Empty Gold

[Prix with a Silent X]

Even though Gil x Saber has inspired tons of attractive fan art since Zero aired, I never quite understood how Gil's one-sided attraction could provide the basis for a believable relationship.
So I applaud your ambition and warmly await further installments. Hopefully your careful planning can square the circle, as it were.

When I first watched Fate (the UBW anime first), I could never have predicted that this character dynamic would ever interest me. But here we are. I am so pleased and flattered with the depth of your comment. I'm so happy that you've enjoyed it so far, and it means so much to have things you liked pointed out to me. I don't want to spoil too much of my future plans, but I will say that my decision to write about this fic was after much deliberation about particular types of relationships and this particular relationship. The hero/antagonist dynamic can often be handled in a way that handwaves a lot of past transgressions or ideological clash, and I wanted to see what I could do that would feel right to me. I really want the characters to be the full people they are, not just in terms of their interaction with each other, and I feel that it is ambitious to the point that I hope I'm up to the challenge.

Saber's exposure to all the evil in the world, however technically limited in this story, brings to bare Saber's sense of responsibility for it, I think. I was thinking a lot about the descriptions of full-blown Saber Alter as a "dark hero" when I wrote that. On Gilgamesh's side of things, I think that Gilgamesh is pretty askew in his intentions in a lot of ways, but I think that in some ways he is very sincere in the things he expresses. Whether or not that is a good thing remains to be seen. Finally, I wanted to bring Saber's anger about the loss of Irisviel very strongly to the forefront of her very bleak emotions because in addition to being unable to save her in any way, she has now been forced to insult her sacrifice against her will.

Writing Kotomine with a Shakespearean cast seems rather fitting.

I must admit that Bridge is right. Most of Gilgamesh and Kirei's dialogue to each other in this section is lifted from the subtitles of their final conversation in Zero. However, I do try to maintain a grasp of different characters' tonality, so hopefully this will continue appropriately in such a way that I can take credit for it. Thank you so much for taking the time to read.

A fine product, this one.

Thank you so much. I really hope that its future continues to live up to that assessment.

Alright. I read it.

There's not much for me to say (besides the obvious, that I liked it) other than I feel as though what you label as part one of the prologue is actually the first chapter. But, that's mainly because of its length at this point and as part two is yet to be seen I'll wait for that to really say "hmm, yes, I think you should change this/that" and whatnot.

Oh. One thing I did want to mention is I felt as though the middle (?; might have been 2.5-7/4 of the way through) portion dragged a bit. I believe it was during the description of Gilgamesh's storerooms but I'm probably wrong. It might also be due to the formatting that you nor I really have control over, so hm.

I will say that, personally, with Saber (and, by extension, any version of her whether it be Alter, Lily, Artitties, Heroine X, etc.) I could never see her fall for Gilgamesh except in some hentai scenario where either a) brainwashing b) torture c) rape is involved in some shape or form.

... But, that's just me. If you plan on making a romantic relationship between the two work without those or any I (probably) missed, all the more power to you. Honestly, I'm interested to see how you'd accomplish and will (and do) gladly say "go for it, girlfriend!"--or something. You know, if that's what you're ultimately going for with this.

Boy do I sound somewhat smart in this post.

Thank you so much for reading it!

I debated labeling the Prologue like this too, because it is extremely long. However, my reason for doing this is that this is all still set in that final inferno that happens at the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War. Then, the setting will shift into new territory in terms of plot and things like that. So, I guess my thinking was that I would label this section (however lengthy) as the Prologue because it's still in this place where it is actively diverging from canon as opposed to forging its own path just yet. I would be willing to revise, but this was my reasoning if you have any thought about that.

In what way did the formatting make you think that it dragged, if you don't mind my asking? I kind of wanted it to seem that Saber waited there for some time but have it be vague. However, I'm not sure if you're talking about a content or technical issue.

Of course, I want to hold my hand close to my chest about what I plan to do with the character dynamics in this fic. I hope that they remain interesting to people and not entirely too creepy. However, I want to let it be shown that this, as is, is not something that is going to work in Gilgamesh's favor in a healthy way. However, I have a lot of different things planned for it so it's certainly not going to be a linear love story, in my estimation. I'm afraid I'm saying too much, so I will hush. I look forward to any more honest critique you give in the future, it's really valuable!

And you totally are smart.

[Frostyvale]

The question that underpins the majority of the exposition is "What is Saber?" and the rather lengthy look at her personality and circumstances as elaborated in this first chapter serve well to establish that. While that sort of thing is redundant for a different sort of story, here it feels quite necessary. It seems like a foundation for a change of character soon to come. Now, there are mechanical quibbles but they're entirely irrelevant for a story focused on an interpersonal narrative such as this. The detail of description of the scene within the Gate of Babylon was refreshingly sparse of monologue or introspection, forming a very literal moment of peace within the protracted study of Saber's tragedy. The physical analogue of her armor was appropriate to the scene, and very on the nose about Gilgamesh's perspective of her worth.

Gilgamesh presents certain traits absent in the source material, but with a proper appreciation for the intent and tone of this story I believe it will be proven consistent later on. He appears almost charmed by Saber's attitudes and behaviors, and though my immediate instinct is to declare that a heresy, it seems to be tempered by the clear indication that he maintained his bearing with Kirei, and that the brand of his attraction remains similar to the original portrayal.

Some grammar errors throughout, of the type of small typos. Can be corrected on review, but nothing substantial enough to warrant great effort.

[Historia]

Thank you so much for reading it!

You have my support.

but this was my reasoning if you have any thought about that.

I'll hold off until the part two, but in all honesty if you want it to be a prologue, make it a prologue.

In what way did the formatting make you think that it dragged, if you don't mind my asking? I kind of wanted it to seem that Saber waited there for some time but have it be vague. However, I'm not sure if you're talking about a content or technical issue.

Technical.

I look forward to any more honest critique you give in the future, it's really valuable!

But I didn't give any. Or barely anything worth mentioning, anyhow. Least in my opinion.

