[A great deal of emotion flows from Diarmuid's words. Deep-seated frustration, quiet resentment that Gilgamesh picks up on. And he's not so forgone to ignore it, or wave it aside. He listens to it all, eyes shining bright with intelligence, as he sips his wine and sets his glass aside once it is empty.

And then, without hesitation, he sits up again and drapes arms around the other man's shoulders, voice so stirring and commanding that it would be nearly impossible to ignore.]

It is not a role you need forsake, Diarmuid. We are envied because we are beautiful, I won't deny it, but...

[Well, why would he? He basks in it. His issue seems that he's been made to feel shame for it, and that's the real tragedy. Someone broke him, and not in a way Gilgamesh favors. But he isn't so forgone, either, that it can't be fixed. Not so fated that he's forbidden from having his own needs and wants.

At least Gilgamesh thinks so. And what he thinks tends to happen.]

There's no reason to deny yourself that happiness. The only curse you bear is the one you've placed upon your own heart, so if you see something you want, pursue it. If you see someone you desire, chase them. You are a knight by right and by blood, but no one can take from you the choice of where you lay down your sword at night. No man or woman or any mere liege.

[Teasing with a nudge to his face, he flashes Diarmuid one of his infamously dazzling smiles.]

None other than myself, of course! And surely I have always known you, and all the others, as king among your kind.