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[Remus pulls back to try and look her in the eye, search for what might be wrong, and see if it's on her face. He adjusts the blanket around himself slightly - grateful that it's as large, soft, and warm as it is, tucking it into some semblance of a toga of sorts, before leaning forward to take her into his arms once more.]
Please, Hermione. I'd like to help you, if I can... [Please let him know what's wrong, what's happening, so that he can try and help fix it.]
Please, Hermione. I'd like to help you, if I can... [Please let him know what's wrong, what's happening, so that he can try and help fix it.]
Ahhh, I see. That's the sort of thing I think we can definitely use, so it's certainly good that you're working on it. Having meetings over something like that instead of having to make sure we're here more often than not would be convenient, especially if someone's sick or injured or something like that.
[...he could have certainly used something like that last February, anyway...]
Well, I can handle a little more information than necessary, but you're right. I'll admit that I might be overthinking this a bit, but... I do enjoy adding extra bells and whistles, both to give the person I'm working for the best product possible and because it's more challenging than meeting the bare minimum.
[...he could have certainly used something like that last February, anyway...]
Well, I can handle a little more information than necessary, but you're right. I'll admit that I might be overthinking this a bit, but... I do enjoy adding extra bells and whistles, both to give the person I'm working for the best product possible and because it's more challenging than meeting the bare minimum.
[ She can't look at him; that's all she can think for a long while. She can't look at him because he'll see her and think of how awful she is, how horrible, the disgusting thing she had done with her own hands and teeth and claws. They had fought in a war, of course, herself and Remus and the rest of their friends, but nothing could prepare them for this. Surely not. ]
I - Remus, someone came and - and they killed Adela, they hung her in a tree and then came after me, too. Dorian tried to protect me and she stabbed him, he died in my arms, I can still feel it all over me...
[ She chokes back on the rush of tears, her hands gripping at the blanket, unconcerned with what she's doing. She's shaking, her throat tight, but she has to continue. She can't hide this from Remus; not when he's trusted her with so much. ]
I was so angry, she'd hurt innocent people, it's not - I didn't want to do it, I just got so mad and I thought if I transformed then I'd be able to defend myself! But she ran!
[ Anyone that's seen television or read about wild animals knows what happens when you run from a predator; you bare weakness, you show them you're afraid, and they take you down. ]
There was so much blood...
I - Remus, someone came and - and they killed Adela, they hung her in a tree and then came after me, too. Dorian tried to protect me and she stabbed him, he died in my arms, I can still feel it all over me...
[ She chokes back on the rush of tears, her hands gripping at the blanket, unconcerned with what she's doing. She's shaking, her throat tight, but she has to continue. She can't hide this from Remus; not when he's trusted her with so much. ]
I was so angry, she'd hurt innocent people, it's not - I didn't want to do it, I just got so mad and I thought if I transformed then I'd be able to defend myself! But she ran!
[ Anyone that's seen television or read about wild animals knows what happens when you run from a predator; you bare weakness, you show them you're afraid, and they take you down. ]
There was so much blood...
[ Something prickles inside of her and she breathes out a sharp noise as she turns and looks at Remus, swallowing back her own emotions as she gazes at him. She feels sick with the weight of her own emotions and she pauses, watching him, her eyes dancing over his face before she shakes her head, her lips pursed, her expression tight as she pushes her own feelings away. For now she has to be strong for him - and that she can do. She's learned how to be strong, to keep herself steady, even in the darkest of times. ]
Of course I want to hear what you have to say. You're my friend, Remus, and I care about you. I always have and I always will. Don't you dare ever, ever think that I would... [ The music almost screams and she shakes her head, lifting her hands to touch his shoulders, forcing his attention onto her before she leans back, unsure even as she wants to comfort him and offer him some kind of confidence. ]
I want to be here for you. I want you to be able to trust me. So, please. Please let me be as good to you as you've been to me.
Of course I want to hear what you have to say. You're my friend, Remus, and I care about you. I always have and I always will. Don't you dare ever, ever think that I would... [ The music almost screams and she shakes her head, lifting her hands to touch his shoulders, forcing his attention onto her before she leans back, unsure even as she wants to comfort him and offer him some kind of confidence. ]
I want to be here for you. I want you to be able to trust me. So, please. Please let me be as good to you as you've been to me.
[Remus reaches up to take her hand in his own, squeezing her fingers tight, as if anchoring himself to the here and now. The harp music in his head swells, and he feels as if he might be swept away with it, if not for her hand on his shoulder, her steady gaze, and her calming presence. She's asking him to trust her. And she's already proven herself a thousand times over to him, trusting him, making his potions for him, giving him a place to stay during the full moon, being there to care for him afterwards. It's the least that he can do for her.
So he gives in. And gives her what she's asking for. The answer to what's troubling him, even if he hardly believes that she's prepared to hear it.] I loved him, Hermione. Sirius. We were... [He trails off, shaking his head at her, although he keeps her gaze and hopes that she understands what it is that he hasn't said. Hoping that she will understand in general. What is this harp music doing to him...]
So he gives in. And gives her what she's asking for. The answer to what's troubling him, even if he hardly believes that she's prepared to hear it.] I loved him, Hermione. Sirius. We were... [He trails off, shaking his head at her, although he keeps her gaze and hopes that she understands what it is that he hasn't said. Hoping that she will understand in general. What is this harp music doing to him...]
[ Her eyes flicker over his face as she takes him in, waiting to see if he will step forward and breach the gap to give her all of his trust. Hermione knows it can't be easy for him, considering, that she is a girl that was once his student and has grown so much since then, but she wants to believe they're friends. She wants to think that they're crossing the boundary between teacher and student and becoming closer than that, a family of sorts in this world, and it warms her to think that it might be the case.
Her hand squeezes his and when he speaks... She can feel her stomach drop, her hands shaking as it settles down, the knowledge of what happened settling around her shoulders as she tries to understand. Remus loved Sirius and she knows what he means, knows the words he can't quiet say, and she can feel, in her chest, the way her own heart breaks. It aches, the knowledge of what is in their future, what is to come, that Remus has Tonks but loses Sirius, that he loses a family as quickly as he gains one.
Moving without thinking, Hermione wraps herself around Remus again, drawing him close, squeezing him, her eyes squeezing shut to fightback her tears. ]
He loved you too.
Her hand squeezes his and when he speaks... She can feel her stomach drop, her hands shaking as it settles down, the knowledge of what happened settling around her shoulders as she tries to understand. Remus loved Sirius and she knows what he means, knows the words he can't quiet say, and she can feel, in her chest, the way her own heart breaks. It aches, the knowledge of what is in their future, what is to come, that Remus has Tonks but loses Sirius, that he loses a family as quickly as he gains one.
Moving without thinking, Hermione wraps herself around Remus again, drawing him close, squeezing him, her eyes squeezing shut to fightback her tears. ]
He loved you too.
[It's a relatively quiet day at the Citadel. Most are out and about enjoying the spring weather, jousting in the courtyard or getting some last minute construction done on various walls and spires. Most aren't twiddling their thumbs away indoors, but neither Hermione nor Gilgamesh fall under the category of most.
