#gilkingu

Kingu woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. There was neither the privacy of Gorgon’s home nor the warmth of Shamhat’s. Once again, Kingu was without a home. The room was nearly empty save an overbearing silence.

Kingu’s legs cried out in pain as they did on the first day. They had brought him nothing but suffering. He wanted to cut them off. 

Even then, he could not be a merman again. He was stuck in a useless human body, but even the humans wouldn’t accept him. He had always been an outsider. Maybe he would live as a monster like Gorgon. Gorgon was strange company, but he found himself missing her in his isolation. They had been outcasts together, but now they were just alone.

At least, Kingu thought staring at the apathetic ceiling, he had Tiamat. He hazily recalled her sorrowful song; was she lonely like him? Certainly, she understood him better than anyone else, and that’s why she chose him. Tiamat trusted him with this mission, so he would carry it out for her. Whether he was a merman, a human, or neither, he was Tiamat’s son. That knowledge warmed his cold loneliness.

Kingu watched the shadow cast by the window as it moved across the floor until his meditation was interrupted by footsteps. A woman’s voice appeared in the doorway, “Oh good! He’s awake.”

Two people entered the room: the distraught brunette woman from the other day and Gilgamesh. Kingu closed his eyes and turned away; he had no business with Gilgamesh, but curiosity forced him to peak and see what they were up to.

The intruders had approached Kingu’s bed, and then the woman elbowed the king, an action certainly warranting the death penalty.

But Gilgamesh just grumbled to himself then spoke aloud, “Siduri requested that I apologize for yesterday.” The king seemed to struggle between his lack of desire to apologize and the appearance of his authority. 

“Ahem.” Siduri forced a cough. 

“Yesterday, I invited you to my home, but you were met with hostility instead of hospitality. That was unacceptable.” Gilgamesh’s curt “apology” was accompanied by rolled eyes.

Siduri sighed then turned her attention to Kingu. “I hope you are feeling better today.”

“No,” Kingu mumbled, not in the mood for playing at courtesy.

Gilgamesh opened his mouth, but he was preemptively silenced by a sharp glare from Siduri.

“We’re truly, deeply sorry for what happened yesterday,” Siduri continued, bowing her head. “And, we also are here to inform you that you’ll be living here from now on.”

“Huh?” Kingu snapped out of his fake sleep.

“We’re sorry it’s not much,” Siduri bowed her head again, “but Shamhat is busy with her work, and so it would be more convenient for you to live here. We hope you understand.”

Shamhat’s job… Shamhat had been so generous with Kingu; it never occurred to him that he was inconveniencing her. Shame floated up to his cheeks.

“If there’s anything you need, King Gilgamesh would be more than willing to provide. It’s the least he could do after what happened yesterday.”

If the glower on Gilgamesh’s face was any indicator, he was not ‘more than willing,’ but Siduri seemed to have some influence over him, so maybe it wasn’t out of the question. 

“Let’s see…” Kingu shot Gilgamesh a smug look while running through the possibilities. He wanted to ask for something outrageous.

“Oh yes, one last thing,” Siduri interrupted. “To make up for yesterday, King Gilgamesh has offered to show you around Uruk, since you are still new here.”

Somehow Siduri’s offer was more outrageous than anything Kingu had come up with himself, yet he definitely wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, it did not seem like declining was an option. 

“We will be back in a few days when you are feeling better.” Siduri spared Kingu, if only temporarily.

“Don’t make me wait too long, mongrel.” Gilgamesh muttered and left.

“Please rest well!” Siduri called before chasing Gilgamesh with a look of embarrassment.

***

After a few days, Kingu was capable of walking around his barren home although not without pain. But there was not much else to do besides wander in circles—“pacing,” as the humans would call it. So when an unfamiliar knock sounded against the door, he bounded to answer it. Finally free from his boredom. “Hel—… lo.” 

Gilgamesh stared silently at him.

“Where’s Siduri?” Kingu demanded.

“She’s busy—is that a proper way to greet a king?”

“You didn’t even say ‘hello,’” Kingu grumbled. “Anyway, what do you want?”

“I’m going to give you a tour of Uruk.”

He meant that? Kingu studied the king for any tells. Surely, this was a joke.

“Don’t be ungrateful, mongrel. Who do you think has been providing your food and medicine every day?”

