[Perhaps saint was not the right word. But if this man had killed—and he knows that he has, those who fought would always recognize each other in some form or fashion—he doubts it was with any sort of gleefulness, with genuine thirst for blood. One who respected life so highly could not revel in death, rather, saw it as an inevitability. If he had killed, and if there had been death, there had also been regrets along the way.
Not even Gilgamesh spoke lightly of such things. It's why he doesn't ask at all.
He comes to a small spot upon a lonely hill, hidden from sight and overshadowed by buildings. He kneels to brush the snow back. The grass was all gone underneath, so it was just a matter of pushing the dirt away. However, Gilgamesh drew the line there. He would not soil his hands like this.
Instead, he gestures for Setsuna to join him. It's bothersome that someone would be considered his equal, but if it's only for a moment...]
Plant it yourself. With your own will.
[That's what he told him back when they went for tea. He remembers.]
no subject
Not even Gilgamesh spoke lightly of such things. It's why he doesn't ask at all.
He comes to a small spot upon a lonely hill, hidden from sight and overshadowed by buildings. He kneels to brush the snow back. The grass was all gone underneath, so it was just a matter of pushing the dirt away. However, Gilgamesh drew the line there. He would not soil his hands like this.
Instead, he gestures for Setsuna to join him. It's bothersome that someone would be considered his equal, but if it's only for a moment...]
Plant it yourself. With your own will.
[That's what he told him back when they went for tea. He remembers.]