4 WEEKS LATER
The dining hall was alive with the warmth of laughter and conversation as the family gathered for a rare meal together.
Gilgamesh sat at the head of the table, relaxed, for the first time in a long time. Arthuria was by his side, her gaze flitting between their children and the table, a soft smile playing on her lips. Arthur, Elaine, Eugene, Artizea, and Rhyssand filled the remaining seats, laughter and playful jabs passing
between them as plates were filled and emptied
As the dessert was served, Rhyssand rose from his seat, a calm yet commanding presence settling over the table as all eyes turned to him.
He glanced at Artizea, her hand resting lightly over her stomach, and then back at the gathered family.
Rhyssand clears his throat, his expression steady but his voice filled with emotion as he addresses the family. "Your Majesty…" he began, his words directed at Gilgamesh. "And to all of you who have become my family, I have an announcement."
The room quieted, every eye turning toward him. He glanced at Artizea, who gave him an encouraging nod, her hand resting lightly over her stomach.
"Artizea and I are expecting a child," Rhyssand said, his voice clear and proud.
For a moment, silence filled the hall as the weight of the announcement settled.
Then, Arthuria was the first to react. She stood, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and strode to her daughter's side. "A grandchild," she said, her voice filled with pride.
She embraced Artizea, then Elaine gasped, her excitement breaking through as she leaped from her seat. "A baby! Oh, Artizea! Imagine the baby shower !" she exclaimed, rushing to embrace her sister.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, his typically stoic face breaking into a rare, genuine smile. "Finally, something to look forward to that is not a war."
Even Eugene looked up from his book, his usual detached demeanor replaced with a small, pleased smile.
But it was Gilgamesh who drew the most attention. He sat still, his gaze fixed on Rhyssand, a rare mix of shock and wonder softening his imposing features.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, lifting his goblet.
"A toast," he declared, his deep voice resonating through the hall. "To the continuation of our legacy, Artizea and Rhyssand, for bringing new light into this family."
But as the words left his mouth, his hand trembled, and he staggered.
"Father?" Artizea's voice was sharp with concern.
"I am fine…" Gilgamesh muttered, brushing off the alarmed looks of his family. He straightened, forcing himself upright, only to sway again.
"Gil?" Arthuria's voice was filled with alarm as she reached for him.
"I am fine!" Gilgamesh muttered, but as he tried to rise, his face paled, and he clutched his chest tightly. And he collapsed, his goblet clattering to the floor.
"Father!" Artizea cried, rushing to his side.
"Call the healers!" Arthur barked, his voice cutting through the chaos as he stood, knocking over his chairArthuria knelt beside Gilgamesh, her hand trembling as she cupped his face. "Gil! Wake up!"
Rhyssand moved swiftly, kneeling opposite Arthuria to check Gilgamesh's pulse. "He's alive, but his body's overworked," Rhyssand said, his tone calm but urgent.
Gilgamesh's eyelids fluttered faintly as he murmured, "He heals me… to kill me," his eyes briefly locking on Rhyssandbefore they closed again.
"Stop talking nonsense!" Arthuria snapped, her voice breaking as she gripped his hand tightly.
When Gilgamesh finally became alert, he found Artizea and Arthuria both at his bedside. He groaned, his voice hoarse, "What are you all fussing about?"
"Dad!" they all yelled into his eardrums.
Gilgamesh waved off the panic with a weak but defiant gesture. "Enough… I am not… dying," he rasped, though his labored breathing betrayed his words.
"Gil, stop being stubborn!" Arthuria snapped, her voice trembling.
The healers rushed into the room moments later, ushering the family back as they began their work. The dining hall, once filled with joy, was now heavy with tension.
As the healers stabilized Gilgamesh and prepared to move him to his chambers, he managed to look at Artizea, his eyes still fierce despite his weakened state. "You could not have at the very least waited… to tell me this… until after dinner?" he muttered.
As they carried him out, Arthuria followed closely, her hand never leaving his. The family stayed behind, the earlier joy now tempered by worry and unease.
Rhyssand pulled Artizea into his arms, whispering, "He'll be fine. He's too stubborn not to be."
Artizea nodded, though her heart remained heavy. For all of Gilgamesh's strength and resilience, this was a stark reminder that even kings were mortal.
The royal family sat tensely in Gilgamesh's chambers, the earlier panic slowly ebbing away. The King of Heroes, now propped up in bed, looked far less like the formidable warrior-king and more like a man deeply annoyed at the fuss around him.
Eugene stood at the bedside, finishing his examination. "Father, you did not have a heart attack. It was a severe reaction to… the combination of excitement and rich food. Honestly, I think the spiced lamb might've done it."