[Prix with a Silent X]

The question that underpins the majority of the exposition is "What is Saber?" and the rather lengthy look at her personality and circumstances as elaborated in this first chapter serve well to establish that. While that sort of thing is redundant for a different sort of story, here it feels quite necessary. It seems like a foundation for a change of character soon to come. Now, there are mechanical quibbles but they're entirely irrelevant for a story focused on an interpersonal narrative such as this. The detail of description of the scene within the Gate of Babylon was refreshingly sparse of monologue or introspection, forming a very literal moment of peace within the protracted study of Saber's tragedy. The physical analogue of her armor was appropriate to the scene, and very on the nose about Gilgamesh's perspective of her worth.

Gilgamesh presents certain traits absent in the source material, but with a proper appreciation for the intent and tone of this story I believe it will be proven consistent later on. He appears almost charmed by Saber's attitudes and behaviors, and though my immediate instinct is to declare that a heresy, it seems to be tempered by the clear indication that he maintained his bearing with Kirei, and that the brand of his attraction remains similar to the original portrayal.

Some grammar errors throughout, of the type of small typos. Can be corrected on review, but nothing substantial enough to warrant great effort.

I definitely felt the need to establish Saber's starting point in this story because I do think the journey of character development/change that I have in mind for her will see changes that, without this as a baseline, might seem like they do not come from Saber herself. I am really glad that it reads as it does, and this response is really encouraging. I actually had not considered the specific difference in the Gate of Babylon scene; I just knew that it felt right. This being pointed out to me is really interesting, and I appreciate it. I enjoy writing with a good sense of physical space in it, where appropriate, and I'm glad that my attempt to do that could serve to maybe anchor the narrative a bit as well. I also think that it is interesting in terms of forecasting character development, but I won't go into too much detail there.

My perspective of Gilgamesh, I'm sure, is more charitable than Fate Gilgamesh probably merits on his own. I am making an effort to remain true to the information that is given in Fate/Zero to the best of my ability while also taking into consideration things that I might draw from shared feeling with the original Gilgamesh narrative. I have been rereading it in portions for some time, as well as reading the scholarly writing in the book that I have, and it has certainly reaffirmed a certain conception that I have of his character and potential. Nevertheless, I fully acknowledge him as an antagonistic force in Fate, as far as canon is concerned. I hope that my affinity toward feelings I have toward the source material and my own personal musings do not have a detrimental impact on his portrayal as a believable version of himself in this story.

I will certainly correct anything as I see it to the best of my ability. Thank you so much for this critique. It means a lot to me to have such thoughtful analysis of my work.

[...] But I didn't give any. Or barely anything worth mentioning, anyhow. Least in my opinion.

You have already been very thoughtful in your response to my story, and it's definitely valuable to me to have your support.

[Prix with a Silent X]

II. Dreary Daybreak

She moves forward before Gilgamesh reaches her. For a moment, he believes that she will run to the man who had been her Master after all. A glance down at the person lying in the filth beside him makes him believe he might understand this, were she to go to him, were she to require some further explanation of the outcome of this war. Even if it were to turn her blade against him, at least it would be something.

Rather than taking a path that might lead to her former Master, Saber simply finds more level ground, ascending just a little before turning another way. She leaves Gilgamesh's sight, perhaps only a little less directionless than the ruined man picking through the trash heap.

Gilgamesh is about to track her movements, to call out to her in gentle rebuke. She should not leave his sight so carelessly. Then, he catches movement in the corner of his eye. Pupils adjust to the darker space below, this landscape veined with blazing light and darkness. In the dark, down on the ground, Kirei moves to brace himself against his shoulders.

A smile hangs on his face, terrible and painted with bloody saliva. His eyes are wide with wild display of interest.

Gilgamesh shifts his bare feet on the disturbed earth beneath them, the angle of his body shifting to face Kirei. He lets go of a breath, drawing another only because he must. The air still smells of the aftermath, of rebellion against the heavens which, in due course, has rained down fire.

“Saber is still alive,” Kirei remarks, words as expectant as his eyes.

He looks upon Gilgamesh with something curious and hungry. If Gilgamesh were not completely certain of the contrary, he might believe he is being accused. Kirei does not move from the dirt he is sprawled within and barely shifts his position while he anticipates... something.

Gilgamesh notices first the faintest shuffle of weight, then the quiver that follows. Shoulders move involuntarily, trembling as if they mean to draw together in front of his body in a grotesque contortion. The movement speaks of weakness, depletion, but Kirei does not react.

Gilgamesh cannot bear to look upon him this way. There is an inescapable itch of disappointment he feels under the weight of such a gaze. One that could be deadly for Kirei if considered for too long, which would be a shameful waste of such a curious return to life. His hand reaches down, grasping the cool and dampened flesh of the man's left hand as he hauls Kirei to his feet. He lets it fall once more and examines his palm with a brief expression of displeasure. He is without anything to wipe away the touch of death from his fingertips.

“Now that you have seen what lies within your heart,” he says when he recovers any taste for conversation, “I hope you can understand that we cannot remain in this wasteland.”

He studies Kirei for any reaction. He sees a moment of searching reflected back into his eyes, but Kirei seems to sweep it aside in favor of a question.

“Why have you allowed her to live?” he asks. His tone has dipped lower, as if there might be some underlying thought to his gleeful survey of all the destruction he has helped bring down upon the world around him.

Gilgamesh considers his response and at once dismisses Kirei in favor of turning himself away to search for her.

“It was my desire that she not slip away so quickly,” he says, as much explanation for his current actions as those of his past. There had been a choice to make, and he had made it. What followed had not been of his making, but how the gods saw fit to bring down judgment on the world was not without value when taken into his hands. “And it would seem that this deplorable mud has its uses.”

“And so this mud has incarnated the holy Servant of Emiya Kiritsugu,” Kirei says, a hint of dry mockery in his tone.

“You will not speak of her as such,” Gilgamesh orders, not turning to look back upon his face. He can imagine how it twists, a sad shadow of the obscene, but the thought does not hold his interest.

