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Kirei was hardly a proper priest.
He may have been one when Gilgamesh first met him, but he soon discarded that way of life, together with a lot of other things, and had thrown away the slightest traces and shreds of it by the time they had just started their post-war cooperation, and their life together. He was good at pretending, and to some extent, managed to fool everyone (everyone but the pupil of his who never trusted him in the first place) but never once did Gilgamesh see him performing any religious duties or activities with the sort of faith and belief one would expect out of a man who serves God. (He had a daily ritual of prayer that was obviously nothing more but a long-lasting habit he didn’t feel like breaking, and Gilgamesh saw the kind of expressions that would sometimes appear on his face in the process— there was one incredibly frequent sort of face he’d make, but there was a variety of others too.)
There was one time, however— a few years after their life together, one late evening, Gilgamesh came back into the church to find Kirei in the rarely-used confessionals, taking a different role than the one he was assigned to as “Father Kotomine”.
There he was, way at the back, in the position reserved for the one doing the confessing, and talking about all his past sins (and certain things that weren’t true and actual sins as much as they were “sins”, as far as Gilgamesh was concerned, but he didn’t say that to him) in what started as a soft, slow tone, sounding no different than he usually did. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned”, he would say, and confess, over and over again, and when he came outside his reaction to seeing Gilgamesh was barely a reaction at all— a mere blink at most— but of course, he didn’t get the chance to react further anyway because Gilgamesh spoke first.
“If you confess with a smile like that, Kirei, nobody will buy anything that comes out of your mouth.” He said, standing as he leaned against the wall, his arms folded. “So, what was that all about? Playing around?”
“Don’t put it like that.” Kirei said, wearing a half-amused smile and speaking in a mock insulted tone, the combination that would always appear when responding to Gilgamesh’s complaints. “Is it not allowed for me to do as I wish in my own church?”
“Oh, I know you, Kirei. You do not take any of these things seriously. You smile like that even when you pray, as if it is all one incredibly unfunny private joke to you. She calls you a fake priest, right? How appropriate.”
Kirei did not deny that, nor did he say anything at all. He shrugged, put his hands behind his back, returning to his default posture, formal and businesslike, leaving for the room where they’d often spend their idle time together. Gilgamesh followed him, and found that when he was there, Kirei was already sitting on a sofa and—well, would you look at that— sipping from a wine glass.
—And that was when Gilgamesh brought up the one thing he overheard that made him the most curious— more curious than the question of what motivated Kirei to do his “playing around” in the confessionals, and what was going on with Kirei that he actually poured himself a glass and drank entirely on his own.
“I didn’t know you used to have a wife.”
“You didn’t ask.”
His answer was delivered in a perfectly flat, relaxed tone, without even a split second on surprise on Kirei’s part at the question, the kind of tone Kirei used when speaking about, frankly, nearly everything. Kirei, who was becoming (somewhat annoyingly) better at comebacks as of late, and did so more frequently than he used to (which was more than merely somewhat annoying), received a slight glare from Gilgamesh but nothing else.
“But I really am surprised. It doesn’t sound like you at all. You said you didn’t love her or even care for in the least, too.”
Kirei shrugged again, and said. “It was just one of my many failed experiments when I was younger. Nothing ever came out of it.” His tone did not change from earlier— but the expression on his face suddenly seemed, in its own way, a bit colder.
Now that’s an obvious lie, Gilgamesh thought. Though most people were already quite easily readable to him, even Kirei (even if he was more challenging than the usual, possibly because for a while there wasn’t normally much to read), several years of living with him and sharing a rather close relationship made the man an open book to him. The way he obviously wanted to discard the topic only had the reverse effect. Gilgamesh tilted his head and eyed him; Kirei wasn’t looking at him, his eyes calmly looking forward, making it seems as though he was ignoring him.
