Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sonic took a deep, subtle breath. He was standing at a slight angle to the rest of the gathered group. He didn’t want them to know he was hurt; that blow from Merlina had done more damage than he’d originally expected. It had managed to slice through a weak spot in his temporary armour. And it might still be bleeding. Not a big deal. He just had to get through this conversation, then he could slip away, check how bad it really was and then decide what to do. Or, better yet, he could go home and use the med-kit Tails kept under the sink.

“To think… King Arthur was but an illusion!” Sir Gawain said in despair.

The echidna had his arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, Sir Lancelot rose a gauntlet to the edge of his visor but did not lift it. He never lifted it. They both looked troubled.

“The Knights of the Round Table must now disband,” Sir Lancelot lamented.

While he felt bad, Sonic stayed out of the conversation. He may have been the reason the Knights were without a king now but this was also not his world. The king was fake anyway; they probably would have figured that out eventually. Maybe. Sonic had faith in them. They were smart Knights. They’d sort out this little conundrum no problem. He had no right to interject his own thoughts on the matter. This was not his kingdom.

This was not his world.

“What foolishness is this?” Caliburn asked suddenly.

See, Caliburn would make them see sense. Now if they could only wrap this up soon. It was impolite to walk off when they were having such an important conversation. And, well, this was his fault. But still…

He was sure the bleeding would stop by itself soon. Maybe he’d looked at it wrong before. Yeah, the bleeding would stop.

The Lady of the Lake smiled softly. The pink hedgehog looked so much like Amy. She carried herself differently though, drifted over the ground with the untouchable elegance of water. Huh. Lady of the Lake. Made sense, he supposed. Nimue put her gloved hands together, golden bracelets catching the sun. Her green eyes scanned the gathered Knights, a knowing twinkle dancing within them. When her eyes turned to Sonic, he frowned slightly. Why had they lingered so much on him in particular?

Chaos, his side hurt.

“I’ll say,” Nimue said conspiratorially.

Lady Percival stepped forward. She was frowning. That long, purple tail coiled up then relaxed, twitching at the end. The movement was hypnotic and Sonic caught himself staring at her tail blankly. No one else seemed to notice.

The cat hummed.

“What are you saying, then?” Lady Percival asked.

“Have you forgotten who I am?” Caliburn said. “I am the scared sword, Caliburn! I am the one who decides who is worthy of the crown!”

The Knights all exchanged a look. First of confusion. Then, one by one, their faces morphed into an expression of utter shock.

Maybe it was a language barrier. Maybe he just didn’t know of some important thing that they were referencing. Or maybe it was the blood loss. Either way, Sonic was lost. Completely lost. His brain wasn’t up to snuff right now. He could do with a wrap over his side and a nice, long nap in a patch of sun somewhere.

The sun was beating down on him now, making his brain foggy. Yeah, scratch that. He needed a cool spot in the shade instead. Maybe under a tree somewhere.

“So then…” Sir Gawain said, pointing to Sonic. “You?”

The knights froze, each one slowly turning to stare at Sonic. His ears twitched as he shifted under their collective gaze. What was he not getting here? Was there something on his face? Was there dirt smudged in his fur? Chaos, that would be embarrassing.

“You are the one and true King Arthur?” the Knights cried in unison.

Sonic started. The blood seemed to freeze in his veins but he felt really hot all of a sudden. Like super hot. Way-past-the-point-of-being-comfortable kind of hot. Sonic’s ears began to lower. He pointed to himself, perplexed. They couldn’t be serious, could they?

“Who, me?” Sonic said.

The Knights bowed before him. Something inside him squirmed in discomfort.

“Huh? H-hey, cut that out!”

Sonic turned his gaze upon the sword in front of him, eyes wide. His ears flattened fully. He opened his mouth to say something. Thought better of it, and closed it again. There had to be some mistake. This couldn’t be real. Perhaps all of this had been some… some elaborate dream? But, no. It couldn’t be. He remembered the past few days vividly. And he’d been tossed around enough to believe this was all happening. His side sent a spike of pain through him again, reminding him just how real this was. He really needed to check that.

He shook his head, a buzzing, rolling feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mouth felt as dry as the cracked ground beneath his feet.

“You have the wrong guy,” was all he could manage.

The sword frowned at him.

“I certainly do not,” he said, affronted. “Why else did you think you could free me from the stone? You are the one who was prophesised. You are King.”

Sonic cringed. There was a really bad taste in his mouth. He hated that word. Prophesised. Prophecies meant nothing to him. He didn’t believe in fate. Sonic recalled that mural on Angel Island that Tails was convinced was about him. Honestly, he couldn’t see it. Sure, maybe it kind of looked like him, and maybe the other guy kind of looked like Eggman. But it was just coincidence, surely? It was just depicting some other thing that happened in the past. It wasn’t predicting the future or anything. It was vague and undefined anyway.

Prophecies. How ridiculous. They weren’t real.

How he wished he was back home right now.

“I’m… I’m not even from your world,” he reasoned, feeling more sick by the minute.

Sir Lancelot rose to his feet. Even with his visor down, Sonic could practically feel those red eyes bore into him. His ebony and crimson fur made him the mirror of a hedgehog Sonic was really starting to miss. Which was ridiculous because that hedgehog sure as hell wouldn’t ever miss him. Huh, why was he focusing on that all of a sudden?

“He has a point,” Lancelot said, gruff voice so agonisingly familiar, and yet so different.

Lady Percival, the Knight who reminded Sonic of a Princess he once knew, stepped up beside Lancelot. She brought a gauntlet-laden hand up to her chin. Unlike Lancelot, her visor had been lifted. Sonic could see her golden eyes narrow in thought.

Sonic missed Blaze. He wondered if there was a way of getting in contact with her again. It had been so long since he’d seen the serious feline. Perhaps he should ask Tails later if he could build a safe passage between their world and the Sol dimension so that he could visit her and vice versa. But then, he thought, Blaze was probably really busy with her own stuff. Maybe he’d just be bothering her.

Yeah, that would be a mistake. Never mind…

“Caliburn is a sacred sword,” Lady Percival said, snapping him from his thoughts. “I hardly think he is capable of making a mistake.”

All of Sonic’s achy muscles tensed anew. His head swam. It felt like he might pass out any second. His vision went all swirly for a minute and he tried desperately not to sway in place. It was probably fine. He was fine. The spinning would stop soon.

The third Knight, Sir Gawain, looked so much like his echidna friend back home. From his fur colour down to his gruff way of speaking. He was watching Sonic with those piercing violet eyes carefully. He looked to be wary of Sonic. The blue hedgehog got the vibe that the guy wasn’t too pleased with him supposedly being king. Sonic was right there with him; he didn’t want this.

