#look up what the name mamitu means if youre curious uwu hahahaah

[akampana]

"When was the last time you ate?"

Brain could have made it simple and have a chaldea gilturia, but nooo, it had to think up a possible sideplot of arturia stranded back in time to Uruk due to Morgan shenanigans and being her being helped by a king gilgamesh who had his eye catch the unusual locks of blonde hair escaping the cover of her hood.

Took me a long time, but here you go. :>

Sickness prompts 3 "When was the last time you ate?"

Caster Gilgamesh x Arturia Pendragon 2.6k

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Gold was the color of power. Every man in Uruk knew that. Silver may have been what they used to trade, but it was wealth in gold that truly represented prestige. It was what the people procured to place on their altars, hoping the gods would hasten their wishes. It was what they armed the most valiant warriors with, to remind them of the great honor and burden they selflessly took up for their cities. It was a most precious gift to the dead, a last pleasure before they were sent off to oblivion. Gold was precious. Gold was sought-after.

That their godly king sported spun gold upon his crown was only fitting. No one else had the same trait, not even the children of his concubines, who all took after the looks of their mothers. The population of Uruk largely had the same look: sun-kissed skin, dark eyes, darker hair. All of these were qualities that made them resistant to the temper and climate of the harsh land they molded and called home.

Although he no longer saw it as a dividing factor, his appearance kept the wise king Gilgamesh unique in the eyes of the masses. The lucky men and women that shared his bed marveled at his features. Eyes like gemstones, skin like sandstone, and hair the most brilliant shade of gold.

This never bothered Gilgamesh. As the years passed, he still learned the names of his citizens, still remembered their faces, the places where they settled in his great city. No two children were the same, and he valued each as their own person, even if they had their commonalities.

As the king looked over the crowd, he recognized those who tilled the east fields, the talented hands of she who crafted his headdress, the newest hire at the facility for making beer, and…

“Siduri,” the king called, knowing the priestess was never out of earshot. As she came up beside him, answering his call, she followed his crimson gaze down the ziggurat and into the market, where a small hooded figure walked alone down the crowded street. Every so often, it would hasten its step, pulling its dark cape lower over its face as some of his citizens turned their heads to follow.

The stranger was quick, maneuvering the busy paths like the wind was guiding their pace. However, even at this distance, Gilgamesh could see it begin to tire, suffering in that stuffy cloak while the sun was at its highest and simultaneously avoiding the attention of the passers-by.

“An intruder?” the priestess contemplated, knowing it was impossible for such to have passed the guards at the gate. Not without word reaching the king’s throne room first. The king had enacted safety procedures that should have prevented this incident decades ago. But while Siduri busied herself with finding information, Gilgamesh’s attention was taken by a small child, who’d tripped over her own feet right onto the hooded figure’s path.

Without missing a beat, the stranger bent down, helping the toddler to her feet and away from the passing carts of imports. The small girl, Mamitu, Gilgamesh recalled, began to wail, but her cries were ceased by the stranger’s gentle hands brushing the dirt from her clothes and cheeks.

Perhaps in an attempt to thank the figure, the child rushed forward, throwing her small arms around the stranger’s neck.

Suddenly, it was like the gods had frozen time itself. Sacks of grain fell from the limp arms of their carriers. Carts slowed as the beasts that pulled them were reined in to an abrupt stop. Laborers held their tools mid-swing, those on their three days rest paused in their leisure.

What emerged from beneath that dark cloak was a beauty no one had ever seen before. Her skin was lighter than undyed wool. Her eyes, like gems the goddess Ishtar would demand to have. And her hair...her hair was a river of bright, shining gold.

Siduri’s surprised gasp went unnoticed as the king’s feet pulled him forward. Messengers with tablets followed their ruler down the steps, but their words were lost to him. There was only one thing that occupied the wise king’s mind, superseding his kingdom’s affairs and the exhaustion that followed them, and she had finally returned his gaze.

She was gravity to Gilgamesh, drawing him closer as time once again resumed its rushed pace. The crowd parted for their king as he descended into the marketplace, traveling merchants moving aside, curious onlookers bowing as he passed. The stranger tried to leave, but she stayed rooted in place, for little Mamitu knew her king, and knew Gilgamesh would not bring such a beautiful creature to harm.

