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Hermione. [ She says this aloud upon reading Hermione's message, as though the other woman were to hear her. ] Oh, Hermione.

[ Because there is too much here—too much to take in, to unpack, to process. Too much to respond. She can't stop focusing on the admission that he hurt her, that she said no and he would not let it go. Of course Hermione would forgive him. Dear Hermione. She forgave Katsa herself, after all, and this nature is one reason Katsa loves her.

But try as she might she cannot understand it. ]

Friends don't attack each other. You shouldn't grow stronger because someone was cruel to you. He should have listened to you.

[ She's pacing now, upset as she is. Likely Hermione will not appreciate her response; as soon as Katsa sends it, she assumes this. She ought not to be telling Hermione what to feel. But she can't stop, fingers shaking on her reply, as though lecturing Hermione will take away Katsa's own fear. She had never, not once either in the Drabwurld or the Seven Kingdoms, told anyone of Gilgamesh, and it is suddenly clear to her how strongly she had held to herself how knowing him had made her feel. Speaking of it is harder, infinitely harder, than refusing to think of it at all.

It's shame as much as it is fear; and perhaps that's why she turns it towards Hermione now. ]

He called me a queen, too. And almost in the same breath that I belonged to him. A barking dog in a cage, and he would kill me. And had it not been for luck, he would have killed me, for all my Grace. It doesn't matter that he didn't finish the job. He would have, and he would not have been sorry for it. And it might have been the same with you.

[ Eight years and more removed from that time, and suddenly Katsa is twenty again and lost. ]

That's why if he hurt you

[ This doesn't make any sense, does it? ]

I can't forgive him. I won't forgive him.

[ It's too much, and Hermione hates it.

She had known the evil inside of Gilgamesh, of course she had; she had been a witness to it, seen his power and his cruelty, how nasty and uncouth he could be to people, how he could push and tease and nudge simply because he thought that he was better than everyone else. For all that she saw the good in him, and celebrated it, urged it out, she knew that he had a darkness that she could never touch - he would have exploited and used her if she had ever given him the chance, and the reminder makes her feel sick.

What really, truly hits home is the knowledge that, perhaps, she hadn't known him at all. That everything that she had shared with him had been a lie, a fabrication to win her over. That each and every single time she spoke to him, every promise they made, each moment they shared, had just been a lie to trick her onto his side. She doesn't want to believe it - she doesn't want to imagine that their vows to each other, the times they'd shared, how deep and personal their connection had been was all just... Untrue. She wants to believe in Gilgamesh in the way she had always done, but in the face of this...

Katsa is one of her best and dearest friends. Katsa means more to her than - than so much. She had almost lost her and found her again, and now the knowledge of the horrors Gilgamesh had inflicted upon her... Hermione can't bear it. She can't handle it, not with everything else on top of it, not with all her haunted memories of the Drabwurld still resting thick and heavy on her shoulders.

The assassin. Caer Scima. Gilgamesh. The Sigil. Mistake after mistake after mistake, piling up on her and leaving her feeling broken and restless, her hands shaking as she stares down at her device.

Would she have even found out if Gilgamesh had killed Katsa? He would never have told her. Katsa would have been just another death, another person gone in his quest for power, his search for some meaning in his life. Hermione would never have known and she would have continued, her faith in him sound and her trust unshaken.

Tears roll down her cheeks now and Hermione has to figure out how to breathe as she stares down at the stupid text, trying to find a way to respond. There is no way; what can she do? What is she meant to say? What words will make this right? Hermione knows how strong and brave Katsa is, and for all that to be undone, for even her Grace to be useless... The fear, the terror she must have felt... There's no forgiving that.

Hermione knows it, and it breaks her heart. ]

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Katsa. I didn't know.

Neither did I.

[ Katsa has grown more familiar with the feeling of vulnerability over the years: of her mind, of her strength, of her heart. To some extent she might even have learned to accept it and open herself to it. But this sort of vulnerability has always been something she has chosen, and there lies the struggle. Perhaps if she'd known what he was capable of she never would have laughed with him in the dirt, her face flushed and her heart light. Perhaps she'd never have entrusted him with her sense of monstrosity, or she should have seen better what he might be when they'd killed together. That should have been a warning she could not have missed, but she had missed it. Death was in her own nature, too; what reason did she have to mistrust his?

