[This was Diarmuid before the curse. Diarmuid before all the unhappiness. It's easy enough to forget that other Servants had their own lives; he was so often wrapped up in himself, in his delusions and in his grandeur, that he never even bothered to learn the names behind the faces he so carelessly speared. And it's a little sad to consider, because he knows if he hadn't fallen to one lance it would've been another—a lance from his Gate to take his life. They've would never grown this close. They would've never shared in this bond.
I'm glad I met you. It's the first thing Gilgamesh can think of. It's all that feels appropriate to say, until he sees more, sees the gift and very nearly feels the kiss as if it graced his own lips. They are such beautiful creatures, these men, build solid and fierce to fight the world. But they do not fight each other here. This is love, this is brotherly affection. Gilgamesh longs for it once again.
He cannot bring himself to show Diarmuid Enkidu, however. He will crack. He will fall apart. He will break. He addresses Diarmuid thus, over their bond:
He's right, you know. I could put flowers in your hair and you'd shy away from them.
I could give you all the gold within my treasury and you'd turn your nose.
I could chase you forever and you'd still keep running. Why?
To fly is to be free. Will you not spread your wings for me?
I didn't kill you, so that means you should live.
More than anyone, Diarmuid, you should live. You must never fade away.
You should shine brilliantly alongside me. You should never leave.
You must never say those words again, "I'm not good enough."
By order of the King, bear only the greatest love for yourself.
I'm selfish, so I'll ask you to smile that way for me, too.
It's my order, so you can't deny it. I won't let you.
No matter what this world will deny me...]
I won't let you leave.
[It's breathed both from his mouth and into another's mind. The selfish King claims his prize. He will never stray from that happiness again.]
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I'm glad I met you. It's the first thing Gilgamesh can think of. It's all that feels appropriate to say, until he sees more, sees the gift and very nearly feels the kiss as if it graced his own lips. They are such beautiful creatures, these men, build solid and fierce to fight the world. But they do not fight each other here. This is love, this is brotherly affection. Gilgamesh longs for it once again.
He cannot bring himself to show Diarmuid Enkidu, however. He will crack. He will fall apart. He will break. He addresses Diarmuid thus, over their bond:
He's right, you know. I could put flowers in your hair and you'd shy away from them.
I could give you all the gold within my treasury and you'd turn your nose.
I could chase you forever and you'd still keep running. Why?
To fly is to be free. Will you not spread your wings for me?
I didn't kill you, so that means you should live.
More than anyone, Diarmuid, you should live. You must never fade away.
You should shine brilliantly alongside me. You should never leave.
You must never say those words again, "I'm not good enough."
By order of the King, bear only the greatest love for yourself.
I'm selfish, so I'll ask you to smile that way for me, too.
It's my order, so you can't deny it. I won't let you.
No matter what this world will deny me...]
I won't let you leave.
[It's breathed both from his mouth and into another's mind. The selfish King claims his prize. He will never stray from that happiness again.]