Look at him: the Prince of Wales, scrabbling for his sword, his valor all put on. "Thou speakst as if I would deny my name!" he cries, voice trembling even so.

Harry is relaxed: he is utterly easy in his armor. "My name," and there is even something of the mocking bow of court to him, "is Harry Percy."

"Why, then I see a very valiant rebel of that name!" Hal edges closer, sword up. "I am the Prince of Wales--!"

And that's when Harry just stops listening, God's blood.