Gilgamesh groaned, rubbing his temples. "I collapse one time at dinner, and suddenly, I am treated as if I am at death's door."
Arthuria stood with arms crossed, glaring at him. "You scared everyone half to death, Gil. What were we supposed to think?"
Elaine, still holding her mother's hand, chimed in mischievously. "Maybe It is because he is getting old?"
Arthur, ever the straight shooter, nodded in agreement. "Exactly, you are not as young as you used to be, Father. Maybe It is time to start pacing yourself."
"Old?" he chuckled off, "I am not old! I am practically in my prime. My golden years!"
Arthur smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, right, Old man."
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed as he sat up straighter. "I know the exact position that made you, boy. I can do it correctly this time—"
THWAP
"With whose womb?" Arthuria spat, slapping her husband's arm.
"To be fair, Father," Eugene cut in, "It might be wise to watch your diet a little more. And perhaps not let major announcements catch you so off guard."
Artizea, who had been sitting quietly by the bedside with Rhys, shook her head, unable to suppress a grin. "Dad—There is something you are not telling us."
Gilgamesh gave her a mock scowl, though the corners of his lips betrayed him with an upward twitch.
"Very well," he sighed dramatically. "I am… no longer of divine blood."
Gasps filled the chamber.
"What!" Elaine's voice cracked in disbelief. "But we only just found out you were!"
Gilgamesh wiggled his ears—an absurdly human habit he was still getting used to. "As I was saying," he continued, clearing his throat with exaggerated dignity, "though I may still have some power left in my veins, I hold no third, half, or whole divinity anymore."
He straightened his robe, then jabbed a finger toward his eldest daughter.
"However!" he announced, the familiar booming tone returning. "I can still discipline. And let it be known, daughter, that it wasn't the lamb that startled me earlier. It was the shock of learning that I am to be a grandfather." His eyes glimmered with mock horror. "That is no small thing! What if the poor child comes out looking like a raven?"
Rhys coughed, trying—and failing—to hide a laugh.
Artizea threw him a warning glance, then leaned forward, her smile softening into something fond."Father, we've discussed this already—they are not ravens, but midnight doves."
For a moment, her father's expression gentled. He reached out and laid a hand over hers.
"Then I will be ready," he said quietly. "I promise you that."
"I will need that in writing." Artizea quickly added.
Gilgamesh sighed with a smirk, signaling for a quill and stamp.
The tension in the room dissolved into light-hearted banter as the family relaxed, relieved that Gilgamesh was truly fine.
Arthuria sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "Golden years or not, Gil, we are cutting back on the wine. Everyone will," glancing at Arthur.
"Over my corpse," he grumbled, "I need it to function."
"It is a degree—"
He groaned dramatically at the snickering filling the room.
Rhyssand watched the playful exchange, "Have I ever mentioned…" leaned closer to Artizea. "How much I love your family's chaos."
Artizea smiled, squeezing his hand. "We are quite charming, are we not?"
The Pendragon dining hall was alive with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of fine crystal. Gilgamesh sat at the head of the table, his goblet of wine resting in his hand. His keen eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flicked from face to face, observing the dynamics at play.
Artizea and Rhyssand sat side by side, their interaction unusually warm and unguarded for a family dinner. Rhyssandleaned in close to Artizea, whispering something that made her smile—a rare, soft expression that Gilgamesh noted with a raised brow. His gaze shifted to Arthur and Cesealia, who were deep in conversation. Cesealia, to her credit, carried herself with a steady grace that belied the tension of being introduced to the family officially. Arthur, on the other hand, his a light tone as he chuckled at one of her stories. Even Eugene and Elaine seemed to be warming to her, chiming in with questions about her life at sea.
Gilgamesh's attention drifted back to his daughter. Artizea sat rather uncomfortably, her hand resting protectively over her stomach.
The gesture was casual but repeated often enough that it drew his attention.
Back at the wedding, specifically. She had reached for her wine goblet but paused, her fingers brushing it before she withdrew her hand with a faint smile and leaned into Rhyssand's shoulder.
That memory was shattered when a casual comment from Elaine about 'how fast time flies' prompted Gil to start doing mental calculations about his eldest daughter's pregnancy timeline. A nagging thought began to form in the back of his mind. His eyes narrowed as his calculating mind replayed the timeline. The wedding had been a grand affair, held only 2 months ago. Yet here she was, visibly pregnant, her belly just beginning to show beneath the folds of her gown. He wasn't an expert on pregnancy growth, pregnancy looked great on Arthuria— but —even he knew the timing did not align. He set his goblet down with deliberate care, his gaze snapping to Rhyssand, who was now cutting into his steak with the calm demeanor of a man who thought he'd gotten away with something. His lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. Interesting.
