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The stone man thing is silent and looks upwards to a cloudy sky; the water darkens his face to the color of blackish slate with mottled white spots all over. If it hadn't been for the fact that you saw it move and speak earlier, you would have mistaken it for a statue.
You maintain your proud stance and wait for an answer. Was the 'man' impressed enough by your presence and words to unbend a little? You need to move the needle of influence in a friendlier direction.
"Aye, to those who are worthy. Know this, oh nameless King: I was here before men dreamed of Camelot. I was here when men used freshly felled timber, not dressed stone, to defend their meager hovels. I was here when this city rose, gleaming white and grand by the efforts of mortal men. I was here when it fell; its grandeur only remembered in the songs and tales of bards. I was here when Avalon called out to Kings and Knights of the World!"
A bell tolls in some far-off tower. A rancorous clang all by itself for a few seconds, and then joined by many more to shake the very air. It is soon joined by the sound of many tramping feet. That would be the alarm, you guess, summoning the residents of the city to defend itself.
Not a great development, but retreating at the first sign of adversity would only invite scorn.
"Lost Child, you may call me 'Agrestes'. Know you are not the first to come before these gates, nor will you be the last. Kings and Knights, Witches and Wizards, fools and heroes have come and gone. None have held Camelot for long, and you can never hold the city as a nameless King. So speak up, you King without a name. Tell us all who you are."
There is something climbing up the battered walls, approaching the rents of the shattered walls, around the corner of the blasted gate, in the devastated battlements, peering from the darkened dead city... Shadowy figures are waiting to hear the name of a King.
You say it without thinking.
"I am King Lot of Lothian and Orkney; damned be He who contests my right to Rule."
The shadows now form into... into... little goats? They're little goat men? You aren't quite sure what you're looking at, but they are very cute. The small bipedal goats line the walls or peek through the gate or through the rents of the walls to look at you. At first, they are silent, but soon the air roils with their whispers, which grow in volume as more begin to speak.
"Who is it?"
"Is it She?! It must be."
"It's Her Majesty, the King!"
"It's true! Oh glorious day."
"Hurrah! Hurrah! She's here!"
"King Lot of Lothian and Orkney!"
Then a second of silence. An intake of air. They all draw in breath to shout.
"LONG LIVE THE KING!"
"LONG LIVE THE KING!"
"LONG LIVE THE KING!"