“Really, now? You speak pretty callously of it. Calling a marriage a mere failed experiment? It isn’t so often you see a formerly married man treat his past relationship like meaningless, long-discarded trash.”
There was not a notable change in Kirei’s expression, but Gilgamesh saw the vague irritation in it as he replied, “You’re not exactly one to talk as far as disregarding things like trash goes.”
“Don’t compare me to you. It’s different in my case.” Gilgamesh said that, but at the back of his mind realized that was one other thing they had in common, even if for entirely different reasons— an ability to, and a habit to, discard and throw away things with ease that no normal people could. Gilgamesh, who believed that the entire world rested in the palm of his hand, who had once possessed everything in the world, had no reason to place high value in anything, not any longer— and Kirei, who was empty at the core, who always had nothing, who never knew what it felt to have something and lose it-- was simply incapable of doing such a thing.
“Well, I cannot deny that.” Then he sighed. “So? What is your point?”
“Who knows? But Kirei, that does make me wonder, during the first time we tried it, were you really not—”
“No.” Kirei said quickly. His expression made his opinion on Gilgamesh’s bringing up the topic very obvious. Kirei these days was actually, visibly and clearly, annoyed so rarely that when he did it was actually an oddly comical sight for him. “I thought it was obvious I wasn’t. I may be a priest, but it was a proper marriage, so that came with the package, too.”
Gilgamesh laughed a little. “Ah, no wonder you were so passive and bored during the first time. You kept being so difficult that I wondered what was going on. You’re still rather passive, but at least it no longer feels like trying to get a reaction out of a brick wall instead of an actual person.”
Kirei gave a small laugh back. “Oh my. That is quite the insult. But that’s because I told you these kind of pleasures, to me, were the same as all the other ones. But you kept insisting. Actually, come to think of it, it really was annoying.”
“And I proved you quite wrong later on. I told you, it was simply a matter of finding the right person to do with it. Someone who could take your tastes into account. You must have really been forcing yourself when it was with her. Wow, when I think about it, I can’t even imagine how unpleasant it must have felt for both you and for that woman.”
“…Hm. Well, whatever. Just let me finish drinking.”
Gilgamesh, who was simply standing beside the couch Kirei was sitting on up to this point, walked over closer and, crossing his arms, leaned against it. Kirei’s words were dismissive and final, making it seem as though the silence would last, but before it could, Gilgamesh spoke up again.
“You’re terribly sensitive about this topic. Do you really want to put it behind you that badly?” Silence, again. “It’s obvious that you put a lot of effort into making it seems as though it never happened. You want to forget, right? So what is it about it that makes you refuse to talk about it? Hey, Kirei. What are you doing? Don’t think you can just ignore me.”
Taking advantage of the one moment Kirei wasn’t sipping on the wine, Gilgamesh grabbed him by the chin and pulled his face closer to his own, smiling. It was such a normal action at this point that Kirei barely reacted to it.
“Well, now, let me think about that. Let’s see, perhaps it’s the prodding and insistence?”
“The more secretive you are about something like that, the more it will encourage people to want to know. I’d expect that you’d know at least something that obvious. Besides, if it’s a topic you refuse to speak about even with me, it’s natural that I’m going to get curious.”
“That, and you also enjoy making fun of me.”
“Of course. And you enjoy making fun of everyone.”
“Of course.” And that was when Kirei smiled again, as if in victory.
“Ah, this is getting nowhere. You’re unexpectedly stubborn about this, but fine.” Gilgamesh seemed to finally let go of the topic, and after letting go of Kirei as well, he shrugged as if to say “if you insist”.
He grabbed one of the wine bottles on the table, and what he did next could only be described as sitting on top of Kirei while his hand was wrapped around his shoulders as if it was one of the most natural things to do. Just like Kirei did not tell him that he snored when he fell asleep after the nights they spent together (and it’s pretty terribly distracting, because he was usually up at midnight doing reports and other work) he also did not tell him that he’s pretty uncomfortably heavy. (That’s right. Some things really are best left unsaid. Yes.)