Gilgamesh has spent most of his day packing. Servants could do it, he's sure, yet he waves them off whenever they offer, glance at him with concerned expressions. He packs it all in that magical bag she gave him, and smiles when his fingers touch the gifts she gave him. He hadn't lied in at least one sense. He'd fallen for her potential, for the promise in those words I definitely can whenever he challenged her to try something new.
But lessons were far away from here, or so seemed that way. He does accept the servants' offer to make tea. He's no good at that sort of thing. He's no good at the kindness of domesticity, even as he seeks to extend it.
Gilgamesh sets his bag in the corner and takes to the halls on four legs. He takes the familiar path to Hermione's room and, finding the door ajar, nudges it open a bit.
...oh. She's trying on armor. Well, she's fully clothed. It's fine.
Gilgamesh snuffles a little to get her attention. She's seen him like this before, so that's fine, too.]
Gilgamesh has spent most of his day packing. Servants could do it, he's sure, yet he waves them off whenever they offer, glance at him with concerned expressions. He packs it all in that magical bag she gave him, and smiles when his fingers touch the gifts she gave him. He hadn't lied in at least one sense. He'd fallen for her potential, for the promise in those words I definitely can whenever he challenged her to try something new.
But lessons were far away from here, or so seemed that way. He does accept the servants' offer to make tea. He's no good at that sort of thing. He's no good at the kindness of domesticity, even as he seeks to extend it.
Gilgamesh sets his bag in the corner and takes to the halls on four legs. He takes the familiar path to Hermione's room and, finding the door ajar, nudges it open a bit.
...oh. She's trying on armor. Well, she's fully clothed. It's fine.
Gilgamesh snuffles a little to get her attention. She's seen him like this before, so that's fine, too.]
[ Things have been a lot quieter over the last few months; Hermione is truly settled in her role now, as much as she could be as she learns the ropes, and she knows that she has to adjust, to get herself better prepared for what she thinks is going to be ahead. There's going to be wars, battles, and she's been patrolling the road she was in charge of protecting, creating and enforcing law and order upon.
What she needed was to prepare herself for that, which wasn't entirely easy.
She had her rapier, she had enough money to commission a sword, if she wanted, and she had a shield and some beautiful dress like armours, as well as her cloaks, but she needs a little more than that. The armour she is trying on isn't hers, but it's a design that she might adopt if she does go ahead and commission her own, trying to get a sense for what feels right and what is comfortable; she's not a professional when it comes to this, even if she is trying to do what she can to learn and adapt.
The noise of the door draws the attention of her and the people attending her and she hesitates for a moment, unsure, before she nods her head and gives the people around her a quiet dismissal. They move around her, quickly and precisely, and they unstrap the leather under the metal, peeling it off and drawing it away, leaving her in the light leathers underneath. When the armour is on the stand to one side, waiting for her to go back to it, she turns her head over to Gilgamesh and offers him a smile, watching the door open as the servants trail out.
She wonders what he wants; she isn't sure if she can trust him coming to speak to her and she's careful, letting her eyes flick over the canine figure before she goes and sits, pushing hair out of her face. ]
Come on in, Gilgamesh.
What she needed was to prepare herself for that, which wasn't entirely easy.
She had her rapier, she had enough money to commission a sword, if she wanted, and she had a shield and some beautiful dress like armours, as well as her cloaks, but she needs a little more than that. The armour she is trying on isn't hers, but it's a design that she might adopt if she does go ahead and commission her own, trying to get a sense for what feels right and what is comfortable; she's not a professional when it comes to this, even if she is trying to do what she can to learn and adapt.
The noise of the door draws the attention of her and the people attending her and she hesitates for a moment, unsure, before she nods her head and gives the people around her a quiet dismissal. They move around her, quickly and precisely, and they unstrap the leather under the metal, peeling it off and drawing it away, leaving her in the light leathers underneath. When the armour is on the stand to one side, waiting for her to go back to it, she turns her head over to Gilgamesh and offers him a smile, watching the door open as the servants trail out.
She wonders what he wants; she isn't sure if she can trust him coming to speak to her and she's careful, letting her eyes flick over the canine figure before she goes and sits, pushing hair out of her face. ]
Come on in, Gilgamesh.
[Gilgamesh refuses to come in.
It's not his place anymore. It's not his Citadel anymore, it's not his Marchioness who greets him anymore. This wasn't a room for him anymore and this wasn't a girl he could spend time with anymore—at least not after today. Today, he'll say his final goodbyes and leave her behind along with that lance still hanging on her wall.
He's glad she hasn't taken it down. Maybe she'll remember him anyway.
Gilgamesh lowers his ears, a deferential "blink and you'll miss it" sort of gesture, then returns to his usual form. He wears the dark robes of a magister, long hair tied back in a braid with a pretty red ribbon. Their roles are reversed here; she looks knightly and fair, while he looked better at home in the halls of Hogwarts than a military fixture.]
I had some tea prepared for us. In my room, if you'd oblige me.
[For us. He makes a note of stressing that from the doorway, but only from the doorway.]
May we spend some time together? I wish to speak with you.
It's not his place anymore. It's not his Citadel anymore, it's not his Marchioness who greets him anymore. This wasn't a room for him anymore and this wasn't a girl he could spend time with anymore—at least not after today. Today, he'll say his final goodbyes and leave her behind along with that lance still hanging on her wall.
He's glad she hasn't taken it down. Maybe she'll remember him anyway.
Gilgamesh lowers his ears, a deferential "blink and you'll miss it" sort of gesture, then returns to his usual form. He wears the dark robes of a magister, long hair tied back in a braid with a pretty red ribbon. Their roles are reversed here; she looks knightly and fair, while he looked better at home in the halls of Hogwarts than a military fixture.]
I had some tea prepared for us. In my room, if you'd oblige me.
[For us. He makes a note of stressing that from the doorway, but only from the doorway.]
May we spend some time together? I wish to speak with you.
[ Sitting, Hermione watches him with a wary kind of confusion that doesn't really feel right on her shoulders. She's used to being trusting, to putting her faith in people even when it might be misguided, and adapting to the fact that she isn't sure where she can lay that kind of trust is a new concept for her. It's true that at home the lines of good and bad were blurred but she had known who she could trust and, even when her friends had disbelieved her, there had been a small sense of satisfaction in knowing that, most of the time, she was right.
It's harder here, in the Drabwurld, with expectations and clearer lines - at least, initially. The idea of Seelie against Unseelie had seemed so simple two years ago, when the battles were far out of sight and friendships were being made all over the place, but now? There was fighting and discontent, there were dangers everywhere, and she knew that there were people on either side that would be more than happy to see her dead and gone. She'd seen it barely a few months before, her nightmares still a prickle on the edge of her senses at times.
None of this makes knowing how to handle herself around Gilgamesh easier. She trusted Dorian who seemed to trust Gilgamesh, with a strange sort of camaraderie that came from their connection, their relationship, but she doesn't know if she can trust the man himself. After all that had happened between them she isn't sure how to handle herself around him, especially in situations where it was just the two of them.
