#siriex

Enkidu sings.

He sings, and the earth sings with him. Streams tear over rocks in a vain attempt to burble loudly enough to match his mighty cry. Stones shake from their moorings, and yet his voice is deeper even than the voice of the rocks themselves. Birds strain their throats, singing louder than they thought possible, anything to contribute to the strangely melodic cacophony.

Gilgamesh hears the song, and he remembers.

Remembers their first fight, remembers Enkidu shifting his form into sword and axe and spear, one moment human, the next beast, then tool and finally back to his approximation of human. How the lord of Ur had had for the first time in his life thrown open the Gate of Babylon to its fullest width, flinging treasure after treasure from within at the first man he has ever known who could call himself Gilgamesh’s worthy opponent.

How after the battle was done no conversation had needed having, no terms of victory or defeat or surrender needed discussed. The golden king and the mud-doll were friends (or…?) their affection (love…?) forged and tempered in the heat of combat. Inseparable without needing to verbally affirm this truth, sharing food wine hunt adventure (bed) in the days when the Earth was wild and men still bowed at the knee to Gilgamesh the Golden.

There are none alive anymore who would kneel to the king. This Gilgamesh is worlds removed from a priest with an easily corruptible soul, and the master this fate has dealt him is respectful but not reverent, with her own gods and no need to name him among them.

He has no power except what the Throne allows him to retain, his city is gone and his legacy is dusty books and classes on low-level World History and high-level Literature. There would be little to bind Gilgamesh to this world and this war, little to keep him amused and diverted….except.

Except for the mud-doll, called by chance to the same time and the same place. Some power higher than himself has given golden Archer and earth-singing Lancer back the brightest moment of their golden lives, when they named each other friend comrade (lover) equal with weapons and fists.

The situation is nowhere near a mirror of the first. The golden city has crumbled into dust, and this town is slow and sleepy with little to recommend it. There is nothing of Ur in Snowfield. This time, also, their battle is observed – Tine in the trees, silent as a shadow and so still that even her Servant can barely sense her, the nameless wolf at Enkidu’s side, keeping itself to itself and watching, always watching.

Enkidu’s song rises to a crescendo, and Gilgamesh responds with a wordless war yell, the first language the two men ever learned to speak to each other. They emerge on opposite sides of a clearing, the midday sun breaking over the Golden King’s head, increasing his natural radiance to a level beyond the tolerance of human eyes. In the sun, even the mud at Enkidu’s feet seems to sparkle. Perhaps sleepy Snowfield briefly inherits some of Ur’s lost glimmer. Neither Archer nor Lancer notices – they have eyes only for their friend (love) opponent.

There is no signal, not even a knowing look between them to acknowledge that the battle has commenced. They move as one, Enkidu leaping forward, the earth itself seeming to propel him into a graceful arc. His king thrusts forth the Gate, sending a volley of spears. Verdant-haired Lancer dodges each one, as golden Archer had known he would.

Somehow, even as they fight, Enkidu still finds breath for his song, and the trees reach out to the gilded king, eager to bind and tear and ensnare. The curling limbs are met with the swords of ancients, each a Phantasm in their own right, combating binding with rending, ensnarement with severance.

Bound to Earth and the War and his master’s mana, Enkidu cannot manipulate his clay-form as freely or swiftly as he once could. But his control over the skill has not weakened, and he appears to Gilgamesh as a bird and a great axe and a pouncing, snarling lion. The King has a weapon in his arsenal to match every situation, and he meets each attack with a feral, eager smile.

Perhaps his watching Master shudders despite herself. He is too far gone, too lost in the fight to be attuned to her reactions. Perhaps other Masters and other Servants feel the earth shake, perhaps the clash and clang of ancient weaponry reaches magically-sharpened ears. Perhaps Berserker laughs and Flatt shivers, perhaps Assassin speaks prayers against the end days while Caster spills an inkwell in his eagerness to write it all down. Perhaps the unaware citizens of Snowfield experience nothing, or perhaps they feel something strange on the breeze, notice that the birds and the brooks are louder than they are wont to be.

Or perhaps none of these things happen at all. It would not matter to Archer and Lancer – for them, there is only the fight, no more, no less until it has reached its end.

And when that end is reached there is blood, blood on both sides, and flattened bushes and broken trees. There is Enkidu’s serene smile and Gilgamesh’s harsh, ragged, utterly contented breathing. There are thoughts in each mind (and emotions in each heart) that have been simply and easily communicated to the other without a single verbal exchange.

And there is no victor. For when the man crafted to be a weapon for the gods clashes with the man who keeps gods’ weapons in his hoard, how can such simple concepts as winning or losing come into it at all? This was a conversation, a dance, a coupling, it is many things but what it is not is a contest to determine a victor.

The Master of Archer looks on in confusion. (Perhaps the nameless Wolf shares her confusion; he gives no indication.) This battle has done nothing to advance the Holy Grail War, no tipping of the balance in favor of either side occurred. Unable to understand the many things that transpired on that battlefield, she cannot see any purpose that the clash has served.

Sated, content, the legends depart the battlefield without exchanging a single word aloud. What need is there? What needed to be said has been said.