“Well, he must have,” Sonic insisted. “I’m not your king.”

Man, he really felt dizzy. Maybe that wasn’t just his imagination...

“I need to go home,” he said, turning to Merlina.

The girl looked up from the marigold he’d given her. She looked a little startled and… guilty. He was starting to feel like throwing up now. She could send him home, right? She brought him here in the first place. She had to have some spell or something that would take him back home. She had to.

“I’m sorry, Sonic,” she said regretfully, looking away. “I’m not sure how to reverse the spell I used to summon you here. I don’t know how to send you back.”

Sonic took slow, deep breaths. He was finding it harder to focus his vision. Absently, he remembered the wound on his side again. He felt numb all over; maybe he should have checked it properly? Could it still be bleeding? It might still be bleeding. Damn it. He couldn’t pass out right now. He had to clear up this whole mess first. Then he had to find a way home. Both of those tasks felt impossible right now as his brain was being reduced to soup. They seemed so… difficult.

He heard voices but they were muffled and distant. It was like his head was encased in gelatine. Were they talking to him? Did it even matter if they were? Did anything matter?

Maybe he could just rest his eyes for a moment…

It felt like he’d blinked. Honestly, it did. But when he came to, he was pretty sure he wasn’t standing anymore. And whatever he’d been doing before was washed away in the smoke of his mind. He felt warm. And sort of shaky. Sonic moved a heavy arm, feeling the silky material that lay over him. It felt wrong. He hated the texture. It was sort of soft but not in the way he liked. He pushed it away.

Sonic cracked open an emerald eye to stare at a high, stone ceiling. It was kind of disorienting how high it was. When did he get inside? He scanned his surroundings, which was difficult because it was dark; the curtains were drawn. He strained his eyes, seeing a shadowy desk, chair, a wardrobe and a small bedside table thing. There was a candle on the table. It wasn’t lit. In the centre of the room, where he was lying, was a large four-poster bed made from delicately carved wood. The sheets were a deep purple hue. He didn’t like them. It was sort of comfortable, but he felt exposed. He’d prefer if the bed was up against the corner of the room or something.

Where was he? This room wasn’t familiar.

After struggling to sit up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side, Sonic swung his legs out of the bed. It was too high up and he couldn’t reach the floor properly. Closing his eyes, Sonic let gravity pull him to the floor. He landed in a heap and his side was burning in protest. He ignored that too. His first thought was getting out of the room. Everything else came after.

Getting to his feet was a battle. Sonic had to use the table to pull himself up. His legs were trembling. He ended up using the wall to support himself, feeling for the door blindly. He was leaning heavily with his shoulder against the wall. It was textured. Wallpaper, he assumed. The wall suddenly turned smoother and he scrabbled for the doorhandle. Realised it was a doorknob. Then he turned it, pushing with all his weight to open the stiff door. No, pull. It was a pull. Still, he was having a hard time. Maybe it was catching on the carpet or something? It took an immense effort to open the door with how shaky he was but eventually it came loose and he almost fell backwards. He manged to only just keep his balance by waving his arms but he made himself feel sick in the process. Oh well, it was open enough now to slip through.

Only now, with his socked feet against the stone floor in the hallway, he realised he was missing his shoes. It bothered him greatly. He didn’t want to go back into the room though; he could see out here. There was multicoloured light spilling across the floor from around the corner. When Sonic rounded it, he saw why. The moon lit up a stained glass window down the hall and Sonic was drawn to it like a magpie. The gentle glow of red, blue, yellow, purple and green glass was appealing to his sluggish mind. It made him forget all about the unfamiliar surroundings, the missing shoes.

Sonic stumbled his way to the window. The sill beneath was wide, almost bench-sized; he dragged himself up onto it. The stone and glass were chillingly cold but he didn’t mind. Sonic let the iciness sink into his bones. He stretched his achy muscles out, feeling, for the first time, something constricting his chest and stomach.

He ran a hand over his stomach, looking down to see cloth wrapped tightly around his midsection. There was a slight red-ish stain along his left side. Right, his wound. So someone had dressed it. That meant he was probably safe at least. It eased his mind a little. But who?

Another scan around the hall. It was grand, wide, stone. The walls were laden with tapestries. Tapestries that, in the shadows, his mind couldn’t process right now. There was a thin carpet over the floor that he’d somehow managed to completely avoid before. A red one, like the kind they roll out for celebrities. Or kings…

Castle.

This was a castle.

Understanding dawned on him. The Knights had brought him here. They probably patched him up too. Because he was supposed to be their king now. Except he wasn’t. He wasn’t their king. Caliburn was wrong. How could he be king?

He sighed, staring at the colourful glass again. It was thick and very pigmented, so he couldn’t see through it. Sonic rested his head against the glass for a moment.

King. He couldn’t even begin to understand exactly how he was supposed to lead an entire kingdom. But he didn’t know how to get home either. So he really had to face this, didn’t he? He couldn’t in good conscience leave the kingdom defenceless. It went against everything he stood for. But what did a king even do? Could he pass the responsibility on to someone else? Lancelot or Percival perhaps? Sonic had no idea how to even approach the idea of being their king. It felt so foreign a concept to him.

Sonic lived fast and free. He went where the wind took him. He couldn’t be tied down to a throne.

His eyelids were growing heavy again. The pain had flared in his side before but now it was dulled into a weak throb. His head hurt just thinking about what he was supposed to do. All he wanted to do was run away from this but he couldn’t. Because he’d hate himself if he just left without any explanation, just left the kingdom to fend for itself. And leaving wouldn’t get him any closer to getting home either.

Maybe he’d never get home.

Sonic closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. He already felt so overwhelmed. Turning onto his side, Sonic snuggled up on the sill. Whatever he decided to do, it could wait until the morning. Right now he was achy and exhausted.

“Where is he?” Gawain grumbled.

Their King, it appeared, was missing. Already. Lancelot huffed. They had called at the King’s door to wake him but they’d gotten no response. And now, after entering the chamber, they realised that the hedgehog in question was no longer in bed where they’d left him yesterday.

He’d passed out. Percival said it was blood loss. The Lady of the Lake had suggested shock. Both were equally probable. Either way, he’d been out cold. The hedgehog hadn’t even told them he was injured; Lancelot thought that was rather idiotic. But he couldn’t say that to his face. Because the blue hedgehog was his King now. And that was frustrating on a number of levels. The hedgehog was flippant, immature and, apparently, a flaker. He’d been impressive with a sword, Lancelot would give him that. He was merciful and forgiving. But he wasn’t even from their world.

It was hard to accept him as King.

Caliburn floated beside Lancelot, looking around the room. He didn’t seem worried. More… thoughtful.

