Not a little girl—a young woman. But still young in that.
His eyes flick up as he tries to sort through the information as far as he recalls. "They're all pieces of the bigger gem, they come to physically manifest when you're dead or or near to death, they hold a bit of the power of your world . . . and mine hurt like b—" He looks at her, changes his mind, "—bad . . . person . . . after I tried to play that dream harp."
Someone is learning, and she appreciates the censoring even as she tilts her head to consider.
"A lesson learned the hard way then. You're right on all accounts, as far as what I've learned about the shards themselves. The gem the shards come from was called the Uaine Cridhe, or the Green Heart, and it's said that the shards are what helped make or begin our worlds, as they are. That might be why it responds to our feelings and our memories; because it's a part of us and our world all at once, tying us to this one as well."
Her hands lift, touching the spot in her chest where she had felt the warmth and the glow in her training and her testing, with Lancelot and Aslan both.
"The sizes range, though I'm not sure what it depends on, and the only people that know how to remove a shard without you losing it entirely are the dwarves, but that's not really something anyone should do without some serious consideration. Like you said, they manifest when you're on the brink of death."
Dorian offers her a lopsided smile. He knows where his shard is in his chest not from warmth but from pain. "So you're saying that I'm a bit S.O.L. if I want the dwarves to get rid of mine."
Even so, the theory seems sensible to him. In some ways, it is just an extension of sympathetic magic, and other kinds of magic Dorian has well learned over the past hundred years. The part resonates with the whole, the cornerstone with the building. As above, so below.
"I don't suppose memories of any of my deaths would help me summon forth its powers? There are a few very vivid ones that would count in evoking strong emotions."
"It doesn't mean much if you don't struggle. And if you can't remember anything worthwhile, that won't help, either."
And there it comes, the voice of someone familiar, manifested from a single ball of light. And so there Gilgamesh was, all along, concealing himself and watching their attempts from his private stage. Hanging off the edge of a lower roof, a grin splitting his features with a golden bow clasped in his hands.
It's a hop, skip and a jump back onto solid ground, and he glides past Hermione as if she doesn't even exist, weaves an arm about his Master's waist and brushes foreheads before dancing back again in a casually flippant display.
"Your magic drew me here," Gilgamesh explains, eyes flickering ever so briefly to Hermione. "Were you in need of assistance, Master? I suspect I know the issue. I can resolve it."
Honestly, she isn't even offended at being somewhat ignored. She much prefers Gilgamesh's focus being on Dorian, on his Master, and she turns her head away as soon as she recognises the voice and the appearance, the way that something inside of her seems to twist and shrivel at his company. Any hope she thinks she had of dwelling on happiness seems to have been ripped out from under her feet for a moment - and she breathes out, swallowing her ire.
Should she even say anything? It's obvious that her company is nudged to the side in the wake of a Servant and while she's not exactly put off by it (she knows she can't really touch upon their connection nor their relationship) it does make an irritated frown cross over her lips.
"No, deaths won't help, thank you. I said positive emotions, not horrific ones, Dorian." She swallows, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to let her gaze flick to the gold man at his side, ignoring the way that something softens inside of her at the tender display. She was still angry and if there was one thing to be said about her it was that, when she wanted to, she could hold a grudge for a long time.
"Happiness, love, contentment, not pain and sadness."
He doesn't mean to; it happens against his will. A beautiful creature appears from nowhere, takes him in arms, and pulls him close. Of course he smiles. His king, his servant, his magnanimous and tyrannical Gilgamesh. Dorian does adore him.
And then he remembers where they are, and who he is with, and what Gilgamesh has made Hermione suffer in the past. The smile drops away in an instant, replaced by a harsh frown.
"Peter Pan emotions it is." He reaches for Hermione's hand again, wants to reassure her. Gilgamesh may be Dorian's Servant, may hold in him all possibility and so a kind of infinity that Dorian is in love with. But there is one thing that Gilgamesh will not offer. One impossibility for him to give.
Hermione is Dorian's friend. There is nothing Dorian values more.
I am curious, Dorian admits to Gilgamesh across their telepathy, But Hermione won't be grateful for your company. Not after what you did. "Perhaps you should leave for the moment, Gilgamesh."
Dorian's concerns and Hermione's all too obvious irritation both go ignored.
"Hermione is correct." Leave this to me. Trust me. "Focusing on such miserable thoughts won't do you any good at all. You must instead focus on the here and now, the presence of the present. You, yourself, and the world around you, and what you treasure within it, in order to draw upon magic of that caliber."
He speaks as though he knows the spell personally; in a way, he does, as a being of magic and thus naturally attuned to all aspects of it. Just as Dorian reaches for Hermione with one hand, Gilgamesh reaches for the other. Squeezes around his fingers, but again, he glances at Hermione. He's looking only at her now.
"You have a very fine protector," Gilgamesh admits, and thus unveils his trump card: some buried sense of politeness and decency. "Allow me to instruct him further. I believe he can succeed at this with an extra push."
It's easy to smile gratefully at Dorian, to let his hand in hers be a comfort rather than a painful reminder of why, exactly, she is so on edge in Gilgamesh's company. She's not an idiot, not as much as she had been a few months ago, and a part of her prickles at the idea of being in his company at all. Desperation has bruised her ego, her sharp stubbornness not wanting to let her back down or admit that Dorian might be able to use his Servant's help, and she breathes out a noise.
Her eyes close, a tight squeeze, as she fights back something she doesn't want to name, but after a moment she does nothing more than breathe out, a soft sigh, before she manages a smile and she nods her head.
"If you think he can help," and she's looking at Dorian, pointedly ignoring the other man, like an elephant in the room that she doesn't want to address. "Then you should try. He knows a lot about magic and he knows you as well." Perhaps better than I do, she thinks, her mental tone bitter as she bites her tongue. "I think if you're going to master this you need to make sure you try it from all angles."
Eyes, sharp and hard, flick to Gilgamesh before her hand slips away from Dorian's, her steps following, one and two, putting distance between them.
"Go ahead. I'll... Watch. If you need me I'm here, but I won't get in your way." She'll ignore this and the buzzing hurt inside of her for as long as she can; she's useless in instruction now, she thinks, unlikely and incapable of summoning a patronus to show how it ought to be done, in finding joy enough to light up the power inside of her.