Well, the one who had been checking up on him, bringing food and medicine, was “Sidu… ri?”

“IDIOT! She’s only been delivering them!”

Kingu paled. To think he had fallen so low as to depend on the arrogant, human king!

“What’s wrong? Has your brain finally stopped working entirely?” Gilgamesh wore a surprising grin. “Hurry up. I don’t have that much time to waste.”

Kingu took Gilgamesh’s cue and turned back into the house to match his presentation to the king’s standards, taking the opportunity to regain his scattered composure. 

“Oh? I didn’t think you could do it,” Gilgamesh remarked as Kingu stepped out the door.

“Do what?”

“Put together a look that’s worthy of standing by my side.”

The king continued on, but the rest was lost on Kingu, who was shocked by the double-edged compliment. His face flushed a deep red.

“Anyway, let us begin.” Gilgamesh paid Kingu’s embarrassment no heed as he started his tour. “This house is on the outskirts of town, so we will head inwards, towards the center, and then back out.”

Kingu had not once left his home, so everything was new to him. It did not matter what direction they went in.

“That,” Gilgamesh pointed down the road, “is one of Uruk’s greatest prides.”

A brick wall. But it didn’t suffice to call it simply a wall. The wall was thick enough for tiny people to patrol on top. It was tall enough to cast a shadow over the nearby buildings. And it was long enough to extend indefinitely past Kingu’s field of vision.

“It is the great wall which protects all of Uruk.”

“Protects?” The giant wall was an enigma to Kingu. There was no wall which surrounded Atargata, only the endless sea. To Kingu, the wall was just a cage.

“Yes, protects. From beasts and enemy peoples.”

So the humans weren’t united? This was another shock for Kingu. To think they would fight and kill each other… How savage. Kingu could not hide his displeasure from his face.

“What’s with that face? We haven’t had a war in years. So long as that wall exists, the people of Uruk can live in peace.”

Then the wall was anything but a cage; it really was a shelter.

“Anyway, we’re heading in the other direction. There’s no point in leaving the city so soon. Come on.” Gilgamesh called Kingu and led him towards the center of Uruk.

The city of Uruk was organized very simply. Its residents were sorted into districts by occupation, which surrounded the central districts. Most remarkably, the city was crisscrossed with artificial waterways. Kingu scoffed at the sight; the humans had left the sea only to bring it right to their doorsteps. The other merfolk would have been offended by the canals—“how dare the insolent humans try to control the blessings of Tiamat!”—but Kingu was a bit grateful. He missed the sea.

Kingu would have been content to study at the man-made flow of water throughout the entire tour, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it.

“Oh, is that King Gilgamesh?”

“Your majesty!”

“What an honor!”

As Gilgamesh passed through each district, he created a commotion each time. Laborers stopped working, housewives and children appeared in the doorways of their homes, and people from anywhere and everywhere poured into the streets to greet their king. Kingu expected Gilgamesh to swat them all away, but instead, he turned towards Kingu, grinning, and proclaimed, "Look at all the diligent, loyal citizens of Uruk!" He turned back to the crowd, occasionally calling out to one person or another by name (and not the expected "mongrel")  and asking about business. By the time they reached the central districts, Kingu, as much as he learned about Uruk, was even less certain of the king's character.

While surely big enough to qualify as districts, the central districts would be more aptly called monuments. One was an enormous, terraced pyramid built from clay. At the top of the sky-reaching steps sat a white, stone building. The other was a bigger mystery, for all Kingu could see were the stone walls. The white face of the wall was covered in imagery and statues, suggesting something even grander lay inside. Simple but tall, ostentatious but flat; the two structures balanced each other.

"Are those temples?" Kingu wondered aloud.

"Relics," Gilgamesh snapped. "Relics of when people cowered before mere fantasies.” He inspected them with irritation. “They serve no purpose in my Uruk. They would be more useful torn down and rebuilt as new districts for the working population."

If these temples were really built for Tiamat, it would only advance her rage to tear them down. Then, she would mercilessly re-establish her authority. "I wouldn't do that—"

"Would you shut up about that?” Gilgamesh turned his contemptuous gaze to Kingu. “It's annoying. What were you—a priest?—before you hit your head?"

Why did Kingu even bother? The man next to him epitomized human arrogance, the reason Kingu was sent to the surface in the first place. He doubted humanity could ever get saved. 