A longer moment of silence passes before he spots Saber, still retreating to some destination he cannot guess. There is a shuffling behind him and the sound of something tearing. He does not allow any curiosity until Kirei reappears at his side, his hand outstretched while clutching a length of red fabric. It looks rich and fine, burned and ruined, and it must have come from somewhere within the grand structure had had housed the Grail.

Gilgamesh narrows his eyes as he wraps the thing around his shoulders with a deliberate flourish.

“Make arrangements,” he tells Kirei with a brief glance at his eyes, hoping there is clarity of understanding in them. He has charged him with something that will give him the opportunity to retain some position, now that their circumstances have changed. It is the most lenient response he can offer, and any more careful judgment would take up valuable time. He climbs from the shallow grave and follows his chosen prize. “Surely your search for answers – or is it questions? – can wait while I retrieve what I have won.”

“Then, you wished for Saber?” Kirei asks, mirth and something dangerously close to disdain seeming present in his tone. Gilgamesh decides he need not mete out reprimand for every infraction such a man as Kirei has become commits. Better to consider him as a jester until his new curiosities have found their place in the scorched landscape.

“Perhaps,” Gilgamesh says as he braces himself at the mouth of the pit, “it is less about wishes and more about what we want.”

┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈

It is less a concern of speed and more of distance as Gilgamesh sets out to capture Saber. She has had the advantage of several moments of purposeful forward movement while he lingered with Kirei. With this in mind, he adjusts the draped piece of fabric to curve around his shoulders a little tighter. He moves quickly, making long strides. He closes the gap between them – his legs are longer than hers – but he will not run to her.

There is no need.

When he is in speaking distance of her once more, another sound fills the air. It is an unpleasant wail that circles around its source like some vengeful spirit demanding reprieve. The sound is coming closer but is still a long way off. In his short time again walking the Earth, Gilgamesh has heard the sound before.

The thought that there is some end to this mass grave seems almost laughable. And yet, somewhere beyond its edge, the cries of emergency vehicles spring to life. They seem to come from more than one direction, their calls of alarm disjointed and disorganized to his ears. It is as if they are, one after the other, noticing that the world around them has caught fire – defenses destroyed, granaries burned, the lives of children extinguished – but have come too late to the battle.

Not a single ordinary person could have been left alive. It has only been the power of the contract between Servant and Master that has spared Kirei or Saber's defeated Master, and not completely.

Far above them, he hears an even more familiar sound – the quick whipping of air, the low hum of an inelegant, fast, and enclosed flying machine like one he had encountered before. He glances up to the smoky sky and does not catch sight of the movement. He might have admired their dedication, but what they mean to do with that thing, here and now, is beyond what he cares to speculate upon. He still has the urge to draw the fabric higher and tighter to his shoulders as a light seems to fix and trail along the ground from a point somewhere above the clouds.

He chooses to turn his gaze to the much more pleasant pursuit of Saber. The fine fabric that comes to elegant angles at her shoulders is swathed with a trace of soil that interrupts the glittering black reflection of the light of the reemerging moon.

“Saber,” he calls to her, his footsteps stilling where he stands as he fills with expectation of her reply. She does not turn or stop at once, so he tries again. “Where could you think to be going?” he asks, some trace of pity in his eyes if only she would be wise enough to look.

She does stop a few paces ahead of him, at last. She lifts her hand and he thinks she means to gesture with her speech, but for a moment more she stays silent. She appears to be looking down at her own gloved fingers.

“If—” she begins some thought, still facing away from him. Her fingers curl her hand into a fist, held close to her chest, as she pauses and turns toward him. She clears her throat, speaking more firmly. “If there is some end to this battlefield—”

Her eyes look less bright than he remembers them. They have taken on a murky shade that seems to speak of sickness. It is as if the embers that are everywhere have given up reflecting in them, giving up their essence to the color. By the look in them, he thinks any fire might have been afraid to shine back.

“There is,” Gilgamesh asserts, interrupting because it disturbs him that she has not noticed the wailing sounds singing at a closing distance, the sound of the flying machine above them.

“—then I should find it,” she finishes tersely.

“And what will you do when you arrive?” Gilgamesh asks, holding his shawl a little tighter to himself. His restlessness might otherwise lead him to fold his arms, to let the shawl fall away. Her shyness would not prove so amusing while it carries with it this particular wearisome cloud.

“That does not matter,” Saber insists. She looks somewhere past his shoulder, and the distance of her gaze seems a little staggering to behold. She nods forward to indicate what lays behind him. “You have won your war, and I am leaving your land until I am called upon again to fight for my people.”

Gilgamesh considers her – her visage, her stance, and the faint twitching of her fingers. Her face is one of cool determination, her jaw set. Only when she breathes out, some of the tension leaves them, making them look as if they are slipping from their natural height to a slump that resembles defeat.

“And so this is your exile from the civilized world?” Gilgamesh observes. His tone carries with it the mournful reverence the notion deserves. He recalls recoiling from death. He knows the desire – one that constricts across the chest – to rend the world with his teeth. He knows what comes when the path ends, when he has nowhere to go but back home. He starts to bare his teeth, not to bite but to grin.

“There is nothing civilized about what you have wrought here today!” Saber says, the outrage seeming to come from all around her, drawn in with the air she breathes.

“What I have wrought?” he scoffs back at her. No matter what other motives he has, he can't help it. “Glorious Saber, this,” he says, pausing to gesture back behind his shoulder with gently curved fingers and an open palm, “is what you have wrought. Or, rather, what these men have wrought around you with their own hands. Their words. His words... daring to command a king.”

Lowering his hand, each word brings him a little closer to her, a smile never falling from his lips. The weight upon her shoulders is visible. The difference in her eyes too, a little eerie and unfamiliar. It is difficult to tell if it is wild or dead, and it is not entirely pleasant. The dullness in her gaze as she does not look away from him is the only part of her that isn't entirely beautiful now. And yet he can see the significance of all of these things – the heaviness of them.

She carries all the world, all this ruin and death, all this suffering and evil, on her shoulders. She imagines herself not only king but savior of all these people. The dream of it is too much, too heavy for her shoulders to carry. The dream of it is crushing her beneath its weight. And she is never more beautiful than that.

