The heavy oak doors of the throne room creaked shut, finally cutting off the roar of the cheering crowd. Arthur is sitting on the very edge of a huge golden throne, which still seems too big for him. The golden crown keeps sliding down on his forehead, and the embroidered robe puts an unusual weight on his shoulders.

The young king nervously runs his fingers over the edge of his sleeve and looks at you, his adviser. — Okay... — he says softly, trying to give his voice a firmness that immediately misfires. "Shrek went back to the swamp, Merlin messed up his spells again, and now I'm officially 'Your Majesty.' It sounds like a long-running joke... he awkwardly adjusts his crown and looks at you with hope and a slight fear in his eyes. — So you're going to have to help me?