[You can never truly escape your past. What an embarrassing reminder, considering just who was sitting beside him. Arturia of all people knew and understand the weight of one's previous actions. He thinks back to the banquet, where he mocked her mercilessly for being a silly little girl with silly little ideals; maybe that was still true, but their suffering still fell among much the same lines. An inability to change a terrible future. Helplessness in the face of fate. As Enkidu died in his arms back then, so Arturia died upon the hill of Camlann, desolate and alone.
Gilgamesh looks over to her now. Had she seen something, realized something? Suddenly the tone of the conversation was a bit different, like he hadn't offended her just moments ago. Suddenly, she was sympathetic. She even calls him mighty, a word he never thought would leave her lips when describing himself. She seems to be trying to comfort him, in her own way, and it's...
Well, it's humbling. He won't refuse it, not this time. So he reveals to her what most would never hear.]
He died so slowly, all those years ago. It was more like fading away. I've never seen a being suffer so much. I will not forget it; I cannot forget it.
[His fists curl uselessly against the sand. His eyes squeeze shut.]
You say these things, but your heartache upon that hill—do you not yet despair, thinking of what could not be done? Does it not bring you grief, thinking of those that could not be saved? Who else can bear the blame, but the great King, who lived and languished in pursuit of those ideals?
[He's not trying to poke at her, or hurt her, or otherwise make fun. It's an earnest attempt to grasp the condolences she's offered, to process it in his own way.]
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Gilgamesh looks over to her now. Had she seen something, realized something? Suddenly the tone of the conversation was a bit different, like he hadn't offended her just moments ago. Suddenly, she was sympathetic. She even calls him mighty, a word he never thought would leave her lips when describing himself. She seems to be trying to comfort him, in her own way, and it's...
Well, it's humbling. He won't refuse it, not this time. So he reveals to her what most would never hear.]
He died so slowly, all those years ago. It was more like fading away. I've never seen a being suffer so much. I will not forget it; I cannot forget it.
[His fists curl uselessly against the sand. His eyes squeeze shut.]
You say these things, but your heartache upon that hill—do you not yet despair, thinking of what could not be done? Does it not bring you grief, thinking of those that could not be saved? Who else can bear the blame, but the great King, who lived and languished in pursuit of those ideals?
[He's not trying to poke at her, or hurt her, or otherwise make fun. It's an earnest attempt to grasp the condolences she's offered, to process it in his own way.]