He is close enough to reach out for her when he speaks again – more softly this time.

“You can blame me,” he says, with a wry and lilting tone of promise. A promise that is conditional but intended to persuade. He begins to lift his open palm once more, ready to brush his hand against her cheek, to cradle her tense jaw. “You can mistake the power that has granted us this bodily form for more than it is. Only, I think you misunderstand who has been your enemy.”

She takes a step backward with narrowing eyes. With one hand, he continues to reach out for her face, her neck, and her delicate shoulder that is so weighed down. The other hand beckons for her body, to draw her back in by her waist.

“Whatever desperate cry from the world has allowed me to take up this earthly life and to grant you the same, with me you can be sure that no one will ever betray you as he did. Never again,” he assures her – the same promise he had tried to make before, when it had seemed much more urgent. Now they have all the time she needs to make the right decision, and no need of weapons.

Her skin is hot to the touch. Hot to the touch in a way that is familiar and softens his heart to the point of pain. He notices the way his own skin has cooled with the rush of cold night air that tries in vain to calm the fires around them, and he knows that she will survive.

He can feel the shape of her jaw settle into the softest part of his palm and his thumb drags along her cheek. He means to soothe her from this fever, to lead her from this night. In the day that is to come, her fever will break and having seen all the evils of this world, she will endure them.

He feels her jaw clench in his hand, and to his left side he feels an immense flare of power.

He senses it, as much as the feeling of her skin against his palm. Like breathing, like a heartbeat, he can feel her drawing her magnificent weapon. Glancing down at the power's source, he sees not the sword made of golden light but one that glints of an ordinary metal, etched with glowing red runes that do far less to pierce through the darkness.

It is a very powerful weapon. It is the same weapon. Gilgamesh would know that weapon and its glory anywhere, and he had seen her draw it against his Master not long before. He had noticed it then, but he had not taken note of anything but the sport of it – the entertainment value that came with watching the King of Knights seem to throw her entire being into battle against an addled and mad priest.

Only, it had not been her entire being. Or so he had thought. How else could her beautiful, shining weapon have been so unremarkable?

She has the ability to conceal her sword entirely, to make it invisible with power drawn from the air around her. Gilgamesh knows that. He has seen her grace in battle, both concealed and brought to bare.

There is also the matter that the petty ritual known as the Holy Grail War brought with it some invasive little clusters of information. Gilgamesh had shut off the telepathic link that was possible between himself and his original Master from the start and had objected to every part of this affair that would undermine his sovereignty as King of Creation, but there were certain impositions he had been unable to escape.

When he had seen her sword in action just once, he had known its true nature, its name, the extent of its power, and its classification as a Noble Phantasm with particular prowess in destroying an enemy's fortifications. These were the impressions he had gleaned, helplessly, from the so-called Throne of Heroes. Apart from his own interest in her, these were truths he had been unable to cast aside. He had other purposes, though. Ever since he had learned for her true nature – her nature as a person, as a human being – he has never intended to defeat her, to destroy her. He has instead been interested in her value – as a human, as a treasure worthy of his attention.

The treasure he had sought is standing before him, now. He has never held particular interest in besting her in battle. She has not yet shown herself capable of withstanding the full onslaught of his power, and he has had no wish to test her by any greater fire than is necessary. He does not need to help her crumble when she does such a good job on her own.

The sword was not the treasure he had sought but the one who wields it. He has not taken into consideration every aspect of the sword. All he has truly cared to know is that it is beautiful in her hands and entirely worthy.

As he sees it now, he realizes in the time it takes to draw a breath that Saber has not simply shown the sword in some form of ordinary, boring dullness fit for meager opposition. He realizes that it is possible that she cannot let the blade's brilliance die away in judgment of her opponent. She conceals it with the wind for one reason. Its light – like every shining doorway into his own treasury – is impossible to conceal.

The breath he draws is deeper than most and audible. It is as if his body has found itself in need of more air, more blood, more alertness than he has needed in any expanse of time he can recall. Her blade – Excalibur – shines with blood it has not shed. The runes are beyond his understanding, and he does not have time to see them clearly before he has to move.

Gilgamesh has never been bested in battle. He does not allow it. He has always had a choice, each and every time, except once.

He is so close to her and she draws her weapon so quickly, drawing it back from wherever their armor had been taken when it had made contact with the mud the broken Grail had spewed forth, he has no recourse but to react with nothing but the strength of his body. He moves backward, turns, and has the impulse to grab for the only thing shielding him.

The movement of the blade is one that could have split open his side if he had remained where he stood. He sees that even with the inelegance brought about by what appears to be feral anger, rage finding its release in her blade, the blade is too fast to track with the simple movement of the eye. The thought that this is what she is when she is brought low does not belong to the future he had imagined, all but foreseen. She is not a little girl, swinging around a blade that has become too heavy for her wrists. She does not melt away into all but nothing. She does not fall to her knees and cry, as he had thought she would.

She has come to the end of her hope. Her reason for seeking such an empty treasure has turned to ash around them both.

She has no reason to continue her fight. The dream she had expressed so fervently has been proven impossible before her eyes. It has been stolen from her by someone who should not have been her enemy. Someone with power imbued in such a small thing, taking control of her destiny, snatching away the promise of a better fate, mocking her with her own hands.

The only way this course of action makes sense is if she has lost sight of her original purpose. The only way she can proceed with this foolish task of trying to cut him down when he is the only one to have offered her any hope, any life at all, is if she has forgotten all of it apart from her need to win. This is neither negotiation nor surrender.

She has no desire but to destroy him.

His cool, collected anger could have been summoned, if only he could more quickly clear this momentary fog of confusion. He steps back to see her rightly, and she is still trying with all her might to slice him in two. There is no game to this, nor even any spirit of mockery. Her eyes may look murky to him, but he can see that to her there is nothing but the most perfect clarity. She will not kneel, she will only cleave.

He will not allow himself to be destroyed. There is no allowance for the destruction of the King of Creation, no matter how lenient he may wish to be with her. He has no choice but to bring forth some defense, but the movement of his body seems to be reluctant to move in accordance with this decree.