It was after Kirei finally finished his glass and Gilgamesh disregarded the half-finished bottle that he noticed something.
“…Is that my—”
“Yes.”
“And my—”
“Yes.”
“…Gilgamesh.”
“Yes, these are all your clothes, Kirei.”
“…I was wondering where half of the contents of my wardrobe disappeared.”
“And that is a result of never at least leaving me change of clothes in the mornings when you just leave me there.”
“I doubted that you needed it. More importantly, first my wine, and now my clothes?”
“Your things are as good as mine. Are you going to order me around? I didn’t think I’ll need to lecture you, of all people, about knowing your place.”
“Gilgamesh.” Kirei said. There was a dissatisfied, exasperated frown on his face that really didn’t belong there, and there was something about it that made him seem several years younger.
But it was strange, having such relaxed and leisurely conversations, teasing him this way, doing things like interrupting his drinking or stealing his clothes, acting less like the people they are, and more like just two friends living together. It did, indeed, do a bit to bring him back to old and long-forgotten times spent with another man—when, during the days they felt particularly satisfied and pleased with life and lazy, they’d lie around under the sun doing little but talking and teasing each other.
(But for Kirei, he knew, it’s very different. It must have made him feel briefly like a normal person, and for him it must have been a truly rare, short moment in which he forgot that he’s different from other people, that a normal, leisurely and fun day-to-day life, and a normal human connection and relationship— these are things he will never get to have, things he just can’t have.)
“Relax. You don’t care that much anyway if I take your things, do you? You hardly value them, and if we live together, you’re going to have be at least a little gracious.”
“I prepared food for you that will last for a good amount of time that’s incredibly difficult to maintain properly. Is that not gracious enough? Besides, I do value my things.”
“That’s the reason I was able to stay here at all. You’ll have to try harder enough to be worthy of being called gracious. And that’s a lie. You barely wear any of these clothes anyway. I don’t think I see you wear anything other than your uniform most of the time.”
At last, Kirei sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “Honestly. I don’t know how I managed to keep you here until now with how much of a difficult housemate you are.”
Gilgamesh just laughed, and effortlessly ended the conversation when he kissed him. Kirei kissed back, and right when he started to wrap his arms around him as usual, Gilgamesh shook his head and stopped him. “What are you doing? Not here. We are going to your bedroom.”
Gilgamesh said it in an assertive, commanding voice that would have made anyone instantly comply without thinking, but Kirei grimaced, “No, thank you. I just finished cleaning it up after we turned it into a scene of disaster last time. I actually sleep in my bed sometimes, you know.”
“Hahaha! I would have never guessed! But if you insist. This isn’t exactly comfortable, though.”
“Well, excuse me. Now who’s the one being difficult in bed?”
“I have a right to complain to you. You barely take the initiative and usually I’m the one doing most of the work.”
“Fine, so do you want to do it on the floor instead? Is that more comfortable?”
“Now who are you to say that when you’re still the difficult one?”
“I wasn’t joking. That was a serious question.”
For the next hour, they did talk, but they were busy enough with something else throughout it that it could hardly be called a conversation.
—
Once, Gilgamesh asked him, “What do you seek, Kirei?”
Kirei told him. Gilgamesh stood up and left the room where they were together in, in the way one would do when receiving what they came for and being satisfied with that they received. “Good. As long as you understand and comprehend what you want, Kirei.”
What he did not say is that Gilgamesh himself could understand this goal of his, but could not comprehend it. That it was something only Kirei himself could comprehend. That was what he saw as a sign. After all, when they first met, the same could not be said; so after spending all his time chasing it and looking in all the wrong directions, Kirei had finally reached it, what no common man lacked—a most basic understanding and comprehension of his own desires and goals and needs.