He can feel it. Instinct, intuition, or a sense of what Gilgamesh is. The presence of the present. Gilgamesh knows him; Gilgamesh is right. And with a push from Gilgamesh, Dorian could get it.
But Dorian is not a real magus. For what real magus would look away from an opportunity for power and instead turn to a friend, squeeze her hand and clasp it so that she can't walk away?
This is hurting her. He wants to trust Gilgamesh. He often does. But trust him with Hermione? Not after what happened before.
(Even so, he doesn't force his Servant to release his hand.)
"I'd prefer to learn from you." With a deliberate choice, he just slaps it down on the table: "And I have a suspicion that Gilgamesh's presence isn't helping you reach for your happy thoughts."
Elephant, indeed. It takes a great deal of patience that Gilgamesh frankly doesn't have to keep from lashing out, and there's a quick pull of tension on their bond to prove it, but it's just as quickly shoved aside. Proof in practice that he's willing to set matters aside for the betterment of his Master.
And at their core definition, Servants existed only to ensure the successes of their Masters. Gilgamesh may have been an elephant, but compared to this man, Hermione was all but irrelevant. Just a mouse trying to understand grander schemes beyond itself.
Even so. Even so, he tells his Master, too. He won't budge.
"Hermione may decide for herself what she wishes to do or not do. I will abide her."
That's all Gilgamesh says; otherwise, he remains still. The final choice rests with the woman he betrayed.
It warms her, how easily Dorian turns to her side, even as she knows the bond he shares with Gilgamesh is something she could never hope to touch upon. She has seen his soul, true, and has accepted him, loved him, in spite and in part because of who he is and who he claims to be, but their connection is deeper. She can feel it and she lets her gaze flick before she swallows.
"I already know how to summon a patronus and activate my shard," she says finally, her hand squeezing his, the other resting on the crook of the same arm, thumb brushing over the curve of his elbow gently. "I'm not..." She hesitates. She isn't some spineless, sad little girl that might bow in the presence of a man that had tried to use her and had hurt her in the process. She has faced Lord Voldemort, stood before Bellatrix Lestrange and torture itself and not wilted.
Gilgamesh will not get the better of her.
"He can help you and he should stay. The two of you share something very special and that can't hurt, especially when you're still just starting to learn. It might do you some good and stop you from thinking about death instead of happy things." It's obvious that she's still not looking at Gilgamesh himself unless she has to, her features soft and her smile for Dorian alone. "Let him help."
She can stand here and hold her head high, her pride in herself and her decision not to let this drag her down making her seem tight, drawn like the bow she has so slowly begun to master. Hermione may not be as strong as either of them are together, as Gilgamesh is alone, but a part of her still thinks she might well be better; she would never deliberately hurt someone the way he had her.
The tension pulls at Dorian, but he is as unflinching now as he had been those months ago. He is not, however, as hostile, and he provides over the link some sense of the affection he holds for Gilgamesh to assuage him.
But it is Hermione that decides what happens next. Hermione's choice and Hermione's strength. That is how Dorian dresses her, in lines of smooth sharpness, fabrics of beautiful bite. Armour and weaponry, he wants Hermione to know she is someone to be reckoned with.
It is her choice, so he can accept it.
There is a sweetness when he smiles at Hermione. "All right, then."
There is a sense of pleasurable hunger when he looks at Gilgamesh. "I'm ready to be instructed."
The desire in Dorian's voice and expression are a mark of just how soft he was going on Hermione with his little jokes. As he trades teachers, he trades faces: the Dorian Gray whom Hermione knows transforms without any sign of change into the one that Gilgamesh gets. And he is ready.
Hermione has made her choice. There's nothing more to be said on the matter. It would only patronize her, anyway.
The air shifts almost instantaneously from the second Dorian turns. Casual armor and weaponry disappear, replaced by gilded plate, and Hermione will sense at least one thing far better than Dorian ever could: the entire area fills with raw magic, ancient and awe-inspiring and beyond comparison. This is the truest presence of Gilgamesh, King of Heroes.
Gilgamesh takes Dorian's sealed hand and summons his power thus:
"I call upon the sacred bond between Master and Servant. Invoked upon the Seals, I delve within. I erase all errant thought. I become every breath and every waking moment. Beginning, middle, and end. Surru. Qabassu. Qatu."
A great weight descends upon Dorian's mind with those words. The world seems to vanish; everything descends upon one fine point, that point being Gilgamesh, that blots out all else. Presence of the present. One overwhelming figure to guide him down the proper path.
"Open the gate."
(Undo the lock.)
"Banish all darkness, all despair, all shadow and woe."
(Begone.)
"Gaze into the depths. I am the master, the very center of myself. Believe ardently in this prayer; believe in my boundless will, my endless might."
(Awaken.)
And at the very end, as warmth flows into Dorian and cradles him in an effervescent embrace, Gilgamesh leans in to brush their lips together, and offers his final instruction through word and through thought alike. "I believe in your strength. Step back when you are ready. Cast the spell and may all be in awe before you."
For a moment, all Hermione can do is stand and watch in awe. She can feel the raw power, the brush of magic, as familiar to her now as her own - she has been in this world for almost two years and she is accustomed to feeling magic, it's power and it's strength, to seeing how it exists and the way people manipulate it. She had always known Gilgamesh had strength, more than she had expected when they'd first met, but this is certainly awe-inspiring.
She can't watch, though.
Dorian and Gilgamesh are together, a set pair, Master and Servant with a bond that she can't conceive nor touch, and the visualisation of the bond she had only heard about and imagined makes her shift. While she has never been ashamed of her own physical affection (her hugs and hand-holding are second nature, her smiles tender and for all the people she cares about) something about this feels... Too intimate for her. It feels like she's watching something she shouldn't and her stomach recoils with it, her eyes closing before she moves.
It's deliberate and slow, the turn of her head and then her body, the silence with which she does it, holding her breath and drawing herself away. She doesn't want to see this. Not because she cares about either of them romantically, despite her professing her love for Dorian at every occasion, but because of her own fierce jealousy, her own decisive envy that makes her want to reach out and grasp at something like it for her own. Their bond might be based upon a give and take of mutual benefit but there is no denying that they share something special.
