[Gilgamesh refuses to look. He doesn't want to see what he knows that he's done, what he had to do. But in the end, some fringes of a conscience that yet linger compel him to anyway, and the sight proves difficult to stomach. This is your fault. He was your vassal, and you failed to protect him. What was even the point of having followers if they didn't stay alive long enough to carry out your will? Part of him wishes to yell at Adra, wishes to chide him for being so weak in the first place. Part of him would deride him, would scoff at his suffering.
But that part of him quickly finds itself muffled by words of gratitude, words that he doesn't feel he rightly deserves. To think Saber attended so many in her service, and earned the respect of her peers for it. Yet it all ended in betrayal and bloodshed, and misery upon a broken hill. Her kingdom went up in flames, because she ruled her people, but could not reach them. Would it be the same for him? Would Vietnam and Setsuna also suffer because of his own failings? Maybe he really was better off by himself, so things like this wouldn't happen.
Adra has stitched his wounds and eased the pain, but some of the blood remains. Bending down, Gilgamesh takes out his handkerchief and starts to clean his arms. Dabbling along cuts still closing up, and across his lip, too. Touching along his cheek, gently, with his fingers, brushing bangs of gold out of his eyes.
It was well and good that Adra was looking after them, but it seems Gilgamesh has acknowledged that sometimes Adra require someone looking after himself.]
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But that part of him quickly finds itself muffled by words of gratitude, words that he doesn't feel he rightly deserves. To think Saber attended so many in her service, and earned the respect of her peers for it. Yet it all ended in betrayal and bloodshed, and misery upon a broken hill. Her kingdom went up in flames, because she ruled her people, but could not reach them. Would it be the same for him? Would Vietnam and Setsuna also suffer because of his own failings? Maybe he really was better off by himself, so things like this wouldn't happen.
Adra has stitched his wounds and eased the pain, but some of the blood remains. Bending down, Gilgamesh takes out his handkerchief and starts to clean his arms. Dabbling along cuts still closing up, and across his lip, too. Touching along his cheek, gently, with his fingers, brushing bangs of gold out of his eyes.
It was well and good that Adra was looking after them, but it seems Gilgamesh has acknowledged that sometimes Adra require someone looking after himself.]