( closed ) hold your instincts hostage

[heelies]

CHARACTERS: Achilles and Gilgamesh
DATE: 3/28
WARNINGS: If you think there won't be blatant homoerotic overtones then I don't know what to tell you.
SUMMARY: Two ancient heroes walk into a public bath... What would ensue but philosophical discussion?


[When in the afternoon, as the sun's rays slant across the earth, Achilles finds his way into the bath house, his eyes pass over the scattering of Nalawi men to land upon the familiar visage of Gilgamesh: even absent the glinting armor and jewelry for which Peleus' son first admired the great king, his fair hair and comely features distinguish him with ease. Achilles passes through the water, which is shallow according to the purposes of men but tailored to the diminutive deer folk, that he may gain better proximity.]

Gilgamesh, shepherd of the people, so cross our paths again. Mind you if I partake in your company while we bathe our bodies?

[Giving proper greeting thus, he takes delight in looking upon godlike Gilgamesh: his frame is strung firm with muscles that attest to his prowess with bow and arrow and spear, and there remains in him the glow of youth. Despite the long lingering grief inside Achilles' heart that he finds himself stranded in such a predicament as this, with little more rights than a migrant, the warrior before him grants some respite. The king of Uruk is as a rope that ties him to a culture that is both familiar and comfortable in its absolutes.]

Comments

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh's hands pause. They slip to the sides of Achilles' face, and although these are the same hands that—like his own—could do great harm, they provide comfort here. Faint magic flows from his fingertips, intending to soothe. A healing spell that will find no wounds to seal, but will instead mend an uncertain heart, or at least try.

Meanwhile, he leans on the man's shoulder, leans in close, and speaks as the serpent did to Eve.]

I will tell you of your fate, Achilles. Not in this world, but my own. It is true, you met a swift and certain end, yet you also become a Hero. A Hero of my stature, that sat upon the Throne to someday join me in glorious battle. A Rider of glorious renown, the envy of all Greece.

[It was a rather blase way of explaining the Holy Grail War, but more details would have to trickle in, come with time rather than overwhelm like a tsunami. There was so much he had to tell him and not much of it he would understand, at least not right away. He can only give these hints until he catches on.]

So too you must carry the burden of that legend here. For good or for ill, the choice is yours. Will you idle, or will you bear your spear with pride?

[His teeth click together, just shy of nipping his neck.]

If you find yourself lacking purpose, then make one. Forge it in the glory of every sweep, of every strike, and force their respect on bowed heels.

[heelies]

[Achilles' eyes fall shut as he imbibes Gilgamesh's touch: the magic soothes as did the ambrosia slipped past his lips by Athena when he refused to eat for the grief that consumed him on the eve of battle with Hector, the same ambrosia which filled Patroclus' wounds until the time would come to grant him the full honor of funeral rites. He had been filled, yet not sated; Patroclus' flesh had been preserved, yet his life could not be.

Still, he welcomes the warmth pulsing from the king's fingers, from his words which hover over his skin. Achilles' neck arches in the way that a door opens on its hinges to beckon guests inside. While their speech concerns the politics of men, the shadow conversation held by their bodies speaks to politics of a different sort.

With his eyes open once more, he cranes to better see the man who leans into him as a vine trained over a tree branch.]

Bow-famed Archer too spoke of a throne for heroes, and of how it can be so that his soul has not slipped through death's gates. So upon this throne you too have sat, progenitor of all heroes, awaiting the call of war while never hearing the call of fate.

It is true, no warrior wishes for death when into battle he rides. It was glory I sought, but death I merely accepted as one must accept that with light comes the shadow it casts: thus, I fought despite it. Immortality was not meant for man. It is when man finds himself closest to the glory of the gods, when his fortune rises up untipped by sorrows, that he is most in danger of being struck down by the envious gods, who resent him for escaping the writhing misery that is man's lot.

Tell me, glorious Gilgamesh-- What is it that you've found inside the jaws of bloodshed never-ending?