His hand comes up. Only one of them, palm facing outward and lifting to the level of his face. The other hand is clinging tightly to the makeshift shawl. It seems that the only plan within his grasp is to take hold of the holy blade itself, imagining that in its dimmed state that it might not burn and cut through him.

It is laughable. This body made of flesh and blood – he refuses to believe that it is so feeble and touched by base fear. Fear leading to stupidity. He lets go with the other hand and the ragged red length of cloth falls to the ground, faintly blown by the wind.

“Saber,” he calls to her in the instant it takes him to dodge another attempt to strike him with her blade. His tone seeks to carry with it the calming, soothing voice of someone patient. And yet, there is nowhere for him to vanish to before her eyes. They are both incarnate, and there is no spirit form for him to take. Even if he would have been willing to resort to such measures under his own command, he has no choice but to move with an awareness of the weight and shape of her blade. At least this time she has taken no steps to conceal it. Body crouching low and springing back to his full height, even without the loss of any sense of his dignity, his tone sounds less calm than he had hoped.

He sounds as if there is some strain in his voice, the breath held in his belly pressed tightly as he tries to move from her range without taking his eyes off her.

“There will be no escape for you!” Saber calls out. She stills her blade and shifts her stance, but it seems that her only purpose in doing so is to show him the hatred in her eyes. It occurs to Gilgamesh that she had used these same words for Kirei, not very long ago at all. It is a shame that she cannot come up with any new ones for him.

He is ready to draw something from his treasury at last, remembering how it had felt to do so when he had walked the Earth the first time. The feeling of difference and the sheer inconvenience brought about by this Holy Grail War truly was unforgivable. Its only redeeming quality has been the woman standing before him. The woman who is ready to move again just as a shimmering fracture in the space just beyond Gilgamesh's hand starts to exist because he commands it.

“Surely you must be tired of this foolish rebellion, Saber,” he says. “There is no reason to oppose me. I do not oppose you—” He tries to reason with her.

The choice of a weapon to wield against her in this moment is a difficult one. If he had desired to see her destruction before she reached the Grail, there would have been no question that she was every bit as worthy as the King of Conquerors of such an end. He would have had no hesitation in calling forth Ea before her. Only this confrontation is different. It seems a bit silly.

“You do not oppose me?” Saber shouts back at him. The notion appears to offend her so deeply that she adjusts her grip on her sword. She seems to wring its hilt, murderous intent finding release there when she cannot land a first blow.

Gilgamesh cannot help the little smile that tugs at his lips. She does not yet know him. She has no way of knowing that if he has ever had a truer weapon than Ea, a truer defense than Enkidu, that both are in the form of his own body.

Heroic Spirits are called into this world to take form in one of the seven vessels created for each of the wars for the Holy Grail. Gilgamesh had been cast in the vessel of Archer, surely for two reasons. The first and – to him – most important must have been that the vessel of the Archer had allowed him to move independently of his Master. The second was his ability to engage in combat from a ranged distance by casting his innumerable treasures down upon his opponent before they could ever come close. What the call of the Grail and this vessel he had been poured into had failed to take into account was that this had never been his preferred method of fighting.

Gilgamesh had been on Earth with no equal. No one could oppose him, and to try meant certain defeat. There had only been one man who had ever come to him as an equal in power. They struggled, they fought, and Enkidu brought him low. In those moments of desperation – those first moments of true fear in his entire life – he learned to call upon those treasures he had come to possess. He had brought them forth and flung them toward Enkidu, who could be anything, so that he might live. In the end, this new arsenal had allowed him to drive Enkidu into a stalemate that had begun their partnership – the only two equals on Earth. But this solution had not been their first form of contest.

The vessel has been broken, and Gilgamesh has been given a body of flesh and blood once more. He is not called forth in the form of an Archer, but simply as himself. No matter what name she may know him by, he is now entirely free to be as he once was. During those first bouts long ago, spanning across days, the only weapon Gilgamesh had needed was his body. Grappling had been a skill of his for far longer than any menial use of the blades and axes in his collection. In this form, the only weapon Gilgamesh needs is his body – even nothing but his bare skin.

From the gate made of light beside him, he grasps the hilt of a beautiful blade. In comparison to some of the treasures he has even allowed her to see, it is quite crude, but there is nothing in his collection that is not worthy of praise. He can avoid her skillful anger for a long while if he is even slightly smart about it. She is a proficient – no, a perfect – swordsman, there is no doubt, but Gilgamesh has grappled with great success against one who was himself a lance, an axe, and a shield. Only, he does not mean to allow her tantrum to go on forever.

“No,” he says as he parries the next swing of her sword with an upward motion. She bears down with her blade. There is a small etching formed in the blade he holds. It is lesser than her holy sword; this is without question. Even so, it is of a quality unique and fine enough to be useful in holding her back, in toying with her, until he can simply convince her to see sense. “I never have...”

He has no intention of persuading her with weapons when words will do. She is so close to him now. The half-mad cast to her eyes is surely something that can be cleared away when she finally sees the truth.

“... I told you from the very first night I saw you for what you are,” Gilgamesh says to her, his arm pushing the blade a little higher beneath Excalibur, “I have only ever believed that there is one way for you to be a king... in all your splendor.” Each moment and every bit of force applied to his blade increases the severity of the damage. When Saber's eyes move to survey the advantage he is giving her, he leans in closer to catch hers. “And you have only shown me more of your beauty since then.”

With every passing breath it becomes more likely that this blade among Gilgamesh's treasures will be lost forever. The etching in the sharp edge will crack and spread; it will shatter. The more his strength resists hers, the closer Saber draws to winning.

She looks at him. Her teeth are clenched and a little bared. What he anticipates first is seeing the return of clarity to her eyes. Even as her heart had continued to break before him, to show its many extant cracks, they had ever been as cool, clear pools in the shade of an oasis. Eyes the color of something familiar, shining and alive. Now they are like the glint of gold dust in water – still beautiful, but murky and deadly to partake.

“You have been my enemy for longer than any of them!” she shouts at him.

He feels his eyes widen.