The room fell silent when the head of the table cleared his throat. His voice, deceptively calm, cut through the lively chatter like a blade. "Artizea," he began, his tone measured, "When is your child due?"
All movement at the table ceased.
Artizea hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied her father. His gaze locked on Rhyssand, who had gone very, very still. She froze mid-sip of her tea, the question hanging heavily in the air. Everyone else at the table exchanged uneasy glances, except for Arthur, who was already trying to stifle a grin.
"Well, Father," she began cautiously, "The court physician said It is about—"
Gilgamesh raised a hand, cutting her off. His gaze turned to his son-in-law, who was looking increasingly nervous. "Let's save the specifics. I've already done the math."
Rhyssand visibly paled as the king's crimson eyes bore into him like a predator locking onto prey.
"You knocked up my daughter before the wedding," Gilgamesh said, his voice dangerously low.
Rhyssand felt his stomach drop as the king's words sank in, while Artizea nervously played with her ring. The atmosphere in the grand dining hall was unusually tense. While Arthur smirked over his goblet of wine. Elaine and Eugene exchanged wary glances, clearly eager to witness what was about to unfold. The room went deathly silent.
Rhyssand swallowed hard, throwing a desperate glance at Artizea. His eyes widened as she pretended to inspect the silver.
Arthur, ever the opportunist, leaned back in his chair with a grin. "Rhys, my advice? Run."
His eyes were wide. "To be fair, Your Majesty, I did not know until after I proposed!"
"Fair?" Gilgamesh rose to his feet, looming over the table like a storm about to break. "Fine, you have a head start; ten seconds. "
"Ten seconds for what?" Rhyssand asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"To run," Gilgamesh said simply, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.
Rhyssand paled, his normally calm demeanor cracking under the weight of Gilgamesh's wrath. "Artizea, darling," he whispered urgently. "Help me out here. "
Artizea, clearly enjoying this far more than she should have, leaned back in her chair and sipped her water. "You'd better go," she murmured, her tone almost teasing.
Rhyssand looked at the rest of the family for support. Half of the table either suddenly found her plate very interesting or stared at the ceiling as if they had not heard a word.
Gil began to roll up his sleeves. "I am giving you ten seconds, boy."
Rhyssand shot to his feet. "This is completely unreasonable!"
Arthur's laughter echoed in the hall as he clapped his hands. "This is the best day of my life."
Rhyssand pushed back his chair so fast it nearly toppled over. He stood, glancing around the table for an ally. His eyes landed on Arthur, who immediately shook his head.
"Do not you dare," Arthur warned.
Rhyssand pointed at him anyway. "Arthur knew all along!"
Arthur's smug grin froze. The room fell silent for a moment before all eyes turned to him. "Oh, no," he muttered, quickly realizing the tables were about to turn.
His father turned slightly, now fixed on his son. "Arthur," he said, the word dripping with warning. "Is this true?"
"Uh… define knew." Arthur tried, but as his father's eye narrowed, he quickly realized the danger he was now in, and he turned to defense. "Wait, wait, wait—Father, this is not about me!"
"One."
Arthur groaned, dragging a hand down his face, throwing his napkin onto the table. "You have doomed us both," he muttered to Rhyssand. "Now we are both going to die," as they both bolted out of their chairs.
"Rhyssand Rimat Pendragon," Gilgamesh said, his voice steady and measured, "You will not take the skies tonight." With a flick of his wrist, the glow solidified into chains that clinked as they wrapped around Rhyssand's wings, binding them tight against his back.
Rhyssand stumbled mid-step, nearly falling as the spell took hold. "You have got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder. His wings were completely gone, and he groaned.
"Welcome to the real Pendragon experience," Arthur quipped, yanking him forward by the arm. "You still have legs. Use them!"
Gilgamesh stood from his chair, his movements deliberate as he began pacing toward the exit. "Two—" he continued, his deep voice carrying through the hall.
He did not bother to run. No, A King never rushes and is never late. He knew they could not escape his reach.
Arthuria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Gil? Is this necessary?"
"It is," he responded, his voice steady as he followed at a leisurely pace, his focus entirely on the hunt.
Artizea finally stood up, torn between exasperation and amusement. "Father, don't kill him! I would prefer my child to have a father alive."
Gilgamesh paused mid-stride, casting his youngest son a sharp glance. "Perhaps," he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before vanishing.
Arthuria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as the remaining family members stared in stunned silence.
Elaine broke it first, laughing so hard she had to clutch her side. "I can't believe they ran!" she wheezed.
Cesealia, still processing the chaos, turned to Artizea. "Your family is… not what I expected."