It's not wrong for her to want some of that for herself, is it? To want to be that special to someone, to share something secret and special with them that no one else is privy to and no one else can touch?
It's hard to imagine her having that with anyone, especially now, not with all the secrets that haunt her and all the pain she hides, deep inside of her, polluting her soul and her spirit with pain and suspicion that she cannot bear to name.
She doesn't turn back, not even when Gilgamesh commands his master to cast; if it works then she will hear the result, only turn her head if Dorian asks her to. She can't look; it hurts, and she's ashamed of that pain when, in reality, she should be celebrating her friend's strengths.
(It isn't so wrong, she thinks, to not want to be alone, is it?)
Šurrû. Qabassu. Qatû. Possessed entirely by Gilgamesh, taken up by him, there is nothing beyond him, no sensation, no reality. Dorian is consumed completely by the moment, and he welcomes his own devouring.
"Expecto patronum."
The light is far beyond what Dorian could do on his own; it is charged with Gilgamesh's force, with the strength of his will amplified in the empty vessel of Dorian Gray. There is the roar from that light, a proud call as heavy paws bound in circles through the air—
But it is not the only light here. Where once Dorian felt a terrible burning, now there is a warmth glow. Šurrû. Qabassu. Qatû. The beginning. The middle. The end. It is everything, all experience, all pleasure, and still he wants more and more and more.
If another had taken hold of Dorian in this way, it would have faltered. The power would not have been Dorian's happiness. The wish would not have been Dorian's wish. Šurrû. Qabassu. Qatû. Filled up with Gilgamesh's power, Dorian expresses his own will. I want it. Such is the panther that comes to rest at Dorian's feet: a creature of desire, always craving, pushing, seeking out. Never satisfied.
But of course he does. Even a taste of his power could drive any mortal mad; even the devil couldn't claim to surpass him. That's why Dorian was only permitted just that taste, enough to set in him in a trance just for a while rather than pitch himself into the abyss forever.
The task is done, the goal has been reached. He fires off the spell successfully, and Gilgamesh smiles at the result, at the form his patronus takes, a stunning panther that leaps and lunges and no doubt would do everything in its ethereal power to protect its master.
Yet Gilgamesh turns away from his and calls out to someone else.
"Hermione."
He lets Dorian go. He lets him be, strides apart from him so he won't drown in a momentary high pushed too far and approaches her still aglow. They are powerful, they all are with limitless mana suspended all around them. And then there is Hermione, who weeps within herself and wishes for what she'll never have. Echos the wish they all have, and though Gilgamesh cannot hear it, he can guess. He will soothe her. He will be kind to the girl who occupied Dorian's thoughts up until the end.
"It was you who brought about that light after all. It was you he thought of, you he wanted to protect and to love, before I even touched him."
Is it a lie? Not really. Gilgamesh goes on, strides forth until he can be ignored no longer and stands before her.
"Won't you try, too? This mana will help. But more than magic, more than anything, a true friend grants you power beyond belief. I'd like to see that power. I want to believe in it, just as I did before. I want to believe in you, because they were words for your ears as well."
Is it a lie? Not this time. His expression betrays no foul intent. He wants to see it, the patronus that belongs to Hermione Granger, the strength that would've been a stepping stone to something greater—if only he hadn't shattered it all to pieces.
The prickle of Dorian's strength is nothing short of beautiful. Hermione had always loved the Patronus, loved it as much as it frustrated her, the power and complexity of it, and she can't deny that she's desperately impressed by how quickly he and Gilgamesh had done this together. It's impossible not to turn her head a little when she hears her name, the prickle of raw energy enough to make her want to succumb to the urge to move back to his side. For all that she is disinterested and hurt because of Gilgamesh she is inspired and awed by Dorian, one of the truest friends she's known in some time.
It only hurts more when Gilgamesh stands in front of her, impossible to ignore.
Once, she would have trusted him without hesitation. She'd have taken his hands in her own and stood, raised back, and nodded her head, trusted in his words, actions and tutoring. Now she knows better, her lips turned down into a just-there frown, her eyes lifted in an almost glare as he speaks his pretty words. She knows that he is honest, at least in this, more than he might have been a few months before, but there is an ache inside of her that she doesn't dare consider. Looking at him hurts her, wounds her, and it's the steady pulse of betrayal.
"It's not just about power. If it was I'd be fine."
Her voice is quiet, a soft whisper compared to his easy speech. It's hard for her to focus, to look over at Dorian, so desperately overwhelmed by whatever Gilgamesh gave him, the raw power and strength, and she swallows her own frustration and her own envy, her own mixed feelings, before she draws her wand again. The weight is familiar in her hand and she tilts her head, twisting a little as she steps away from Gilgamesh; if there is one thing she can say about his company it is that it makes her want to do everything in her power to prove herself, to show that she is more than just a Marchioness. She is Hermione Granger; she is a Protectress, a Sorceress, she is a fighter and a survivor and she has faced far worse than an arrogant, deceptive toad of a man.
Her eyes close and she stops thinking about him. Instead, she focuses on the little things. Dancing with Lancelot. Tea and toast with Dorian. Laughing with Harry-the-Hound at Christmas, seeing Remus alive, watching Padfoot step out her fireplace, Rizhao's laughter and Bridei's excitement when she holds him, folding herself in her surrogate father's arms and knowing she is safe, wrapping herself in all the happy memories and forcing the awful ones away, tucking them in the back of her mind and twisting them, shifting and letting something else warm her. Her shard is a soft glow in her chest, the focus not on that power but inspired by her thoughts, and she waves her wand as she casts.
"Expecto Patronum."
She twists her wand in the circles she needs, imbues it with her power, and instead of a barely there white fog it becomes something real. It's still different, though, not what she was expecting; where once there would have been an otter, small and happy to dance around her body, a happy, small creature, there is instead a ferocious lioness, the silent roar of it almost tangible as it leaps from her wand and begins to dance around the three of them, corporeal, and something catches in her throat. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she turns her head away, frustrated, hurt by the form her protector has taken.
"I - there." Are you happy now? Does he believe in her now? Her magic, her power, the things he wanted from her, the things she would never have known without Dorian's aid?
