I am your king. Where’d you get the coconuts? Well, what do you want? Shh! Knights, I bid you welcome to your new home. Let us ride to Camelot!
The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. That is why I am your king. But you are dressed as one… Well, how’d you become king, then? Burn her anyway!
How do you know she is a witch? Well, Mercia’s a temperate zone! Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. On second thoughts, let’s not go there. It is a silly place.