"After every storm, there is to be a rainbow, and for those who endure its wrath… shall find a treasure worth a thousand trials and tribulations." —A.S.F
ARTIZEA
THE NEXT DAY CAME FASTER THAN ARTIZEA HAD HOPED. She arrived in the throne room and instantly saw her father while he stood at the base of the throne, his hands clasped behind his back.
"You summoned me, Father?" she asked, stopping at the center, the same spot she stood in last time. They had yet to have a conversation since; neither did he look at her the same either.
"I did," he replied, his voice resonating with authority.
Artizea was waiting for a command, but she received none. She slowly ascended the steps, one step after the other, until she was standing beside him. Though she had grown accustomed to his imposing demeanor throughout her childhood, moments like this still made her feel as though she were only a mere subject.
Finally, he spoke, "The Rite of Challenge, are you ready?"
"Always," she replied
"Good, do not get cocky," he said slowly. "Remember to be vigilant and never drop your guard."
"I understand," she said, struggling to mirror her father's poker face.
After a moment, he stepped forward, resting his hand on the arms of the throne. "Tell me, once more, what does this all mean to you?"
She hesitated, remembering what she said the first time she was asked.
"A display of strength, skill, and determination."
"A performance, then?" he asked, his tone sharp.
"No—It is a reminder that the one who sits on it is strong enough and wise enough to protect the realm," she said roboticly, as if she practiced it moons beforehand.
Her father chuckled, "Good. You understand the essence of it. But there is more. The gods test those they favor, and the throne is their harshest test of all."
"But what if I do not wish to be tested…" she said softly.
He paused, "One day, I will tell you why you need to be."
Artizea tilted her head slightly, then pouted, shifting her gaze to the throne in confusion while she waited for the day when it all might finally make sense.
Today was that day.
"A display of strength and skill…" she recited.
Gilgamesh sighed, then descended from the throne
"—Father?" Artizea looked from the throne to her father's retreating form. "Where are we going?" she stuttered while rushing down the steps as well.
"To find the correct answer," he simply said, already halfway down the hall.
Still baffled, Artizea followed him until they reached the heart of the kingdom. No disguises, no royal knightguard or chaperon, her father did not have any anyway. The People stared, of course, not with fear, but with awe. Some even smiled and waved.
Artizea slowly waved back, mouth still drooping, "You… visit the city?" she asked.
"Of course." Her father's gaze swept across the marketplace. "This is where you will find your answer."
"In the city?"
"It is people," he said while approaching a woman. "Wait here," She bowed, cradling a bundle of fresh bread.
"Your Majesty, we were not expecting you till next week."
"Spare the formalities, Millie. You helped deliver my children." He handed her a small bag of coins.
"Thank you, Gilgamesh," Millie said warmly.
"How is Ace?" he asked.
"All grown up now. Where does the time go?" she shook her head, "Speaking of, Bel had been asking for you just this dawn."
Gilgamesh smiled faintly. "Tell him I shall visit before dusk. For now, I have my eldest to deal with." He looked over his shoulder, pointedly, at Artizea, who quickly lowered her gaze, silently fighting with the dirt.
Millie chuckled. "I understand." She bent to retrieve another basket of bread. "My, she looks just like her mother; they all do."
Gilgamesh hesitated. "Have you…?"
"I am going to see her later, drop by her favorite produce." Millie raised her basket of fresh bread and a very odd-looking cheese, sensing the unfinished question, she pressed. "Would you like me to also give her a message?"
"No," he said, a quiet smile playing on his lips. "This is between me and my wife."
Millie nodded, bent down to retrieve the other basket of bread, "I bid you Good luck, Your Grace," she said.
Gilgamesh nodded. "I may need it."
Millie offered him one last warm smile before she made her way back to the building.
Artizea strode beside him, "I do not understand," she murmured. "I thought…"
"That I did not understand?" he finished, not unkindly.
She nodded, shoulders slumped. "I am sorry. For what I said."
Gilgamesh's face softened, just slightly. "And I am sorry… for the death of the knight."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "Thank you," she whispered. She hesitated before adding, "And Eric's—" the name caught in her throat, it was too soon, "his family deserves more compensation. If you would allow me to pay it, it will come from my treasury, not the Crown's or Arthur's. Please, Father."