A trance just for a little while. Dorian turns, follows the movement. Glory holds him by the throat, glory has him dazed. And he is so in love with Gilgamesh's power that he forgets why he should not let that man go near his friend.
But there is other magic at work here. The panther leaps, joins the lioness to dance at its side. And then it races towards the other lioness, rushing forwards on padded feet through the air, until it stops half-curled at Hermione's side.
Something real. Something unexpected. Something wonderful, and Gilgamesh himself stands in awe before the manifestation of the great white lionness that prowls its territory in savage twists and turns. Hermione looks as though as she might weep, and this is most unfortunate, because...
"It's beautiful."
...and it really and truly is. If only Hermione understood it as Gilgamesh and Dorian did. If only she understood why power was the only thing that really and truly mattered in this world—if only she understood now what she didn't back then, why the ring on her finger could've been a great boon for the both of them.
But there's no use dwelling on past mistakes. Gilgamesh nods to the dancing duo of lion and panther, takes one step back, then another, then another, until he rests at the center of the makeshift arena. He holds his hand out expectantly, and within moments Ea, the sword of his station, manifests within it. He stands as if posing, as if summoning some manner of god, spreading his free arm and glancing to the heavens for guidance.
"Howl, Ea."
And the sword does howl, and Gilgamesh does speak them, the words of invocation.
"I am the first, before all others. The first hero, and therefore the first knight, the first shield to deflect and defy all harm. Behold, Dorian Gray; behold, Hermione Granger. I am the first, above all others, with the sword of all creation as my catalyst. I will summon the beast called Patronus without fail."
The shard within him shines. The magic around him whips up in a frezy, focuses on that single point. Reach inside, find the memory, find Enkidu. Dorian will see him, briefly, the image of the boy who enraptured Gilgamesh back then and enraptures him now. Just her own spell now, just a bit further.
"Expecto Patronum."
And from the happiness and joy of that eternal friendship springs a massive wolf, which circles its master and throws its head back. Ea howls, louder than before. In this moment they are all powerful and in this moment they are all untouchable. They are ones lifted and loved by their friends; in this moment, they are strongest among all the Seelie, and none could deny it.
The patronuses, together, are beautiful. Her eyes trail after the panther, the lioness, the wolf, eyes softening as she watches them, something warm taking over her. Patronus magic is some of the most pure and beautiful magic in the world, some of the most pure and amazing. It's the physical embodiment of happiness, of love and friendship, the pure power of drawing upon that goodness to make yourself stronger. She can't deny how that prickles at her, rubbing and sandpapering away any thoughts of jealousy or frustration disappearing.
Slowly, she moves forward, her smile bright before she grins, her arm wrapping around Dorian's and reaching to take his hand, squeezing gently before she leans into speak, her voice very gentle and quiet.
"Well done," she says, gently. "I knew you could do it. Look at how beautiful it is, Dorian." Just like you, she doesn't say aloud, biting back the twist of the words on the tip of her tongue. "When you've got the hang of it I'll teach you how to use it to send messages, too, how to make your patronus more than just a defence against dark magic or something to help guide you through a cave."
She stands, staring at Dorian, smiling sweetly, before her eyes flicker back over to Gilgamesh. Her hands slip away from Dorian but she doesn't move any closer to the Servant, her expression tight, careful, before she breathes out and swallows. She might still be angry and upset, might still be frustrated and on edge, but she has some kind of common decency inside her, she is still polite.
"And you, Gilgamesh," Hermione's voice is very careful now, a bit nervous. "Well done. It's - it's very handsome." The wolf.
It is not a thought shared with Gilgamesh, but a distant recognition. A feeling, a desire taken second-hand. The trance begins to lessen. Hermione's hand becomes a focus for consciousness. The glow of his Shard fades with his Patronus: with the magic that ran through him. It is a comedown from a high, and Dorian well knows the sensation.
The memory of a boy lingers in his head.
"Well, that was fun," he says, reaching for Hermione's shoulder half to comfort her and half to give himself a grounding point. "Now comes the hard part of practicing. Heavens defend me." From hard work, he means. As if he was a lazy hedonist on his best days, as if he hasn't put endless hours of hard work into practicing the dozens of skills and arts and languages he has mastered over the last century.
(He reaches out a murmur to Gilgamesh, a sweet calling across their link. Beautiful. Ea, the Sword of Rupture; wolf, the incarnation of light; Enkidu, the heart of emotion. Dorian might mean any of them. He might mean all of them. But he does not clarify, only offers that enveloping thought: Beautiful.)
That is the answer Dorian gets in return; Hermione gets none. Gilgamesh just glances over his shoulder at them both, the warmth fading from the field as well as from himself. The moment passes, and they are themselves again. Hermione shuns him again. Dorian will, too, or else he might've. Hermione's brush-off grates a little too much for his liking, and he takes his revenge swiftly and coldly, openly and defiantly.
"Come back to my room in a bit, then."
No private dates. No tea and toast. No time away from him, not today. No more practice and no more delays. Gilgamesh tugs insistently on the bond, exploits that residual longing clinging to the corners of his mind. Hermione cannot touch this. Hermione will never touch this. He won't let her.
"I miss you."
But he says it, longingly, as he looks at the silly little girl who scorns him.
Hermione's expression tightens. She isn't stupid enough to think that Dorian won't go with Gilgamesh and she huffs a little; if she was six or seven years younger than she might stomp her foot and he deliberately obtuse about the matter but she manages to resist, breathing out and ignoring the sting of something. Gilgamesh can do and say whatever he likes as far as she's concerned because one thing is most important to her: she doesn't care. Not in this moment, not in this brief moment, because she knows that she loves Dorian and Dorian loves her.
She steps between them for a moment, turning her back to Gilgamesh, before she smiles at Dorian.
"We can practice any time you like now that you've got the first bit done. We can do it here or in my rooms, wherever it's most comfortable for you. You know how to get in touch with me." Without anyone else being able to. That's what their mirrors are for; no one else knows about them, as far as she's aware, and it's a bit of a network for the both of them. Her smiles is soft, sweet, and her hand finds his and squeezes.
Dorian is her grounding point and she doesn't care that she's being a little rude; all she does is smile, squeeze his hand and nod her head, dropping her fingertips and shifting before she heads to the side of the room. Her bag and cloak are there and she pulls them on, deliberately letting herself ignore anything to do with Gilgamesh. She has no reason to try and be nice to him now -- just as much as he appears to have no more reason to be nice to her.