It was the child that connected their hands, for even at a fragile age, all knew that treasures belonged to their esteemed leader. Although the little girl fretted over the loss of a potential friend, a treasure such as this, with a charm so peculiar...it was only right to offer her to the king.

...

Her name was not the first he demanded of the woman, who wore clothes far too thick and in strange fashion. It was the third, for that the first two were wasted determining that she needed a translation spell to understand the words he spoke and ordering her to follow his servants.

Only when she had been washed and dressed did she appear before him in his busy throne room. Now that she was free of her stifling clothes, all could see her cheeks had hollowed. Her small figure showed signs of malnourishment that no longer existed in his kingdom.

She was not a goddess, as his people mistakenly believed. The divine did not hunger, but they demanded sacrifice nonetheless to feed their egos. She was human, weakened by a lack of sustenance, the hot weather, and the unforgiving desert that singed the shoes off of her feet. But still, she carried herself with pride, shoulders squared as much as she could manage.

She didn’t walk like the gods, who traipsed across the land with reckless abandon, caring not for what they may have crushed beneath their heels. Even escorted by guards, she glided through his ziggurat with a perfected grace, the kind that was practiced. The stranger never bowed, nor lowered her head as a sign of respect. All she offered was the same unyielding evergreen stare that challenged him enough to descend from his throne to meet it.

This woman was a king, just like himself. He didn’t know when or how she had come to be, but the moment their gazes met, he felt a connection that reached across time and space that told him that King Arturia Pendragon spoke the truth about herself.

“You would dare claim that title in front of our king Gilgamesh—” Siduri raised her voice, ready as ever to discipline the wayward tongue of the fair-skinned foreigner, but Gilgamesh raised his hand to still his priestess, for he could see what she could not.

This Arturia had spoken without a hint of doubt in her voice or slouch in posture. However brazen the claim, it was the truth.

“You are the ruler of this land,” the woman confirmed more than asked, noting the glares his followers sent her when she addressed him so forwardly. “If I could appeal to your kindness...It shames me to admit it, but I am in need of your aid—”

“Silence,” the king interrupted, gripping her chin and turning her head from side to side. The girl’s hands hovered above his wrist, hesitating to throw him off, her wide eyes flitting over to Siduri as if the woman could give her answers as to whether this behavior was normal in this country. She would not get her answers, however, for even the priestess thought it odd that he would openly touch a person who had not offered themselves as a concubine. Perhaps, in his more youthful days, but not now. After all, it was less his lust that even drove him to seek physical comfort these days, but necessity.

“You shall not make me an incompetent host in my own kingdom, Arturia Pendragon,” came his raspy voice as he observed her thin figure, the clothes of his time doing little to hide the fatigue she was suffering. “When was the last time you ate? You must think me so selfish a king, to not have welcomed one of royal blood such as yourself with any less than a feast.”

The small girl’s eyes widened at his words, surprise gripping her heart. She’d been toiling about how to convince him she was royalty, but she needn’t have. Gilgamesh read her entire history at a glance. Now that he’d said that, however, it seemed she could no longer tolerate being held so roughly, for she clasped her hands around his fingers and pulled herself from his hold.

“I have no such thoughts. You could not have known that I too, rule a kingdom of my own,” she huffed, the unhardened lilt in her voice telling him she hadn’t held her title for very long yet. “There are more important matters I wish to discuss, if you shall grant me the honor of your audience—”

“Matters more significant than accepting my hospitality? Are you so disillusioned that you think I could lend an ear to you when it is clear to all you are more starved than an exile wandering the desert?” Gilgamesh interrupted, still a little irked that someone other than him claimed to be a king as well, but he supposed whatever title she claimed was meaningless in his kingdom.

“That I look over my tablet at all is more than what you deserve, ruler of faraway Britain, for whatever power or influence you must have held in your land has no value here. In comparison, my attendants bring me much more pressing information that I must act upon. That I offer you even a wink of time for a welcome is proof of my generosity, and I prove it further by offering your respite, which you reject,” he continued, waving his hand dismissively. “As I have explained, you shall not make an incompetent host of me, and you shall accept my hospitality,” he said imperatively.