Indeed, if Kirei had not looked in the wrong places when chasing it, and instead gone towards the path his own faith denied him—had he removed the roadblock he himself placed, he would have discovered that the path to this understanding is a very short one. It would have been so obvious to him had he only let himself admit it.
Gilgamesh laughed, because no matter how much time passed, he never ceased to be an interesting man, and there was something to be said about the irony in everything in his life. After all, when he thought about it, Kirei Kotomine, was a truly sad man on whom life-- everything about him, from his very name to where he was born into to what he spent his life believing himself to be-- played a huge joke.
—
But eventually, as it turned out, Kirei did tell him about the story of what happened to his wife. It was late December, which, as Gilgamesh found out later on, was his birthday, and that day he consumed enough wine that he should have been drunk by then but wasn’t. He told the story in brief, cold and hard facts; she wasn’t a Japanese woman, and came from one European country; she had a terminal illness; their marriage lasted a short time; they did produce an offspring; a short and laconic summary of the story of how she died. Having learned from their conversations during the Grail War about the right word choice, Kirei did a good job at hiding what he wanted to hide through simply not telling nor implying. Not that it stopped Gilgamesh.
The first thing he said, however, was “So you’re literally a father? You?”
“I am. But I didn’t care for her, so I sent her to live with her relatives. She was just a result of a failed experiment anyway. A mistake.”
He said this hollowly, not in a deliberately malicious or heartless or cold way, but Gilgamesh amused himself by the thought that if anyone else would hear him speaking this way about his daughter and marriage, their reaction would be quite something—at the very least, the image most people had of this priest would quickly shatter.
“More importantly, why did she die that way? You know it, right, Kirei? You don’t have to hide the details from me. What happened to cause her to make that choice, and what exactly did her death do to you?”
And Kirei’s reaction proved that his words hit the bulls-eye. Sitting in his chair, in a position where he didn’t face Gilgamesh, he turned to glance at him and simply stared, as though he felt that he shouldn’t be shocked by them but couldn’t help it anyway. He turned away again.
Gilgamesh couldn’t see his face, and Kirei was silent. Gilgamesh, in response, stood up. He walked up closer to Kirei, leaned in with his hand on Kirei’s chair, and though Kirei ignored it, looked him straight in the face. Then, he smiled.
“Oh, I see. You realized it for real that day, didn’t you?”
“…Yes.”
“Just as I thought.” Just like that, the moment was over, and Gilgamesh turned around and walked back to the couch. “But she must have really been desperate if she had to resort to that to prove to you that you love her and that you’re capable of compassion. It’s amazing, what ridiculous and impossible lengths some people go. And not only that, she was utterly wrong and failed completely! So much that you don’t miss her one bit! Now that is a tale so unfortunate I don’t know if it’s funny or sad.”
Surprised at himself for not minding the reply, Kirei was quiet at first, but looked over at Gilgamesh and gave an unexpected response.
“I wanted to do the same thing earlier. The reason she chose that method was probably that. You know, when I think about it, it really is a ridiculous tale.”
And for the first in some time, Gilgamesh, sitting relaxed where he was, was surprised, if just mildly.
“You wanted to…?”
“Yes. In short, I concluded that it would have been best for me not to exist. It was as simple as that.”
Not speaking like a man who once wanted to disappear from the world, there was no sadness nor self-pity in Kirei’s voice. Instead, he sounded almost amused at what he himself was saying, but not in a self-deprecating way. Kirei thought Gilgamesh would laugh, but he looked him straight in the eye and said, “Tell me this, then. Do you still think it?”
