A/N

I apologize to everyone for not being able to update my Epic of Enkidu for so long, college is much busier than I thought! Thanks to everyone who has patiently waited. I am doing my best to finish the second chapter, but until then, this is a special treat (:

Stars, Feasts and Jealousy

In the first few moons of the sickness, I was still able to move about at will.

"Gilgamesh, look." I stretch out my hand, framing a cluster of stars between my fingers. I try to imagine being able to touch them. In my last dream, I was standing among them, gazing down at the earth like a god. "So many, even more than the grain in the fields." I draw one leg up onto the broad stone sill to balance myself and lean back, tilting my head as far back as I can. The skies stretch on above me endlessly. The home of the gods. I wonder if the gods truly do exist among the stars, or if the stars themselves are the gods, those distant twinkling lights brighter than any human life.

Gilgamesh glances up briefly, more to humor me than anything. He has little interest in what is beyond his reach, I've discovered. "There are many indeed," he says, leaning back against the low stone wall. "More than man could ever know." He stirs. "Come, Enkidu. Let us cease gazing at the skies and celebrate the night. The dawn signals the beginning of the harvest season. We should be down among the people, sharing in the celebration."

We. Always we. I can remember a time when it was only I, when he spoke as though others were of little significance, as though his world composed of him alone. Now he never speaks only of himself, save in front of the people when giving a law or granting a boon. When we are together, it is always we, whether it be to go hunting or train with the soldiers or feast the day away.

"Mmm," I say, not willing to leave the quiet company of the stars quite yet. "A little bit longer. You can go ahead if you wish." I smile. "The people are missing their king."

"Very well, then," he allows, settling back down against the stone. "A few more moments will not hurt. But do not tarry for too long. The people wish to see their savior as well."

I am still not sure how much I like being called a savior, when all I did was simply carry their request to the king. But Gilgamesh seems fond of the title, so I stopped objecting long ago. "Very well," I say, and go back to looking up at the stars. They truly are beautiful, a pattern that I know has meaning deep in my bones, and yet I cannot fathom it. I stretch out my hand again, tracing a line of light against the darkness, a wisp of pale cloud that shines faintly in the night, the distinct curve of the beginning of another pattern. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear their song again in the faint whisper of the wind, in the silence of the night.

Fingers brush the tail of my spine as Gilgamesh trails the back of his hand along the tips of my hair, gathering up the pale strands and playing with them idly. After a few seconds, I feel a slight tug at the base of my scalp, then another, harder one. Clearly, he is growing bored. I stifle a sigh and open my eyes again and swing my legs over the side of the sill, freeing my hair with a quick twist of my head. "Come," I say, offering him my hand. "Or else the people will begin to think their king has abandoned them."

As a jest, it is poor at best, but he is still gracious enough to smile. He reaches up and clasps my hand firmly and stands in a fluid movement, the white folds of his robe rustling. He has foregone his usual simple fold of cloth around his waist and looped over one shoulder for the feast, and wears instead a loose white robe with straight full sleeves that reach the crook of his arm and hangs to mid-calf. The collar dips down sharply into a V to show a glimpse of chest, and a band of gold hangs around his neck, more gold gleaming at his wrists. Still, for him, it is a simple attire, meant for comfort.

My attire is not so simple. Gilgamesh had originally insisted on something far richer, until I claimed my growing weariness as an excuse, saying that carrying gold and jewels that weighed more than I was tiring. Which it is, but this strange drain on my strength has not yet consumed so much as that. Mostly I just find it annoying to clink every time I move.

