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Hornet never spent much time observing the Hollow Knight. By the time she could leave the cocooned labyrinth of Deepnest, the Hollow Knight was nearly ready to go into the Black Egg Temple. At the time, she held much resentment for the Hollow Knight—it was hurrying upon her the responsibility of a kingdom, and the loss of a mother. (Not that it would be able to empathize with those things, she thought at the time.) Those feelings would later move on, and she would think of the Hollow Knight as nothing but an unpleasant and out-of-sight reminder of her role to protect the kingdom.
Until it wasn’t out of sight. Or, rather, they weren’t out of sight.
Hornet had to deal with several new things all at once: the kingdom of Hallownest was going to change, the omnipresent infection was no longer a threat, and the Hollow Knight was, in fact, not quite as hollow as she’d been taught. The latter presented a whole new set of issues to deal with, which Hornet would find she could create a whole separate list for.
Which brings us to the present.
Hornet stands in front of a tapestry hung on the wall. It’s simple, obviously done by someone new to the craft, but it’s recognizably of the late king with a few words of praise written around him. The craftsbug is likely dead by now. What a waste of the time they had.
A few paces away from her stands the Knight, as tall and regal as they can manage. Hornet steps aside from the tapestry to give them a better view.
“This is the best I can do with the materials I have on hand,” she says. “The purpose of this whole arrangement is for you to release any frustrations you have in regards to the Wyrm. He may no longer be present, but the feelings that linger can affect your judgement and impede your growth. It was effective for me when I was much younger, perhaps it will work for you, as well.”
She receives a blank stare in reply (as though they could stare any other way).
“You may begin at your discretion.” Hopefully, they understand everything she’s telling them. She doubts this is a situation that often came up in the palace.
The Knight takes a step forward with one leg, and then half-collapses into a kneeling position. They extend their arm toward the tapestry and slowly, carefully, touch the space just to the left of the Pale King’s image. Hornet gets the sense that the Knight is doing this with tenderness.
“I believe there was a misunderstanding,” she says. The Knight turns their head to her. “You are allowed to do anything you want to this tapestry. It is hardly unique and will not be missed; your gentleness is not needed.”
The Knight looks again at the image. Though it is the barest change, the sharp ends of their fingers dig into the threads ever so slightly.
Hornet sighs. “Perhaps I was the one who misunderstood. You do not see the Wyrm as the cause of your suffering, do you?”
The Knight retracts their hand with much consideration, and with the slowness of someone who isn’t used to using their hands for delicate motions, signs, <<My King.>>
Fear of being a traitor, then? “Your loyalty means nothing to a ruler who has long since passed. You may act without consequence.”
A little more assertively, they repeat their statement. <<My King.>>
“I should have seen this coming,” Hornet says, more to herself than anyone. “You were raised as a tool with no allowance for opinion or expression, of course you wouldn’t go against everything you knew.” She looks up at the Knight again. “It was foolish of me to decide on this activity with such little insight. I will leave this here with you, since you seem to be fond of it.”
She leaves the Knight alone. They have enough independence to decide whether to follow her or not. The Knight watches her leave, and then turns their attention back to the tapestry. They stare for a long time before reaching up and carefully pulling it off the wall. They set it on the ground in a small pile, folding it in on top of itself.