That was not what Kirei expected to hear in response. Instead of laughing at him like Kirei thought he would, he saw right through his words and understood the real source of the goal Kirei proclaimed to have. “Perhaps. If I had totally changed my mind, my goal would be a very different, and when you asked me if I was satisfied during the end of the War, I would have answered ‘yes’. Logically, no matter how I look at it—”
“So that’s what it is. You believe that there are things that shouldn’t exist, and that you are one of those things, but it’s not that you have any real desire to die. Looks like morality still binds you a bit. And that’s the real meaning of what you said back then, isn’t it? You’re just looking for understanding. Your goal is finding the answer to a question, and that’s it. Even after all this time, you’ll never cease to be interesting to me, and you know, it really amazes me. After all, you know where you can find it, and you will get there no matter what the cost, knowing full well what will happen once you do. People like you, Kirei, who truly have absolutely no regard for their own lives, really are something. It’s the same as that arrogance I talked about back then. A rare specimen and a treasure of a person.”
“You said that it’s the sadness and despair of such a person that you enjoy.”
“Yes. I like people like that. Moreover, I like people who put all their efforts into achieving the impossible and doing things far above them. You, too, are one of those people, Kirei. Although you enjoy them too, don’t you? But in your case, it’s only watching their misery and suffering, their inevitable downfall and their hopelessness and despair at it.”
“You mean it’s not the same for you?”
“Of course I like it. But that’s just half of it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be included in that group.” Only in hindsight did Kirei realize the enigmatic tone to those words. “Let’s get back on topic. You and the morals that still bind you. It seems you’re a priest to the core if you’ll never really let go of them. Fine, so your logic dictates that you shouldn’t have existed. But then what? You truly think that just because of where you find your pleasures, you are something that shouldn’t be born into the world? You think you’re something that shouldn’t be permitted and allowed to exist, and should have been killed before it was born?”
Kirei paused, and spoke up slowly, as though he wasn’t entirely sure of what he himself was saying.
“…That’s not right. Everything has a right to be born into the world. This is a basic right that everything possesses. If something wishes to be born, then to deny it that right would be a clear and definite evil—”
“You’re right, but that’s not what I meant. Listen. If that thing that’s within the Grail is truly like you like you claim it to be— then I will say to you what I said to him.”
“…What, are you going to offer me words of comfort, King of Heroes?”
“As though they’d have an effect on you. But Kirei. Listen.”
At that moment, when Gilgamesh stood up and looked at him— there was a distance between them, making their usually notable difference in height less significant than it would be than if they had been closer. But it’s not that which made it feel as though it completely disappeared altogether. Although Kirei was taller and bigger and still growing (he had suddenly gained quite a few centimeters of height in the past few years, alongside a change in hairstyle, which Gilgamesh joked was a side-effect of his new heart), the words the man in front of him spoke, his expression— all this made him feel as though Kirei was down on his knees and looking up at him from below. His eye stared straight into Kirei’s own, and forgetting everything else, he stared back, not daring to remove his own gaze.
His overwhelming amount of arrogance and self-entitlement was probably deserved. This kind of presence and atmosphere and power and strength of character— they were all something only someone who’s a true king, through and through, could possess. It was the same feeling of being utterly overwhelmed that he received the day his Command Spells reappeared on his hand.
“If to have someone approve of your existence is what you need, Kirei, then leave it to me. The king shall permit it. The king shall acknowledge it. I already carry with myself the entire world, and I will be the one to carry the burden of the entire world. So I will permit and acknowledge the existence of even that thing that embodies the world’s evil, and if that thing, that was created by people and created to do evil, is as like you as you said it is, then I will approve of your existence too.”
“…”
Unable to say anything in response, Kirei remained the way he is, a feeling of speechlessness and shock he hasn’t experienced in a long time keeping him from changing his current position.
“So go and chase your desires. Satisfy your hungers. Find what you seek. Reach that self-destructive, meaningless goal of yours, even knowing that you might die trying. You know exactly what you want, this time, and you know how to get there. And it’s a very simple right you have. In this regard, you’re the same as everyone else. You’re a human being too, aren’t you?”
“I--…”
How was it that Gilgamesh was the only person in the world with this ability to find the very words to leave him so speechless, words that send shockwaves to his spine unlike anything else could?