He doesn't come into the room, despite her invitation, and she frowns as she pushes herself up and grabs her things. She's wary, of course, but there are some things that are obvious; the wand she shoves up her sleeve, the bag she picks up and the ring dangling around her neck. She might not be sure of Gilgamesh but Dorian was - and it was better to have a final lifeline than it was to regret not abusing it, surely. ]
Of course.
[ She isn't afraid of him, strangely enough. For all that he had hurt her and tried to use her he had never attacked her, despite the damning words he had thrown at her face in his anger. Hermione knows she had snapped too and, in her stubbornness, had said something that she didn't entirely mean even if the passion had been the basis of it. It was hard to come to terms with letting her anger get the better of her but it wasn't the first time - and knowing her own stubborn determination she's sure it wouldn't be the last time either. ]
Are you going to eat another dozen lemon cakes?
[ It's a gentle tease, trying to cast away some of the tension as she walks forward. For us, he said, the emphasis obvious, and Hermione knows that she walks to his side like a wary cat, smiling even as she keeps her wits about her. ]
It's harder here, in the Drabwurld, with expectations and clearer lines - at least, initially. The idea of Seelie against Unseelie had seemed so simple two years ago, when the battles were far out of sight and friendships were being made all over the place, but now? There was fighting and discontent, there were dangers everywhere, and she knew that there were people on either side that would be more than happy to see her dead and gone. She'd seen it barely a few months before, her nightmares still a prickle on the edge of her senses at times.
None of this makes knowing how to handle herself around Gilgamesh easier. She trusted Dorian who seemed to trust Gilgamesh, with a strange sort of camaraderie that came from their connection, their relationship, but she doesn't know if she can trust the man himself. After all that had happened between them she isn't sure how to handle herself around him, especially in situations where it was just the two of them.
He doesn't come into the room, despite her invitation, and she frowns as she pushes herself up and grabs her things. She's wary, of course, but there are some things that are obvious; the wand she shoves up her sleeve, the bag she picks up and the ring dangling around her neck. She might not be sure of Gilgamesh but Dorian was - and it was better to have a final lifeline than it was to regret not abusing it, surely. ]
Of course.
[ She isn't afraid of him, strangely enough. For all that he had hurt her and tried to use her he had never attacked her, despite the damning words he had thrown at her face in his anger. Hermione knows she had snapped too and, in her stubbornness, had said something that she didn't entirely mean even if the passion had been the basis of it. It was hard to come to terms with letting her anger get the better of her but it wasn't the first time - and knowing her own stubborn determination she's sure it wouldn't be the last time either. ]
Are you going to eat another dozen lemon cakes?
[ It's a gentle tease, trying to cast away some of the tension as she walks forward. For us, he said, the emphasis obvious, and Hermione knows that she walks to his side like a wary cat, smiling even as she keeps her wits about her. ]
[He was leaving because none of it felt right on his shoulders, either. So used to getting his own way, so accustomed to having his demands fulfilled at the snap of his fingers, Hermione had taken him by surprise. Just as she'd be an apt pupil, she'd proven a fierce lionness in defense of herself. Whereas most would've crumbled beneath his gaze and given way to his sheer strength of will, she pushed back. In fact, she pushed so hard that it might even be said Gilgamesh has yet to find his footing again.
But he knows now that his travels should take him elsewhere. He smiles a little when she joins him, and broader still when she teases like they were companionable again, like the trust was solid and firm instead of a thin red line drawn in the sand. A pretty red ribbon and a pretty red ring.
You're so good at pretending, he notes as they walk along, as his eyes trail to that ring. But have you forgotten yourself because of that? Pretty little magus.]
Dorian suggested a diet. [The dryness to his tone also suggests it went over poorly.] I don't have to eat. It's an indulgence. But I do enjoy tea, and plenty of wine, too. It makes life worth living, those sorts of luxuries.
[He has to wonder about that armor, though. It looked good on her, enviably so, and he can't but poke fun at her in return.]
You were quite the handsome knight just now. I should say I'm surprised you've taken up swordplay, but... it suits you.
But he knows now that his travels should take him elsewhere. He smiles a little when she joins him, and broader still when she teases like they were companionable again, like the trust was solid and firm instead of a thin red line drawn in the sand. A pretty red ribbon and a pretty red ring.
You're so good at pretending, he notes as they walk along, as his eyes trail to that ring. But have you forgotten yourself because of that? Pretty little magus.]
Dorian suggested a diet. [The dryness to his tone also suggests it went over poorly.] I don't have to eat. It's an indulgence. But I do enjoy tea, and plenty of wine, too. It makes life worth living, those sorts of luxuries.
[He has to wonder about that armor, though. It looked good on her, enviably so, and he can't but poke fun at her in return.]
You were quite the handsome knight just now. I should say I'm surprised you've taken up swordplay, but... it suits you.
[ For all that she might appear a little naive, sometimes, Hermione isn't an idiot; she's the brightest witch of her age, a strong and proud student, and she knows when people are taking note of her. Once, she used to imagine what they might think, if they thought about her blood heritage or the fact that Harry Potter was her best friend, maybe that they dwelled on all the things she had done at his side to try and keep people safe. Here, she thinks Gilgamesh must be looking at the ring she wears around her neck.
It's not proud, exactly, but she knows that he's aware of it just as much as she is, a hyper vigilance that makes her hands twitch to want to go and grab at it, to tuck it under her shirt and keep it out of sight. It's there as a beacon of something that she isn't sure she can explain properly. If she's in trouble he had promised he'd come, even if she knows it would be a token to use as a final, last resort, when she has no other hope and no other means of helping herself. She has more pride than to just use it for the sake of using it and she wonders if he's aware of that.
Her smile is still soft when she looks at him, shaking her head as if the joke they're playing at is utterly ridiculous. ]
He would suggest a diet when we spend enough time together eating jam and scones. [ She can imagine how well that particular debate went and it makes her smile a little brighter. ] If you don't have to then it shouldn't do anything to you, right? And if it does then he can just watch as you run around the training yard for a little while.
[ His returned hit, like a poke of the rapier, makes her cheeks turn a little red even as she holds her head high, denying herself the embarrassment. ]
I've been learning how to duel properly since the tournament in Treun. The Red Hand sent the best teachers to the Citadel and I've been working with them ever since then. I thought it made sense to have the right clothing to protect myself, not just the right skills.
[ She shakes her head. ]
It was a little garish and a bit big for me, I think.
It's not proud, exactly, but she knows that he's aware of it just as much as she is, a hyper vigilance that makes her hands twitch to want to go and grab at it, to tuck it under her shirt and keep it out of sight. It's there as a beacon of something that she isn't sure she can explain properly. If she's in trouble he had promised he'd come, even if she knows it would be a token to use as a final, last resort, when she has no other hope and no other means of helping herself. She has more pride than to just use it for the sake of using it and she wonders if he's aware of that.
Her smile is still soft when she looks at him, shaking her head as if the joke they're playing at is utterly ridiculous. ]
He would suggest a diet when we spend enough time together eating jam and scones. [ She can imagine how well that particular debate went and it makes her smile a little brighter. ] If you don't have to then it shouldn't do anything to you, right? And if it does then he can just watch as you run around the training yard for a little while.
