[Diarmuid colors slightly at the compliment. He would like to blame it on the wine, but he is drinking his much more slowly that Gilgamesh is. As much as he may want to drink with abandon, he trained himself long ago to take an easy. Too many bad things could happen to a man with a curse like his were he to let himself get drunk.]

I don't know if I would say boldly. I am merely giving you what you deserve, the praise that you have earned for what you have done.

[He takes note of the look that the golden king gives him, but thinks little of it for the moment. Back when he had first lived, it had not been that uncommon for men to flirt and tease each other, especially when drinking. It didn't mean it was going to go anywhere...]

Please do not take it as an insult, for I did not mean it that way. I am afraid one of my faults is that I think too much of others and not enough of myself sometimes.