“He could not have gone far,” the sword insisted. “His shoes are still here.”

Lancelot didn’t even bother asking why that was relevant.

The Knights backtracked into the hallway. They hadn’t seen him the way they came, so Lancelot moved further down the hall instead. His armoured feet sent a muted clinking echo down the hall. It would have been so much louder on the stone floors themselves; that’s why they had carpet after all. Once he’d turned around the corner he realised Caliburn was right. But that didn’t clear up anything for Lancelot.

Why was their King asleep on the windowsill?

“I found him,” Lancelot called to Gawain and Caliburn.

Lancelot could tell by the way he was breathing that he was still asleep. He hadn’t woken him by calling to the others. Gawain rounded the corner first, followed by Caliburn. The sacred sword hummed once he saw the hedgehog. He wasn’t nearly as surprised as he and Gawain were. In fact, he looked as of he’d somehow expected it. Again, Lancelot wondered why.

“Why is he… there?” Gawain asked with a frown.

“The few times we stopped at an inn, Sonic would do this,” Caliburn explained.

Gawain and Lancelot stared at the sword. So this wasn’t a new thing? Lancelot folded his arms, brow furrowed beneath his visor. What an odd start to the day.

“He’s done this before?” Lancelot asked.

“Every time we were inside,” Caliburn said. “I am not sure why. I suspect he has… trust issues.”

Lancelot asked the sword to clarify.

“This window in particular cannot be opened, but most of the ones in the inns could be. The window could prove a quick escape if something happened.”

Now was Caliburn’s turn to frown. He floated closer to the King’s side, eyes scanning the hedgehog momentarily. There was the hint of concern flickering in his eye. It was the only indication that Caliburn was worried about the King.

“Though I must say, I am surprised he has not woken yet,” Caliburn said. “He is a remarkably light sleeper ordinarily.”

Lancelot looked over the hedgehog on the sill himself. The King’s brow was furrowed. Discomfort. It was entirely possible that, if he had a fever, he was simply unconscious. That was an issue if that was the case. If the hedgehog staying quiet about his injury had allowed infection to set it, Lancelot would personally slap him. If it wasn’t so irreverent, of course. For what purpose would he hide an injury in the first place? It seemed counterproductive to Lancelot.

But had he had the fever when he’d initially woken up? Or had it hit him after he fell back asleep?

This day was already proving to be a headache.

Caliburn suggested letting the hedgehog rest and fetching Merlina to check him over. They all agreed it would be better to move him back to the bed first though. There, it would be easier for someone to watch him in case he did have a fever. They’d cross that bridge when they got there though. Gawain took the blue hedgehog into his arms carefully. Then he paused. The echidna turned to face them. Lancelot lifted his visor to raise his brow at him. What was the problem now?

“He’s so… light,” the echidna said.

According to Caliburn, the hedgehog didn’t eat much. When they were travelling, the King seemed to prefer sleeping outdoors and he ate light, if he did at all. Inns were reserved for rain. The blue hedgehog also tended to forage for what little he did eat. Lancelot’s impression of his new King was… odd so far. So he hid injuries, slept in weird places, and refused to eat. And, to top it all off, he wasn’t even from their world. Lancelot was struggling to figure out why Caliburn had chosen such a bizarre hedgehog to lead them.

Lancelot was asked to stay with the King and Caliburn while Gawain ran for Merlina. The Knights weren’t quite sure if they could trust her at the moment. She did take the sacred Scabbard of Excalibur from the fake Arthur and tried to take her place as Queen. What would stop her from trying something again? Especially with the King so weak right now. The blue hedgehog may have forgiven her, but Lancelot could not.

Though he did not believe in the blue hedgehog’s ability to lead them, he would not leave Merlina alone with him either when she arrived. He would stay right here and protect the King while he was vulnerable, which was his job. Just because his heart wasn’t in it, didn’t mean he would be foregoing his duties. Lancelot had dedicated himself to the throne of Camelot and whoever sat upon it. Caliburn had chosen Sonic, so that was who he would serve, no matter his personal opinions on the matter. It was just that simple.

Gawain had set down the hedgehog on his back. But now he had rolled onto his right side again. He made a huffing sound and buried his face in the pillow. Lancelot watched him curl up again. The hedgehog winced before unfurling slightly, but if he hadn’t been injured, Lancelot had a feeling he would have been a ball already.

How old was he?

It hadn’t occurred to him before now but how old was the King? Adult hedgehogs didn’t typically curl up when they slept. It was a defensive action. Caliburn had mentioned something about possible trust issues though. Lancelot was starting to suspect that the sacred sword was correct in his assumption.

Some time later, Merlina stepped into the room. Lancelot narrowed his eyes at her. He watched her every movement like a hawk. She stooped to run her hand over Sonic’s forehead. Then she checked and re-dressed the slash across his side. It wasn’t too wide but it had been deep. The wound had stopped bleeding at least and had finally started to scab over. That was a good sign. Still, the fact he was so warm was still alarming.

The wizard shook her head.

“His wound isn’t infected but he might have a slight fever,” she said. “My guess is that he’s just exhausted.”

“And whose fault is that?” Lancelot said with a huff.

Merlina looked to the dark Knight. Her face was impassive, but her blue eyes gave her away. The girl was bothered by his comment, despite how much she tried not to show it. Good. Lancelot hoped she was really thinking hard on what she’d done. But if she ever needed a reminder, Lancelot was more than happy to give her one.

“I know you don’t like me, Sir Lancelot,” she said. “But ultimately, it’s the King’s decision what happens to me.”

Lancelot folded his arms. The two stared each other down for a few moments. Caliburn said nothing, just observed them in silence.

“And may I remind you that he hasn’t made that decision yet,” Lancelot growled. “Just because he gave you a flower, doesn’t mean you won’t receive consequences for your actions.”

Merlina stood up straighter and turned to leave. Gawain was still at the door to escort her back to the bed chamber she was currently being held in until further notice. Personally, Lancelot hoped the King would be harsh on her. If she thought she could escape punishment for what she did, she had another thing coming. Merlina was the reason the King was injured now. Did that not click in her head? Stupid girl.

Caliburn said he’d stay with the hedgehog until he awoke, relieving Lancelot of his duty. Until the King was awake, the orders from the sacred sword himself was the best he was going to get. But Lancelot found himself restless, awaiting the King’s awakening.

Chapter Text

Sonic blinked his eyes open. He frowned when he found himself back in the room he’d originally woken up in. How did he get back here? After a brief stretch, Sonic sat up. He felt a little more refreshed than he had last night but his side still hurt. It was whatever. The wound would heal in a few days, a week at most, and he’d be fine. He was glad it was bandaged at least. Though, he did notice that the staining was gone now. Re-bandaged then? Huh.

