BARTHOLOMEW: Good afternoon, sire.
KING: Ah, Bartholomew, come in.
B: Thank you, sire. May I present the archbishop?
ARCHBISHOP: Your servant, my lord.
K: Welcome, father. What news, Bartholomew?
B: There is a mighty storm abroad, sire.
K: Hmmm?
A: Oh, yes. Thunder crashes like the devil, lightning slashes through the heavens, and water comes out of the sky. Downwards.
B: At quite a rate.
K: ...Right.
A: It's a hell of a storm, my lord.
K: Well, I dare say, but that isn't the sort of thing I normally grant an official audience to discuss.
B: All the same, we thought it was noteworthy.
A: We thought you might...
B: [Plucking up courage] We thought you might like to take a look.
K: A look?!
B: Out of the, err, out of the window.
L: Bartholomew, you should know better; and you, archbishop, a man of the cloth, I'm shocked. You know full well how I feel about that sort of activity, don't you?
B & A: Yes, king Wences.
K: I don't go looking out of the window willy-nilly like a common trout-herder. It's not regal.
A: Yes, we know that, sire. But...it's just some of your subjects think you should just look out of the window every now and again. They like it.
B: It's called PR, sire.
K: BS, more like. I shall not be poking my God-anointed crown from that window like a paltry strumpet for anyone. Do you know, Archbishop, when I last looked out?
A: No, King Wences.
K: The Feast of Stephen.
B: [Whisper] Boxing Day.
A: And, naturally, a king may cast his royal gaze wheree'er he please, but, some of the people are becoming restless. They feel that you have abandoned them, by always looking in, and never out.
K: Nonsense. You know, the last time I looked out, it was all snowy and there were some chaps there, and they were just thrilled to see me. Good tidings we bring, they said, to you and your king. And, you know, I said, that doesn't really make sense, old man, because I am the king, you see, and we had a good old chuckle about that.
B: Ah, but the public is fickle. They expect you to make state visits...to the window. And if you don't, well...
K: Well what? They wouldn't turn on Good King Wences.
A: Ah, sire, they don't call you Good King Wences any more.
K: What do they call me?
A: King Wences.
B: And sometimes, King Wences, The Infrequent-Looker-Outer.
K: Oh, this is bad, very bad.
B: And there's been civil unrest in Wencesbad, in which 500 subjects died.
K: Stick to the important stuff, can't you, Bartholomew?
B: Where they also burnt an effigy of your window.
K: Good garnishes, what am I to do? I can't just start looking out all of a sudden, like it's going out of fashion, they'll know I bow to public pressure.
B: I have taken the liberty, sire, of bringing in advice from neighbouring crowned heads, who have weathered similar civil unrest with dignity.
K: Capital! A fellow king, eh? Let's get him in here.
B: Not just one king, sire.
A: [Calling] Show in the 3 kings!
SFX: Bustle of entering retinue.
K: Gentlemen, gentlemen, welcome. Tell me, how fare things in the great land of Orientare?
EDIT: Oh, hang on, I just realised I wrote this for SKit Comp, so you might have read it already. Alright, move along, nothing to see here. 