[ His returned hit, like a poke of the rapier, makes her cheeks turn a little red even as she holds her head high, denying herself the embarrassment. ]
I've been learning how to duel properly since the tournament in Treun. The Red Hand sent the best teachers to the Citadel and I've been working with them ever since then. I thought it made sense to have the right clothing to protect myself, not just the right skills.
[ She shakes her head. ]
It was a little garish and a bit big for me, I think.
Is that what you were doing? I figured he was suffering the poor Marchioness through more of his poetry again...
[Was this all they could manage with each other now? Polite little quips, back-and-forth, civil glances exchanged in the face of everything else that wasn't. He curses Dorian. He hates Dorian as much as he adores him. If not for him, then...
If not for him, he'd have less than nothing now. Gilgamesh lets the brief rush of anger go. He'd brought this upon himself. Hermione stuck that particular thorn in as far as it could go, far enough he'd never forget it.
She's as endearing as ever, in her quiet sort of way, and he hates that too. He really does hate Hermione Granger, just as he hated Saber. All these beautiful women in his life who defied him at every turn. All these silly little girls he'd fall forever and a half for. He'd choke her with that bloody ring if he could, and at least then it would've been all for him and no one else.
The servants await him outside his door. They look concerned, but he waves them off before they can say much. Hermione will see it firsthand once she enters that the room is nearly empty now. She is a silly girl, and a terribly smart one. She will see it and she will know without a word on the matter.]
I suppose we're a little spoiled, aren't we? Servants, I mean. [His smile turns a touch wry.] Strength is effortless for us. We can win wars all on our own, decimate entire nations, conquer half the world in a matter of days. If we want to protect ourselves, we just do, and that's all there is to it.
[Especially for a King among them, who once possessed a great treasury to fill them all with envy. Once, but no more.]
We don't live like humans. We live only to fight. That's the curse of the Grail, some have said.
[Was this all they could manage with each other now? Polite little quips, back-and-forth, civil glances exchanged in the face of everything else that wasn't. He curses Dorian. He hates Dorian as much as he adores him. If not for him, then...
If not for him, he'd have less than nothing now. Gilgamesh lets the brief rush of anger go. He'd brought this upon himself. Hermione stuck that particular thorn in as far as it could go, far enough he'd never forget it.
She's as endearing as ever, in her quiet sort of way, and he hates that too. He really does hate Hermione Granger, just as he hated Saber. All these beautiful women in his life who defied him at every turn. All these silly little girls he'd fall forever and a half for. He'd choke her with that bloody ring if he could, and at least then it would've been all for him and no one else.
The servants await him outside his door. They look concerned, but he waves them off before they can say much. Hermione will see it firsthand once she enters that the room is nearly empty now. She is a silly girl, and a terribly smart one. She will see it and she will know without a word on the matter.]
I suppose we're a little spoiled, aren't we? Servants, I mean. [His smile turns a touch wry.] Strength is effortless for us. We can win wars all on our own, decimate entire nations, conquer half the world in a matter of days. If we want to protect ourselves, we just do, and that's all there is to it.
[Especially for a King among them, who once possessed a great treasury to fill them all with envy. Once, but no more.]
We don't live like humans. We live only to fight. That's the curse of the Grail, some have said.
I don't suffer his poetry, I enjoy it. It's quite charming.
[ It's strange, she thinks, that they're trying to act as if nothing had happened between them, as if he hadn't hurt her - even if, now, she thinks that she can't really blame him. He had seen the best parts of her, the things that had made her strong and good enough to help at Hogwarts and at Harry's side, and she supposes it's only right that he saw that and picked up on it and wanted to have it. She knows the Drabwurld and as much as it hurt, and stung, she knows that power is everything.
Accepting that is hard. She wants there to be more than just a race for power, a race to push and fight to end a war that she's somehow in the middle of, rising up as a part leader, but she knows that right now things are more than just fighting because it's the right thing to do. It's fighting because there's no other option and that's hard, it's incredibly hard, and she's still not sure how to rationalise that in her head. The blood on her hands feels like a literal stain and she can't do anything to get rid of it.
This is what war does to people and, here, in the Drabwurld, there's nothing she can do to avoid that. She just has to keep trying to keep the people she loves safe.
Hermione smiles at the servants and watches as they leave, a little concerned as her eyes flick over them - and she's right to be concerned, she thinks, as she steps inside and sees the room. It's easy to put the pieces together and she hesitates before she turns back to look at Gilgamesh, a mixture of distrust and confusion prickling over her. ]
I'd like to think that it doesn't have to be that way. That we shouldn't have to live just to fight. What about friendship, and love, those things? They should be important too, shouldn't they? Even for a Servant, even if you don't think you deserve it. But I suppose that it's not the case for everyone, that things aren't so simple. You can't just tick boxes of feelings and make them happen.
[ She shakes her head. She's not naive enough to believe that it's going to be that simple and she hasn't been for years. It reminds her of Voldemort, that had been so without love and so tainted that it made everything he touched just as dark, his inability to love and be happy souring him so desperately. She doesn't want to see that happen to someone she knows. ]
It would be nice to be able to protect people so easily, but I'm sure it comes at a cost.
[ And - well, here we are. ]
You promised me tea.
[ It's strange, she thinks, that they're trying to act as if nothing had happened between them, as if he hadn't hurt her - even if, now, she thinks that she can't really blame him. He had seen the best parts of her, the things that had made her strong and good enough to help at Hogwarts and at Harry's side, and she supposes it's only right that he saw that and picked up on it and wanted to have it. She knows the Drabwurld and as much as it hurt, and stung, she knows that power is everything.
Accepting that is hard. She wants there to be more than just a race for power, a race to push and fight to end a war that she's somehow in the middle of, rising up as a part leader, but she knows that right now things are more than just fighting because it's the right thing to do. It's fighting because there's no other option and that's hard, it's incredibly hard, and she's still not sure how to rationalise that in her head. The blood on her hands feels like a literal stain and she can't do anything to get rid of it.
This is what war does to people and, here, in the Drabwurld, there's nothing she can do to avoid that. She just has to keep trying to keep the people she loves safe.
Hermione smiles at the servants and watches as they leave, a little concerned as her eyes flick over them - and she's right to be concerned, she thinks, as she steps inside and sees the room. It's easy to put the pieces together and she hesitates before she turns back to look at Gilgamesh, a mixture of distrust and confusion prickling over her. ]
I'd like to think that it doesn't have to be that way. That we shouldn't have to live just to fight. What about friendship, and love, those things? They should be important too, shouldn't they? Even for a Servant, even if you don't think you deserve it. But I suppose that it's not the case for everyone, that things aren't so simple. You can't just tick boxes of feelings and make them happen.
[ She shakes her head. She's not naive enough to believe that it's going to be that simple and she hasn't been for years. It reminds her of Voldemort, that had been so without love and so tainted that it made everything he touched just as dark, his inability to love and be happy souring him so desperately. She doesn't want to see that happen to someone she knows. ]
It would be nice to be able to protect people so easily, but I'm sure it comes at a cost.
