bolide | Such selfish prayers...

The lions haven't stopped following him. One fair, one dark, prowling side by side - he knows a sign when he sees one. As Enkidu arrives in Uruk, it is perhaps no surprise that the people regard him with awe. Not only because of the animals trailing behind him as though they are pets, domesticated to perfection, harming no-one. The much more distinctive sign is that there is none of their weariness in him, that he holds himself as though he himself is a king, proud and strong and aware of his pride and his strength, yet completely unlike any king. When he speaks, he wants his questions answered, but he is patient, making no effort to intimidate or threaten, only ever treating everyone with respect.

As always, it is the children who lose their fear first. Slowly but surely. But before long, he is playing with them in the streets, passing the hours of the day before the wedding starts - he knows not the details of it, only that it will give him the chance to meet this king. The king Shamhat spoke of, who sent her to him and drew him from the wilderness. Perhaps that the draw still holds is only natural, but as he observes the people all around, he grows wary next to his curiosity. Why is it that they are so tired? What pulls at them so and weighs them down like chains, dragging even their eyes ever towards the ground rather than the horizon?
But questions will come later. Now, there's much time before nightfall, so, so much. They play, him and the children and the lions too, and people stand and stare in wonder. He takes that in stride, much as he did when his last friends looked on, attentive and quiet, and pays them no mind, doing simply what he feels like. (Word spreads. He pays it no mind.)

The wedding itself is something else. Unlike anything he's ever seen, of course, and they invite him into the festives too, to food and drink and music. He thinks, perhaps, he's caught sight of the King, but there are too many people, plain and simple, and as unused to it as he is, it's so much to take in that he loses sight of him again.

The questions haunt him though. There's something of an uncertainty to a few of the faces. Something of an unwillingness, and he can't place it, can't explain it. If this is a celebration - and that's certainly what it seems like - of the union of a man and a woman, a happy union at that, then why is there something akin to fear in the air? The trepidation... it makes no sense.

So he finds out.

Is told, in quiet tones and with that hurt, humiliated, weary air, again - of the custom regarding the wedding night. Of the King's own rule and his divine right. And for the first time since awakening to this mind, Enkidu feels rage.
He doesn't await further explanation. Pays no mind as the man he's questioned splutters and falls silent, backing away. Doesn't realize he's bared his teeth in plain and simple outrage at this pointless law, doesn't care. Silently his feet carry him from the festives, and anyone who sees him backs out of his path. Then he picks up the pace, moves at a run, not caring about obstacles, living or otherwise, either scaling them or pushing out of the way. The palace is impossible to miss.
By the time he arrives there, the brilliant white heat of anger has not left him, but his mind has calmed. His feet pad nearly soundlessly through the stone hallways in the dimming light, and the bride being seen to the bedchamber is not so difficult to find. Stalking prey is not something he's forgotten how to do, staying unseen in the darker parts of shadows, biding his time. Once she has entered, once everyone has left, that is when he moves. Silently, still, feeling the edge of the heat still under his skin. So he stays. By the door, silent as a sentry.
And he is.