“Good morning.”

Sonic’s ear flicked. He recognised the voice before he turned to see him.

“Hey, Caliburn,” he responded.

He chose not to think about how he ended back up in the bed or how Caliburn had gotten into the room without hands. Just like how he wouldn’t question how he’d ended up in the Castle to begin with. Or who had bandaged and re-bandaged his side. It probably wasn’t important. Sonic stretched his arms above his head. A twinge of pain from his side; he chose to ignore it again.

Sonic could see the room a little better this time. The red curtain had been pulled back but only slightly. In fact, he could see now there were two curtains; only the one had been pulled to the side and tied off to keep it out of the way. By Sonic’s estimation, it was probably late morning. Later than he usually woke up but, taking into account that he’d been disoriented and irritable last night, it didn’t come as much of a surprise.

It wasn’t a desk he’d seen last night, it was some sort of vanity with a stool beside it. The top was clear aside from a candle, like the bedside table. There were marks on the vanity, showing it was well used. There was the massive wardrobe. And beside that was a door he hadn’t seen before; he’d have to investigate that later. The carpet was red, like the one out in the hall, but thicker and covering the whole floor. The wallpaper, or what was some older form of it, was ornate and white with gold trim. Sonic decided that he hated it. The room looked much bigger in the daylight. Too big.

And he still hated the blanket; he pushed it away again. It ended up bunched in a heap at the bottom of the bed. Sonic turned to Caliburn after his brief survey of the room. The sword was floating there, patiently.

“So… what am I supposed to be doing?” he asked.

“Well, first you should probably eat,” Caliburn said. “Then meet the rest of your Knights,”

“The… rest?”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to say “my Knights” because it just felt wrong. They were not his. They did not belong to him. And he certainly didn’t feel like a king. He was still hoping he could get out of it somehow…

Sonic hopped from the bed, landing better this time now that he was fully awake. He winced slightly at the jolt of pain his landing caused though. Sonic picked up the sword and together they left the room. As Caliburn guided him through the Castle halls, he informed him that there were two Knights of the Round Table he had yet to meet. Apparently there used to be a lot more. Caliburn never said what happened to them. Sonic wondered if they’d simply left or if they’d lost their lives serving the fake Arthur. He’d like to believe the former.

It was probably the latter.

Sonic made sure to memorise each turn they took. He’d hate to get lost. That would just be completely mortifying. The halls were kind of intimidating though. They were so wide and the ceilings were so high. Sonic thought he’d like that because he hated enclosed spaces but something about this was weirdly… worse. He couldn’t explain why. They just were. Why did the rooms have to be this big anyway? It just felt gratuitous.

After a quick breakfast – in a hall with a table much too big for just him, which he also quickly detested – Sonic mentally prepared himself to meet two more look-a-likes. There was a very good chance they could be mirrors of others from his world. He at least knew what to expect this time so he didn’t make a fool of himself.

That being said, he didn’t expect those Knights to be Silver and Jet.

Well, not Silver and Jet. Galahad and Lamorak. He knew they weren’t the same as the mobians he’d met before but they still looked so much like them that it was hard not to think about. It was just as jarring as meeting everyone else. Prepared or not, Sonic still fumbled his greeting.

He was already making a wonderful impression, he was sure.

Sir Lamorak took a disliking to him immediately, which wasn’t a surprise. The hawk was clearly trying not to show it but Sonic could tell. His moss-green feathers were ruffled as he bowed before him. When he stood, he rose his visor. Lamorak wasn’t quite able to hide his grimace before Sonic saw it. That was fair. He didn’t think any of the Knights wanted him as their king. He didn’t belong here, in Camelot, and they knew it. And he certainly wasn’t cut out for this. Though they might not know that quiet yet. They’d doubtlessly find out soon enough.

Sir Galahad didn’t seem as perturbed. Not outwardly at least. His bow was as fluid as Lamorak’s and he copied the hawk’s motion of moving his visor up afterwards. All the Knights seemed to do that, except Sir Lancelot. Those yellow eyes were much warmer but still a little wary. The hedgehog he knew had also been rather nervous. Sonic hoped, at the very least, that he could ease that a little while he was here. The silvery-furred hedgehog offered him a smile. Sonic returned it gratefully.

He still hated the bowing thing though. Sonic had no idea what to do while they were down on one knee before him. He just sort of stood there awkwardly with Caliburn, waiting for it to end.

The blue hedgehog didn’t spend long with the two knights before Caliburn was ferrying him somewhere else. Apparently to meet the King’s Council – his “advisors.” They’d been appointed during the false king’s time and were knowledgeable in running the kingdom. And Sonic needed them desperately. They were going to be the ones guiding him through what he had to do as king. They’d be giving him a tour of the Castle, going over his main duties and getting him ready for his coronation.

Suffice to say, Sonic was overwhelmed big time. And he hadn’t even started yet.

His advisors were a light-grey-feathered raven, a yellow dormouse and a brown lion. They introduced themselves as Bertram, Odel and Wilkin; his chancellor, treasurer and marshal respectively. The chancellor was the head of the court – Sonic wasn’t sure what that entailed yet. The treasurer controlled the kingdom’s finances. And the marshal was in charge of law enforcement. And Sonic… was already confused. He sent a panicked look to his sword. Caliburn was completely unhelpful.

And now he was being shepherded through the Castle’s many, winding, confusing hallways. Remembering all these convoluted directions was going to be a difficult task but Sonic was determined to at least memorise the layout of the Castle. Sonic prided himself on being good with directions. Take him anywhere once, and he was sure to know the way back. If any of the barrage of information he was receiving today went in, he wanted it to be the Castle’s layout. Everything else was going to take some time to really sink in. But he just had to get the layout. To prove he could do something.

So he was doing this. He was really doing this, wasn’t he? Chaos, it was all surprisingly scary.

They wanted to get the coronation done as soon as possible so that Sonic could officially get to ruling the kingdom. He asked if that was usual. He didn’t receive a response. Bertram was already yapping on about the ceremony, like he hadn’t even heard him. And to be honest? Sonic heard none of what he had to say either. Not a word. Zilch. Nada. Zero.

Sonic wasn’t even sure there was room in his brain to take in all this information at once. He tried again to garner a shred of sympathy from Caliburn. He at least received a blink and a tilt of the sword this time. Still, Caliburn didn’t step in to tell them to slow down a little. And Sonic felt too awkward to try himself.

How odd, for Sonic the Hedgehog to be wishing for something to slow down.

