasant shrill crashing against his ears like a cold tide.

“Archer,” Cú hissed, a snarl visible in his now bared canines. That Gilgamesh was like a large yellow cat sitting idly on the fence, mocking him. He glared at the golden king, but his hate now had another owner.

“Only a bastard like you would use a child like a shield”.

And then his eyes returned to Kirei. Heavy silent heartbeats where the tension sizzled in the air. The anxiety of the villagers as they stared agape for the horrible and heroic finale.

“If you’re a man, start behaving like one.”

Gaé Bolg’s end clinked against the cobblestone, just as if it had been by order of a Command Spell.  “You win this time, Kotomine.” 

Lancer’s usually bright gaze had darkened, the villagers confused by that one foreigner who worked all over the village, earning coins for tasks everyone preferred to avoid. 

The spear was twirled and then clinked against the metal ornament of the furs on his shoulder. Lancer turned back and slowly started to retreat. He merely glared over his shoulder, that feral red eye, the thin line of his pupil contracted with the fury he could not express before the villagers.

“This ain’t over.”  I’ll have your sick, filthy heart.

Lancer turned his head again, rattail whipping behind him. 

He was heading towards Gilgamesh’s direction. 

@sarkalu​

Gilgamesh chuckled slightly when Lancer acknowledged him, but did not respond with the same attention. He was not there for him, after all. 

There was one thing that Gilgamesh had realized before: no matter how many years passed, he never tired of watching Kotomine Kirei in his search for that answer that evaded him. The seed the King had watered so long ago had bloomed into something twisted and beautiful. 

With great mastery, the priest easily deceived them all. How he turned the great hero Cu Chulainn into no more than a violent and unstable man in the eyes of the townsfolk. It was clear that Kirei was enjoying himself. Gilgamesh could see it in the glimmer in his eyes, one that probably Kirei himself wasn’t aware of. 

Amusement lit the King’s gaze as he watched like any other witnesser how Lancer got more and more cornered, without any desire to get involver further. It was more interesting to let thing evolve their own way, after all. However, that seemed to become impossible once the Celt warrior turned towards him. 

Gilgamesh said nothing, but his eyes narrowed, just slightly. Chin held high, he did not display any hostility despite the sword in his hand, but was also ready to answer any attack that might come his way. He almost expected it, with an itching at his fingertips.

The smile plastered on his face turned more sly, twisted, like a snake about to bite the neck of the hound. 

[sarkalu-blog]

Archer.

He came to a halt when he heard that. Few were those who had know him by that name, but that voice didn’t belong to any of them. In fact it was too well known. 

When Gilgamesh looked over his shoulder, he saw his own figure getting close to him. Even if he was clad in that world’s clothing, even if he was carrying a weapon the King was sure to no possess yet, that was, undoubtedly, himself.

Gilgamesh couldn’t say he was surprised. He didn’t have it in himself to be surprised in that moment but it was something so unexpected that the stream of unfiltered rage he felt was interrupted all of a sudden. 

He felt empty then. No anger, no kind of emotion as he stared back at his other self with a stern expression. He said nothing back, just remained there, with clothes too thin to protect him from the snow. He had been so infuriated that his own boiling anger had prevented him to feel the cold. 

Now that he had stoped, a shiver ran down his spine, making him aware of the situation he actually was in. He didn’t even feel the fingers closed around Ea, as if it had become a part attached to his body. 

[blue-hound-blog1]

torejoice‌:

Lancer was quick, but not like a servant–not like Kirei knew him. That spear came at him, and he had time to react. 

The crowd of onlookers spread as Kirei’s movements only brought him backwards towards them. Sturdy footfalls put deep and distinct shoe prints in the snow from the force he absorbed in the hero’s strikes, sturdy forearms taking the brunt of those strong swipes just beneath the sharp end to defend himself. And defensive was all he was, using both arms to push and redirect that lance and nothing more–he did not strike back, even as more and more blood squeezed out of his wound with every bit of pressure against that arm. 

Surely, there were opportunities that called for him–to land a hard hit to the pressure point at Lancer’s wrist, to make an attempt to disarm so he could quickly knock the air out of him and send him into the snow with a few cracked ribs–but the priest did none of this. The edges of that blade colored him in more blood as it tore more and more shallow wounds into the flesh of his arms, his wrists, and he allowed it.