[ And - well, here we are. ]
You promised me tea.
[They should be important too, shouldn't they? Even for a Servant.
But I'm sure it comes at a cost.
It strikes too raw for him to ignore, and his eyes flicker away as if she's hit him. Perhaps she has, in a way, bringing up friendship and love and all those things he really did understand once upon a time—all those things she doubted of him yet was the very first to show among all mankind.
He'd like to think it doesn't have to be that way, either. That he could still have what he sought from her and she'd still look at him like she believed in the lie of a person he sold to that charming little magus. Lies were only as good as the liars that told them, and the thought of not being good enough rankles.
He's not good enough to just tick boxes off and make it happen anymore. He hasn't been since Enkidu breathed his very last.]
Here.
[Gilgamesh strides ahead of her, to the table that's been prepared. It's lonely and small compared to the emptiness of the room, but the tea wafts a warm and welcoming smell from its tray. A tray beside a plate full of lemon cakes, since she knows him too well for her own good now.
He pulls out her chair and acts cordially for the knightess-in-training. He smiles to keep up the facade. He speaks softly to hide the fact he'd dash her across the floor in an instant to get what he wanted, in love as ever with exactly what he can't have. He's worse than Voldemort could ever be: someone who can't love but clings to the delusion of it anyway, once upon a sunny day in Uruk.]
Catch me up on everything. From every strike of your sword to every dash of your pen. I want to hear.
But I'm sure it comes at a cost.
It strikes too raw for him to ignore, and his eyes flicker away as if she's hit him. Perhaps she has, in a way, bringing up friendship and love and all those things he really did understand once upon a time—all those things she doubted of him yet was the very first to show among all mankind.
He'd like to think it doesn't have to be that way, either. That he could still have what he sought from her and she'd still look at him like she believed in the lie of a person he sold to that charming little magus. Lies were only as good as the liars that told them, and the thought of not being good enough rankles.
He's not good enough to just tick boxes off and make it happen anymore. He hasn't been since Enkidu breathed his very last.]
Here.
[Gilgamesh strides ahead of her, to the table that's been prepared. It's lonely and small compared to the emptiness of the room, but the tea wafts a warm and welcoming smell from its tray. A tray beside a plate full of lemon cakes, since she knows him too well for her own good now.
He pulls out her chair and acts cordially for the knightess-in-training. He smiles to keep up the facade. He speaks softly to hide the fact he'd dash her across the floor in an instant to get what he wanted, in love as ever with exactly what he can't have. He's worse than Voldemort could ever be: someone who can't love but clings to the delusion of it anyway, once upon a sunny day in Uruk.]
Catch me up on everything. From every strike of your sword to every dash of your pen. I want to hear.
[ All she can do is walk forward when she's invited, moving forward and letting him sit her, letting herself play the game and the act of formality and politeness. It's been instilled in her for months, now, how to be kind and gentle and hold her head up high, to let herself move and let her back be straight, arms across her lap. It's not like she's in a formal situation now, though, and she relaxes a little.
It's not that she's offering Gilgamesh friendship any more, not in the way she had done easily, no matter how much she believes that he deserves it. It's a little easier to pretend that nothing had happened, at least for now, to ignore the way she feels stung and strange, and to let herself smile and settle and play the game of being allies. A part of her wants to go back to the easygoing friendship they shared, secret sharing and lion talks, settling together as friends that were happy.
It would be nice to get back to that point.
Hermione takes in the table, eyebrows raising as she notes the lemon cakes - her tease had been right, after all - and she breathes in the smell of the tea, letting it calm her even as she turns her head to look at him, to nod and adjust herself to get a little more comfortable. It feels like something they'd done together so long ago but the atmosphere is different, far less teasing and less like playful banter. This is a little more tense, formal and polite, and she nods her head before she begins to speak. ]
It's been very quiet, actually. You saw me trying on the armour? I was testing to see which style worked best with what I wanted to do if I was ever in a fight. I have a shield and some swords, and my rapier, so I thought I should get the last piece of the set as well.
[ It's not quite the dazzling gleam of his armour, of course, but it's not like she needs something so spectacular. ]
Keeping up with friends in letters, making sure my road is safe, that sort of thing. What about you?
[ She looks around the room, eyebrows raised. ]
It's not that she's offering Gilgamesh friendship any more, not in the way she had done easily, no matter how much she believes that he deserves it. It's a little easier to pretend that nothing had happened, at least for now, to ignore the way she feels stung and strange, and to let herself smile and settle and play the game of being allies. A part of her wants to go back to the easygoing friendship they shared, secret sharing and lion talks, settling together as friends that were happy.
It would be nice to get back to that point.
Hermione takes in the table, eyebrows raising as she notes the lemon cakes - her tease had been right, after all - and she breathes in the smell of the tea, letting it calm her even as she turns her head to look at him, to nod and adjust herself to get a little more comfortable. It feels like something they'd done together so long ago but the atmosphere is different, far less teasing and less like playful banter. This is a little more tense, formal and polite, and she nods her head before she begins to speak. ]
It's been very quiet, actually. You saw me trying on the armour? I was testing to see which style worked best with what I wanted to do if I was ever in a fight. I have a shield and some swords, and my rapier, so I thought I should get the last piece of the set as well.
[ It's not quite the dazzling gleam of his armour, of course, but it's not like she needs something so spectacular. ]
Keeping up with friends in letters, making sure my road is safe, that sort of thing. What about you?
[ She looks around the room, eyebrows raised. ]
That was the hope. The main issue I have is security and making sure that no one else finds a way of poking their nose into things if we do manage to have meetings over the compasses rather than in person.
[ She hums, considering. ]
I'll write up the information and get it back to you, how about that? I might even be able to use my magic to duplicate parts of the book I have.
[ She hums, considering. ]
I'll write up the information and get it back to you, how about that? I might even be able to use my magic to duplicate parts of the book I have.
[She's the most beautiful sort of doll going through those mechanical motions. Move forward, sit, raise the head high, kindness and gentleness, smile just so, answer just right. Even if she'll always lack the proper fortitude for battle, she'll never lack the proper manners for the table. Even if she'll never cut others down with the same casual air as a Servant, she'll maintain her humanity to the end.
If only she knew how many of them would envy her for it. But not Gilgamesh. Not anymore.
Gilgamesh takes the seat across from her and pours her cup first, then his.]
Pivot on the heel, then thrust. Lean your weight onto your dominant foot and use the other to ground your stance.
[Advice offered without asking, and Hermione can therefore rest assured it's earnest. He is no swordsman of Saber's caliber, but he's handled all manner of weaponry before, blades and shields alike. This too he speaks as a Servant, as one born to fight, who lived and died as a being enslaved to the Grail.
Her friends. Her road. Gilgamesh tries not to bristle, eyes flickering to the twin crowns still resting on the windowsill.]
I'm returning to Leathann. Where I am King. Where I am beloved.
[A weaker man's hands would've shaken. A weaker man would've thrown them in her face. He refuses to be that man today.]
If only she knew how many of them would envy her for it. But not Gilgamesh. Not anymore.
Gilgamesh takes the seat across from her and pours her cup first, then his.]