They passed by the Library. Sonic was interested in taking a peep in, sure that it would look fascinating. He did love a good book when he could sit still long enough to read one; he usually had to read them in short bursts though. They didn’t go inside. Sonic was a tad disappointed. He’d just have to have a snoop later by himself. And then there was his Chancery – an office, so to speak, with a desk and a small set of bookshelves for official documents. He’d be spending a lot of time in the Chancery apparently. At least there was a large window behind the desk; he might not go completely stir-crazy in this room. Probably.

Laying his eyes on the throne for the first time was kind of surreal. But Sonic couldn’t see himself even approaching the gilded chair, let alone sitting in the damn thing. Though, it was very impressive looking. The seat itself, the armrests, and the back were padded and finished with red velvet, so it was probably pretty comfy. And Sonic was a sucker for red. The gold he could do without though, it was too garish for him. Nonetheless, he had to admit the carvings on the precious metal were quite interesting. Kind of swirly and hypnotising.

And then there were the tapestries. Since they were lingering in the Throne Hall for a beat, Sonic had a chance to really take them in. They depicted what he assumed was the coat of arms for Camelot – he was later told it was referred to as the royal arms, but was otherwise correct. A scarlet dragon against a very faintly blue backdrop. It was, of course, encased in the typical shield design. The dragon’s wings were large, spread wide at an arc, and the tail was pointed with a satisfying swish to it. It was standing, chest puffed out in pride. And yet, it was imposing too, in a way that Sonic quite admired. There was an emerald clutched in its jaw. It was a deep green colour.

Sonic was reminded that he hadn’t heard of there being an alternative to the Chaos Emeralds in this world yet. Did they have their own, like the Sol Emeralds? If they did, maybe he could get home…

Was it selfish to still be thinking of that?

“Your Highness?”

He swung his head around to look at Wilkin. The lion was standing with his other advisors by the door to the Great Hall. He sounded slightly exasperated, like he’d called for the king more than once. Right. Sonic was king now. He was addressing Sonic. And he probably had been calling him for a while. Whoops. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to these new titles. Part of what he’d picked up earlier was that he was to be addressed as “Highness” until he was officially coronated, after which he’d be “Majesty.” Supposedly, that was more for when someone was meeting him for the first time. And as an initial greeting from acquaintances. Sonic was also told that he may hear “Sire” more often, as well as the obvious “My King” and even “My Liege.”

It was too many titles for Sonic. When they all meant the same thing, why bother? Couldn’t they just call him by his name instead? He’d much prefer that. The title Caliburn had given him, Knight of the Wind, had a nice ring to it. But still, Sonic would rather just be… Sonic.

Because he was just Sonic.

“Right,” Sonic said, forcing a chuckle. “Sorry.”

He cast one last glance at the tapestry and hurried to the thick, wooden double doors. The moment he approached, his advisors were already walking down the hall. Sonic snagged Caliburn out of the air beside him, running his fingers over his hilt absently. The lattice design just under the sword’s crossguard was Sonic’s favourite spot to fiddle with. Caliburn never seemed to have a problem with it and it helped Sonic focus, to ground himself. Perhaps Caliburn knew that. The sword must have been more observant than Sonic realised. And, despite his often snarky nature, Caliburn was surprisingly understanding.

Sonic remembered the sentient sword guiding him through a breathing exercise after he’d fallen into the Misty Lake.

It had been silly really. Sonic had slipped off a dew-soaked vine and tumbled into the frigid waters. Thankfully, he’d been in a shallow section of the lake at the time and he was super close to the shore. Still, the experience had sent a thunderbolt of terror through all his systems, clouding his judgement. For Chaos sake, he’d only just found Caliburn. And the sword already didn’t really like him. Despite his displeasure at Sonic’s personality however, the sword was quick to realise that there was more to his panicked flailing than just surprise. And, as Sonic sat heaving for air on the foggy shore, a trembling mess, Caliburn spoke to him. Softly.

There must have been a reason Caliburn was receptive to him in the first place. Some reason that Sonic couldn’t see. Until that point, he’d barely even swung a sword. And Caliburn could tell. So why Sonic? Why did Caliburn even let Sonic wield him? He’d said he’d train him until he was worthy but why even bother when he could have waited for an experienced swordsman instead?

Caliburn chose his wielder, not the other way around. Sonic now knew he chose the king too. So why give Sonic that chance to prove himself in the first place?

Surely Caliburn already knew he wasn’t fit to be king?

He was spiralling again, he could feel it. But Sonic couldn’t help questioning Caliburn’s decision. Sure, he’d taken down the fake Arthur. Sure, he beat Merlina. But that’s what he was good at. At best, he was worthy of being a knight now. Not a king. What a leap in logic. And Sonic did think Caliburn’s logic was flawed on this. It just had to be.

It was only a moment later that Sonic realised he’d stopped walking. His advisors were already at the end of the hall now, about to turn the corner. Sonic sped over, making sure to decrease his speed so that he was at a walking pace by the time he reached them. And he timed it perfectly. Wilkin turned to look at Sonic just as he had slowed to walk behind him. He wasn’t caught daydreaming this time. Well, other than by Caliburn, who suspiciously chose not to comment on it.

Suffice to say, Sonic was not taking the news very well.

Caliburn could tell simply by his grip. The way he clenched and unclenched his hand, like he was preparing for a fight that never occurred. The fact he reached out for him at all spoke of his unease. Sonic was a difficult mobian to read at first. The hedgehog masked. A lot. But his actions read into his psyche more than his face ever would. And Caliburn had become a decent interpreter of the language that was Sonic since they had met. Still, he was not fluent. Not yet. And occasionally, Caliburn could read the emotion but not the reason.

Right now was one of those moments.

They were in the Western Courtyard. There was an old, round basin in the centre with an elaborate stone structure around it. The stone was damaged, crawling with vines and moss. The basin itself had been left to rust. At first glance, it appeared to be a well. But it was not deep enough, nor did it provide the same purpose. It was purely decorative. Not that it was much to look at anymore. As they walked past it, Sonic’s hand tightened around Caliburn’s hilt. At first, the scared sword suspected the hedgehog’s reaction to be his trepidation around water. His feet stilled once more, eyes glued to the structure.

It was not fear Caliburn read in those emerald eyes. It was something else. Something sad. It caught the sword off guard.

“How long has the fountain been left like that?” Sonic asked.

The blue hedgehog had been rather quiet all morning. Reserved almost, which was most unusual for Sonic. Hearing his voice now caused Caliburn to start. Sonic did not appear to notice. All his attention was still on the stone structure. He was fixated on it, as though simply staring at it would somehow fix the damaged stone, scrub away the red-brown rust, and empty out the algae-tainted water.

“For a while, Sire,” Odel said dismissively. “If the funds weren’t needed elsewhere, it would have been torn down by now.”

