Chapter Text
Breathing the crisp air of the spring night and gazing at the sky, two hedgehogs stood among the stars, on the balcony attached to the king’s quarters. Yet unlike the stars who had no jurisdiction over the Earth, Sonic was expected to rule the land below him. He had no interest in governing others. Certainly, he could have escaped it the first day, but he knew the consequences others would face for it. To be king was a title he never asked for. One he despised and kept at arm’s length. Yet he would hold the crown in his hands only if that meant it was kept off another’s head.
Behind Sonic was his bedroom. The balcony gave little solace from the weight of the palace. At night, he would pace his room like an animal in enclosure. Before he ever set foot in Camelot, he slept outdoors whenever possible, and if he wasn’t sleeping under the stars, it was usually under Tails’ roof, or another friend’s. Now, he had a grandiose bedroom, with a ceiling over twice as high as Sonic saw necessary. It reeked of wealth and status. And when Sonic lay to sleep in his large bed, it only held to Sonic’s face, the fact that he was alone.
Lancelot’s hand shifted where it sat on the balcony’s railing. Paired with the flick of his tongue to his lips, Sonic’s ears had already tilted Lancelot’s direction before he spoke. “My liege, I should retire to my quarters. It is late, and I still must hail a servant to aid in removing my armour.”
Sonic’s ear flicked at the title. He had tried his best to convince the knights of the Round Table that he didn’t wish to be revered in any sense. He had mixed results; while Lamorak had dropped most formalities, most of the knights maintained a casual respect. Lancelot remained rigid. Even as their relationship grew more amicable, he could not shake the knight’s formality.
Grabbing the railing, Sonic leaned back with a glimmer in his eyes. “I seem to remember you saying that about thirty minutes ago.” He looked over to Lancelot playfully. “—And again, thirty minutes before that.”
Lancelot kept his gaze to the view of the land below them. “Perhaps it is difficult to part from your presence.”
Under the night, the way Sonic's eyes widened and cheeks heated was concealed. Rather than responding, he opted to look across Camelot laid in front of them. Sonic fell into a more somber countenance and leaned his elbows against the railing.
As king, Sonic did not fear losing himself, but that, perhaps, no one would see him plainly again. Camelot met him with familiar faces and the same sky, but every friendship of his old life had been severed from him. He did not hesitate to try to build new relationships, yet every interaction felt as if it were on two sides of glass. Among very few had Sonic broken the barrier of sterile familiarity and felt a genuine connection.
Of the new people who had entered Sonic’s life, Lancelot was among the closest. In the beginning, Sonic found Lancelot a thrill to spar, and enjoyed teasing him until he would race Sonic across the land. What he had not expected was the solace he would find with the other. With time, they came to meet regularly in the gardens or find each other in torch-lit corridors. Sonic discovered Lancelot to be a good listener and contemplative. Lancelot was intrigued by the stories Sonic told of his world. Even if it remained unspoken, he understood the loss Sonic felt.
Recently, while Lancelot’s words would remain formal, Sonic had noticed how his actions betrayed him. How he may catch Lancelot’s gaze from across a room, or how, when he kneeled in greeting, his lips lingered as they brushed the metal knuckles of Sonic’s gauntlet. How fondly he could utter Sonic’s title, as if it were an endearment. More and more, they were spending time together, not for practicality, but simply each other’s company.
Today, marking Sonic’s fourth month in Camelot, Lancelot had surprised Sonic by visiting his quarters in the evening. He had listened to Sonic’s words and silence with equal care. And now, Lancelot hesitated to leave despite the hour.
Sonic broke the silence, “Not too many servants work this late. Just the essentials, not really people who can spare their time.” A change Sonic had made recently, along with additional compensation for working such abysmal hours.
Lancelot sighed, the weight of his predicament settling in. Lancelot drew himself from the edge of the balcony to meet Sonic’s eyes. “I’ll manage fine with removing my own armour. Sleep well.”
As Lancelot turned, Sonic’s impulses got the better of him, and he caught Lancelot's arm, gripping the exposed fur of his bicep. “Lance, I could help you remove your armour. It’s no big deal.”
Lancelot’s shoulders tightened even before he faced Sonic again. Lancelot exhaled something close to a nervous chuckle. “Sire? Surely, you jest. That is a duty far beneath your status. Certainly, you are aware of that?”
“I’m not kidding.” Sonic insisted. He knew how high of a pedestal he stood on in Lancelot’s perspective, so he had to lower himself for Lancelot to look him in the eyes, so be it. “Is it so bad to want to do something for you?
“I appreciate the kindness behind your offer, but I simply cannot accept such an improper proposition.”
Sonic sighed, "Lancelot, I’ve told you all many times, just because I formally accepted the title, I don’t want to be put above anyone else. I don't see myself as your king, just someone who cares about you. I’m not ignorant of how things work here, and I get that I can be a bit much, but I’m not gonna change who I am to fit into Camelot.”