“Get this man away from me!” It was a little challenging to hold back the grin that wanted to show itself on his face, but he managed to retain something that looked pained as he cried out towards the people surrounding them. The desperation in his voice was practiced. “He is out of his mind!”

Something was unsettling.

His opponent was merely defending and purposely accepting superficial cuts. Lancer knew none of them meant genuine damage. Why. Kirei had the movements of a warrior, an experienced martial artist, even his body felt like a piece of iron against the dulled head of Gáe Bolg.

Kirei was yelled something, something that was lost in the bloodlust, Lancer saw nothing beyond the red stained smile.

“You’ll hurt none this time, I swear by my name as…!”He stopped abruptly as the scream of a girl paralyzed his body. One of the villagers, a little girl was hugging Kirei’s knee, scared openly displaying her wish to protect him, perhaps return the priest’s kindness.

The tip of the spear inches from the girl’s head, drops of Kirei’s blood stained her clothes.

“N-no,” Cú muttered, canines bare as his lips twisted in pained tension, eyes wide pupils narrowed to slits.

“Get away from here! All of you! Now!” he barked at the circle of horrified villagers, that man wielding a blood-stained weapon.

“I’m not your enemy! I’m doin’ you  a favor!”

@sarkalu

[sarkalu-blog]

A new day brought new emotions, and after the talk with his other self, Gilgamesh had calmed down enough to start seeing things from a different perspective. One befitting from the King he was. Certainly, the situation in itself was insulting and he wished no more than to reduce the whole place to ashes, but he understood that he would get nothing from ramming against Eidolon like a beast.

He wouldn’t be defeated by this tasteless and disgusting world. He would understand it, he would conquer it, and he would make it his to bend how he wished. This was its inevitable fate since Gilgamesh made his first step on the snow.

Gilgamesh did not come near the forest this time (he had learned how foolish it was to leave the town outskirts unequipped), but took some time to discover the town, unfiltered by anger. He studied the buildings, the people he crossed with with keen attention. Now that he didn’t have his clairvoyance, he needed to rely on his own senses to understand his surroundings.

During that inspection, he came across some sort of uproar; a circle of people picked his curiosity enough to get closer, Ea in hand. What was his surprise when he recognized both participants in that quarrel, and it was so absurd, so keenly familiar, that he couldn’t contain the short laughter escaping his throat. “Now what is this?” Gilgamesh said out loud, breaking the human circle to get inside, shoulders still shaking from laughter. “Are you so starved that you would bite of the hand that once fed you, mongrel?”

@torejoice

[sarkalu-blog]

The snow was not welcoming. Not that Gilgamesh was not familiar with snow. He had seen it many times during his life, and in those ten years in Fuyuki it had been a regular sight, painting the city white every winter. However it had never been something common in his great Uruk, and therefore, even after all that, it remained forever unfamiliar in the king’s heart.

And now, all he saw was snow and ice. 

Gilgamesh despised it as much as he despised anything else about this place. He had been torn, stripped down of everything, all of his treasures and abilities, left by some unknown power to froze in that unknown wasteland with the empty promise of a wish. 

What nonsense. No wish could be worth a price so high. Only Ea remained by his side as he woke up inside one of those buildings, as empty as he was. To see the Sword of Rupture that way was like looking at his own beaten self in a mirror. He felt so outraged he thought he would go mad.

He had not thought it clearly when he stomped away from the bunkhouse like an enraged bull, too small and crowded for him to stand it. The town was equally dull; Gilgamesh could not be charmed by its quaint appearance and its people. Both Eidolon and its inhabitants would have spoken without words to him, a glance enough to understand the lives that shaped that place.

But the world was silent around him except the sound of his feet sinking in the snow as he tried to get away from it all. From Eidolon and the wish he never asked for –but one that was undoubtedly in his heart or he would have never come to this place.  Perhaps going away from civilization in a place that he didn’t knew –that he couldn’t know– was not the smartest thing to do, but he was full of rage and nothing else. With his cold fingers tightly closed around Ea, he ventured ahead, challenging the harsh environment with blatant stubbornness and pride, leaving the buildings far behind.

He would not bow to Eidolon. He would not bow to anyone else.

@first-hero