With that, he turned his back to his gobsmacked guest, taking his seat once more upon his golden throne.

“Answer me then, “King” of Knights. When was the last time you ate?” he repeated, enjoying the aggressive sparks igniting her strange green eyes as he gazed straight into them. How bold. “The accommodations Siduri will prepare for you will directly correspond to your answer.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated, King Gilgamesh, but I need to speak with your mages—”

Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes, a fierce glower in the orbs between his lids. Suddenly, there was a war brewing between their stares, a clash so strong those that did not share their title felt it unwise to interrupt. If she was the stormy sea, rushing past the shore with all its might, Gilgamesh was the tidebreaker, standing strong and immovable amidst her paroxysm.

Siduri called for her king, sensing his natural craving for relief to boredom sparking to life, but he was too entertained by this stranger to hear. Though she knew now this foreigner was far from divine, the little blonde stood her ground against the godly Gilgamesh without a hint of fear or intimidation. Under different circumstances, Siduri had no doubt this newcomer would not buckle, no matter how hard the wise king Gilgamesh pushed her. Alas, it seemed that the challenges she weathered to arrive in their great city weighed heavy on her sunburnt shoulders.

Arturia relented reluctantly, hoping that her concerns weren’t to be shelved and forgotten until this king’s whim pulled them back into light. In the next moment, she was being ushered away by some of the other servants, her eyes lingering on the man who sat contemplatively on his throne.

As soon as the emerald-eyed one was out of sight, Gilgamesh rolled his eyes. What a fool. If she really were a king, she would have prioritized her survival by just answering his question. How could she possibly hope to return to her time if she were dead?

Curious.

Gilgamesh stared down at his hand, the one that little Mamitu had locked with their golden-haired visitor’s, and remembered how hers felt. Callused and rough, like a warrior’s. He could tell at once hers were palms that were once soft as the pillows that sat on his bed, yet had been forced to blister against the hard hilt of a sword. Even if starvation had thinned what extended from that palm, he could see what remained of hard muscle. Trained muscle, with a stiffness that afflicted the backs of the farmers that tilled their fields. Certainly out of place for a woman that would otherwise have looked like a delicate white flower, which he would have preserved and kept beautiful in the comforts of a royal concubine’s room.

Then again, Arturia Pendragon’s conduct hardly matched the few he employed for his pleasure. Though he believed she’d look delectable in the thin linen he dressed his concubines with, her temperament told him he ought to have her dressed like the guards. Something else told him she’d still look alluring, the discord between her manner of dress and her beauty matching the dissonance of her kingship and her charming naivete.

“This one, Siduri,” Gilgamesh said later, lifting fine silk of blue and white from a selection of garments he’d requested from the merchant women of the loom. They had worked quickly, having long awaited the king’s commission for garments worthy of a queen. And though, for some, jealousy moved their needles, all knew none of them could match the allure of the foreign beauty they’d seen at the market. It must have been destiny at work, thought the weavers. Fate.

The fabric filtered through Gilgamesh’s fingers like the trickle of water from the two great rivers. He could already see the disapproving expression upon the foreign king’s face. No doubt this choice would upset her, for she had appeared in Uruk with clothes far too modest and thick. They hardly showed the strange beauty of her fair skin, with sinful freckles dotted across it like stars. Perhaps soon she would realize that such garments were impractical for the weather of his land, and the set she was offered before appearing at his throne room for the second time was a much better match.

Gilgamesh already knew what she would like to discuss at dinner that evening. It was easy to infer she would like to be restored to her proper place and time. He’d already spoken to the mages, although his knowledge of magecraft was more than enough to tell him her request was possible. They could even send her back to the exact time that she vanished from her homeland, if they could gather the required materials for such a demanding spell. The gathering of which, he inferred, would take at least a few months. Perhaps even a year.

In the meantime, he could claim her repayment for such a heavy favor.

The wise king smirked, seeing Arturia uncomfortably stride into the dining hall in the blue and white dress of his choice. Beguiling, she was, and she did not even appear to be aware of that fact. He couldn’t wait to tell her what would become of her request and what he wanted in return. He was quite decided on the latter.

There was an empty space next to his throne that he would like her to fill.

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Hope you enjoyed this lil thing!

-akampana