Eugene smirked, raising his goblet. "We get that a lot."
Artizea sighed, leaning back in her chair with a faint smile. "Welcome to the Pendragons," she said, her tone laced with amusement. "It only gets worse from here."
From the table, Elaine leaned toward Eugene, muttering, "Five gold says he doesn't make it to the outer gates."
"Deal," Eugene replied without hesitation.
"Three!"
The two men scrambled through the halls of the palace, their boots echoing against the marble floors.
Guards looked on in confusion, unsure whether to intervene as the king's son and son-in-law ran like their lives depended on it.
"Can't fly, can't teleport," Rhyssand grumbled as they raced through the palace corridors. "I thought he said he was no longer a celestial!"
"Gotta read the fine print."
"Does he always pull these kinds of tricks?"
"Only when he's mad," Arthur replied, ducking under a low archway. "You are lucky he's counting. Usually, he just skips straight to the smiting."
Rhyssand shot Arthur a glare. "And this is supposed to make me feel better?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I told you—learn as you go —and take notes! Lots of notes—"
They rounded a corner, nearly colliding with Madeline carrying a tray of silverware. She yelped, spinning to avoid them, and the tray clattered to the floor.
"Sorry, Mads!" Arthur called over his shoulder, not slowing down. He then heard a chuckle, turning to see Rhyssandsmiling, "What about this is so funny?'
"I never had this much fun in my life—" Rhyssand said, still beaming.
Arthur huffed, "You must have had a very uninteresting life."
"I did, until your sister." Finally coming back down to earth, "Do you have a plan, by the way—" he asked, hopeful.
"I have a plan," Arthur interrupted. "It is just not a very good one."
"Four!"
"What's the probability of us surviving?" Rhyssand asked, incredulous.
"You sound like Eugene. Do you want to keep arguing, or do you wish to live?"
"Five!"
The sound of eternal rest, counting down to the last second, echoed faintly through the stone corridors of the palace as they bolted through a hidden entrance leading to the labyrinthine tunnels beneath Babaloniyah itself. The air was damp and thick with the smell of earth and mildew, cobwebs hanging like ghostly veils from the low ceiling.
Arthur led the way, his torch casting flickering shadows against the walls as they navigated the narrow passageways.
"Where are we even going?" Rhyssand hissed. "If the throne works as one, He will find us anywhere in its vicinity."
"Yeah, I thought so too…." Arthur muttered, "Elaine knows every escape route in this palace, and I used to think maybe it was because she was the favorite that she got away with it, but I learned, thanks to our dear brother, that the walls themselves are infused with a barrier. Our father built it along with the dungeon as a backup. So even if your moth— I mean, Ishtar — took control of the city, she still would not be able to locate our sister, let alone reach her."
Rhyssand's steps faltered. "He was never going to chain her in there, was he?"
Arthur shook his head. "The thought never crossed his mind."
Rhyssand exhaled, half in awe, half in unease. "He really does think of everything ahead of time."
Arthur gave a wry smirk. "Yeah. He's the best… You just have to look over the evil shit he does…" His words faltered as his torchlight caught movement up ahead. A rat, its beady eyes gleaming in the dim light, scurried across the path and disappeared into a crevice. He froze mid-step, his breath hitching audibly. He glanced frantically around the tunnel, as though the rat's brethren might leap out at any moment. "Gods in hell…"
Rhyssand, who had been following close behind, raised a brow. "Wait a second. You are afraid of rats?"
Arthur's jaw tightened, and he shot a glare over his shoulder. "They're disgusting. All right? And worst of all, my sister names each one of them—"
Arthur was fourteen.
The low murmur of conversation filled the air as the family enjoyed their evening meal, and he cut into his roast with precision. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a strange noise tugging at the edge of his hearing.
*Squeak.*
He froze, his fork hovering mid-air. He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing. "Did… did anyone else hear that?" he asked, his voice tinged with unease.
"Hear what?" Artizea replied, not looking up from her plate.
"That noise," Arthur said, his voice lowering. "Like… a squeak."
"Probably your imagination, Arthur," she replied
But Arthur did not look convinced, and he hesitantly resumed eating, keeping a wary eye on the floor. He then dared to look under it, his fears were confirmed when a small, gray figure darted out from Elaine's boot up her leg.
Arthur's fork clattered onto his plate as he leaped up, nearly knocking over his chair. "By the gods—What is that?!"
The rest of the family turned to see a tiny mouse sitting innocently by Eugene's lap, its whiskers twitching as it looked up at him with innocent black eyes.
He scrambled backward, pointing an accusing finger at the creature. "It is a RAT! A vile, disease-ridden RAT! Someone get rid of it!"