Something begins to happen in the flow of air around him. The molten glow of red that already seems to drip along Excalibur's blade grows brighter while the hatred in her eyes remains constant.

“The King of Conquerors was a man who honored what he believed,” she says. It seems surprising that she can speak so clearly after seeing her mouth shaped as though it could do nothing but gnash and bite. Her shoulders shift and she begins to bear down with purpose. Friction between the two blades sends sparks flying. “Caster was an unrepentant monster. And I could more easily forgive him than you!”

The friction becomes too great and the blades slide past each other like lightning.

Excalibur finds contact with the weaker blade from underneath without relenting.

“No one I have fought in this war has been more impossible to pity, trust, or honor than you,” she says. For some reason, she makes no effort to drive the blade toward his body. Instead, she pushes at the dull side of his defensive weapon. “Lancer was the first to draw my blade and my blood and you the last, and there have never been two opponents more unalike. He died in a wretched pool of his own blood and shame and you still stand here naked, unharmed, and foolishly proud. Stand no more!”

Then, the red glow of her blade is nothing short of a prophecy.

Gilgamesh's eyes are wide, and he knows that he has wasted his last opportunity to react – to kill, to live.

The last person she had spoken of is him. He is helplessly aware of it.

Rather than finding some opening in the tight grip he keeps on the blade, Excalibur begins to play around it. Gilgamesh feels the rotation in his wrist, in his arm, and in the thudding beat of his heart.

The person she had spoken of most is Lancer. His mind and mouth desperately seek some meaning behind the connection. Only knowing this turn in her mind will not help him at all now. She is not mad or lost as the priest had been. She is entirely aware and calculating as she causes the meager sword to be cast away from his hand.

His fingers release, and there is no word, weapon, or flesh he can hold onto.

She is smaller in frame than he is, but this is now only further proof that she will rend his body at its center. He is skin, blood, and bone, and there is no escaping the fear that comes with it. His feet move backward without thought of reason or pride. He wishes to cry out to someone, to something for help, but there is no time.

The ruined world around them offers no shelter or solace to him. It only proves to be a snare at his feet as he falls backward. His hands fly out to break his fall. He is still stronger than many men, but none of this matters as he scrambles backward as a frightened child. Whether it is yet broken or not, he feels the sting of jagged debris biting into his palms. It is almost laughable that they have sought to save him from greater pain, from humiliation and from being broken. They cannot do anything to stop her holy blade.

Perhaps now she will take his head rather than his heart.

Her sword seems high above him now. Beyond this sword and the wrath hung upon her face, the smoke seems to have taken on a different quality. It seems lighter – the backdrop for this glinting power that no evil and no heartbreak can entirely ruin or tarnish.

His perfect focus is the last thing left to him as she starts to strike her killing blow. He could not have looked away even if he had wanted to, but what he sees now strikes him as both familiar and strange.

As when she had lifted Excalibur in all its former brilliance to destroy the Holy Grail, lovely golden light begins to shower over it. First at the tip, causing it to glow like a torch in the darkness. Just as when she had been compelled by the Command Seal and had resisted with all her might, she seems frozen in place. This time, he is close enough to see when her eyes shift to the offending blade. The shadow of betrayal in them seems drowned out as murky yellow starts to reflect far more perfect gold.

In an instant, the light floods to the hilt of Excalibur. It is almost like watching the first fires of creation burn, existing where once there was nothing. Only this is an emptiness and a darkness filled up by heat and hope. It is the first fire of humankind, then. It is sad and small, not shining as bright or as far as it had against the demon in the dark water. It coils around its source, feeding into itself, not to kill but to keep something alive.

Saber's attention does not return to him right away. The returned glow of her blade seems to sustain itself, and for a long time she simply looks at it. It lowers with a release of tension from her shoulders. They seem neither slumped nor high, but there is a shudder that runs through her body. It is faintly visible with the release of her breath through parted lips. They draw closed again and she holds Excalibur high between both hands.

She no longer targets him with it.

Instead, it is held squarely toward the center of the air in front of her. Tension comes across her illumined face, furrowing her light brow tight. Her hands release in one smooth motion and the hilt of Excalibur seems held in place by an unseen grasp that is not her own. Her fingers tighten slightly and then release as the blade rains down a little more light. With that, it fades from view and she is still. She is silent.

“Do you yield, Saber?” Gilgamesh asks. His elbow is crooked against the ground. When he turns to find a way to push himself to his feet, it slides against the muddy earth. Ordinary mud, now it seems. He is turned onto his side for a brief moment, weight leaned against his forearm, and he laughs. The question carries with it dry mirth that can only come from being intimately close to death. He is seated upright then – like a man who has realized his place apart from the animals.

He is slow to lift his eyes to her again, but at last he does. They are clear and some color of life.

“Yes,” she says. The moment he has caught her eyes, she turns her face away. In the same movement, her left hand extends to him. The sleek glove that covers it dimly reflects the gray light that starts to overtake the nightmarish embers of the night. Her thumb seems to consciously brush against the side of her finger before both spread into a steady, supportive cup to brace him as he stands. “I... yield to you,” she says. Her tongue catches on the words. In spite of the shame that carries in her tone, he first believes that this must be even her serious words tasting absurdity.

“... Gilgamesh,” she adds, calling into question his conclusion – the word foreign, strange, and delicate in her mouth.



- - -
And thus concludes what is probably the last chapter Gilgamesh will spend entirely naked. I took some advice from Shrapnel and renamed my "prologue" parts as chapters because they were exceedingly long. As expressed, my reasoning was that I thought anything that kind of ran parallel to a bit of canon was to act as prologue, but now that I have mulled it over I like this better. Thank you so much for the already-expressed support of this fic. I was really surprised by it, and having it go over as well as it did was a great birthday present. I hope that this continues to be good, and I'm doing my best.

[just Beamu]

Well now I know what scene you were talking about. Didn't go like I thought from description on Skype.

[SeiKeo]

If I may:

The fine fabric that comes to elegant angles at her shoulders is swathed with a trace of soil that interrupts the glittering black reflection of the silvery light of the reemerging moon.