Pivot on the heel, then thrust. Lean your weight onto your dominant foot and use the other to ground your stance.
[Advice offered without asking, and Hermione can therefore rest assured it's earnest. He is no swordsman of Saber's caliber, but he's handled all manner of weaponry before, blades and shields alike. This too he speaks as a Servant, as one born to fight, who lived and died as a being enslaved to the Grail.
Her friends. Her road. Gilgamesh tries not to bristle, eyes flickering to the twin crowns still resting on the windowsill.]
I'm returning to Leathann. Where I am King. Where I am beloved.
[A weaker man's hands would've shaken. A weaker man would've thrown them in her face. He refuses to be that man today.]
[ Although she doesn't say it, only nods with a smile, she does appreciate the advice. It's the same type of thing Lancelot had told her, the same thing her teachers had been telling her for months. Use her dominant side, focus on that, adjust, use her smaller stature and her ability to move a little faster, if need be, to dodge and move. It made sense; she wasn't the type of person with a great deal of physical strength and she was still learning how to make that work for her, how to actually survive when she had to do something with sword in hand.
Hermione wasn't a warrior, she was a witch, but she felt like the lines were beginning to blur.
Reaching out, she takes her cup, sipping and relaxing for a moment before she turns her head to listen to him.
Something strikes her when he speaks, an echo of a memory, a sudden rush of shame and guilt making her stare, unblinking, watching his face. I am not here to pander to you, to pout or do anything, especially not with a king that doesn't have any kind of crown. You're not my king, Gilgamesh, and you are not my ruler. I am yours, I am Marchioness of this Citadel...
She swallows. ]
I've heard that Leathann is quite nice. I'm sure you'll be very comfortable there.
[ And, after a moment's hesitating - ]
And you'll be able to handle any escaped prisoners from last year, too.
Hermione wasn't a warrior, she was a witch, but she felt like the lines were beginning to blur.
Reaching out, she takes her cup, sipping and relaxing for a moment before she turns her head to listen to him.
Something strikes her when he speaks, an echo of a memory, a sudden rush of shame and guilt making her stare, unblinking, watching his face. I am not here to pander to you, to pout or do anything, especially not with a king that doesn't have any kind of crown. You're not my king, Gilgamesh, and you are not my ruler. I am yours, I am Marchioness of this Citadel...
She swallows. ]
I've heard that Leathann is quite nice. I'm sure you'll be very comfortable there.
[ And, after a moment's hesitating - ]
And you'll be able to handle any escaped prisoners from last year, too.
They put flowers in my hair and joined my merry company, the children of those streets.
[Yes, he remembers it, too. The words that stung with anger and with hurt. The truest side of the fiercest Marchioness, who hurled all that childishness back in his face and made him suffer for it. But not again. Never again.
She's right to hesitate. She's right to feel guilt. This was her fault.
Even so, he can't find the frustration to blame her for it. Indeed, sipping his tea, shutting his eyes, he appears very much at peace, at the prospect of leaving the place where he's no longer welcome and finding his way home again. He has come to terms with his situation and perhaps he should really be thanking her for that slap in the face—it woke him up in more ways than one.
He still would wish her off the face of the earth, but only with his hand dangling after her, ready to scoop her back up again.]
Do you see them? By the window. They were gifts given to me by people who'd call themselves my friends, but the truth of the matter is...
[Those eyes are strangely soft once they open. Reminiscent of a far away time he'll never reach again. Infinite and boundless, bloody and red.]
...I don't have any here. It must wound them too.
[And he doesn't look the slightest bit sorry for it. Only sorry for the one friend he's left forever behind.]
[Yes, he remembers it, too. The words that stung with anger and with hurt. The truest side of the fiercest Marchioness, who hurled all that childishness back in his face and made him suffer for it. But not again. Never again.
She's right to hesitate. She's right to feel guilt. This was her fault.
Even so, he can't find the frustration to blame her for it. Indeed, sipping his tea, shutting his eyes, he appears very much at peace, at the prospect of leaving the place where he's no longer welcome and finding his way home again. He has come to terms with his situation and perhaps he should really be thanking her for that slap in the face—it woke him up in more ways than one.
He still would wish her off the face of the earth, but only with his hand dangling after her, ready to scoop her back up again.]
Do you see them? By the window. They were gifts given to me by people who'd call themselves my friends, but the truth of the matter is...
[Those eyes are strangely soft once they open. Reminiscent of a far away time he'll never reach again. Infinite and boundless, bloody and red.]
...I don't have any here. It must wound them too.
[And he doesn't look the slightest bit sorry for it. Only sorry for the one friend he's left forever behind.]
I'm sure you looked lovely.
[ Putting words to how she feels is strange, right now. She does feel guilty, in an awkward, sad sort of way, knowing that this may well have been her fault in part. She had tried to make Gilgamesh feel welcome initially but she had snapped, her anger hitting a point where it linked hands with her frustration and her own pain and she had ripped into him because of it, used him as an emotional punching bag.
There was no denying that he'd earned it, of course, and that he had stepped into the line of fire when he insulted her and accused her with his own rudeness, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel bad about her own retort. She had stood up for herself in the face of someone that she knew was far more than the mask he put on, something worse, but that was fine. She had seen far worse than Gilgamesh in her time, she told herself, and she quashed her own guilt with her own determination.
Her head turns to look at them, his crowns, and she softens for a moment. ]
They're beautiful.
[ It's instinct, her own nature, that has her reaching over to touch his hand when he continues, something soft inside of her still wanting to see him happy. It was foolish, she knew, but it was her heart that made her strong, not her anger. ]
You do have friends, Gilgamesh. [ A pause, unsure, then - ] You have me.
[ Putting words to how she feels is strange, right now. She does feel guilty, in an awkward, sad sort of way, knowing that this may well have been her fault in part. She had tried to make Gilgamesh feel welcome initially but she had snapped, her anger hitting a point where it linked hands with her frustration and her own pain and she had ripped into him because of it, used him as an emotional punching bag.
There was no denying that he'd earned it, of course, and that he had stepped into the line of fire when he insulted her and accused her with his own rudeness, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel bad about her own retort. She had stood up for herself in the face of someone that she knew was far more than the mask he put on, something worse, but that was fine. She had seen far worse than Gilgamesh in her time, she told herself, and she quashed her own guilt with her own determination.
Her head turns to look at them, his crowns, and she softens for a moment. ]
They're beautiful.
[ It's instinct, her own nature, that has her reaching over to touch his hand when he continues, something soft inside of her still wanting to see him happy. It was foolish, she knew, but it was her heart that made her strong, not her anger. ]
You do have friends, Gilgamesh. [ A pause, unsure, then - ] You have me.
[The compliment just gets a smooth little smile out of him, like the hazy rays of summer.]
Of course I did. I'm the child of the sun. That's why I favor gold.
[She's right to feel guilty, but Gilgamesh would still chide her for it. Time has passed and tempers have cooled and he's accepted his punishment—not because he wronged in hurting her, but because he wronged in telling such a transparent lie. He wasn't so clever, wasn't so invincible, and he'd lost her hand because of it.
