Something stronger than worry enters Diarmuid's eyes when he hears those words. He knows that Gilgamesh has been having a hard time here--his powers weakened, his crown knocked from his head--but words like these... They are tinted with madness and into madness is a place Diarmuid cannot follow the golden king.

Diarmuid gently frees his hand and cradles the side of Gilgamesh's head, his fingers stroking the skin beneath them, "Listen to me. You cannot deny him like that. After all this place has taken from you, you cannot let it take him as well. He is real. He is part of you. Denying him is denying yourself. Insulting him is insulting yourself and you would never take an insult like that from someone and let them live. Do not let yourself be an exception to that."

"Isn't life just a series of dreams? Some good, some bad, but no matter which they are, they are still the things that make us who we are," Diarmuid's hand moves upward until it is lightly stroking Gilgamesh's hair. "This is a hard dream. An unpleasant one at times and a pleasant one at others. He stood with you when you faced the most terrible of beasts. Do you really think him so weak he could not stand with you here against those who have taken so much from you? Do you think him so careless that he would see what they have done to you and not want revenge in your name? If so, that is the greatest insult you make against him."