This is a tendency you seem to have: stacking modifiers. If you tally through the sentence: fine, elegant, glittering, silvery. You can argue that it's a matter of style or not, but I think when you do this, first: it becomes an obvious pattern, and draws attention to itself in the flow of the sentence, which you tend to not want. 2: it messes with how you focus the sentence for the viewers. Adjectives are one of the ways that you figure out what's important in a sentence, so when you roll through one and have something hanging off every noun, it's a kind of verbal equivalent to a panning shot which you tend to only want as a situational thing.

[Gl❀w]

If I may:

This is a tendency you seem to have: stacking modifiers. If you tally through the sentence: fine, elegant, glittering, silvery. You can argue that it's a matter of style or not, but I think when you do this, first: it becomes an obvious pattern, and draws attention to itself in the flow of the sentence, which you tend to not want. 2: it messes with how you focus the sentence for the viewers. Adjectives are one of the ways that you figure out what's important in a sentence, so when you roll through one and have something hanging off every noun, it's a kind of verbal equivalent to a panning shot which you tend to only want as a situational thing.

This is good feedback, but also, are you going to offer some kind of overall impression of the narrative? Because that is also important.

[Prix with a Silent X]

Well now I know what scene you were talking about. Didn't go like I thought from description on Skype.

I knew that since I'd bully you into reading it that it would probably be nice to not see everything ahead of time. It's nice to know you have thoughtful expectations about it, though. Thank you for reading it!

If I may:



This is a tendency you seem to have: stacking modifiers. If you tally through the sentence: fine, elegant, glittering, silvery. You can argue that it's a matter of style or not, but I think when you do this, first: it becomes an obvious pattern, and draws attention to itself in the flow of the sentence, which you tend to not want. 2: it messes with how you focus the sentence for the viewers. Adjectives are one of the ways that you figure out what's important in a sentence, so when you roll through one and have something hanging off every noun, it's a kind of verbal equivalent to a panning shot which you tend to only want as a situational thing.

Noted.

I started writing this fic months and months ago, and some of the sentences have remained largely intact while others have undergone serious gutting. I don't know if that pattern is really as strong as it is here throughout? I can see what you mean though, and it's valuable feedback. I try to check myself, particularly with the use of adverbs and things like that. I think the intent of this sentence was to kind of key in a visual shift of what this scene looked like now that the focus had shifted. I like to use objective details to my advantage where I can, but it is something that I noticed I liked in writing that I'm still trying to figure out how to do. I am sure my prose becomes entirely too purple sometimes because of it.

This is good feedback, but also, are you going to offer some kind of overall impression of the narrative? Because that is also important.

Also this.

[Rafflesiac]

I like the idea of the Gate of Babylon being a collection of storehouses; it's interesting, and it fits in neatly with the idea of there being multiple levels of weapons that he can choose to draw from. Enkidu being able to pull Saber out of her contract is also a bold interpretation; if some future material ever elaborates on what exactly in can do and completely shatters how you've written it, you'll have reached a fic writer milestone.

As for the story itself, it's interesting how you write Gilgamesh as weaker or vulnerable - something you also did in your Strange/Fake fic. It's not something that I'm used to seeing, but it's an interesting interpretation because of and in spite of that. It's a pity seeing Saber completely broken to the point where she yields to Gilgamesh, but it's the most believable way to set up this sort of relationship. Now that she's given up entirely though, I'm not sure how he'll stay interested in her. Now that she's collapsed under the weight of everything, she doesn't seem to have the drive he found beautiful anymore, or the resemblance to Enkidu. At least she's still his preferred body type, though!

At any rate, good luck! It's always good to have more stories.

[Prix with a Silent X]

I like the idea of the Gate of Babylon being a collection of storehouses; it's interesting, and it fits in neatly with the idea of there being multiple levels of weapons that he can choose to draw from. Enkidu being able to pull Saber out of her contract is also a bold interpretation; if some future material ever elaborates on what exactly in can do and completely shatters how you've written it, you'll have reached a fic writer milestone.

I am really glad that this detail is something that is liked. I was just thinking about how he not only has weapons but he also has the wine that he gets out during the banquet of kings. As for the use of Enkidu, it was kind of a dual stroke of good luck when I was trying to plan this fic. The prologue was an addition that happened very, very late to contextualize what was going on from Saber's point of view (where she was confused) to try and make the reader have a better grasp of it. Earlier than that, I had decided that Enkidu was a practical way to have Gilgamesh be able to practically reach her when he made the decision to "keep her" as it were given his limited options. Then, with the addition of the prologue it enabled me to introduce Enkidu's name into the narrative very early on, which I think ends up being useful to me for my purposes. I could end up being completely proven wrong, as you mentioned, but in the meantime it is one of the plot details I have been most proud of contriving in recent memory of my own writing. So it really means a lot that you brought it up in particular and like this use of it.

As for the story itself, it's interesting how you write Gilgamesh as weaker or vulnerable - something you also did in your Strange/Fake fic. It's not something that I'm used to seeing, but it's an interesting interpretation because of and in spite of that. It's a pity seeing Saber completely broken to the point where she yields to Gilgamesh, but it's the most believable way to set up this sort of relationship. Now that she's given up entirely though, I'm not sure how he'll stay interested in her. Now that she's collapsed under the weight of everything, she doesn't seem to have the drive he found beautiful anymore, or the resemblance to Enkidu. At least she's still his preferred body type, though!

At any rate, good luck! It's always good to have more stories.

Thank you for this charitable description of how I write Gilgamesh. I have been anxious about this from the start because I know that it is a very atypical representation from how he might appear in other fanworks for this fandom. However, I think t hat after reading Strange Fake that I felt even more generally validated with the idea that my conception of Gilgamesh as a character in general is at least somewhat compatible with his Fate presentation. I know that Strange Fake is basically ascended and acknowledged fanfiction, but the way he responds to Enkidu's presence kind of helped me align some things in my head even about this narrative, which I've been working on for a very long time. It has undergone a lot of edits to be in the form it's in now, and it still makes me nervous.

