[Insane is certainly a word for it. Grounding and destabilizing all at once. It chipped at his pride to take a Master in some ways and bolstered it in others, as he's never felt so spirited, so ready to tackle the world's challenges. No longer does he observe from a lazy throne on high, like their wayward monarchs. He is an adventurer, a hero, a true King of the people. He was a man worthy to lead a knight of Diarmuid's station.

There's the briefest brush of skin together, of lips trailing over Diarmuid's forehead as if to whisper I will keep you, before he's breaking away from him. Weaving their fingers together, stepping out as far as he's able with a coquettish glance over his shoulder. The King courts his mate, and proudly so. He shall let him see the beauty few others will ever gaze upon.]

I strike free the shackles upon your soul and claim you for myself. Let us fight as we were destined, as we could not before.

[Diarmuid gets his wish. He holds his free arm out, and in his fingers manifests none other than Ea itself, summoned by the unyielding strength of Gilgamesh's will. It looks natural in his grip. It looks right. It is right.

All of this—Gilgamesh, Diarmuid, Ea, them together—was right. His desires are just. And he will never be told otherwise by anyone ever again.]

Let it be your final test, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, that for you I draw my grandest weapon of all.