Gilgamesh studied her, then he gave a single nod. A quiet moment passed while they walked through the roads, with no compass. He finally broke the silence, "Have you forgiven your brother?" he asked.
"Sort of." Artizea folded her arms and grumbled, "He's such a tyrant. Swing this. Swing that. Kill this. Kill that—"
Gilgamesh arched a brow. "Sounds like me once."
Artizea blinked.
He continued, voice low but firm."Your brother, along with my many wonderful children. Have each grown into a version of me. Even the parts I wish I could keep buried in the past," He looked directly at her. "So if you need to blame someone… blame the root of the cause."
Artizea had no reply.
Gilgamesh hesitated, "I wished not to be the perfect king, but an immortal one. I abandoned that quest in the end, but I do not regret searching for it. I came back stronger, wiser… less angry."
Artizea raised a brow, then her father dead stopped, he then turned his gaze back to the city. He closed his eyes and took it all in, and Artizea followed suit.
"There are still nights when I would look at the stars and wonder if I had made too many mistakes to deserve this, question if I was truly meant for this. But when I look at the people under our protection, the same people you have grown to love just as much as I have," he paused. "I see their faith in us." He turned to face her, "The throne belongs not to me, nor you, but to our people." he shifted his gaze to the fields, "Every farmer tending the fields, every merchant in the city, every knight guarding them within our walls. This is the answer to the question you seek, and we must protect it at all costs."
Artizea's gaze stretched to everything once more.
"You are my heir," he continued, his now shining crimson eyes locking with hers; they were dull to his comparison, still, they held fire. "The crown will rest on your head one day, Artizea. It is not an ornament for display. It is a burden for the strongest of wills, it is a shield, and most importantly, the sharpest blade against all who dares to assume they could do the job better," he paused. "This challenge is not just for the amusement of spectators or the arrogance of those who still seek your hand. It is a declaration of our strength as a family and a nation. A reminder that no one will take what is ours without first earning the right to do so," he smirked, "Hypothetically," giving her a wink.
She fought back a smile. Now, who was being cocky? "I understand, Father."
"Do you?" his gaze never wavered. "Do you truly grasp what it means to carry the weight of a kingdom and all its people on your shoulders, to understand the difference between Justice and Mercy?"
Artizea's breath caught, but she did not falter. "I do."
"Then you must know there is no walking away from it, not even if things become too hard or unbearable."
"I do."
He turned fully to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you know how old I was when I took the throne?"
She frowned, caught off guard by the question. "No, I do not think you ever told me."
"I was ten," he said, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of memory. Her eyes widened. He smiled, faintly sensing her curiosity, and he continued. "Your Grandfather had passed away unexpectedly. One day, I was a boy learning how to hold a sword, and the next, I was the ruler of a nation. The people did not care that I was a child, nor did the council, or the gods."
Artizea's lips parted, but no words came. She could not imagine the man before her, A legend, as a frightened boy sitting on the throne.
"I was not ready… I did not know what I was doing," he continued, his tone matter—of—fact. "I made many mistakes, I am still reaping the consequences for, and yet… I can not bring myself to regret them, nor could I walk away from it again, no matter how much I wished it into being." He paused, "Because every wrong turn taught me how to be who I am now, and if I could, if I had to start over from the very beginning, I would make them all again, because they led me here, to my treasures."
Artizea took it all in, "Father?" she began cautiously, "May I ask you something?"
"Anything."
That alone surprised her, but she steadied herself. She drew in a deep breath before continuing. "The Queen of Celestia…" she began slowly, "She said you had a purpose. One that you… forsook." She hesitated, noticing his stilled reaction. "Does Mother know?"
There was a beat of silence before he answered, calm but resolute. "Your mother knows everything about me, even better than I know myself."
Artizea did not press, but she absorbed his words in silence, her hands gripping the railing. "I am afraid," she confessed. "Afraid of failing at the one thing that is expected of me."