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh chuckles under his breath to hear Achilles speak of Archer, much like how fellow warriors would rib each other over the dinner table.]

You might consider him a colleague of mine. I rule over him as kin; that is the true meaning behind my title, "King of Heroes". I believe you can trust in what he says, but I would be mindful not to incite him in any way. He can be dangerous.

[To say nothing of himself, who once tried to drown the world in curses. Not even Achilles at his most bloodthirsty would likely ever consider such a thing. Considering his question, though... that takes more time to answer, during which Gilgamesh openly drapes himself over Achilles, wet and slick against his backside.]

Mm. I've found many things, many treasures, so few of which you would believe. I have been cursed by gods, and witnessed my beloved struck down by them, but here—in the jaws of this particular beast—Achilles, I swear to you, you might think I lie, but...

[A deep, shuddering breath, and then—]

I have found freedom.

[heelies]

[Gilgamesh's advances are as the shift from one season into the next: the change is noticeable, palable in the air and on the skin, but it is the natural order of what follows. Achilles does not object to the pressure of water-slick muscles pushing against his back, hot skin holding an atmosphere of its own. His own chest rises and falls with the king of Uruk's deliberate breath, as the moon has reign over the tides.

He is pulled in not just by Gilgamesh's worthiness as a warrior, nor by his beauty, but by threads which the eyes cannot so easily pluck out: the loss of a beloved companion is an ache he knows well. Achilles too, godlike and war-loving, has heartstrings over which to glide deft fingers, and so he pauses to consider. His washcloth has long stilled and over the lip of the bath he drapes it.]

You are right that when I hear such a claim, my heart cannot help but reject it. Freedom in the rights stripped from us? In the absence of our consent? No, it turns all reason around. Yet you are an honorable man, and your counsel I should therefore consider, disagreeable though your claim may be. The freedom you have found in these wretched circumstances - how can this be so?

[He reaches for the vial which holds distilled bath oils and administers a small amount to his palms, that he may continue the ritualistic cleansing. Again he begins with his chest, consecrating his skin with the nourishing oils.]

[babbylon]

Before, even as King, I was enslaved.

[A simple remark that's not so simple in practice. But what more could even be said?]

[heelies]

[His hands slow as he absorbs Gilgamesh's words: he senses the catacombs beneath the deceptive simplicity, for such a truth is incongruous with the world he knows. That there remains something hidden is inherent.]

It is not for kings to be cast down into slavery: women and children are ripe for the taking when the cities of men are sacked, but the men are slaughtered where they stand. How came you to such vile circumstances? A warrior of such godlike power as what you possess?

[babbylon]

It is a long story.

[And he's not entirely certain if this was the appropriate venue for it, lounging all over each in the bath. Ultimately he just sighs, shakes his head, and returns to his place beside the man. Staring outward, at nothing in particular, or perhaps something only he can see.]

Even bearing a crown, sometimes there are certain realities beyond our control. I suppose you might see this situation as the same way.

[His fingers, briefly, encircle Achilles' wrist before pulling back.]

Well, regardless of what you choose to do, I will still provide counsel. It is my duty as a King, after all.

[heelies]

I shall not ask you to recount such a story, which might pull sorrows down around your shoulders. As such, my curiosity will have to wait for another day.

[As he speaks, godlike Achilles continues the ritual of bathing: his palm plays over his abdominals, slow and purposeful as are the waves that lull the sands upon the shore. It is not intended as an exhibition for Gilgamesh's sake, although he is well aware of the sensual sheen to such an act.]

Your counsel I value, glorious Gilgamesh, for you are indeed a worthy king. The freedom of which you speak - perhaps I too might find it here, in the escape from the fate which was supposed to bind me to death's gate. Yet even as I speak such words they ring hollow as the hull of a ship. It is not for man to deny fate - no, even the gods who watch from on high Olympus must listen to fate's steady beat.

There is but little of which I can be certain here - but I do know that in you I can place my loyalty, so long as you continue to shine your favor upon me.