A little laugh at the ridiculousness, almost incredulity. Why would Gilgamesh say something so obvious? "I'm in love with her too."
There are more consequences to getting Dorian high than just making him suggestible.
He obeys the command, of course, follows his longing to its satiation, to Gilgamesh and his comforts and pleasures and company. Normally, Dorian is at least a little discrete in Hermione's company, but there is no discretion now in the arm he wraps around Gilgamesh's neck, in the kiss he takes from Gilgamesh's mouth. There is no sense of shame or self-awareness in the way he lets his body melt against his Servant's.
Also: there is no letting go of Hermione's hand. Resting most of himself against Gilgamesh, he turns his head to her, smiles with a serenity that suggests the loss of a few cognitive faculties. Even so, it is a smile full of love.
"Join us, Hermione. Please? The servants will bring us candied fruits and wonderful wine and we can lay in satin and talk of all the beautiful things in the world. We'll dress in flowing robes and sit under a canopy, and look on the sand that is our kingdom. Sands are always full of treasures, you know."
Not that Dorian has ever been ruler of a kingdom of sand.
Things Gilgamesh didn't expect to happen: any of that. Well, he expected some of that, more specifically Hermione to keep huffing up a storm, but he'd been under the (apparently mistaken) presumption that Dorian would settle into a natural calm again and leave this loftier mood behind.
Except now it's been made even worse and he's left red-faced in the wake of it, not from the kiss or the contact but from that unfathomable suggestion that makes his stomach turn. A switch is thrown, a limiter released, and...
"Absolutely not!" Gilgamesh barks, all composure falling away in a single breath. "She'll just shove poison in my wine and lace my fruit with daggers and she'll laugh while I choke! Witch of a woman! Awful sorceress! She'll sick that lion on me for sure!"
And to Hermione... oh, to Hermione, who he no longer ignores but boasts at with full force, "He loves me the most so he's spending the most time with me! I decided! Myself, Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, without which none of this splendor would even be possible! You understand?! Don't think I don't know what you're up to! Pouting like that all along!"
Jab, jab, jab goes his finger, and finally:
"It isn't cute at all! I don't like it and I won't fall for it!"
But maybe Dorian would right now. Dorian probably would right now. He holds onto him possessively and seethes from head to toe.
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His eyes flick up as he tries to sort through the information as far as he recalls. "They're all pieces of the bigger gem, they come to physically manifest when you're dead or or near to death, they hold a bit of the power of your world . . . and mine hurt like b—" He looks at her, changes his mind, "—bad . . . person . . . after I tried to play that dream harp."
So, not much.
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"A lesson learned the hard way then. You're right on all accounts, as far as what I've learned about the shards themselves. The gem the shards come from was called the Uaine Cridhe, or the Green Heart, and it's said that the shards are what helped make or begin our worlds, as they are. That might be why it responds to our feelings and our memories; because it's a part of us and our world all at once, tying us to this one as well."
Her hands lift, touching the spot in her chest where she had felt the warmth and the glow in her training and her testing, with Lancelot and Aslan both.
"The sizes range, though I'm not sure what it depends on, and the only people that know how to remove a shard without you losing it entirely are the dwarves, but that's not really something anyone should do without some serious consideration. Like you said, they manifest when you're on the brink of death."
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Even so, the theory seems sensible to him. In some ways, it is just an extension of sympathetic magic, and other kinds of magic Dorian has well learned over the past hundred years. The part resonates with the whole, the cornerstone with the building. As above, so below.
"I don't suppose memories of any of my deaths would help me summon forth its powers? There are a few very vivid ones that would count in evoking strong emotions."
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And there it comes, the voice of someone familiar, manifested from a single ball of light. And so there Gilgamesh was, all along, concealing himself and watching their attempts from his private stage. Hanging off the edge of a lower roof, a grin splitting his features with a golden bow clasped in his hands.
It's a hop, skip and a jump back onto solid ground, and he glides past Hermione as if she doesn't even exist, weaves an arm about his Master's waist and brushes foreheads before dancing back again in a casually flippant display.
"Your magic drew me here," Gilgamesh explains, eyes flickering ever so briefly to Hermione. "Were you in need of assistance, Master? I suspect I know the issue. I can resolve it."
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Should she even say anything? It's obvious that her company is nudged to the side in the wake of a Servant and while she's not exactly put off by it (she knows she can't really touch upon their connection nor their relationship) it does make an irritated frown cross over her lips.
"No, deaths won't help, thank you. I said positive emotions, not horrific ones, Dorian." She swallows, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to let her gaze flick to the gold man at his side, ignoring the way that something softens inside of her at the tender display. She was still angry and if there was one thing to be said about her it was that, when she wanted to, she could hold a grudge for a long time.
"Happiness, love, contentment, not pain and sadness."
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He doesn't mean to; it happens against his will. A beautiful creature appears from nowhere, takes him in arms, and pulls him close. Of course he smiles. His king, his servant, his magnanimous and tyrannical Gilgamesh. Dorian does adore him.
And then he remembers where they are, and who he is with, and what Gilgamesh has made Hermione suffer in the past. The smile drops away in an instant, replaced by a harsh frown.
"Peter Pan emotions it is." He reaches for Hermione's hand again, wants to reassure her. Gilgamesh may be Dorian's Servant, may hold in him all possibility and so a kind of infinity that Dorian is in love with. But there is one thing that Gilgamesh will not offer. One impossibility for him to give.
Hermione is Dorian's friend. There is nothing Dorian values more.
I am curious, Dorian admits to Gilgamesh across their telepathy, But Hermione won't be grateful for your company. Not after what you did. "Perhaps you should leave for the moment, Gilgamesh."
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"Hermione is correct." Leave this to me. Trust me. "Focusing on such miserable thoughts won't do you any good at all. You must instead focus on the here and now, the presence of the present. You, yourself, and the world around you, and what you treasure within it, in order to draw upon magic of that caliber."
He speaks as though he knows the spell personally; in a way, he does, as a being of magic and thus naturally attuned to all aspects of it. Just as Dorian reaches for Hermione with one hand, Gilgamesh reaches for the other. Squeezes around his fingers, but again, he glances at Hermione. He's looking only at her now.