Maybe on the long run, having a Heroic Spirit who proclaimed himself the king of the world approve of him existing changed nothing and didn’t mean anything.
But for Kirei at the moment, at that time, the words that implied that he has something in common with the rest of the world that he will never be part of, that there was someone (and it doesn’t matter that Gilgamesh is one of the most powerful beings in the universe that surpassed the levels of most of the heroic spirits and reached one of the highest levels of existence; it doesn’t matter who or what that someone is) who knew him, who knew what he is and who knew what kind of existence he is and who approves of it—
Just then, it meant the world to him.
This man understood him. He understood him and still accepted him. In other words— he meant more to Kirei than his mentor, his father, his wife, who did nothing but force their ideals on him, ever did. But as for what he was to him— officially, he was his ally and partner. But in truth he was more than that too, but as for what exactly he was, he didn’t know. There probably is no term nor a word in existence to describe what he was to him.
And frankly, that was perfectly fine.
—
Once, at random, Kirei asked Gilgamesh, “Do you believe that the ends justify the means?”
“Do you, Kirei?”
“It is an excellent question, but regardless of what the answer to it may be, one that has long since ceased to be of any meaning or consequence to me.”
—
“And what do you know? He wasn’t alone in the house. Would you believe it? He adopted one of the children left orphaned by the fire. I’ll have to question his child on his death later. I hope it was utterly shameful and pathetic and that he died full of misery and regret. That would be the best.”
Kirei laughed out loud as he said that, with a smile full of bliss. It was a usual morning much like during any other day, except that Kirei recently received news that Saber’s Master from the last war passed away and was talking about him and what he heard. Gilgamesh didn’t really care, to be frank, but he knew enough about him from Kirei— and that the man did mean something to Kirei. No, it would be better to say that the man bore some true, special significance to him. (Though, not in an exactly positive way.) But more than that, it was the way Kirei spoke about him whenever the man was brought up that made him curious, and especially the way he spoke of him now, with that smile of his.
“Oh? Is that for the pleasure? Or an old grudge speaking? It seems you really do hate him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The one you’re talking about is a man who’s full of misery and suffering, the kind of things that match your tastes. But I remember the previous times you spoke of him. You only find his very existence painful and unpleasant-- even his agony, which should be enjoyable to you.”
“…” What followed was an odd silence. Kirei, his face slipping back into utter expressionless and neutrality, briefly looked at Gilgamesh, only to avert his eyes later. He sighed and concluded, “Emiya Kiritsugu— he was truly pathetic, with how much he loved humanity. To him, the happiness of other people was his own, and the pain of other people was his own too. As though the world consisted of his own family and loved ones. But it doesn’t matter anymore. He was oversensitive, childish, foolish, and nothing but a weakling, and after how the war ended he no longer meant anything to me. And now he’s dead. What's broken cannot be fixed, and what's lost cannot be restored, so I might as well enjoy his death, right?”
It was oddly reminiscent of the first time they met. Once again, an answer to a question he didn’t want to answer, a matter he didn’t want to talk about anymore and came up with something to try end the conversation. Hardly an answer, it felt more like a surrender, like he was running away. And once again, Gilgamesh would let him have none of that. (Because he could hear that there was emotion underneath the layers coating those words.)
“But you wish you were like him, don’t you? You wanted to have that sensitivity of his, and that childlike, pure and earnest love for humanity.”
It was more of a statement than a question, but the trace of a questioning tone was there anyway. Another silence, shorter, before Kirei answered, “Hmph. My father was a priest, and I am one as well. It would be suitable for the kind of lifestyle I was born into.”
There was a heavy meaning to these words, underneath that hollow, neutral tone that made it seem like a mere statement of fact. Gilgamesh did not press further, this time. And then, after a brief mutual silence, Kirei continued.