But she never gave back the box. She still wore the ring. She tries to fight off what she has every right to feel, and he notices this, and he wonders if he should pity her in all her loneliness. If he should forgive the pretty Marchioness, bound up in her room by duty and by station, never to prowl the halls as lionness again.
He's reaching for a cake when she's reaching for his hand. This insufferable girl really does get in the way of everything enjoyable.]
I have one. No more, no less.
[Here, he will assert himself. He will tell her what he couldn't back then, that she was wrong, that they all were to judge him so.]
I loved him. That was my story, Hermione. That is the basis of my legend, of my Epic. The strength of friendship you speak of, the power that knows no bounds... it began with me. [More desperately, as when he confessed to it:] I wanted to tell you but couldn't find the time. I wanted you to know.
Of course I did. I'm the child of the sun. That's why I favor gold.
[She's right to feel guilty, but Gilgamesh would still chide her for it. Time has passed and tempers have cooled and he's accepted his punishment—not because he wronged in hurting her, but because he wronged in telling such a transparent lie. He wasn't so clever, wasn't so invincible, and he'd lost her hand because of it.
But she never gave back the box. She still wore the ring. She tries to fight off what she has every right to feel, and he notices this, and he wonders if he should pity her in all her loneliness. If he should forgive the pretty Marchioness, bound up in her room by duty and by station, never to prowl the halls as lionness again.
He's reaching for a cake when she's reaching for his hand. This insufferable girl really does get in the way of everything enjoyable.]
I have one. No more, no less.
[Here, he will assert himself. He will tell her what he couldn't back then, that she was wrong, that they all were to judge him so.]
I loved him. That was my story, Hermione. That is the basis of my legend, of my Epic. The strength of friendship you speak of, the power that knows no bounds... it began with me. [More desperately, as when he confessed to it:] I wanted to tell you but couldn't find the time. I wanted you to know.
[ His smile relaxes her, softens the blow, and she hesitates before she nods her head. Gilgamesh is handsome, a little like sunlight sometimes - beautiful to look at but something that leaves you red and raw if you stare or get too close, the after-effects holding on to your skin for weeks after.
He is beautiful, but being around him burns.
It's hard to admit that, maybe, there was something of herself in the way that he spoke, the way that he praised friendship. It might be true that his legend was a start, that maybe his friendship was one of the first, and that is something unique, something amazing, and she can feel how it inspires him. She knows that she feels something similar and she shifts, moving forward, adjusting their hands ever so slightly - her fingers slide between his, slowly, the top of his palm touching against Gilgamesh's, and her thumb brushing over his skin.
It's gentle, soft, careful, and she doesn't want to push. She knows that they have things that they're not going to talk about - the dead weight around her neck, the unapologised words from the training room, his relationship with Dorian, his anger, all of it - but she understands what he's saying. The things that he says, wants, it curls around her and settles because it's like a reflection of her own desires. To have friendship, someone you love, so passionately and powerfully that you would end it all to be at their side to protect them... It's not unfamiliar to her.
Once, she was prepared to walk into a forest filled with Dark Wizards that would torture, maim and kill her, just so Harry wouldn't be alone as he died. She thinks she can understand and, when she speaks, her voice is careful, trying to choose her words properly instead of blurting them out and seeming to be an idiot, a child instead of the woman she knows herself to be. ]
People prize intelligence, you know, and reading, learning. I do, too, I can't really deny that. But friendship is one of the most important things in the entire world. Having friends, having people to love and care about, makes you - anyone - far stronger than they would be if they were alone. There is something really beautiful about it, knowing that there'll be someone there to help you or take care of you whenever you need it, that will love you even in the darkest of times.
[ And then her memory flicks to Dorian and she pauses. She loves him, even knowing his soul, knowing he swings between loving her and wanting to leave her, his own confusion. It's what friendship means to her, tied in with her own natural dedication and stubbornness. ]
I'm glad you told me. And I'm glad you invited me for tea.
[ A breath, a squeeze of her fingers around his, gentle. ]
It's something very beautiful.
He is beautiful, but being around him burns.
It's hard to admit that, maybe, there was something of herself in the way that he spoke, the way that he praised friendship. It might be true that his legend was a start, that maybe his friendship was one of the first, and that is something unique, something amazing, and she can feel how it inspires him. She knows that she feels something similar and she shifts, moving forward, adjusting their hands ever so slightly - her fingers slide between his, slowly, the top of his palm touching against Gilgamesh's, and her thumb brushing over his skin.
It's gentle, soft, careful, and she doesn't want to push. She knows that they have things that they're not going to talk about - the dead weight around her neck, the unapologised words from the training room, his relationship with Dorian, his anger, all of it - but she understands what he's saying. The things that he says, wants, it curls around her and settles because it's like a reflection of her own desires. To have friendship, someone you love, so passionately and powerfully that you would end it all to be at their side to protect them... It's not unfamiliar to her.
Once, she was prepared to walk into a forest filled with Dark Wizards that would torture, maim and kill her, just so Harry wouldn't be alone as he died. She thinks she can understand and, when she speaks, her voice is careful, trying to choose her words properly instead of blurting them out and seeming to be an idiot, a child instead of the woman she knows herself to be. ]
People prize intelligence, you know, and reading, learning. I do, too, I can't really deny that. But friendship is one of the most important things in the entire world. Having friends, having people to love and care about, makes you - anyone - far stronger than they would be if they were alone. There is something really beautiful about it, knowing that there'll be someone there to help you or take care of you whenever you need it, that will love you even in the darkest of times.
[ And then her memory flicks to Dorian and she pauses. She loves him, even knowing his soul, knowing he swings between loving her and wanting to leave her, his own confusion. It's what friendship means to her, tied in with her own natural dedication and stubbornness. ]
I'm glad you told me. And I'm glad you invited me for tea.
[ A breath, a squeeze of her fingers around his, gentle. ]
It's something very beautiful.
[They're holding hands.
They're holding hands and it burns. He doesn't want to feel relaxed around her; he doesn't want to soften the blow; he wants it to sting and wants it to go away all at once. He wants to get that image out of his head of a proud young lady posturing in a proud set of armor; he wants to engrave it forever in his memories. He wants to throw her off the edge of the earth and he wants to drown her and set her ablaze and delight in her suffering. She's mortal and foolish and still he wants her all to himself.
He told her back then she could make of his proposal whatever she wished, but now he really would marry this Hermione Granger. For power. For influence. But most importantly for stubbornness, just to say that he could, just to settle that childish score between them.
They're holding hands and she's gentle with him. Too gentle, and he drifts because of it, pictures someone else in her stead. He clings to her too quickly, and it gives away his own loneliness, how both hands wrap around hers. They are strong and protective and all the things he once pretended to be with her.
He's not pretending right now. The light of his mana dances over her skin, settles in. He gifts her strength and fortitude without even thinking about it, as he always would before their lessons. This is the will of the King of Heroes who has been touched by her compassion and reveals himself for the crownless wanderer he's been since he arrived.]
He will always love you more than me.
[It's such a pathetic thing to say. It's his only form of apology, this sad little surrender. His heart sinks.]