"You have a very fine protector," Gilgamesh admits, and thus unveils his trump card: some buried sense of politeness and decency. "Allow me to instruct him further. I believe he can succeed at this with an extra push."
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Her eyes close, a tight squeeze, as she fights back something she doesn't want to name, but after a moment she does nothing more than breathe out, a soft sigh, before she manages a smile and she nods her head.
"If you think he can help," and she's looking at Dorian, pointedly ignoring the other man, like an elephant in the room that she doesn't want to address. "Then you should try. He knows a lot about magic and he knows you as well." Perhaps better than I do, she thinks, her mental tone bitter as she bites her tongue. "I think if you're going to master this you need to make sure you try it from all angles."
Eyes, sharp and hard, flick to Gilgamesh before her hand slips away from Dorian's, her steps following, one and two, putting distance between them.
"Go ahead. I'll... Watch. If you need me I'm here, but I won't get in your way." She'll ignore this and the buzzing hurt inside of her for as long as she can; she's useless in instruction now, she thinks, unlikely and incapable of summoning a patronus to show how it ought to be done, in finding joy enough to light up the power inside of her.
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But Dorian is not a real magus. For what real magus would look away from an opportunity for power and instead turn to a friend, squeeze her hand and clasp it so that she can't walk away?
This is hurting her. He wants to trust Gilgamesh. He often does. But trust him with Hermione? Not after what happened before.
(Even so, he doesn't force his Servant to release his hand.)
"I'd prefer to learn from you." With a deliberate choice, he just slaps it down on the table: "And I have a suspicion that Gilgamesh's presence isn't helping you reach for your happy thoughts."
The elephant might as well be announced.
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And at their core definition, Servants existed only to ensure the successes of their Masters. Gilgamesh may have been an elephant, but compared to this man, Hermione was all but irrelevant. Just a mouse trying to understand grander schemes beyond itself.
Even so. Even so, he tells his Master, too. He won't budge.
"Hermione may decide for herself what she wishes to do or not do. I will abide her."
That's all Gilgamesh says; otherwise, he remains still. The final choice rests with the woman he betrayed.
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"I already know how to summon a patronus and activate my shard," she says finally, her hand squeezing his, the other resting on the crook of the same arm, thumb brushing over the curve of his elbow gently. "I'm not..." She hesitates. She isn't some spineless, sad little girl that might bow in the presence of a man that had tried to use her and had hurt her in the process. She has faced Lord Voldemort, stood before Bellatrix Lestrange and torture itself and not wilted.
Gilgamesh will not get the better of her.
"He can help you and he should stay. The two of you share something very special and that can't hurt, especially when you're still just starting to learn. It might do you some good and stop you from thinking about death instead of happy things." It's obvious that she's still not looking at Gilgamesh himself unless she has to, her features soft and her smile for Dorian alone. "Let him help."
She can stand here and hold her head high, her pride in herself and her decision not to let this drag her down making her seem tight, drawn like the bow she has so slowly begun to master. Hermione may not be as strong as either of them are together, as Gilgamesh is alone, but a part of her still thinks she might well be better; she would never deliberately hurt someone the way he had her.
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But it is Hermione that decides what happens next. Hermione's choice and Hermione's strength. That is how Dorian dresses her, in lines of smooth sharpness, fabrics of beautiful bite. Armour and weaponry, he wants Hermione to know she is someone to be reckoned with.
It is her choice, so he can accept it.
There is a sweetness when he smiles at Hermione. "All right, then."
There is a sense of pleasurable hunger when he looks at Gilgamesh. "I'm ready to be instructed."
The desire in Dorian's voice and expression are a mark of just how soft he was going on Hermione with his little jokes. As he trades teachers, he trades faces: the Dorian Gray whom Hermione knows transforms without any sign of change into the one that Gilgamesh gets. And he is ready.
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The air shifts almost instantaneously from the second Dorian turns. Casual armor and weaponry disappear, replaced by gilded plate, and Hermione will sense at least one thing far better than Dorian ever could: the entire area fills with raw magic, ancient and awe-inspiring and beyond comparison. This is the truest presence of Gilgamesh, King of Heroes.
Gilgamesh takes Dorian's sealed hand and summons his power thus:
"I call upon the sacred bond between Master and Servant. Invoked upon the Seals, I delve within. I erase all errant thought. I become every breath and every waking moment. Beginning, middle, and end. Surru. Qabassu. Qatu."
A great weight descends upon Dorian's mind with those words. The world seems to vanish; everything descends upon one fine point, that point being Gilgamesh, that blots out all else. Presence of the present. One overwhelming figure to guide him down the proper path.
"Open the gate."
(Undo the lock.)
"Banish all darkness, all despair, all shadow and woe."
(Begone.)
"Gaze into the depths. I am the master, the very center of myself. Believe ardently in this prayer; believe in my boundless will, my endless might."
(Awaken.)
And at the very end, as warmth flows into Dorian and cradles him in an effervescent embrace, Gilgamesh leans in to brush their lips together, and offers his final instruction through word and through thought alike. "I believe in your strength. Step back when you are ready. Cast the spell and may all be in awe before you."
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She can't watch, though.
Dorian and Gilgamesh are together, a set pair, Master and Servant with a bond that she can't conceive nor touch, and the visualisation of the bond she had only heard about and imagined makes her shift. While she has never been ashamed of her own physical affection (her hugs and hand-holding are second nature, her smiles tender and for all the people she cares about) something about this feels... Too intimate for her. It feels like she's watching something she shouldn't and her stomach recoils with it, her eyes closing before she moves.
It's deliberate and slow, the turn of her head and then her body, the silence with which she does it, holding her breath and drawing herself away. She doesn't want to see this. Not because she cares about either of them romantically, despite her professing her love for Dorian at every occasion, but because of her own fierce jealousy, her own decisive envy that makes her want to reach out and grasp at something like it for her own. Their bond might be based upon a give and take of mutual benefit but there is no denying that they share something special.
It's not wrong for her to want some of that for herself, is it? To want to be that special to someone, to share something secret and special with them that no one else is privy to and no one else can touch?