My illness must concern him more than he lets on, however, since our argument only lasted a few minutes and the servants had not run from the room by the time Gilgamesh finally conceded to let me wear this. It is not as simple as I would have wished, perhaps, but neither is it tiring to wear. White cloth, as fine and soft as a rabbit's fur and threaded with gold, wraps over one shoulder and around my waist to loosen around my hips and flow to my ankles. A simple pendant of a stone I have never seen before, but that matches the color of my eyes almost exactly, hangs around my throat on a gold chain. I finger it absently as I follow Gilgamesh down the wide stone corridor, past the low walls that open onto the night sky and the twining columns that hold up the roof. We pass a few servants on the broad stairway, carrying empty platters that smell of meat and drooping wineskins. My stomach growls hungrily. Gilgamesh's mouth twitches with amusement. "Hungry yet again?"

I brush past him. "Wolves eat far less," I say in my best imitation of his lofty manner.

"Perhaps, but I have seen huge men eat less at a feast and be satisfied for days," Gilgamesh remarks, smirking. I have no answer to that, so I simply glare at him. He laughs and slips an arm around my waist, his fingers brushing the stomach of my robe. "Do not worry," he says. "I will not love you less, even if you grow fatter than the wild boars that roam the mountains."

I grab his hand as it starts to travel downwards and step out of his grasp. "That will never happen," I say. Perhaps -no, it is not vanity, to be pleased with my own taut stomach when I see the women of the palace gain weight over the years and develop a certain tightness beneath their robes. Still…perhaps it would not be unwise to only eat until I am full, not until my stomach is bulging -no. Do not let him get to you. The food is very good, and therefore you shall eat it. It would be a waste not to.

"That will not happen," I repeat, and walk past him, one dignified hand on my reassuringly flat stomach. Gilgamesh only chuckles and catches up to me in one stride. The sound of chatter greets us as we enter the open plaza. The servants bow low as we draw near, the few not carrying platters to and fro kneeling and prostrating themselves before Gilgamesh as we pass. He barely glances at them, sweeping past as a waiting servant raises a carved animal horn and blows into it. The chatter falls silent as heads snap up to face us. Wooden benches clatter as the mass of people stretching from the foot of the palace to as far as the gates of Nimun kneel as one and touch their foreheads to the wooden flagstones.

I hesitate by the prostrate servants. Their foreheads are still pressed against the stone, but Gilgamesh is no longer looking, and it makes me uncomfortable to be kneeled before as if I were a god. I cast a swift glance at Gilgamesh's back and crouch and take the first servant by his folded hands. He looks up at me, startled, and instantly lowers his eyes as he recognizes me. I take his hands in mine and tug him to his feet. After years spent living with humans, I have grown used to controlling my own strength, but he still stumbles to his feet as though he'd been stung and stares at me with wide dark eyes. He looks scarce elder than I, no older than Shamhat. I offer him a tentative smile and gesture to the other kneeling servants. It takes him a moment to catch on, but he bows swiftly and hastens over to the others and begins tapping them on the shoulders and helping them up. I catch up to Gilgamesh as he holds out a hand to me. In the other he already holds a carved goblet filled with wine. He raises it high, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "To the gods!" he shouts. "A blessing for the harvest. We will celebrate this day with many sacrifices, and the gods will smile down upon us!"

"To the gods!" the crowd echoes. Gilgamesh lowers the goblet and takes a long draught, then passes it to me. Used to the ceremony by now -my part, at least, rarely changes- I take it and down the rest, then raise our clasped hands high as the crowd roars and stamps their feet on the flagstones. "To the gods!" we shout together, and the crowd dissolves into chatter once more.

A throne has been mounted on the front step of the palace. I touch the golden armrest curiously as Gilgamesh takes a seat in it, but it is not the solid gold throne from the great hall, only cedar wood gilded in gold and draped with leopard skin. A simpler chair, gilded gold but lacking the leopard skin and the high back and arms, is placed to his right. I sit down in it as servants bustle around us, offering us food and drink and taking up positions behind us to gently fan us with ostrich feathers.

