[A bit of mischief crosses Gilgamesh's expression all of a sudden.]

Going to be like this, eh...

[One, two, three, then with a show of serious strength suited to a true King, he hefts Enkidu over his shoulder and makes to carry him off to said chambers. He's grinning from ear to ear now, his early melancholy apparently forgotten in favor of getting his friend to smile.

Because he won't have him making such faces, either. He won't have him crying, won't have him suffer, won't let him have anything less than the best here—even if it meant falling ever further into delusion. They would take this from him, too. They would haul Enkidu away and leave him alone again. But before that happened, before the impostors on the throne could dig their claws in and rip it from his hands...

Selfishly, he'd claim Enkidu all for himself. He'd hold onto his ghost for as long as possible. No more tears. No more woe.]

I don't even know where to begin. This realm is such a strange one, my friend, we may yet be holed up for weeks together, unraveling it all.

[Not that he'd complain. A whole century wouldn't be enough to catch up.]