“I do not think you are ignorant, only… rash. You say what you feel before considering the consequences.”
“Then you know I mean it. Let me give you a hand. Not because your king commands it— in fact, if you’re ever uncomfortable because of me, you can always tell me to shove off— but I’d love to help you, now or whenever. For any reason.” Sonic grabbed Lancelot’s hand, mindful to keep clear of any latch that could release the gauntlets.
Sonic didn’t want to be rejected due to superficial impropriety based on status, but equally as much, Sonic didn’t want to force Lancelot into something if he felt he had to obey his king. “I just ask that when we speak, it’s not Camelot’s voice that comes from your mouth. I want to hear your heart. I will accept a simple ‘no’ without question, I just need to know it's from you.”
His words carried weight beyond just that moment or night, more than he had even meant, as he realized Lancelot's answer could mold every moment between them from now on.
Apart from the wind, the moment was silent between them. The turmoil in Lancelot was evident— a war between his morals and desires. To be eased out of his armour by his king was wrong. Both improper and nearly perverted. Yet Sonic had offered it, and his one request was for Lancelot to accept or decline in earnest. In the end, he could not lie to Sonic. “Very well…” His ears pinned before he huffed and turned. “… Let’s not waste time getting to my quarters.”
A smile tugged Sonic's lips because, Thank Gaia, he was getting through to Lancelot even if just a bit.
✧
The trip to Lancelot's room was longer than expected. Down several staircases and through convoluted hallways until they had weaved their way to the opposite side of the palace and came into the wing where the knights resided.
Lancelot pulled a key from his quills, unlocked one door and ushered Sonic inside with haste, as if they were committing a scandal. He supposed in some ways, they were. Lancelot lit a bright candle to reveal the room that was rather quaint but had the necessities. Sonic didn’t have much time to look around before his attention was caught elsewhere.
Lancelot lifted his arms above his head, and reaching for his helmet, Sonic’s eyes catching on the exposed fur between his pauldron and gauntlet. He pulled off his helmet, bringing his face and quills into full sight, a view that was rare and one Sonic savored. After it was set down, Lancelot shook his quills out and primped them in a manner that had no right to be so tantalizing as Sonic’s eyes followed every movement of Lancelot’s hands.
After a moment of preening, Lancelot was satisfied with himself and began to work on removing his gauntlets. His precision made it clear he had done this countless times. Sonic kept a distance as Lancelot looked solemn in the rituality of his task. When the gauntlets were off, his a weathered golden ring remained around either wrist.
Lancelot began to work the clasp of his left shoulder armour with his opposite hand, using dexterous fingers that told Sonic that Lancelot had certainly done so before and was capable of removing it all on his own— even if it would be painstakingly long. Lancelot met Sonic’s eyes, a slight inclination of his head directing him over to himself, where Sonic slowly began to unlatch the other side of the shoulder armour. Sonic’s movements were clumsy, given he had never had to remove armour since his own golden set could manifest at will, but even in his inexperience, he was quicker than Lancelot. Sonic pulled the pauldron off and placed it gently atop a dresser before making his way to Lancelot’s other side, taking over and removing the second one with ease. But not without giving Lancelot a pointed look at his stubbornness, to which the darker hedgehog huffed.
Next was the armour covering Lancelot’s torso, which was unexpectedly complex. When Sonic first tried to undo the breastplate, Lancelot rolled his eyes and brushed away Sonic’s hands. “The faulds.”
Ah, yes… The faulds. Seeing Sonic’s hesitation, Lancelot tapped the three plates around his waist that protruded from the breastplate. Now, as Sonic worked around his torso, Lancelot awkwardly kept his arms up and only glanced at Sonic when he hesitated too long and needed direction. When it was finally time to remove the breastplate, Lancelot unlatched one strap over his shoulder, and Sonic took the other, and Sonic pulled off the weight Lancelot carried all day. Every time Sonic’s own armour had vanished off him, he had relished the feeling of being lighter as the weight fell off of him. Lancelot, however, remained tense, harboring a vulnerability he was uncomfortable with but didn’t voice.
Sonic began to kneel to help take off Lancelot’s greaves and sabatons, but Lancelot caught his shoulder and insisted, “I can finish from here.”
Despite the stubbornness Lancelot had otherwise shown, since Lancelot’s hands were free and had easy access to his feet, Sonic took his word. Sonic stepped back, finally taking in the room. He supposed it wasn’t the worst. Lancelot’s room was private. The floor was lined with strewing reeds and herbs; however, they did not fully eliminate the must and dankness. There was a chill Sonic felt even through his cape (that he wore with disdain because, while it did its job well to keep him warm, it certainly was gaudy). He could only assume how cold Lancelot felt with nothing to protect him from the air.
