So much has changed, almost everything, since the old king passed, and Hal knows he has neglected his old friends terribly. Understandable, yes, but also unforgivable. So here he is, making amends in what small ways he can.

"You have? I knew you could do it." Excitement mixed with a hint of pride colours his voice, as he bends over the designs, recalling half-drunken conversations about modern warfare and how unnecessarily brutal the current arsenal of weaponry seems. Hal is studying the drawings, reading them the way Peter has taught him when the young genius speaks up again.

"You do? I'm glad somebody does. I am still getting used to it." A soft, mildly embarrassed laugh, and then he straightens again, his attention fully on the other man.

"I cannot say what compelled me to leave the palace, only that I felt that I had to, and then my feet carried me to you. Perhaps it was magic." His hand moves as if to reach out for Peter but Henry catches it in time and lowers it back onto the desk, uncertain if it would be welcome, but also aware that they have to be more careful now. Nobody cared about young Hal's antics. Everyone is watching King Henry.

"I miss you," he admits, voice barely above a whisper.