It's hard to imagine her having that with anyone, especially now, not with all the secrets that haunt her and all the pain she hides, deep inside of her, polluting her soul and her spirit with pain and suspicion that she cannot bear to name.
She doesn't turn back, not even when Gilgamesh commands his master to cast; if it works then she will hear the result, only turn her head if Dorian asks her to. She can't look; it hurts, and she's ashamed of that pain when, in reality, she should be celebrating her friend's strengths.
(It isn't so wrong, she thinks, to not want to be alone, is it?)
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"Expecto patronum."
The light is far beyond what Dorian could do on his own; it is charged with Gilgamesh's force, with the strength of his will amplified in the empty vessel of Dorian Gray. There is the roar from that light, a proud call as heavy paws bound in circles through the air—
But it is not the only light here. Where once Dorian felt a terrible burning, now there is a warmth glow. Šurrû. Qabassu. Qatû. The beginning. The middle. The end. It is everything, all experience, all pleasure, and still he wants more and more and more.
If another had taken hold of Dorian in this way, it would have faltered. The power would not have been Dorian's happiness. The wish would not have been Dorian's wish. Šurrû. Qabassu. Qatû. Filled up with Gilgamesh's power, Dorian expresses his own will. I want it. Such is the panther that comes to rest at Dorian's feet: a creature of desire, always craving, pushing, seeking out. Never satisfied.
"I want more."
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The task is done, the goal has been reached. He fires off the spell successfully, and Gilgamesh smiles at the result, at the form his patronus takes, a stunning panther that leaps and lunges and no doubt would do everything in its ethereal power to protect its master.
Yet Gilgamesh turns away from his and calls out to someone else.
"Hermione."
He lets Dorian go. He lets him be, strides apart from him so he won't drown in a momentary high pushed too far and approaches her still aglow. They are powerful, they all are with limitless mana suspended all around them. And then there is Hermione, who weeps within herself and wishes for what she'll never have. Echos the wish they all have, and though Gilgamesh cannot hear it, he can guess. He will soothe her. He will be kind to the girl who occupied Dorian's thoughts up until the end.
"It was you who brought about that light after all. It was you he thought of, you he wanted to protect and to love, before I even touched him."
Is it a lie? Not really. Gilgamesh goes on, strides forth until he can be ignored no longer and stands before her.
"Won't you try, too? This mana will help. But more than magic, more than anything, a true friend grants you power beyond belief. I'd like to see that power. I want to believe in it, just as I did before. I want to believe in you, because they were words for your ears as well."
Is it a lie? Not this time. His expression betrays no foul intent. He wants to see it, the patronus that belongs to Hermione Granger, the strength that would've been a stepping stone to something greater—if only he hadn't shattered it all to pieces.
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It only hurts more when Gilgamesh stands in front of her, impossible to ignore.
Once, she would have trusted him without hesitation. She'd have taken his hands in her own and stood, raised back, and nodded her head, trusted in his words, actions and tutoring. Now she knows better, her lips turned down into a just-there frown, her eyes lifted in an almost glare as he speaks his pretty words. She knows that he is honest, at least in this, more than he might have been a few months before, but there is an ache inside of her that she doesn't dare consider. Looking at him hurts her, wounds her, and it's the steady pulse of betrayal.
"It's not just about power. If it was I'd be fine."
Her voice is quiet, a soft whisper compared to his easy speech. It's hard for her to focus, to look over at Dorian, so desperately overwhelmed by whatever Gilgamesh gave him, the raw power and strength, and she swallows her own frustration and her own envy, her own mixed feelings, before she draws her wand again. The weight is familiar in her hand and she tilts her head, twisting a little as she steps away from Gilgamesh; if there is one thing she can say about his company it is that it makes her want to do everything in her power to prove herself, to show that she is more than just a Marchioness. She is Hermione Granger; she is a Protectress, a Sorceress, she is a fighter and a survivor and she has faced far worse than an arrogant, deceptive toad of a man.
Her eyes close and she stops thinking about him. Instead, she focuses on the little things. Dancing with Lancelot. Tea and toast with Dorian. Laughing with Harry-the-Hound at Christmas, seeing Remus alive, watching Padfoot step out her fireplace, Rizhao's laughter and Bridei's excitement when she holds him, folding herself in her surrogate father's arms and knowing she is safe, wrapping herself in all the happy memories and forcing the awful ones away, tucking them in the back of her mind and twisting them, shifting and letting something else warm her. Her shard is a soft glow in her chest, the focus not on that power but inspired by her thoughts, and she waves her wand as she casts.
"Expecto Patronum."
She twists her wand in the circles she needs, imbues it with her power, and instead of a barely there white fog it becomes something real. It's still different, though, not what she was expecting; where once there would have been an otter, small and happy to dance around her body, a happy, small creature, there is instead a ferocious lioness, the silent roar of it almost tangible as it leaps from her wand and begins to dance around the three of them, corporeal, and something catches in her throat. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she turns her head away, frustrated, hurt by the form her protector has taken.
"I - there." Are you happy now? Does he believe in her now? Her magic, her power, the things he wanted from her, the things she would never have known without Dorian's aid?
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But there is other magic at work here. The panther leaps, joins the lioness to dance at its side. And then it races towards the other lioness, rushing forwards on padded feet through the air, until it stops half-curled at Hermione's side.
The lion and the panther are family, after all.
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"It's beautiful."
...and it really and truly is. If only Hermione understood it as Gilgamesh and Dorian did. If only she understood why power was the only thing that really and truly mattered in this world—if only she understood now what she didn't back then, why the ring on her finger could've been a great boon for the both of them.
But there's no use dwelling on past mistakes. Gilgamesh nods to the dancing duo of lion and panther, takes one step back, then another, then another, until he rests at the center of the makeshift arena. He holds his hand out expectantly, and within moments Ea, the sword of his station, manifests within it. He stands as if posing, as if summoning some manner of god, spreading his free arm and glancing to the heavens for guidance.
"Howl, Ea."
And the sword does howl, and Gilgamesh does speak them, the words of invocation.
"I am the first, before all others. The first hero, and therefore the first knight, the first shield to deflect and defy all harm. Behold, Dorian Gray; behold, Hermione Granger. I am the first, above all others, with the sword of all creation as my catalyst. I will summon the beast called Patronus without fail."