Sonic gazed down at the small desk of Lancelot's room, he considered taking a seat before noticing what lay on it. To the left, paper with small, neat notes, and to the right, a book still open, seemingly identifying a constellation and its associated story. He looked back at Lancelot, who now sat on his bed, his feet now exposed apart from his golden bands.
Lancelot asked, “You don’t need an escort back to your room, do you?”
“Nah, I can handle myself just fine. If someone finds me lost, I can just say I was trying to raid the kitchen… And if someone attacks, well, we both know they’re in for a sore losing.” Sonic chuckled, yet as he spoke, Lancelot’s words processed in his mind. He had just offered to make the trek to and from Sonic’s room again. Not only would that be extra time and effort at the already late hour, but while Lancelot wasn’t necessarily indecent without his armour, he was exposed, and it was obvious he felt vulnerable without it.
Lancelot exhaled in a way that almost neared a chuckle. He nodded and looked up with a damned expression of unmasked endearment. “Then, I will see you tomorrow if you are ready to leave, sire.”
Sonic shifted his weight in indecision before committing to stepping in front of Lancelot. One hand fidgeted with the clasp of his cape. As conflicted as he was to stand above Lancelot, he could not help but drink in how Lancelot gazed up at him with wide eyes. Shimmering and flitting about as he tried to gauge Sonic’s intention. His irises were colored between deep red and brown, and reminded Sonic of blood regardless. From the flame that illuminated the room, light danced across the contours of his face. Sonic fought the urge to meet Lancelot’s level, but if he did, he doubted he would make his way back to his room before morning.
Finally, Sonic committed to unclasping the cape. As it began to slide off his shoulders, Lancelot’s eyes widened, words tumbling off his tongue in a rare break of his usually reserved persona, “What’re you—”
Sonic caught the cape and swiftly swung it around Lancelot’s shoulders. The other stilled, unable to find a way to react to the intimate gesture. It took him a moment to find his words, “I— I can’t…”
“You may.” Sonic insisted. He stepped back and tucked his hands to his sides in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature, then grabbed for the door before Lancelot fully broke from his stupor and could thrust the cape back into Sonic’s arms. “Goodnight, Lance.”
On the long walk back to his room, it occurred to Sonic that while his guards treated him like he was made of glass and in need of supervision, Lancelot, as dutiful as he was, trusted Sonic's independence. Perhaps a bit too much, Sonic thought, as it was obvious he had made a wrong turn somewhere and gotten lost in the palace. Yet even if it took nearly an hour until he stumbled across his room (and having had to utilize his kitchen-raiding excuse to his night guard), he couldn’t find himself to mind, as his thoughts were warm from his night with Lancelot.
‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻✧༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙
A few days later, Sonic sat with the knights of the Round Table at the crack of dawn for their weekly assembly. Even after Sonic’s request to push back their regular meeting time was accepted, it was somehow still at an abysmal hour. So, really, could he be blamed for only paying half a mind when his accommodations were so sorely met?
There were no assigned seats at their table; however, most everyone chose the same spot each week. In the beginning, Sonic had usually sat between Percival and Lancelot. That had not lasted long. Perhaps the most telling sign of the knights growing accustomed to him was that the two drafty seats closest to the window were always the last to choose from, and they no longer seemed bothered if their king was a bit chilly.
As Pervical led the discussion, she seemed confident in… whatever this week’s topic was. If it were important, he could ask Galahad, or any other knight, since it seemed that the rest of the Round Table was actually paying attention. Besides Lamorak, who sat in the most drafty seat and had fallen asleep, which made Sonic look way better for only being somewhat disengaged. A truly noble knight, really taking one for the king by helping Sonic save face.
Of course, Sonic did try to pay attention, but whenever it slipped, his eyes strayed towards Lancelot's direction absently, only noticing his little habit when he looked over again, to see that Lancelot's eyes were already on him. On the surface level, it was evident Lancelot was judging Sonic’s lack of attention, but there was also something else in his gaze. His eyes were lit red by the sunlight and shamelessly, challengingly met Sonic’s stare, causing a fire ignited in Sonic’s chest, and heated his cheeks.
Sonic quickly turned his attention back to Percival, suddenly very interested in the trade issues that had with a neighboring kingdom. Just to overcompensate, and distract from the butterflies in his stomach, Sonic began to chime in to the meeting. Perhaps Gawain might have thought Sonic’s ideas were quite brilliant, but were politely turned down by, to Sonic’s surprise, Lancelot.
Sonic had seen how Lancelot listened and considered Sonic’s words. When he finished, Lancelot voiced cordial but firm disagreement. Standing, he took the room’s focus, and Sonic could not be bothered in the slightest, not if he got to hear Lancelot speak so freely. Instead, Sonic hung onto every word that came from Lancelot’s mind as he presented his idea with a confidence that looked good on him.