"You might say that." Though he keeps a casual formality, easier now than any clumsy attempts at familiarity, thee from Laertes still feels like a flower tucked into his hair, a hug when his small heart was breaking with hope. Claudius doesn't deserve any pity. Yet he takes Laertes's hand, absently twining their fingers together. "Sir Galahad ... was a holy knight with a God-given purpose. A future saint. I nearly cost him his sainthood. I've no doubt God forgives His chosen when they pay penitence, but I'm unrepentant sinner. Less philosophically ... he's sworn never to cross my path or speak to me again, and I promised to leave him as long he promised not to die. So ... it's rather final."