“…Yes, indeed. What right does he, who has everything I ever wanted, to just throw it all away?” His tone was calm at fist. And yet, slowly, he raised his voice, and emotion slipped into it even while he didn’t know it. He stood up, and the person he was a moment ago was instantly gone. “Why does he have everything I want and need if he just casts it away and goes through so much effort to do it? I don’t care about the injustice nor the irony of it, but why? And he does that all for what? World peace? Would you believe it? Of course, how noble and heroic of him, making such a sacrifice for the rest of the world! Not knowing how much he takes it for granted! Not knowing how valuable what he has is! As though casting it away will really pay off when his unattainable, childish dream will be fulfilled! And then he goes and tries to get it back again, so set on his decisions one moment and regretting them the next, crying over the loss of what’s beloved to him even though he himself destroyed it with his own hands! Empty? He is empty? Hah! What would he know of emptiness? What would he know of what it truly feels like?”
For the final time, Kirei truly let himself to spill out all the hatred he contained, from the very bottom of his heart, towards his archenemy.
He collapsed into a laughter that bore only a mild resemblance to the hysterical breakdown he experienced at the end of the war, but Gilgamesh couldn’t not be reminded of it. Such a rare display it was that he couldn’t help but smile and take another sip of the wine even as he listened to what Kirei was saying. It was rare enough for Kirei himself, in person, to be the entertainment they sought together, after all. But he was also forced to admit to himself that if he were anyone else, he would be finding Kirei’s anger, right now, to be frightening. (If he were anyone else, who didn’t know this man, and to whom it didn’t look the very opposite of frightening.) Anger certainly suited his large and intimidating appearance, but his casual acquaintances probably doubted that he was even capable of it, and one could hardly blame them.
“He doesn’t know! He truly doesn’t understand! He is but an imitation and an insult to my life until now! He even has a wife and a child, he has people who are devoted to him and understand and comprehend him perfectly and know him and love him— he had the potential for a normal life and the capacity to live it, the capacity and the possibility to attain normal happiness and live like a normal person, everything I will never be allowed to obtain, and disregards that! More than my teacher, more than anyone I know, he is the biggest fool I’ve ever met! If he has such a thing, he needs to put it to use! He needs to value it! He doesn’t know that in trying to imitate what I am and becoming a person like me, he caused his own downfall! He doesn’t understand that nothing lies at the end of the road! Because, yes, he doesn’t understand and never understood and cannot understand it, what it truly means to be empty! What would someone normal like him be able to know of it?”
“You need to stop speaking in present tense, Kirei. It’s as you said, right? He’s dead.”
And to that, this is all that Gilgamesh said. Just like always, he replied in an unsympathetic, dismissive way that would have provoked an even greater rage in anyone else. But Kirei had no pride to wound and, more than that, recognized the reply for what it truly was— and besides, there was nothing else he expected or wanted from him.
“…Right.”
“And that was quite an excellent display you gave me just now. I didn’t think you yourself, in person, would be able to entertain me the same way you make others entertain us. If it were anyone else but you, it would be a pretty boring show, but in your case I’ll make an exception.”
“Should I be flattered?”
“Not really, no.” Gilgamesh said so with a shrug, frankly and honestly.
—
The night the Holy Grail War truly started, they were sitting together in a room at midnight, Kirei busy as usual with one thing or another and Gilgamesh relaxing on the couch, when Kirei heard a voice coming from the chapel, stood up and left in a rather sudden manner, with nothing but a brief, “I’ll be back soon.”
Naturally, it wasn’t “soon” at all, because for the past ten years Kirei has learned to be—among other things— very, very talkative and fond of hearing his own voice, and Gilgamesh eventually got used to Kirei saying “soon” and meaning “two hours later”. When Kirei returned, however, it proved to be quite worth it, because he had a big smile on his face and he was in a very good mood. Naturally, since it was Kirei, it only came off as enigmatic, and Gilgamesh, lying in the exact same position as earlier, watched him idly.