A girl in the simple white tunic of their kind, her long hair spilling down her slender shoulders, kneels at my feet and offers me a carved wooden bowl full of water. Another servant is already hovering by Gilgamesh as he dries his hands on a scrap of white fabric. I nod to her and wet my hands, washing away the filth of the day. She takes the bowl back when I am finished and hands me a drying cloth. I catch her gaze flick to Gilgamesh as I take it. As expected, he does not notice, his attention already focused on the red liquid spilling into his cup from a wineskin.

I cast her a surreptitious glance through the strands of my hair as I dry my hands. She is very pretty, with fair skin untanned by hard labor beneath the sun, and the pale hair and blue eyes of the tribes beyond the sea. She must have been captured in a raid, and taken to serve in the palace. The way she looks at Gilgamesh, however, is very familiar. I have seen the same look in the eyes of the court harlots, when Gilgamesh no longer welcomed them into his bedchamber.

I shift uncomfortably. The girl looks back hastily to me and takes the cloth and bows low. She casts one final, wistful glance at Gilgamesh before retreating into the shadows of the pillars on either side. I watch her go, slightly troubled, as Gilgamesh turns to me.

"Enkidu, you have barely touched your food, and your cup is yet empty," he says, surprise flickering across his face. "What is the matter? Do you feel ill?" He leans forward, concern creasing his brow, and presses a warm palm to my forehead. "I do not sense a fever." He frowns. "If it is the jest I made earlier that is bothering you, do not worry. It was merely a jest, nothing more." He touches my cheek. "You are still the most beautiful woman in all the kingdom."

I highly doubt that -I have seen other women at court whose beauty far surpass mine- but the compliment makes me smile, all the same. For the king who believes himself to never be wrong to come so close to apologizing must mean that he truly is concerned about me. "I am fine," I say. "And you must think me fragile indeed if that poor jest could make my appetite suffer." I brush his hand away. "I was thinking, that is all."

"A poor jest, hmm?" He chuckles, his good mood restored. "Perhaps, but you did not seem to think so at the time. Still, you have no need for concern. You are worthy of a king's love, after all. Do not forget that." His gaze flickers, a familiar expression clouding his crimson eyes, and I know he is thinking of later tonight, when the feast is over and we retire to his bedchamber.

I play with a bunch of grapes on my platter. "So I am merely one of many to you?"

Gilgamesh looks surprised. "What do you mean?"

I hesitate. I do not know how to describe this feeling, this strange uncomfortableness in the pit of my stomach. This wish that I had not seen the way the girl looked at him. "Before I came to the palace, there were many other women you loved in such a way, were there not?"

"Of course." As usual, Gilgamesh is far more comfortable breaching the subject than I. "I did not know you then, and it is natural for a man to seek pleasure among women. The king particularly so. However," -he holds up a hand- "they were merely a source of pleasure. I have never loved, save one. So do not be jealous, Enkidu. It ill becomes you."

"Jealous?" I have a vague recollection of Shamhat mentioning the word, but I do not remember what it means. "What is that?"

Gilgamesh seems amused by my ignorance. "Jealousy. To be envious of someone. It is only natural." He settles back comfortably in his throne. "But there is no need for concern. I love only you, Enkidu. You are the only one who is worthy, who has claimed my attention. I will never love another." He leans forward and cups my cheek, his crimson gaze intent. "You, and you alone."

I am still a little puzzled -is this feeling jealousy? I do not fully understand it. But I let him kiss me anyway, closing my eyes briefly as he slips his hand around to the nape of my neck and kisses me once more, firmly, and draws back. The glint is back in his eyes. "If you are not hungry, perhaps we shall leave the feast early," he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek. That settles it. I scoot back against my chair, one arm placed protectively around my platter. "I am hungry," I say. "Very hungry."

Gilgamesh sighs and relaxes back again. "Very well. Later, then." His tone brooks no argument. I decide I will debate that matter after I have eaten. "Here. Try this." I open my mouth obediently, and he pops something round into it. Spices explode on my tongue. I chew contentedly.

Then again, if he continues to introduce me to foods such as these, perhaps I will not debate it after all.