Kingu didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to entertain Gilgamesh’s hubris anymore. It was annoying enough that he predicted what Kingu was going to say. He’s aware of the voice of reason, but he willfully chooses to ignore it—how foolish. 

“Stop gawking and come with me. Let me show you something more impressive.” After demanding Kingu to follow him, Gilgamesh headed outwards once again. They marched in silence until they had reached the base of the wall. “We’re going up.”

Although there was no practical value to this part of the tour, so long as Gilgamesh was his guide, Kingu could make no objections, so he followed the king up the stairs. Instead of looking outward, Gilgamesh pointed Kingu to the city which they had spent all day walking through. The sun, still high in the sky, was now shining down from the west. The sprawl of brick buildings radiated under its light. From above, Kingu could make out hundreds of tiny gardens which had been hidden from the street. He identified each district by their unique characteristics. With Gilgamesh out of the way, the people had returned to their work, but there were plenty on the streets: vendors, errand-runners, playing children. Tiny, swift, and graceful, the busy Uruks reminded Kingu of the fish in Atargata. 

Gilgamesh beamed as he watched his city. Without sparing even a glance for Kingu, he declared with exaggerated gestures, as though giving a speech to the people down below, "Look at the great city of Uruk! Its protective walls, its sturdy buildings! Its prosperity and its peace! Did any goddess build that? No, it was the Uruks who built this marvelous city. Look at how the little people work, content and undeterred. They don't need any goddess. They are working towards the future. Don't you see? Trembling in fear of the Goddess is the past; the future is the path upon which humanity walks, and Uruk is at the forefront.”

So that was the nature of the golden king Gilgamesh—a man overflowing with pride. His pride exceeded himself, stretching even beyond the walls of Uruk to its fertile plains, and, from it, his authority as king was born. Kingu had mistaken his remarks for selfish hubris, but it was the pride of his people. 

Kingu stared in awe at the golden king besides him. His radiance seemed to eclipse the sun. 

Finally, Gilgamesh acknowledged Kingu. "To suggest otherwise is an insult to the hardworking citizens, past and present. Don't do it again."

Kingu could only nod.

***

Something about Uruk changed for the remaining duration of the tour; the wall seemed grander, the people working harder, the farms more bountiful. Gilgamesh and Kingu had left the walled city, explored the farmland which surrounded it, and were drifting along the river which gave Uruk its vitality: the Euphrates. The water’s surface was remarkably different than its depths. The small ripples glistened under the sun’s rays. On top of it all floated an image of Kingu’s face. His reflection wore a small grin, which was unfamiliar to even Kingu. How he had missed the water. He reached his hand, stroked the waves, then dipped his fingers into the cool current. His fingers seemed to bend—Kingu recoiled his hand. He was sure he held them straight in the water (which was confirmed when he pulled them out), so why did they appear to bend under the water?

Gilgamesh threw back his head with laughter. “What happened? Afraid of your own reflection?!”

“No-no way!” Unable to directly fight the accusation, Kingu turned away and stared back into the water. Gilgamesh couldn’t call him a coward like this. He plunged his fingers back into the water and watched them bend again. He was determined to figure out the mystery. He repeated this several times, but while the phenomenon continued, there was no suggestion as to why. 

“Now what? Are you fighting?”

“N-no! I’m just studying it.” Kingu did not look up from his “study;” instead, he just leaned closer to the water, trying to ignore Gilgamesh’s ridicule. From such a close distance, maybe he could see the river’s contents. 

Kingu hit the water with a splash before he could realize what had happened. His body had completely submerged, and for a moment, it was tranquil, surrounded by the sea’s nostalgic embrace.

Then Kingu opened his mouth, and the scorching water flooded in. It weighed in his lungs like a bunch of bricks, smothering them.

Why? Why?! Why?! He was a merman. He was the son of Tiamat.

No, he was just a human.

The water, cold and unforgiving, crushed him like a pest to be disposed of.

Kingu needed to be free. On land. He thrashed, again, again, again. 

Then a wave of darkness.

***

Something warm wrapped around Kingu’s wrist, jolting energy into him, and yanked him out of the water. "I didn't permit you to die yet." Kingu knew that voice. Golden hair. Red eyes. ...Gil…?

Before he could fully make sense of his surroundings, Kingu doubled over, retching out the water which sat in the bottomless well of his lungs. Each draw of water was more painful than the last. 