I'm really attached to the Gilgamesh narrative and just recently reread it. There is a portion of Gilgamesh that happens right after Enkidu's death when Gilgamesh has left his royal attire and position and has gone to wander the wilderness. He is aware of the fact that there are lions in the area he is in and recalls that he has been afraid of the lions. Grappling with the reality of death, he prays to the moon god about this. Then, he dreams, and upon waking he sees lions. Then, because they are alive and vital and because they had made him fearful for his life, he attacks them and kills them. And I think that this particular image is really striking to me in terms of how I perceive Gilgamesh's personality and vulnerability. Taking Gilgamesh from a point in his life after he has confronted Enkidu's death and had to learn how to deal with that, I think he is almost always in a defensive position that always looks offensive. It is very offensive and aggressive because he has committed even more deeply to the idea that he must control and mete out judgment and control over his surroundings, particularly over life and death. His violent nature was always there and had to do with kind of being hotblooded and, in a sense, heroic, but early on in Gilgamesh when they are going to confront Humbaba he indicates that Enkidu should not fear death in the face of this battle. Even if they die, they will have achieved glory, so it's okay. Then there is a reversal later where Gilgamesh is terrified of death after Enkidu dies. I think Gilgamesh's particular obsession with hedonism and particular form of enjoying violence in particular ways is kind of from this place of being very defensive. Having experienced fear, he has decided not to be afraid anymore.

You definitely wouldn't get this kind of reading from Fate canon material alone, I know. But in my story so far I have been trying to play with that particular kind of theme. I don't want to over-explain my own work and I probably definitely am. I'm just really excited to have any kind of thematic analysis of my work because I both feel a bit unworthy but also really excited about this theme in particular. I have tried to present Gilgamesh as self-aware of his position about this kind of thing, and I've also tried to allow for circumstantial character change. This Gilgamesh is not entirely identical to the Gilgamesh who is still out in the wilderness, but he is a person who has gone through that particular experience and journey in my mind.

As for Saber and her role in this, I want to hold my cards a little closer because anything I could say would veer into spoiler territory. And I've talked enough. But I also really appreciate your observations of and curiosity about her situation in this fic thus far. I really hope that what comes next won't disappoint.

At least she's still his preferred body type, though!

And... this cracked me up. Thank you.

[You]

Maintaining her stance of bringing her sword down, Saber started to leave this world; soon, her physical body also vanished.

As a result, Chains of Heavens was actually a more troublesome Noble Phantasm for Berserker than Excalibur.
On the other hand, for Saber, Assassin, and Archer, who had no Divinity, it was merely a strong chain.

Soul/Information leaves the body first, then the body dissipates. Gil would need a soul catcher first and Enkidu isn't that.
If he did get her into GOB it'd probably just be her "material" body.

Not a criticism or anything, just like a btw.

[Prix with a Silent X]

Soul/Information leaves the body first, then the body dissipates. Gil would need a soul catcher first and Enkidu isn't that.
If he did get her into GOB it'd probably just be her "material" body.

Not a criticism or anything, just like a btw.

Thank you. I did the best I could with what I read in Zero and edited that portion extensively, so I am going to assume that this "probably" falls in the range of creative license for the purposes of fanfiction which are not actually made clear in canon material but only in supplementary material. Even then, it seems kind of like a stretch to apply everything in some kind of scientific way. And actually, the way I have described her experience, it involves her soul kind of being drawn back. The fact that Enkidu itself probably can't do this on its own, I tended to think of it more like the fact that someone can die on an operating table but be brought "back," even though this is an imperfect metaphor. Also, stuff about what I may want to do with GoB and its status that as far as I know I've not done anything wrong with yet.

[You]

Not really, its pretty clear. Enkidu against Saber is just a strong chain and strong chains can't affect souls.
If it was like Herc maybe it'd be a bit different because he's chock full of divine.

But you know creative license, so it doesn't really matter.

[Prix with a Silent X]

Not really, its pretty clear. Enkidu against Saber is just a strong chain and strong chains can't affect souls.
If it was like Herc maybe it'd be a bit different because he's chock full of divine.

But you know creative license, so it doesn't really matter.

Nothing like this has, to my knowledge, ever happened in canon. Given that Saber has a special contract that makes her an improper sort of Servant to begin with, one who cannot "move on" properly until she "obtains the Holy Grail," I'm not entirely sure there is a reason to assume that this kind of method would allow for the body and soul to be separated. Unless the nature of her contract with the world is such that it could be broken by someone effectively kidnapping her body back from returning to Camlann, just leaving her soul there by itself when she is not even really dead and cannot die properly until she gets the Holy Grail, then I don't feel like this is an abuse of creative license. I don't think it's really necessary to have Gilgamesh himself have a method for obtaining both body and soul with separate mechanisms if Saber is herself in a static state in the way that I understand that static state. And again, I know this doesn't mesh with canon 100%, but it is a canon divergent AU on purpose.

[You]

oh....
ummm, you know that Saber's body as a Servant is just ether-construct right? It doesn't go back to Camlann. That's why the bodies of Servants just disappear into sparkles.

[Prix with a Silent X]

oh....
ummm, you know that Saber's body as a Servant is just ether-construct right? It doesn't go back to Camlann. That's why the bodies of Servants just disappear into sparkles.

I do know that, hence narrative involving mud and Saber Alter-related stuff that is tailored to my narrative. I want to write a good story that stands for itself. I am not overly prepared to defend a thesis about Type Moon lore, but I tried to do my due diligence. I am not trying to suggest that it's perfect.

[You]

Yeah I'm not pressing the issue because I know that.

- - - Updated - - -

If Saber got mudded and then shoved into GOB then that's fine.

[Frostyvale]

He seemed quite open for a moment, but it looks like he was counting on this. Saber's given up.

Anyway, he played it off nicely. A lot happened in those last paragraphs, and the consequences should be interesting enough.

[Prix with a Silent X]

He seemed quite open for a moment, but it looks like he was counting on this. Saber's given up.

Anyway, he played it off nicely. A lot happened in those last paragraphs, and the consequences should be interesting enough.

Thank you so much for reading and commenting. I'm hoping that what I have planned next follows well from this. I really look forward to writing about the consequences.