"It all comes back to Gertrude," Claudius says, with a long drink, leaning comfortably over the bar with his own glass in his hand. "If she were my sister proper, or my lawful wife, and some man struck her in a temper, I'd have the right to demand satisfaction. That's what duels are for: handling those abstract insults to honor that outrage us beyond what words alone can express. That I could do nothing rankled me. But not to worry ... I've spent many hours and private conversations finding my words, until there's no need say them anymore. And," he adds, "I'm not the dueling type. I'm not so strong as thou art, and I've known it all my life. I can only protect Galahad in my own way." He thinks of the Galahad he met, that clear and even tone of his voice, with all the serenity of heaven blanketing the despair of death. "I think we both want that."