When the coughing fit finally subsided, he fully registered Gilgamesh sitting across from him, a slight scowl on his face.

"… Why did you save me?" Kingu croaked.

"You're too entertaining to let die yet," Gilgamesh responded offhandedly, then muttered. "...besides, now you can't say that you saved my life."

"Huh?” Kingu gaped. “Are you really that petty?!"

"A king can't be in a mongrel's debt."

"But you do admit that I saved you.” Kingu would not live this down. “You know, normal people say 'thank you.'"

"Are you really that petty?” Gilgamesh gibed. “And I haven't heard you say 'thank you' yet either."

Kingu was not going to say that—not until Gilgamesh owned up to his own gratitude. 

Gilgamesh just sighed. “You got a closer look at Euphrates than expected,” he snickered, “But it can’t be helped. We should head back now.”

Kingu nodded. He couldn’t wait to be free. But then a group of men on boats caught his eye. “Wait. Are those fishermen?”

“Oh, we didn’t see them before.” Gilgamesh remarked, uninterested.

“Can I try?”

“What?” Gilgamesh stared at Kingu. “Do you want to go for another ‘swim?’”

“No. I want to try.”

“Fine.” Gilgamesh waved his hands apathetically. “But if you fall in again, you better hope one of those men is going to rescue you.” Despite his griping, Gilgamesh talked to the nearby fisherman and procured a spear for Kingu. “Show me what you can do, mongrel.”

Although incensed, Kingu pretended to ignore Gilgamesh’s provokation. He dipped the spear into the water, and as he expected, it seemed to bend upon entering the water. Nothing he couldn’t work with. He watched a decently sized fish, a barbel, swim towards him, closer, closer, closer, and then, he skewered it. 

“Aha!” Pulling the spear from the water, he beamed (somewhat maliciously) at Gilgamesh. “Hungry?”

For a few seconds, the king’s chin hung agape, and that was enough to transform Kingu’s ordinary feat into a great triumph.

“You got lucky,” Gilgamesh mumbled.

But within minutes, Kingu had pulled another barbel from the river. Then another, and another, and another. 

“Alright, enough!” Gilgamesh groaned. “I get it.”

Content with the king’s surrender, Kingu sat back down. “Here, you can give it back.”

Gilgamesh rolled his eyes. “Keep it.”

“Huh?”

“From now on, you’re going to join them.”

Kingu’s face lit up. Then he smirked. “So, I’m good, right?” Gilgamesh would have no choice but to acknowledge Kingu’s talents.

“As long as you’re living in Uruk, you need to be a productive member of society.”

Gilgamesh’s disregard of Kingu’s showing off was more crushing than Kingu wanted it to be. Not wanting to linger on it, he hastily moved on. “Man, these look good. I could eat one right now.” 

And he would have if Gilgamesh hadn’t raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Why?” Kingu was bewildered.

“You don’t want to smoke them at least?”

“Oh.” So that’s what the humans did. Kingu’s face went red with the realization. “Yes, of course, I do!” He bluffed. “It was just an exaggeration.”

“Well, if you don’t know how to cook them, ask someone.” Gilgamesh muttered. “You should also learn how to swim soon.” Without another word, he began rowing back towards the city. They continued in a peaceful silence all the way to Kingu’s door. 

“Mongrel,” Gilgamesh called out before leaving.

Oh, how Kingu wished he didn’t respond to that. But it was too late. “What?”

“You weren’t half bad today.”

Kingu’s heart stopped for several endless moments.

“If you want to learn how to use that spear, I will teach you.”

Kingu only half-processed the words, but they threw him into a greater panic. 

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot!” Gilgamesh barked. “Or I’ll take the offer back.”

“Yes! I would like to!” Kingu blurted out.

“Excellent. Then I will send for you when I have time.” With that, Gilgamesh left.

...What? Did Gilgamesh just praise Kingu? And did Kingu just agree to meet him again? Kingu was undeniably an idiot—an idiot for making plans with Gilgamesh of all people, and an even bigger one for getting so worked up in the first place. 

No, Kingu tried to reassure himself, he needed to be on the king’s good side to carry out his mission. But before he worried about Gilgamesh, he needed to shape up.