Eugene, who had been quietly eating his dinner, broke into a wide smile. "Oh, that's just Thomas, and he is a mouse," he said casually.
"Thomas?" Arthur repeated, he blinked as his fear momentarily replaced with confusion… "You named it?!"
"I named it, Eugene. Help me catch him and his friends!" Elaine exclaimed while leaning down and scooping up the mouse, holding it gently in her hands. "He's my pet. Look, I even made him a little shirt! Isn't he adorable?"
"A Pet…? Father!" Arthur's voice cracked as he pointed a trembling finger at the mouse. "That is a rodent!" His face turned pale. "And I demand its removal!"
Gilgamesh sighed, "Cease pestering me, boy…" he said without looking up.
Arthur whimpered, "Mother…" he pleaded. "Mother, surely you see the madness in this—"
Arthuria tilted her head, studying the tiny creature in Eugene's hands. "Son," she said with a soft chuckle. "It is quite cute if you look at it closely."
He gaped at her, utterly betrayed. "I will not!"
Artizea, who had been watching the scene unfold with poorly disguised amusement, leaned back in her chair, her eyes gleaming.
"This is not funny, Tizea."
"It is hilarious," Elaine chimed in, barely suppressing her laughter. "Arthur is scared by a mouse!"
"Scared?!" His voice climbed higher. "I am not scared! I just don't want that creature anywhere near me!"
"Oh, come now, Arthur. It is just a mouse. Are you seriously scared of it?"
"Mice and Rats may be two different things, but they share the same fate." Arthur looked around the room, looking for the closest sword.
Eugene smirked, holding Thomas up as if for inspection. "He's harmless, Arthur. Look at him."
"Eugene, get that thing away from me!" He backed away further, his hand gripping the edge of the table. "I swear I will kill it—"
"No!" Elaine interrupted, snatching Thomas back, soothing him as she kissed it, as if it would turn into a prince."
Arthur glared at her, his jaw tightening.
Gilgamesh, who had been quietly observing the chaos, finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the room. "Enough," he said, though there was a faint smirk on his face. "Arthur, sit down, Eugene, take the mouse… elsewhere."
Eugene shrugged, cradling Thomas protectively. "Fine, I shall take him back to my chambers."
"Just go! You could take it to Hell for all I care."Arthur glared at him.
As Eugene left the room, he paused at the door and turned back with a devilish grin. "Sweet dreams, Big brother…"
His breath caught in his throat. He could feel the weight of those words settling over him, a subtle threat that sent a shiver down his spine. For the first time in his life, the brave and boisterous Arthur Pendragon felt fear.
That night, Arthur lay in his bed, his eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling. The usual comfort of his chambers now felt oppressive, every creak of the floorboards or rustle of the wind setting his nerves on edge.
He swore he could hear the faint sound of scratching— Thomas, no doubt, plotting his revenge.
With each passing minute,
His paranoia grew.
He pulled the covers up to his chin, his eyes darting to the corners of the room, half-expecting the tiny creature to appear.
*Squeak*
Arthur jumped out of his skin. He wasn't sure it was the memory or reality.
A grin tugged at Rhyssand's lips despite the situation. "It is only a little…"
"They are not little!" Arthur snapped, his voice higher than usual. He resumed walking but kept glancing nervously at the walls and floor. "They carry disease and filth. They are unnatural. I am sure hell is their origin."
Rhyssand chuckled.
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, his torchlight flickering ominously as he turned to face Rhyssand.
"Point taken," Rhyssand said, smirking.
Arthur scowled, pointing his torch at a corner as if it were a weapon. "Let's just get moving before—"
A faint squeaking noise came from the shadows ahead. Arthur's face paled instantly.
Rhyssand grinned wickedly. "It is either father dearest or the rats."
Arthur hesitated, his gaze darting between the dark tunnel ahead and the faint glimmers of torchlight that marked their pursuers.
" …The rats," he muttered finally, shuddering. "I will take the rats…"
Arthur and Rhyssand stumbled deeper into the tunnels, the flickering torchlight barely enough to illuminate the path. The squeaking grew louder, echoing off the walls like a sinister chorus.
Arthur's grip on the torch tightened, his knuckles white as he muttered a stream of curses under his breath.
"Would you relax?" Rhyssand said, barely suppressing a laugh. "They are not going to hurt you."
Arthur shot him a glare. "Don't you talk about them like that," he hissed. "They can smell fear—oh gods, I think that one just looked at me."
Rhyssand burst into laughter, his voice echoing down the tunnel. "I am sure they can."
Another squeak came from the darkness, and Arthur froze again, his body rigid.