Caliburn frowned slightly but said nothing. The advisors should not be speaking to the King in that manner. The treasurer should have given the hedgehog a proper answer. It irked the sword greatly. He would be sure to keep an eye out for any more of these… slips. Standards should not decline because there had been a change in power. It was unacceptable.

“Why?” Sonic inquired. “Why not just clean it up? It looks fine.”

Sonic’s brow was furrowed slightly. There was a quality to his voice Caliburn had heard very rarely. For whatever reason, the disrepair of the fountain seemed to bother Sonic. As too did the mouse’s lack of care.

“Or you could just replace the base, lean into the moss a little,” Sonic suggested.

“But Sire, it looks most unsightly,” Odel argued.

“What’s wrong with a little greenery?” Sonic asked. “This whole courtyard could do with a little more… life.”

Suddenly, it made more sense to Caliburn. Sonic clearly preferred the outdoors more than he did being inside. He had an innate passion for nature. More often than not, he slept under the stars. He foraged for most of his meals. And Caliburn had watched him stop to literally smell the roses once. Sonic held an appreciation for the little things. And maybe that was why he was so tense inside the Castle. Until the fountain, Sonic had been marginally more relaxed out in the Courtyard.

And the King also had a point. This Courtyard looked quite depressing. Flat, yellowing, dry grass and unkempt flagstones made up most of the dull space. Caliburn could certainly see why the fountain had caught his eye now. To Sonic, the vines and moss were not destructive; they showed promise where the rest of the Courtyard struggled.

Sonic stepped onto the grass, cringing slightly as it crackled under his shoes. He approached the fountain. The hedgehog ran a gloved hand over one of the mossy stones in the narrow wall. Caliburn took notice of the way his fingers barely grazed it, as if not to disturb the plants too much. Under the King’s boisterous, impulsive nature, was a tender soul.

“There’s no reason to tear it down,” Sonic insisted. “It just needs some love and a good clean. I bet it would cost less to simply replace the metal base anyway.”

The advisors said not a word.

The Eastern Courtyard garnered a similar reaction from Sonic. But this one at least had the added bonus of having several wooden and stone buildings scattered around the area to break up the dying grass. The Gatehouse stood in front of them; the Barbican was just visible beyond the gate. On the right was the entrance to the Knights’ Quarters, which was a modest building connected to the Castle itself. The stretch of land in front of this area was used for training; a section of the grass was cleared away entirely, giving way to two large, dusty dirt circles. Then there were the Stables, several storage huts and a disused Smithy on the left. Sonic’s mood seemed to brighten upon seeing the Smithy, and Caliburn was reminded of the blacksmith they had run into on their quest.

From the moment they had met him, Sonic was taken with the yellow fox. From his initial reaction, Caliburn could gather that there must have been a fox who looked remarkably like him back in Sonic’s world. And they clearly had a rather close relationship there.

Caliburn could already see where the hedgehog’s mind was before he opened his mouth.

“It might be worth fixing it up a little,” Sonic said. “I know a really talented blacksmith who I’m sure would be happy to help out.”

It was the pride in his voice, his body language as he said it, that confirmed Caliburn’s suspicions. A very close friend, he suspected. Perhaps even closer than that.

The King’s advisors decided to give Sonic some time for the information they had collectively shared to sink in. But Caliburn had the impression that hardly any of it had reached the hedgehog anyway. Perhaps throwing him right into a rundown of his duties all at once had dazed him. Most of it would likely have to be repeated at a later date. Caliburn had suspected as much. He stayed by his King’s side as he retreated to the Allure along the top of the Castle wall. From there, Sonic jumped up to sit on the wall of the parapet, between the crenelations, looking out over Camelot. The view was grand. Sonic seemed to relax a little.

Caliburn wondered what was going through the hedgehog’s head. Was he going over all he had been told? Was he thinking about the blacksmith? Perhaps Sonic was devising plans for the fountain and Western Courtyard? Either way, he appeared deep in thought and Caliburn would not interrupt him.

For a long time, Sonic sat and watched the clouds. Giving orders to his Knights was probably long overdue already, but Caliburn would allow him this calm moment first. The sword thought he needed it.

Chapter Text

“What exactly am I supposed to say?”

“That is up to you, Sonic.”

“But…”

What was said next was muffled. Too muffled for Lancelot to really make it out. He shouldn’t have overheard any of it in the first place; it was improper to be caught eavesdropping. And yet, he’d found himself pausing by the door, listening to the King speak to Caliburn. Lancelot hadn’t heard the start, but it sounded like the King was supposed to be addressing all the Knights soon. Presumably to give out orders.

It didn’t seem like a good sign that he already had no idea what to tell them.

The hedgehog hadn’t been formally trained. He’d tried to resist being appointed as King. It was his first day. So it was understandable. But why had Caliburn chosen such an unfit mobian to lead them? He must have seen something in the blue hedgehog that Lancelot just couldn’t see.

Lancelot should not be caught lingering. And he might as well give the others a bit of a heads up. As he was turning to leave, he heard the sacred sword give one last piece of advice to the King.

“Say what you think is right. I trust your judgement on this.”

The King mumbled something back but Lancelot didn’t stick around to interpret it.

If he was up and about though, at least the King’s injury didn’t seem to be bothering him too much. Then again, he hadn’t exactly given away that he was hurt at all yesterday to begin with. Perhaps his pain tolerance was very high? Or he was an imbecile. But Lancelot couldn’t say that out loud. Really, he shouldn’t have even thought it. So to make up for his own treasonous thoughts, Lancelot would gather up each of the Knights in Courtyard, under the guise of sparring. Just so the King didn’t have to track them all down himself first. As the current Knight Commander, it was Lancelot’s obligation to see to it that things worked smoothly for the King, whether he was aware of it or not.

Though, that might change today if the King chose to replace him as head of the Knights. And he could very well do that. Lancelot had expressed his doubt about the hedgehog being able to rule. So had Gawain. The King wouldn’t want a mobian so obviously against him yesterday to command his Knights.

Lancelot wove his way through the halls. He stumbled upon Percival first, who was looking out the window absently. With a flick of his wrist as he passed, Lancelot beckoned the cat to follow him. As they walked, he explained that the King was going to address them and that they should meet in the Eastern Courtyard. Percival dipped her head in acknowledgment and spun around, striding back down the hall to gather Galahad, who she claimed to have seen near the Bakehouse. Lancelot continued the way he was going, hoping to run into the other two as he made his way to the Courtyard. He found Gawain already outside, training with his twin swords, Galatine.

The dark-furred hedgehog was about to turn back inside the Castle when Percival emerged, Galahad and Lamorak in tow. Apparently the hawk had been by the Kitchens himself.

