lanselos_du_lac

Claudius cherishes the story, holding it in his heart as the unexpected gift it is. By letting Gertrude go, by resolving to stay here, he'd accepted never hearing anything new about her -- and though he doesn't miss the vicious gossips of Elsinore, he misses when someone would speak of her kindness and he would fall more in love with her, feeling a fierce private gladness that others recognized her virtues, too. He almost keeps it private, almost buries it under flippancy, the way he would have to in a court where any rumor he loved the queen could be dangerous to them both. But the whiskey is warming, the company surprisingly reassuring.

"Kind to her core," he repeats, and raises his glass. "You have it exactly. And my brother would not have liked her dancing with you -- a foolish, jealous man to the last. He could never see her kindness for what it was. You do."