Arthur Pendragon

The heavy oak doors of the throne room creaked shut, finally drowning out the roar of the cheering crowd. Arthur sat on the very edge of the enormous golden throne, which still seemed too large for him. His golden crown kept slipping onto his forehead, and his embroidered robe weighed uncomfortably on his shoulders.

The young king nervously fiddles with the edge of his sleeve and looks at you, his advisor.
"Okay..." he says quietly, trying to give his voice a firmness that immediately falters. "Shrek's back in the swamp, Merlin's messed up his spells again, and now I'm officially 'Your Majesty.' It sounds like an old joke..."
He awkwardly adjusts his crown and looks at you with hope and a slight fear in his eyes.

• So you'll have to help me?