"One more word—" he said through gritted teeth, "And I will leave you here for Father to deal with."
"Oh, please," Rhyssand replied with a spring in his step. "Your father's wrath is nothing compared to—"
A deep, booming voice echoed down the tunnels, cutting him off. "Seven!"
Both men stiffened, their banter forgotten as the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer.
"Keep moving!" Arthur barked, his fear of rats momentarily overshadowed by his fear of his father.
They scampered down the passageway, the sound of Gilgamesh's pursuit driving them forward.
They emerged into the gardens, both men were disheveled and breathless, their clothes damp from the tunnel's moisture. Rhyssand leaned against a stone pillar, trying to catch his breath.
The moon cast a pale light over the scene, but it felt like a spotlight exposing their every move.
Arthur yanked Rhyssand toward the stables, his breath coming in short bursts. "We'll take the horses—there's a path through the forest he won't expect."
"We are going to die," Rhyssand wheezed, "We are going to die."
"Oh, no, you are going to die. I am collateral damage," Arthur snapped, sprinting toward the stables. "I just knew, which means I am getting less of a death than you, but a death nonetheless."
They burst into the courtyard, Rhyssand barely keeping up as Arthur swung himself onto a black warhorse. The stable doors exploded behind them as Gilgamesh emerged.
Arthur yanked the reins. "What are you waiting for? Get on!"
Rhyssand stood frozen. "I-I don't know how to ride a horse," he stuttered
Arthur's head snapped toward him so fast that Rhys thought he heard something crack. "You know how to ride a dragon, don't you?! That's why we are in this mess! And this is how we are gonna get out of it!"
Rhyssand opened his mouth, but Arthur wasn't done.
"—Get on the goddamn horse, Rhyssand!" Arthur screeched.
They each mounted a horse in record time, the animals snorting as if sensing the tension. Arthur adjusted his grip on the reins, his knuckles white. "Follow my lead, and maybe we'll live to see morning. Hiyah—"
"Hi…"
Rhyssand barely got out before the horses thundered down the forest path, hooves kicking up dirt and leaves as the two men pushed them to their limits.
The towering trees loomed overhead, their branches casting shifting shadows in the moonlight.
"Eight!"
"Shit!" Arthur echoed, terrified.
"It is been hours!" Rhyssand shouted over the wind.
"Does it matter?" Arthur snapped, "Move!"
The path narrowed, forcing the horses to weave through the trees. Branches whipped at their faces, and the sound of their pursuer grew louder.
Rhyssand risked a glance back and caught sight of Gilgamesh striding calmly through the forest, the golden chains snaking around him, ready to strike.
"This man is no human," Rhyssand muttered, urging his horse to keep pace.
"None of us truly are," Arthur replied dryly.
After a fool's journey, the forest finally opened into a snug clearing, the stars above shining brightly.
Arthur slowed his horse, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.
Rhyssand followed suit, glancing around for any sign of their pursuer.
"I don't see him," Rhyssand asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"That's what he wants you to think," Arthur muttered, his tone grim. "He wants you to stop—Don't— He always catches up eventually."
As if on cue, a familiar golden glow lit up the path behind them. Rhyssand swore under his breath. "How does he do that?"
"It is like he's got a sixth sense," Arthur growled, spurring his horse faster. "Or seventh. Or eighth."
That made something click in Rhyssand's mind. A few gears turned. "Uh… how much do you know of your father's celestial blood before?"
"R-really- really? Right now, you have questions?" he yelled back, "Aren't you supposed to be all knowing or some shit—"
"Long story short…" he breathed out, "Since I am the only current living heir of the bloodline, I have no one to share my power with, if I use any of abilities, I will not be able to keep the balance of holding it compared to the power i was limited before, I cannot say I am displeased, as it gives me a more human's perspective and their limitations."
Arthur sighed as well."I swear you and my father could be a paradox, and I find that very disturbing!" The least he could do was fulfill a man's dying wish, "Our grandmother was a goddess or something, our grandfather was gifted power from the gods, that is the power within his viens at the present moment, you know how the rest of the story goes, they wanted to make the vessel, that was supposed to be our father, they could not berid him nor could they take that back, so they killed our uncle instead as punishemnt."
Rhyssand stilled even on he moving horse, "Was his name Enkidu?"
"Yeah—why?"
"No reason…" Rhyssand glanced back. The truth pieced itself together in quiet horror: his father had killed his wife's father's brother. And worse — her father had known. He could not help be feel this could be more than knocking up his daughter.
Arthur dismounted as well, leaning against his horse. "You have got guts, I will give you that. Marrying my sister, knocking her up, standing up to Father, It is almost… impressive."
"Almost?" Rhyssand asked, raising a brow.