Lancelot repeated what he’d told Percival to the other Knights. Not only was sparring the perfect cover, so that the King wouldn’t know Lancelot overheard him, but it also passed the time while they waited. Plus, it was always good to keep up training, allowing your mind and blade to stay sharp; a dull blade was a liability. Gawain challenged Lancelot, likely still trying to prove he was the better Knight. Galahad offered to practice by himself on the training dummy. So that left Percival matched up against Lamorak.

Lancelot squared off against the echidna as Percival and Lamorak retreated to the other end of the Training Ground. He unsheathed his trusty blade, Arondight, admiring the silver glint off the freshly polished metal for a beat. Then he rose his narrowed eyes to his opponent. Gawain already had his swords drawn from earlier. The echidna dragged a foot back, straightening his shoulders, keeping Galatine at an equal distance in front of him, angled in.

Despite their differences, Gawain was a fearsome opponent. His use of duel-wielding made it harder to get an opening to strike. But for Lancelot, that just added to the challenge; he liked a good challenge.

The dark hedgehog kicked off the ground, charging at Gawain. The Knight of the Sun twisted to the side and their blades clashed with a clang. Lancelot felt the vibration of the impact echo through the muscles in his arm, a familiar sensation that invigorated him. As Gawain swung down his other hand, Lancelot forced their connected blades up, effectively blocking Gawain’s incoming swipe with his own blade. In one fluid movement, he completely disconnected their swords and stepped back, leaning to stay out of reach of the other’s sharpened metal. Gawain growled, forcing Lancelot back further with two consecutive strikes. The hedgehog retaliated by jumping back to create more distance. With careful steps, Lancelot circled Gawain. When he struck out once more, Gawain parried, and the two separated again.

Letting out a slow breath, Lancelot centred himself. He had to create an opening in Gawain’s airtight defences. And he had a plan on how to do so. Shifting his weight subtly, Lancelot feinted to the left. It garnered the desired reaction; Gawain took the bait and shifted both swords to his right to counteract the attack. Too bad for the echidna, that’s not where he was actually aiming.

At the last moment, the hedgehog twisted to the right and thrusted Arondight at the echidna. He stopped just shy of Gawain’s side, the sharp sword barely brushing red fur. Gawain widened his eyes, staring down at Arondight. His expression dissolved into a glower and he lowered Galatine. Drawing back his own sword, Lancelot dipped his head to Gawain.

“I believe that makes me the victor,” Lancelot said.

Gawain huffed but dipped his own head to the dark Knight. His win had been acknowledged. The echidna sheathed his swords at his sides bitterly. The fight was over.

“Lucky shot,” the echidna grumbled.

Straightening his posture and slipping Arondight back into its scabbard, Lancelot allowed himself to softly smirk. He didn’t often gloat in his victories, but frustrating Gawain was rather amusing. Sometimes, he couldn’t help himself. It felt good to be assured that he was still the most skilled.

“Nice move, Sir Lancelot. Maybe you can teach me that one sometime.”

Under his visor, Lancelot’s eyes widened. He turned to see the King standing not far off, hands clasped behind his back. The wrapping of cloth around his midsection was spotted with red, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been in the morning. Under the orange mid-afternoon sun, his blue fur appeared almost purple-brown. But the colour was still vibrant enough that it felt oddly… regal. Lancelot had to admit that the brilliant, rare colouring was certainly worthy of a King. Royal – what an apt name for a shade of blue.

But Lancelot hadn’t even heard him approach.

How was that possible? The grass was dry and every step produced an obvious shuffling, almost crunchy sound. And Lancelot was not one to easily sneak up on. He was almost always alert and had a keen sense of hearing. In the throes of battle, he was at his most vigilant; Lancelot could not possibly have missed the sound of his approach. It was unthinkable. And yet, somehow, it had happened. With the new King no less. How alarming. And yet… intriguing.

He lowered himself on one knee before the King in a practiced gesture of respect. Though, admittedly, it was forced. The bow did not come naturally when faced with the blue hedgehog. But to his face, the King had to be respected. He saw Gawain reluctantly bow beside him. And footsteps from behind told Lancelot that the other Knights had noticed the King’s appearance too. Undoubtedly, they were following Lancelot’s lead. Good. They all needed to show that their loyalty was to be given to the King and only him. That was the sign of a true Knight. Loyalty, integrity and honour.

He rose his head slightly. Not enough to meet the King’s gaze, but enough to see his face. The hedgehog was wincing slightly, one of his emerald eyes squinted as though in pain. He wondered if his side was causing him issues still. He didn’t seem to be holding it or anything.

“You don’t have to… do that,” the King said.

His voice felt a little off. Like his eyes, a pained sort of strain was present there, but it had a different quality. Not that of physical pain. Lancelot narrowed his eyes slightly. Now he was looking closer, the King’s expression was more a grimace than a wince. When Lancelot stood, followed by the other Knights, the grimace fell away. Mostly. There was still a lingering, uncomfortableness in the hedgehog’s face, his stance. And the dark Knight realised that the King hadn’t liked them bowing to him.

It was standard practice. A show of respect.

But their new King hadn’t appreciated it?

“Right, um,” the King started, clearly unsure. “I guess I’m supposed to give your orders? But I think it would be easier, for now, if one of you would handle organising patrols and stuff. You know the Castle grounds and all these procedures better than me.”

Lancelot’s brow furrowed at the King’s manner of speech. He would have thought the hedgehog would have time to practice what he’d say, that he’d at least have an idea. But he sounded like he was coming up with his words on the spot. And his tone… was unprofessional, certainly not regal. That wouldn’t change overnight, of course, but it still irked Lancelot. The King spoke so informally, with pauses and rhetorical questions. Surely, he could at least manage to fix that?

The King’s gaze landed on Lancelot. He’d been half-lost in his musings and just about managed to hide his jump. There was something in those eyes that both set Lancelot on edge and somehow calmed him. So open and expressive. But there was a spark of calculation deep within them if he looked hard enough.

“You’re the head of the Knights, right?”

Lancelot responded in the affirmative.

“Would you be ok managing the rest of your fellow Knights while I get my bearings?” the King asked. “I don’t want to add too much to your workload. Frankly, I’m not sure exactly what you guys do on a daily basis…”

“Of course, Sire,” Lancelot reassured him.

Though indirect, the King had allowed Lancelot to keep his title, his role. He felt sure the blue hedgehog would appoint someone else. Percival, perhaps, or Galahad. But Lancelot was still in charge. Generally, Lancelot would handle the organising of the Knights anyway, under his King’s guidance; orders were given to him to pass on to the others. Though, at least for now, it seemed Lancelot would be on his own in that regard. And they’d be sticking to patrols and guarding until the King was ready to give them other orders.