And I will always love that small part of you, even from many miles away, where I can do you no harm.
[So much for not talking about it. Gilgamesh just spilled all of it all over the place.]
They're holding hands and it burns. He doesn't want to feel relaxed around her; he doesn't want to soften the blow; he wants it to sting and wants it to go away all at once. He wants to get that image out of his head of a proud young lady posturing in a proud set of armor; he wants to engrave it forever in his memories. He wants to throw her off the edge of the earth and he wants to drown her and set her ablaze and delight in her suffering. She's mortal and foolish and still he wants her all to himself.
He told her back then she could make of his proposal whatever she wished, but now he really would marry this Hermione Granger. For power. For influence. But most importantly for stubbornness, just to say that he could, just to settle that childish score between them.
They're holding hands and she's gentle with him. Too gentle, and he drifts because of it, pictures someone else in her stead. He clings to her too quickly, and it gives away his own loneliness, how both hands wrap around hers. They are strong and protective and all the things he once pretended to be with her.
He's not pretending right now. The light of his mana dances over her skin, settles in. He gifts her strength and fortitude without even thinking about it, as he always would before their lessons. This is the will of the King of Heroes who has been touched by her compassion and reveals himself for the crownless wanderer he's been since he arrived.]
He will always love you more than me.
[It's such a pathetic thing to say. It's his only form of apology, this sad little surrender. His heart sinks.]
And I will always love that small part of you, even from many miles away, where I can do you no harm.
[So much for not talking about it. Gilgamesh just spilled all of it all over the place.]
[ Holding hands is a little like second nature to Hermione now.
When she was scared she would grab at Ron or Harry, wrap herself around them in quick bursts of affection, fingers linked with fingers and arm around arm. She's held hands with so many of her friends here, drawing them close and seeking out the smallest of physical contact to ease the pain, to draw away that loneliness and suffering that can leave you aching and sad when it's time to go to bed. It's not just something to be done in fear or sadness, though, it's something that can be done in comfort and tenderness too and that's what this is.
Her other hand comes, covers his, her fingers settling along across his knuckle as her head lifts to look at him. Hermione's not sure what to make of his expression or the way he looks at her, not knowing what he really thinks about her - some kind of woman that would poison him or stab him in the dark, a stupid mage, all the things he's said compared to all the things she thinks must be lies when he was trying to marry her. She's not foolish enough to believe that all of this is true, but she's starting to get a sense of who Gilgamesh is.
He's honest, for the most part, but there is something like a veil, like he hides what he really thinks with tidbits of truth. It frustrates her because she does, as much as she can, try to be honest, to be careful and sure, to not offer things that might hurt or be untrue, but he doesn't have that kind of concern. She can appreciate the honesty even if she's hurt by it because it's a part of who he is, how she sees him, and she knows that there's not much she can do to change him - because he is his own person, even if he sees himself as a Servant that isn't capable of the same feelings and wants that she is.
Her hands squeeze his and her face sets in determination. ]
And I'm always going to love him. It's not a contest, Gilgamesh. I'm sure the love is different. He's my best friend, not...
[ Her lover. She'd seen the kisses, the secret little things they'd shared, the shift of her own discomfort, and she had been confused. It's none of her business, though, of course; she wasn't engaged to Gilgamesh, despite wearing his ring as a token around her neck, a reminder, like personal baggage and a safety net, and she had no right to comment - especially since she'd kissed Dorian a handful of times. It's not jealousy, exactly, but it's something, that familiar ache and longing for something the same, her own kind, someone to love her that she knows she can love back completely.
A pause, a breath, and she hesitates. ]
And I'll care about you, too, even when you're gone. You still have your compass, after all, and I don't think I'll be rid of you quite yet.
[ He does have a bad habit of popping up at the best and worst times. Gilgamesh has seen her at her best - the proud Marchioness, rising up at a party, in training, in armour - and at her worst - the lioness turned rabid, blood around her mouth and flesh in her stomach; the young girl twisted with new jealousy that she wants to stop down and ignore. She wonders what he thinks of her, really, and then decides that she doesn't want to know. It would be easier that way.
She's still holding his hand. She hasn't let go, and she doesn't intend to, not until he does, her fingers warm, familiar tingles that hark back to lessons that have long since been abandoned. ]
I don't think I can really escape you, can I?
[ It's said as a tease, a gentle poke, but a part of her wonders just how true that is. ]
When she was scared she would grab at Ron or Harry, wrap herself around them in quick bursts of affection, fingers linked with fingers and arm around arm. She's held hands with so many of her friends here, drawing them close and seeking out the smallest of physical contact to ease the pain, to draw away that loneliness and suffering that can leave you aching and sad when it's time to go to bed. It's not just something to be done in fear or sadness, though, it's something that can be done in comfort and tenderness too and that's what this is.
Her other hand comes, covers his, her fingers settling along across his knuckle as her head lifts to look at him. Hermione's not sure what to make of his expression or the way he looks at her, not knowing what he really thinks about her - some kind of woman that would poison him or stab him in the dark, a stupid mage, all the things he's said compared to all the things she thinks must be lies when he was trying to marry her. She's not foolish enough to believe that all of this is true, but she's starting to get a sense of who Gilgamesh is.
He's honest, for the most part, but there is something like a veil, like he hides what he really thinks with tidbits of truth. It frustrates her because she does, as much as she can, try to be honest, to be careful and sure, to not offer things that might hurt or be untrue, but he doesn't have that kind of concern. She can appreciate the honesty even if she's hurt by it because it's a part of who he is, how she sees him, and she knows that there's not much she can do to change him - because he is his own person, even if he sees himself as a Servant that isn't capable of the same feelings and wants that she is.
Her hands squeeze his and her face sets in determination. ]
And I'm always going to love him. It's not a contest, Gilgamesh. I'm sure the love is different. He's my best friend, not...
[ Her lover. She'd seen the kisses, the secret little things they'd shared, the shift of her own discomfort, and she had been confused. It's none of her business, though, of course; she wasn't engaged to Gilgamesh, despite wearing his ring as a token around her neck, a reminder, like personal baggage and a safety net, and she had no right to comment - especially since she'd kissed Dorian a handful of times. It's not jealousy, exactly, but it's something, that familiar ache and longing for something the same, her own kind, someone to love her that she knows she can love back completely.
A pause, a breath, and she hesitates. ]
And I'll care about you, too, even when you're gone. You still have your compass, after all, and I don't think I'll be rid of you quite yet.
[ He does have a bad habit of popping up at the best and worst times. Gilgamesh has seen her at her best - the proud Marchioness, rising up at a party, in training, in armour - and at her worst - the lioness turned rabid, blood around her mouth and flesh in her stomach; the young girl twisted with new jealousy that she wants to stop down and ignore. She wonders what he thinks of her, really, and then decides that she doesn't want to know. It would be easier that way.
She's still holding his hand. She hasn't let go, and she doesn't intend to, not until he does, her fingers warm, familiar tingles that hark back to lessons that have long since been abandoned. ]
I don't think I can really escape you, can I?
[ It's said as a tease, a gentle poke, but a part of her wonders just how true that is. ]
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