Arthur smirked. "Let's just say You have got a long way to go before you are fully pledged a Pendragon."
"Oh? Am I Pendragon to you now?"
Arthur tilted his head, giving him that sharp, testing stare.
"I feel like you still have something you want to say to me." Rhyssand chuckled. "Oh, I've got plenty to say." Arthur smirked, "Starting with he fact I wanted nothing more than to see you fall—and now I find myself out here trying to keep your royal ass alive, isn't that a funny joke?" he chuckled tiredly.
Rhyssand's grin faded just enough for sincerity to slip through. "I love your sister, Arthur. Truly," he said softly.
Arthur did not look away, swallowing the pride that always came before emotion. "…Yeah," he muttered, giving a single nod. "I know you do, everything you do is for her, you can protect her in ways no one else can, make her smile when times of uncertainty, wipe her tears she pretends to hide for the sake of duty, that is why she loves you too, that's why I had to learn to let my sister go, that was the moment i knew I no longer stood a chance of protecting her, Because she found someone who sees her, someone who does not keep trying to shield her from what she is or meant to face…" he paused, "your not just another sword at her side...but someone who…fights for her, with her. Because of her and only her, for her…"
Rhyssand froze.
"Welcome to the family… brother," Arthur added.
Rhyssand smiled.
Their brief respite was interrupted by the sound of footsteps—steady, deliberate, and far too close for comfort. They both froze, turning to see their pursuer standing at the edge of the clearing, his eyes now glowing like embers.
"Nine," Gilgamesh said, his voice calm yet laced with menace, "You have lasted longer than I expected, for that I give you a choice… Surrender now or face disciplinary actions."
Arthur and Rhyssand exchanged a glance. Without a word, they bolted in opposite directions, forsaking their horses.
Gilgamesh sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe I am getting too old for this."
When the two men finally returned to the palace hours later, they were disheveled, exhausted, and covered in dirt.
Gilgamesh was already waiting for them in the great hall, seated on his throne with a goblet of wine in hand and his signature smirk playing on his lips.
"Welcome back," he said smoothly, his tone carrying just a hint of amusement. "Ten."
Arthur groaned, muttering under his breath, "Mother's people…"
"They cannot help you, son, now. Shall we discuss consequences?" he asked, swirling the wine in his goblet as though the question were casual.
Arthur, usually quick with a quip, seemed to lose all sense of composure. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head in defeat. "Father, if it pleases you, I only ask that my death be swift."
"Silence," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He set the goblet down and leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Rhyssand as he descended the steps with slow, deliberate movements.
The two men froze, exchanging a glance that said everything: We are so fucked.
"You," Gilgamesh resumed coldly, "Have a remarkable talent for testing my limitations…"
Rhyssand squared his shoulders, trying to regain some semblance of dignity despite the mess he was in. "To be fair," he began cautiously, "Your daughter tests mine daily."
A flicker of amusement passed through Gilgamesh's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Do you think humor will save you now?"
"Worth a shot," Rhyssand muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Arthur.
"Running, scheming, hiding—does my daughter truly believe you are worth all this trouble?" he continued.
Rhyssand straightened, though his expression was wary. "I'd like to think so," he admitted. But then, he surprisingly took a page from Arthur's non-existent book, man up. "Now that I have answered your question, It is only fair that you answer mine."
Gilgamesh halted a few feet away, his gaze narrowing. "Oh?"
Arthur winced with a look that said, You are on your own, mate.
Rhyssand's voice was steady, but there was something dangerous beneath it. "My father killed your brother for my second mother. And she…nearly destroyed everything you lived for after his death. With my help, Everything you swore to protect was on the verge of destruction. So tell me, Your Majesty — why did you let me live? Let alone marry under your protection? Was it to punish me for the sins of my blood, or my own?"
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the air between them. Then the king raised a hand. A golden light surged from only his palm, enveloping Rhyssand in an aura that shimmered like molten sunlight. With a sharp snap, the spell binding his wings broke.
Rhyssand felt the rush of power tear through him — his wings unfurling behind him once more. Relief came swiftly, but so did the truth: this wasn't mercy. It was a warning.
Gilgamesh's voice was low when he finally spoke, "My brother was the embodiment of all that is good in this world. Never once would he have approved of such a deed. And never once did I think of it." His gaze hardened. "You are alive because my daughter allowed you to be. The question you ask belongs to her."
"I ask you nonetheless," Rhyssand pressed.
