[Cold just about describes how he's feeling. The auxiliary wound has ceased to bleed, but the Shuck's bite continues to pulse with foulness. Usually, his clothes or his armor cover it up, and with a bit of prana it's not too much of a hassle to conceal otherwise... but Diarmuid had to go overboard and give it his all like an idiot. He tries too hard even now, though Gilgamesh is just as much to blame. He climbs onto his lap and drapes himself on the man and so they both very much appear a pair of idiots in the snow, trying too hard not to talk about what bothers them too much.

But it had been a good fight, hadn't it? It had been fun. Somehow time spent with Diarmuid always is. And that softens him a little.]

When we get back, I'm going to punish you. You'll regret embarrassing me. I won't allow it.

[Once it's again all bluster, all faux frustration. He sags onto Diarmuid's shoulder—so strong, so muscular, he's too handsome to bear at times—draws both arms around him and makes it all too apparent just how much he enjoys being held.]

And don't talk about dying again. I won't allow that, either. There's too much left for us to do.

[For us. It is the highest form of acceptance and the highest honor for a lowly knight. Gilgamesh embraces their fates together.]