While he sings, Laertes continues to add ingredients to the pan, gently stirring now and then to help them cook evenly. There's a comfortable domesticity to it, a pleasure in the song and the new ring of Lancelot's voice. His is an untrained instrument, Laertes thinks, but a well-made one; as Lancelot's nerves fade, those sweet notes come through all the clearer. When it's finished, Laertes smiles and leans in to kiss his cheek. "That was well done, my heart," he says. "It made me glad to hear it."