Claudius leaves his own conversation with Galahad with the bittersweet feeling of knowing, despite all doubts, that Galahad wouldn't have been happier if he returned to God's side. Even if Galahad somehow avoided early martyrdom, the survival would be a bitter thing, forced upon him while God took away everyone he loved. As if to punish him, not reward him, by denying the one thing he asked. The only sweetness is knowing his Galahad will return soon. It's no wonder Claudius finds himself at the bar, searching for some whiskey to burn away that particular taste.

"You know, this is strange," Claudius says as Lancelot approaches, "but you may be the perfect company for a drink right now." He gestures at the opened bottle of rye with his own half-empty glass. He doesn't ordinarily drink rye, but it does burn nicely. "Come, sit down. Pour yourself a glass."