He turned to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding. "Fear is natural, even for kings like us. It reminds us that what we do matters, as do the consequences should we fail." he paused. "But you mustn't let it consume you either. You are my daughter, and I see the fire in you, the same fire that burned in me when I was a boy, sitting on that throne for the first time. You will stumble, yes. But you will rise,stronger each time."
Tears threatened to build, but she refused to let them fall. "Do you truly believe I can do this? "
"I know it." He smiled then, truly smiled, and there was pride in his gaze. "Just as I know, this realm will be in safe hands. The day I entrusted it all to you."
GILGAMESH
True to his word, when dust came, Gilgamesh stood at the threshold of the modest home, the scent of paint, earth, and time heavy in the air.
Lorenzo met him at the door, clearly startled. "Your Majesty!—I was just about to—"
"Is my wife here?" Gilgamesh asked curtly.
Lorenzo hesitated, then nodded. "In the back room."
The king drew a deep breath. He had not spoken to Arthuria in days, not since the fight, but now was not the time to let his pride interfere. He stepped inside, pushing aside the linen blinds with a steady hand.
And there she was, Arthuria sat by the window, her golden hair loose, as the strands caught the last of the sun. She held the hand of the frail, withered man seated beside her.
Beltamore's, the once-greatest painter of the realm. His eyes were clouded with age and memory, his body failing, but his face lit up while he spoke animatedly. She was listening with a smile and full attention, nodding gently while recalling fragments of his long life.
Gilgamesh saw the way she refused to let go; she knew as well as he did that the end was near.
The old man paused mid-sentence, his gaze shifting to the figure at the door. "And who are you?" he asked, blinking.
Arthuria finally turned to look at her husband, but she said nothing.
"You look so familiar, but I… cannot seem to remember your name," Bel continued slowly, squinting.
Gilgamesh stepped forward. "Gil, you used to call me Gil."
The old man frowned. "That cannot be right, I'd remember a short name like that," he stuttered. "Don't you know it is forbidden to lie in the southern kingdom? You'd better pray the king does not find out, some say he has the ears of a bat."
Lorenzo rushed in, "Forgive him, Your Majesty, he is confused—"
Gilgamesh chuckled, "I assure you, he is not."
The old man's brow frowns as if it were a catalyst, "Young Prince… is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly
The old man's expression softened, a thin smile breaking through the years in his face. "… you have grown up." His gaze slid to the woman beside him, studying her as though seeing her for the first time in years. "Arthuria …"
"Bel," Arthuria giggled weakly.
"Oh.." he whispered, then coughed roughly into his sleeve.
Lorenzo gently lifted him to help him drink. "Master, you must rest."
But the old man waved him off with a trembling hand. "No, no… I remember," he paused, then looked across the room, to the paintings, his work, his life, then to his king and queen. "I remember everything… and there's something I must say, before I no longer can."
He reached for Arthuria 's hand once more, and she caught her breath as a tear slid down her cheek. Slowly, the old man extended his other hand toward Gilgamesh. Without hesitation, he took it and sat beside Arthuria.
"I remember your wedding, that much I am sure of," the old man said with a chuckle that faded into a wheeze.
Gilgamesh looked at his wife. But her attention stayed fixed on the man before them. until she finally reached across and offered her other hand to Gil. He accepted it quietly. His fingers closed firmly around hers until he noticed the wrapping around her palm. "What happened to your hand?" he said without a thought.
"it is nothing." Her gaze never left the old man.
Gilgamesh steadied his breathing; For now was not the time.
"You two…" the old man whispered, his voice trembling. "You are the heart of this realm. Always have been… always will be."
The lingering silence now showed its chill.
The old man sensed something was amiss when they refused to look at each other fully; his eyes caught the missing band from the queen's hand, then to the king's, which still remained. His withering mind concluded quickly. Not on my deathbed. He thought.
"Take each other in hand once more," he said softly, almost an order, the irony.
"For whose purpose does this serve?" Arthuria stuttered
"The dying wish of a sick man, perhaps?" he mused, gazing out the window, "I wish to remember,"
When released, they obeyed, infusing their limbs together.
"For how long?" Arthuria mumbled.
"Until I finished this story," the old man said, getting a book from his side table.
"Story?" she raised a brow at Baltimore.