Gilgamesh's eyes flared with restraint and faint respect."Placing the burden of a five-hundred-year-old curse upon a single soul," he said slowly, "Is what we call inhumane down here." He let the words hang in the air, then added, "But punishing you for your own…" he said quietly, "That is a matter that has already been balanced." He lowered his hand, the golden light fading. "Your wings are yours again. However, (There it was) your freedom is temporary, just like my patience. I told you once before, not that long ago, may I add…that there is no place you can hide, and I mean it, as proven today, would you not agree, Rhyssand Pendragon?"
Rhyssand inclined his head, his voice steady. "Understood."
Gilgamesh turned his attention to Arthur, who was still kneeling. "And you, Arthur Pendragon," he said, his tone softening just enough to sound more dangerous. "I suggest you think carefully before you involve yourself in such foolishness."
Arthur looked up cautiously, "Noted, dully noted," he said quickly, rising to his feet. "And may I say, Father, your restraint is truly—"
"Leave," Gilgamesh interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Before I change my mind."
Arthur did not need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing Rhyssand by the arm and dragging him toward the exit. "Come on," he muttered, his voice low but urgent. "Before he grounds us."
As they made their hasty retreat, Gilgamesh returned to his throne, shaking his head in exasperation. "Children," he muttered under his breath, though a faint smirk lingered on his lips.
By the time Rhyssand made it to their chambers, the night was deep, the palace eerily quiet.
His steps were slower now, exhaustion weighing down every muscle after the chase, the confrontation with Gilgamesh, and Arthur's relentless commentary. He pushed open the heavy doors.
When he entered their chambers, his first instinct was to collapse onto the bed, but the grime and exhaustion of the day clung to him like a second skin.
He sighed, pulling off his boots and heading toward the adjoining bathing room, the soft sound of water already calling to him.
Inside, the large marble tub was steaming, filled almost to the brim. He quickly stripped off his clothes, eager to wash away the stress of the day.
As he stepped into the warm water, his muscles began to unwind, and he leaned back against the smooth edge, letting out a long sigh of relief.
Moments later, the door creaked open, and Artizea entered, her robe loosely tied around her.
She paused at the edge of the tub, her eyes sparkling with mischief."Room for one more?" she asked innocently. Her hair was loose and cascading over her shoulders.
Rhyssand smirked, leaning back against the edge of the tub. "I didn't think you'd wait up."
Artizea shrugged, "I thought about it, but…" She untied her robe, letting it slip from her shoulders to reveal her growing belly—"then I remembered you are hopeless without us." a gentle curve that marked her three months of pregnancy. Her hands instinctively rested on it for a moment before she stepped into the tub with practiced ease. As she settled in front of him, leaning back against his chest, Rhys automatically wrapped his arms around her, his hands coming to rest on her bump.
She sighed contentedly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his forearm.
He let out a long sigh, "Your father…"
She chuckled softly, " I heard you were running through tunnels," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"And dodging rats," He added with a wry smile, "Apparently, your brother has a phobia for them."
She chuckled, "On the contrary, it is the most normal thing about him." Her fingers brushed lightly over his shoulder as she helped him with his tunic. "A good bonding trip, I take it?"
He caught her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Your father's very creative when it comes to consequences. I would not recommend testing him."
Artizea laughed, "Gee, thanks."
"You have no idea how exhausted I am," he murmured, his arms sliding around her waist.
She leaned into him, her voice soft. Something in her tone, in the quiet sincerity of her words, tugged at his heart. He pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a moment.
"I know You have been running around all day," she began.
Rhyssand's lips twisted into a knowing smile as he cut her off. "But…?"
Artizea turned to face him fully, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I was hoping you had just a little more energy left."
"That is why you waited so patiently, isn't it?" He laughed, the sound low and warm as it filled the room. "You know how incredibly bewitching you look wet and pregnant."
"I do.." she replied with a cheeky grin.
Rhyssand leaned forward, his forehead touching hers as his hands traced gentle circles on her belly. "But you are Pregnant, 15 weeks, 2 days, 5 hours, and 23 seconds, to be exact."
"Hey, you're getting better! "
"Enough that you are incapable of avoiding any subject."
She rolled her eyes, pretending to think. "Fine. How about a wager?"
"Oh?" he drawled.
"Information for information."
"Go for it."
She met his gaze squarely. "Why did you let me live? Answer me honestly, Rhyssand."
He stilled for a moment, the light in his eyes softening. "Because I saw nothing but good in you, killing you would be the greatest of sins," he said simply. "Why did you, even after finding out about the blood spilled? after everything else."
Her breath caught. Then, with that familiar spark of defiance, she whispered, "Because you saw me…you came for me and you saved me." She kissed him then, slow and desperate. "My turn. The healers said… up to sixteen weeks."
His lips brushed against hers. "You are fifteen weeks."
"Exactly my point."
"Point taken…" he murmured.