She'd become vulnerable to him when she'd never meant to be. That vulnerability, that fear, is something Katsa has never once in her life known how to handle, nor wished to learn. Her Grace is survival. The truth of that, when she had learned it, was meant to save her. It was meant to save others. And she'd been confronted in the moments of her memory with a time she could not save even herself.

If she'd needed to, she would not have been able to save Hermione, either.

Blaming that failing on Gilgamesh is easier. Turning anger towards Gilgamesh is easier. Confronting her own weaknesses in this one part of her life is something she simply refuses. She made herself vulnerable without knowing; he seized upon it; and for all the violation and betrayal, the things that she ought to have prevented had she been stronger and smarter, wanting to think of nothing but his fault, his cruelty is for Katsa now the only option. ]

I don't know if anything I might have known would have made a difference for me. But perhaps it could have for you. I didn't know. I couldn't do anything. But now I do. I won't let anyone hurt you. Not him. No Servant, not anyone.

[ She'd failed Hermione for so long—far worse than she'd failed herself. ]

[ The problem is that Hermione truly believes that she should have known. She should have been there for Katsa, should never have argued with her, should have been at her side to learn about Gilgamesh and come face to face with him for what he'd done and threatened, but she hadn't been. Instead, she'd believed him, and her own heart, and she'd loved and cherished him despite all her own failures. It hurts to think about and, now, she has to force herself to calm down.

She's weak to him, and she'd known it. She was a fool for him and all she can do now is try her best to make it better. To try and undo the damage someone she cared about had done, to try and readdress the balance of it all. She knew, quietly, in the back of her mind, that it wasn't her job, but... She felt as though it was her duty.

(She was Gilgamesh's queen, in his eyes; she had been his proxy Master, his Marchioness, his ruler. He followed her. She should repair what was broken in his name).

She has to try her best to reply and make it seem normal, easy... And that isn't as simple as it sounds. ]

Maybe. But that's in the past now, I can't undo it. All we can do is try and make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

[ It's a good thing this conversation has been through script rather than spoken word. Katsa doesn't know if she could have held herself together had she had to face Hermione throughout it, and she probably would have gotten out her words in some sort of regrettable fashion. Even better, she can't see Hermione's face, and Hermione can't see hers.

She can take time to reply. And Katsa takes it: minutes, far more than needed, to send back one word. ]

Yes.

[ And then, even longer following: ]

You've strange choices in companions, you know.

I know. My friends were the strangest assortment, weren't they?

[ Hermione can't help but huff a laugh to herself, shaking her head and staring at her device. ]

They were all wonderful, though.

I hated that place, Hermione. But not a day has gone by in eight years that I don't miss it.

I didn't enjoy the thought of never seeing anyone again. There was so much I had left to do. Even you, we hardly had the time.

[ After... well, everything. ]

I hated it too. Sometimes. But it was home as well.

We have the time now, you know.

I suppose you're right.

[ Hermione has succeeded in making Katsa smile. She likes the thought. ]

I want to hear everything. I want to know everything.

[ Really, that's all Hermione wants. If she can be there, and see Katsa smile instead of cry, see her joy instead of sadness... She would be happy. ]

Everything? You're going to have to give me somewhere to start.

Well. How about how long you've been here, and how long in the Drabwurld since I left? What have you been doing in all this time?

Okay, well.

I've been here... Almost six months, perhaps? Maybe a little longer. I wasn't in the Drabwurld for too long after you left; I was brought here. I've been making and practicing potions using the foreign ingredients here and trying to branch out and actually meet some people.

It's harder than it sounds.

The potion making, or the meeting people? I wouldn't know where to start with strange plants or herbs. And you can hardly explore here, most of the time.

Meeting people. I'm still used to being who I was before, and that's not who I am here. I'm no leader or Marchioness; I'm just Hermione.

But when we stop at planets I gather herbs and seeds and I have a greenhouse and potion workshop on the Iskaulit that I use to make everything.

Well. Just Hermione is all you need to be. That's plenty.

Katsa... Thank you.

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