The shard within him shines. The magic around him whips up in a frezy, focuses on that single point. Reach inside, find the memory, find Enkidu. Dorian will see him, briefly, the image of the boy who enraptured Gilgamesh back then and enraptures him now. Just her own spell now, just a bit further.
"Expecto Patronum."
And from the happiness and joy of that eternal friendship springs a massive wolf, which circles its master and throws its head back. Ea howls, louder than before. In this moment they are all powerful and in this moment they are all untouchable. They are ones lifted and loved by their friends; in this moment, they are strongest among all the Seelie, and none could deny it.
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Slowly, she moves forward, her smile bright before she grins, her arm wrapping around Dorian's and reaching to take his hand, squeezing gently before she leans into speak, her voice very gentle and quiet.
"Well done," she says, gently. "I knew you could do it. Look at how beautiful it is, Dorian." Just like you, she doesn't say aloud, biting back the twist of the words on the tip of her tongue. "When you've got the hang of it I'll teach you how to use it to send messages, too, how to make your patronus more than just a defence against dark magic or something to help guide you through a cave."
She stands, staring at Dorian, smiling sweetly, before her eyes flicker back over to Gilgamesh. Her hands slip away from Dorian but she doesn't move any closer to the Servant, her expression tight, careful, before she breathes out and swallows. She might still be angry and upset, might still be frustrated and on edge, but she has some kind of common decency inside her, she is still polite.
"And you, Gilgamesh," Hermione's voice is very careful now, a bit nervous. "Well done. It's - it's very handsome." The wolf.
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It is not a thought shared with Gilgamesh, but a distant recognition. A feeling, a desire taken second-hand. The trance begins to lessen. Hermione's hand becomes a focus for consciousness. The glow of his Shard fades with his Patronus: with the magic that ran through him. It is a comedown from a high, and Dorian well knows the sensation.
The memory of a boy lingers in his head.
"Well, that was fun," he says, reaching for Hermione's shoulder half to comfort her and half to give himself a grounding point. "Now comes the hard part of practicing. Heavens defend me." From hard work, he means. As if he was a lazy hedonist on his best days, as if he hasn't put endless hours of hard work into practicing the dozens of skills and arts and languages he has mastered over the last century.
(He reaches out a murmur to Gilgamesh, a sweet calling across their link. Beautiful. Ea, the Sword of Rupture; wolf, the incarnation of light; Enkidu, the heart of emotion. Dorian might mean any of them. He might mean all of them. But he does not clarify, only offers that enveloping thought: Beautiful.)
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That is the answer Dorian gets in return; Hermione gets none. Gilgamesh just glances over his shoulder at them both, the warmth fading from the field as well as from himself. The moment passes, and they are themselves again. Hermione shuns him again. Dorian will, too, or else he might've. Hermione's brush-off grates a little too much for his liking, and he takes his revenge swiftly and coldly, openly and defiantly.
"Come back to my room in a bit, then."
No private dates. No tea and toast. No time away from him, not today. No more practice and no more delays. Gilgamesh tugs insistently on the bond, exploits that residual longing clinging to the corners of his mind. Hermione cannot touch this. Hermione will never touch this. He won't let her.
"I miss you."
But he says it, longingly, as he looks at the silly little girl who scorns him.
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She steps between them for a moment, turning her back to Gilgamesh, before she smiles at Dorian.
"We can practice any time you like now that you've got the first bit done. We can do it here or in my rooms, wherever it's most comfortable for you. You know how to get in touch with me." Without anyone else being able to. That's what their mirrors are for; no one else knows about them, as far as she's aware, and it's a bit of a network for the both of them. Her smiles is soft, sweet, and her hand finds his and squeezes.
Dorian is her grounding point and she doesn't care that she's being a little rude; all she does is smile, squeeze his hand and nod her head, dropping her fingertips and shifting before she heads to the side of the room. Her bag and cloak are there and she pulls them on, deliberately letting herself ignore anything to do with Gilgamesh. She has no reason to try and be nice to him now -- just as much as he appears to have no more reason to be nice to her.
His desperation had obviously worn thin.
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There are more consequences to getting Dorian high than just making him suggestible.
He obeys the command, of course, follows his longing to its satiation, to Gilgamesh and his comforts and pleasures and company. Normally, Dorian is at least a little discrete in Hermione's company, but there is no discretion now in the arm he wraps around Gilgamesh's neck, in the kiss he takes from Gilgamesh's mouth. There is no sense of shame or self-awareness in the way he lets his body melt against his Servant's.
Also: there is no letting go of Hermione's hand. Resting most of himself against Gilgamesh, he turns his head to her, smiles with a serenity that suggests the loss of a few cognitive faculties. Even so, it is a smile full of love.
"Join us, Hermione. Please? The servants will bring us candied fruits and wonderful wine and we can lay in satin and talk of all the beautiful things in the world. We'll dress in flowing robes and sit under a canopy, and look on the sand that is our kingdom. Sands are always full of treasures, you know."
Not that Dorian has ever been ruler of a kingdom of sand.
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Things Gilgamesh didn't expect to happen: any of that. Well, he expected some of that, more specifically Hermione to keep huffing up a storm, but he'd been under the (apparently mistaken) presumption that Dorian would settle into a natural calm again and leave this loftier mood behind.
Except now it's been made even worse and he's left red-faced in the wake of it, not from the kiss or the contact but from that unfathomable suggestion that makes his stomach turn. A switch is thrown, a limiter released, and...
"Absolutely not!" Gilgamesh barks, all composure falling away in a single breath. "She'll just shove poison in my wine and lace my fruit with daggers and she'll laugh while I choke! Witch of a woman! Awful sorceress! She'll sick that lion on me for sure!"
And to Hermione... oh, to Hermione, who he no longer ignores but boasts at with full force, "He loves me the most so he's spending the most time with me! I decided! Myself, Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, without which none of this splendor would even be possible! You understand?! Don't think I don't know what you're up to! Pouting like that all along!"
Jab, jab, jab goes his finger, and finally:
"It isn't cute at all! I don't like it and I won't fall for it!"
But maybe Dorian would right now. Dorian probably would right now. He holds onto him possessively and seethes from head to toe.
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