["Diarmuid" lets his hand fall, though his fingers are still entwined with the other Lancer's. For the first time since this began, since he began using his Glamour here before the door, Lancelot wonders if he himself might be affected bythe Curse. No, surely not.
Still, there is an odd immersion he usually does not truly feel when wearing another's face and form. Almost as if his empathy and desire to know and to simply be around Diarmuid are affecting his own Magic.

He glances down at Cu Chulainn's hand in his. His inner turmoil shows registers on his face. On Diarmuid's face.]

You're right. I am. More than usual.

I don't know-- Brother. I guess I want things to be better than they are. Or at least to be different. But I guess I also just want them to be good, however that is. I don't know if I'm making any sense.

I do feel better than I did, and I am glad to see you-- I did want to see you.
I feel better when you're here.