“Well? What was that?”
“Just an old friend coming to visit.”
In any other situation, Gilgamesh would have left it there, and maybe not even brought up the subject at all. But the smile on Kirei’s face was so wide and pleased and even—yes, happy- and he sat down with such satisfaction, his legs crossed and his hands clasped together— yes, he had to at least know what was going on.
And of course, the ironic tone and humor in his response. Despite knowing what it was, Gilgamesh smiled and said casually, as a prelude to his question, “You don’t have friends, Kirei.”
“Oh, I hope not.”
“Heh. I know it’s because you just don’t want people to get attached to you, but say that to anyone else and they’ll think that you’re a very, very sad man. So anyways, what happened to put you in such a good mood that you can’t suppress it?”
Kirei stood up, and that confirmed instantly that he was too excited to keep sitting down. It was just like the night he murdered Tokiomi— he was in a state in which he reminded Gilgamesh of a hyped-up, giddy child who's barely holding back his excitement. “First off, I should let you know that now that the last Servant has been summoned, the War has started officially. That’s more important for you to know.” Such a dismissive way to put it, from the supervisor himself— it was the same disinterested, flat tone he used for nearly anything else. The fact that it was his normal speaking style meant that you didn’t even notice its true nature until you hear what he sounds like when he actually shows emotion and compare. Kirei’s pleased smile reflected even if his voice when he continued, walking in circles around the room as he spoke.
“As for what happened, it’s just some personal business.” Ironically enough, the way he put it made it sound like he tried to be dismissive and casual about the matter, yet still didn’t try to hide his true feelings, making the phrasing sound like sarcasm. “Something I thought I’d never be able to settle, but the opportunity has presented itself for me tonight. No, it’s more like it’s been handed to me on a silver platter. Or perhaps golden would be more appropriate? And it’s a very large and elaborate platter indeed.”
“That metaphor is getting away from you. More importantly, you didn’t take it yet.” Gilgamesh said instantly, before Kirei could continue.
“Oh, I didn’t take it yet. It’s not the time yet. The best moment to take the opportunity has yet to come, and I will seize it then. Ah, but I can’t express how much I look forward to it. How satisfying it will be. I'll get to settle a long, old debt I gave up on. After all these years, I gave up on him completely. I decided that it's time to forget all about him. And tonight, this happens. Now I have the perfect way to go about it. It really couldn't be better!” He let out a deep, loud laugh, warm and cheerful and genuine, and allowed himself to collapse on the nearest sofa in his state of bliss. "I already know exactly what I’m going to do. Even if not everything goes perfectly and exactly as planned, I’ll, at the very least, get to witness the entertainment of a lifetime, alongside finally achieving what I've been working for.”
Faced with this, Gilgamesh told him matter-of-factly, “Do you know, Kirei, that you’re at your most annoying when you’re this vague?”
“Oh, so it’s even annoying to you?” Kirei looked over at him. “That’s good. I’ve been honing my skills at getting under the skin of other people for the past ten years. It pleases to hear that I’m now even good enough to annoy the King Of Heroes himself.”
Gilgamesh wasn’t as annoyed as he implied to be, but the brief feeling of irritation disappeared too. “You learned from the best, after all. I’ve taught you well, Kirei.”
“In more than one way.” Kirei, having calmed down, walked to where Gilgamesh was sitting, stood in front of him and leaned in, their faces close, using a hand holding on to the couch to support himself. “Now then, what do you plan to do now, King Of Heroes?”
“Good question.” Gilgamesh’s hand went to the back of his neck and stroked at his hair, then he used both his hands to grab Kirei and pull him closer. “Why don’t you first tell me what your plans are, if you’re so sure of them already. We’re still cooperating, remember? Besides, I’m interested in what you’re going to do now that it’s officially begun.”
Gilgamesh smiled at him, and Kirei looked him in the eye and smiled back.