Along the walls upon the stands and seats where the Wizengamot sat, more outlines started to appear. Lines that were remarkably similar to portraits. People and faces that only a scant few would know. The eleven, sans Arthur, Knights of the Round Table. Immortalized in portraits on the walls of my throne room. The fact they were covered up was despicable, but will be fixed in the future. There was more to those portraits, but they were not needed at this moment.