***

Kingu did not find the idea of raw fish to be so objectionable (he ate them all the time in Atargata), but, in an effort to blend in, he tried smoking them as Gilgamesh had suggested. They usually ended up charred. Fortunately for him, Shamhat paid Kingu a visit one evening, volunteering to cook dinner: a one-night reprieve. As expected, Shamhat’s cooking was leagues above Kingu’s. The savory flavor brought back memories of Kingu’s first few days in Uruk, staying in Shamhat’s home. 

“Um, Shamhat,” Kingu began, confidence disappearing by the millisecond. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” Shamhat smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

“I’ve been an interruption to your job and routine, so… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Shamhat replied as though the words Kingu had struggled to say were a simple matter. “I can take days off sometimes, you know? Besides, I have something I should be apologizing about.”

“Huh? Why?”

“About the other day…” Shamhat maintained eye contact as she spoke. “While I really appreciate you standing up for me, you were put in danger because of me. I’m sorry to have—”

“Don’t apologize!” Why did she have to apologize for what that pompous egoist did? “Someone had to stand up to that narcissist!”

“I see.” Shamhat laughed. “If you feel that way, I’m glad. Thank you.”

“Besides, I’m better now. Nothing to worry about!”

“You know, I’m glad that you and King Gilgamesh are getting along now.”

Kingu blinked. “We are?”

“Yes, he said good things about you.”

“He did?”

“Let’s see.” Shamhat tilted her head. “That you can’t swim… that you have an absurd fear of fantasies… that you have a serious attitude problem…”

“Which of those are good things?”

“Well, he said them all smiling.” Shamhat conveyed no doubt in her theory. “I think he likes you.”

“Great.”

Shamhat would have certainly known more about Gilgamesh than Kingu, but perhaps, just this once, she was wrong.

“Besides, he invited you to see him again, didn’t he?”

“...Yeah…” Kingu didn’t want to think about that incident again. 

“See? I’m sure he’s fond of you! Oh, come on! Don’t be like that. It’s a rare honor to make acquaintances with the king like this.”

Shamhat had a point. Kingu should have appreciated that the circumstances were now in his favor, but, at the moment, his mind was caught up with other things. “About Tiamat,” Kingu posed the question hesitantly, “Do you believe in the goddess?”

“Tiamat?” Shamhat pondered over the question. “I guess she could exist. It’s possible that a goddess created us people and put us on land. But you see, even if she does exist, she hasn’t done anything for us in a long time. Our ancestors built this city, and we work hard to keep advancing under the guidance of our king. We built our fortunes ourselves. So, it’s hard for me to believe.”

Gilgamesh had said the same thing the other day. The Uruks had long been independent. It was no surprise then that they couldn’t remember anything Tiamat had done for them. More than that, the Uruks were proud. They believed in their capabilities as humans and that they could advance through those abilities and willpower alone. There was no room for a distant entity like Tiamat in their tale of success.

“You’re a believer, right?” Shamhat continued. “I don’t think it’s wrong to believe. But just, maybe don’t mention it in front of Gilgamesh.” She winked.

That was for certain. The king took pride to a whole new level. 

“But King Gilgamesh is right. There’s something weird about you.”

“What do you mean?” Kingu demanded.

“Well, you appeared suddenly without memories and without basic knowledge. You couldn’t even walk. But nevertheless, you have strangely specific beliefs, skills, and knowledge. Just who were you before?”

Kingu frowned. Maybe Shamhat would believe him. No, he couldn’t tell her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you!” Shamhat rapidly changed tones. “Don’t worry about it, okay? There’s no use in fretting over what you can’t remember. What’s important is that you’re here now and what you do with that. You know, people don’t have a lot of time on this land, so we must make the most of it!”

Kingu had not given a single thought to the human lifespan, but it truly was short—lamentably so. Nevertheless, they were undeterred. The humans must have done more work in their lives than any of the complacent merpeople had done in the past two hundred years. They built Uruk, which must have taken generations to reach its current state (the founders were certainly dead). In fact, they were still working on it, even if they would die so soon. So that was the future they worked for, not only for themselves, but for their offspring too. It all seemed so foreign to Kingu, yet he felt deeply ashamed for not having realized it.

“Kingu?” Shamhat had inched forward to inspect Kingu’s hidden face.

“I’m sorry,” Kingu mumbled.

“Huh? No, no, I am the one who’s sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you upset.”