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croibhristeoir[Diarmuid's been a bit scarce since the Lovers shadow was defeated. The whole mess gave him something of a shock, all things considered, and so he kept mostly to himself for a little while. But he grew tired of that quickly, and now that things had calmed down the former Servant tried to get back to what passed for normal.]
[Just before he left his hotel room that afternoon, a hardcover book resting on the table caught his eye--how long had he owned it for? Nearly as long as he'd been in Prospero, surely. In fact he recalled buying it not very long after awakening his Persona. Diarmuid wanted to revisit things, to again hear the legends that had been so commonly told when he was younger. He had admired the strength and loyalty of that knight, as well as the courage to meet his end with laughter and acceptance.]
[But in this era, the legend of the Hound of Ulster was not the only one to have come from their homeland. Diarmuid had left his own story behind, written with every small action he'd taken in life. Maybe it was finally time to see what sort of record was left behind.]
['You are not guilty of the geis which has been laid upon you', said Oisin, 'and I tell you to follow Grainne, and keep yourself well against the wiles of Fionn.'
'And what counsel do you give me, Diorruing?'
'I tell you to follow Grainne, though your death will come of it and I grieve for it.']
[It was not a happy tale. Diarmuid had certainly known that even as he lived through it. From the very first night he and all around him had known the story's end was already written. But what more could he have done? From the moment she laid eyes on him, there was no other path he could follow and still preserve his pride as a knight.]
['It was no long time after that when Fionn and the fianna of Erin came up, and the agonies of death and of instant dissolution were then coming upon Diarmuid.
'It likes me well to see thee in that plight, O Diarmuid,' said Fionn; 'and I grieve that all the women of Erin are not now gazing upon thee: for thy excellent beauty is turned to ugliness, and thy choice form to deformity.']
[...Even if it ended badly. No, it didn't matter how it ended. Death had come with no regrets great enough worth mentioning, and oh, how he ever missed the days when he could forgive so easily.]
[Sitting alone on a park bench, Diarmuid closed the book he held and slowly reached up to take his glasses off. A moment or two passed in silence, his expression unreadable and perhaps even a little cold. Then...he just smiled to himself, slowly. There was no way to change his past, and also nothing he would have done differently. He couldn't live up to his full expectations, but Diarmuid had confidence that he'd done his best. So...it was alright. He could try one last time for a life without a tragic ending.]