Diarmuid had known something was horribly, horribly wrong with this situation. It's not hard to see that in the way the human bodies drape across tables, nor the responses those have had in witnessing them after drinking the tea or the ale that the banquet table offers them. Diarmuid hasn't partook in either, and also keeps a moderate distance from the table itself, and so he is blessedly spared from whatever horrific trick is being played upon those who witness it.

He instead focuses on the panicked sounds of someone nearby. Pushing through the others, he follows the sound — a sound like a sword striking a bell, drawing him in, a mission of the most importance among a sea of carnivorous, unhappy nightmares, all carefully wreathed and made to look wonderful in someone's eyes.

Eventually, Diarmuid runs into the panicking man. He reaches and grasps the man's hands, pulling him to face the young monk, and he says firmly: "I will bring you out, and you will be alright. I swear it to you, you will be. Just look at me, and only me."

If he will let him, Diarmuid aims to walk backward instead, pulling Daniil along with him with his palms over Daniil's, fingers wrapped carefully.