"No cheating," Gilgamesh interjected,
Arthuria huffed, but did not let go.
The old man opened the book, blowing a film of dust from its first page. A small cloud spiraled into the air, and his sovereigns immediately broke into muffled coughs, their dignity betraying them. He smiled just for a heartbeat, then dropped it, feeling dragged glared at him
"One day out of the ordinary, two roses were planted, one stubbornly bloomed despite the hardness of the sun in the deepest crimson, the other was of cerulean, spouting beneath in the coolness of the night. Neither yielded to nature's plan. The crimson rose grew in a garden of solitude. It stretched its roots into a protective wall so no other could draw near or be hurt by its sharp thorns. The cerulean rose surrounded itself with many of its own kind, yet harbored the quiet ache to be something else entirely. These two roses met in bloodshed and war, but against all odds, they overcame their differences. Together, they made a promise to stand by each other until the last petal drops. For many years, it did not flourish, but they stayed true to their vow. Others would have abandoned it. They did not, instead…"
The old man closed the book with delicate care.
"You waited, all the while preparing even in uncertainty, growing together entwined, you became stronger, wiser, and bound by a love so great that it reached the four tribes, uniting us as one realm at last, as we always should have been. Then finally, you were blessed with what we callGān Edinn, the most beautiful garden in the six realms, and I am blessedto have witnessed it, from the very first seed."
Gilgamesh's pupils softened. As tired as he was, he smiled faintly, and she mirrored it, barely. His grip on her hand tightened, quietly pulling their tether, but Aruria slowly pulled her hand away from her husband's, her gaze finally slid back to Beltamore, leaving Gilgamesh barely holding in his restraint. He closed his eyes and breathed in.
A faint smile touched the old man's lips before it faltered. "Gardens… they change, whether it be harsh climates or out of season, roots can dry out if left unattended. But even so, you can still flourish as shown with the legacy you will leave in your children, from he eldest to the youngest…" for a split second his eyes unfocused, as though the names he wish to call upon were slipping away. He frowned, shook his head, and sighed. "Your Majesties… I wish we had more time. My memory will fade, and so will this body. So let my soul say one last thing," he drew in a shallow breath, "You have granted me the honor of bringing to life a dynasty for future generations to come, but it has been… my greatest honor to be the painter of the Pendragon family. Your family," he glanced toward Lorenzo, "and now… I pass on that honor to another."
Arthuria choked back a sob. "Don't go, Bel…" she whispered.
The old man blinked slowly. "I am right…" Then all of a sudden, he looked around in confusion, "Where am I?" His head sagged slightly as his hands slowly slipped from the couple in front of him. "Who are you?"
Her tears now fell freely.
Lorenzo gently eased him back against the cushions as his master coughed again, harsher this time. "These kind people gave you a full life. I am your son, remember?" Lying to the old man in his last days would haunt him for the rest of his life, but he was father to him, in many ways.
Arthuria stood up abruptly. "I must take my leave now," she said.
"Arthuria —" Gilgamesh began, reaching for her again.
But she was already turning away, her voice barely above a breath. "Good night."
He stood there, momentarily stunned.
"It is all right, Your Majesty." Lorenzo called softly from the bed, where the old man took his last breath, "I will take it from here."
Gilgamesh did not respond, for he did not know what to say. Instead, he bowed his head for the second time in his life, a silent thank you, for the man who had fulfilled his life's purpose. Then moved quickly, trying to catch up with his.
By the timehe made it outside, she had fully descended the steps. "Arthuria—" he called again, more desperate this time. He followed her out into the dusk-chilled street. "Arthuria!" he called again, more sharply.
She spun around, "What!
The words caught in his throat. "We should talk…"
"You have talked enough."
Gilgamesh took a step forward, shoulders tense. "And yet, there is so much more I wish to say."
Arthuria stared at him for a long moment, nostrils flaring."Then cancel the torment."
Gilgamesh's face screamed conflict, "I cannot."
Arthuria stared at him for a moment, then turned on her heel and stormed away.
She mounted her horse with practiced ease. Without another word, she kicked off, the hooves pounding faded into the night.
He did not follow; he tilted his head to the stars, surrounded by silence.