That seemed manageable for now, agreeable. The King was new to his position and likely had no idea where to start. Handling the Knights took one burden off his shoulders. And though Lancelot wasn’t quite sure he liked the new King, he’d give it some time. Once the blue hedgehog settled into his role a little more, Lancelot could get more of a feel for him. His temperament and ruling style.

“Ok, great,” the King said. “But if it’s too much, please let me know. I don’t want to overwork you or anything.”

As he said this, the King’s gaze swept over all of them. Acknowledging. Even though most of what he’d said had been directed towards Lancelot, the King had made it clear that he meant the last part for all his Knights. It gave Lancelot pause. The King seemed to care about their wellbeing. But he barely knew them. Still, he’d expressed a desire to avoid overtaxing them twice. Keeping in mind he hadn’t pre-planned what he’d say, Lancelot could tell he was speaking from the heart. He really meant it. And, as if to solidify this point, the blue hedgehog continued, addressing them all.

“If any of you have any issues,” the King began. “I would like to know immediately so I can address them. I’ll try to sort out everything as best I can. But, admittedly, it’s going to take me a while to get used to all this.”

The King excused himself awkwardly, striding away back towards the doors leading into the Castle. As the other Knights fell into a hushed discussion, Lancelot watched him leave. His gait was strong. Confident, though his voice had suggested otherwise. And Lancelot reflected on all he knew about the King thus far.

The King was honest and open. He didn’t speak formally, but not really impolitely either. He hid injuries and slept in the strangest of places. But was pretty impressive with a sword. And he’d already shown concern for his Knights. Most of what he’d seen of the hedgehog up until now had displayed a natural confidence. A confidence in his abilities. But, paradoxically, he hadn’t sounded it earlier or just now. Perhaps a confidence only in physical ability then? Interesting. Lancelot didn’t know the King very well yet. But so far, he didn’t seem… awful in terms of character. His ability to lead them was still up in the air though.

Once he was back inside the Castle, Sonic let his shoulders sag. He felt exhausted. And at the same time, he was acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t done much. Almost one day down and Sonic had barely done a thing. Perhaps it was the information overload earlier in the day that had sapped all his energy? And yet, most of that seemed to have gone in one ear and out the other anyway. He couldn’t recall a word of what he’d been told...

Caliburn was waiting for him in the hall. The door had been cracked and the sword had been listening in. But he’d suggested Sonic address the Knights alone. Which was kind of mortifying. It wasn’t like he was afraid of talking to them; Sonic didn’t necessarily like public speaking but he was pretty decent at it. It was more so that he didn’t know what to say. And he really didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

He’d been very close to achieving that. But he felt like he’d handled it alright. Not great but alright. Maybe.

Should he have been more assertive?

His sword was eyeing him with an unreadable expression. It was hard to tell what Caliburn thought sometimes. Was he disappointed? Frustrated? Realising he’d made a poor decision in appointing Sonic as king?

“That was terrible, wasn’t it?” Sonic groaned. “Was that the right thing to do?”

The sword huffed. Sonic still wasn’t sure. With Caliburn, that could be a disapproving huff or it could equally just be the sword’s personality. He could be very snippy and sarcastic. It often came across as callous but Sonic didn’t consider the sword to be unkind. Caliburn had his own ways of showing that he cared. And after a couple weeks fighting by his side, Sonic had begun to pick up on that.

It probably helped that Caliburn had gotten used to Sonic’s personality over that time too. They meshed much better now than they had in the beginning. Sonic would be lost without that sword.

“Your delivery could use some work,” Caliburn admitted. “However, your decision was sensible and your concern, admirable.”

“So it was… ok?”

“Indeed.”

Relief flowed over him like the swirling breeze. Sonic hadn’t realised he’d tensed his shoulders until they relaxed under Caliburn’s words. Sonic usually tried not to show that things were bothering him but he was way out of his depth here. He couldn’t help but overthink everything, as he was prone to do. It was a natural part of his being. Ordinarily though, he was much better at hiding it. He blamed it on the tiredness churning in his head. Under the cloth, his side throbbed in time with the beat of his heart. Absently, he ran his hand along the area where the wound was. A sharp jolt went through him at the contact. He ignored it.

Caliburn didn’t though. He’d clearly noticed what Sonic was doing. The hedgehog was used to powering through pain. But it didn’t seem like his sword was happy with him doing it. That was fair; Tails hated when he did it too.

Tails…

“Perhaps you should eat and then retire,” Caliburn said.

Sonic had refused lunch, opting to stay up on the Castle wall instead. Caliburn would have insisted he eat then, but Sonic thought the sword had grown used to his infrequent diet now. He would offer reminders every now and then but wouldn’t push Sonic to eat. Truthfully, Sonic had always had a strained relationship with food. Years of going without had trained his body to expect small quantities of sustenance. And Sonic did genuinely forget sometimes too, so he often ended up not eating much in a day. He knew he probably should keep on top of meals when he was able. Sometimes though, he just… didn’t want to eat. But he really should grab something to at least nibble on. Some fruit or bread perhaps.

So he relented, letting his feet guide him to the Castle Kitchens. This was a good test to see if he’d accurately mapped out the Castle too. Caliburn floated after him as he strolled through the halls. With the sword confirming that he had no responsibilities for the rest of the late evening, Sonic felt he could properly breathe again. The Castle still unsettled him but new places always did. It was the walls. Hopefully he’d get used to it eventually. It was going to take some time though.

He hadn’t been hungry before. But as he drew closer to the Kitchens, Sonic had the sudden desire for his favourite food. He seriously doubted a medieval kitchen could produce the heavenly chili dog. Sonic would survive – after all, he’d gone most of his childhood without eating one – but he’d miss them terribly. It was one of the few things he’d overindulge in. That and cheesecake.

But right now, that’s all he could think about.

There were some mobians in the Kitchens. Chefs and servants. Not a lot of them, but they were there. Sonic wove his way through them without a word. He could feel all their eyes on him, watching him, perplexed. But he wasn’t really in the mood to chat. Sonic just wanted something he could snack on back up on the Castle wall. He spotted a tray of freshly baked bread and swiped a piece. It was still warm and smelled amazing. He slipped back out the Kitchens before anyone could stop him.

If it was his own Castle – Chaos that felt wrong to say – then it wasn’t technically stealing right? Still, an uncomfortable feeling gnawed at him as he met back up with Caliburn. The sword had been watching him. He chose to ignore Caliburn’s stare and strolled down the hall. He should have spoken to someone in there, shouldn’t he? He should have asked. But words felt… draining at the moment. Sonic had been pretty good with his voice since he’d gotten to Logres; it seemed like that was going to wear off pretty damn soon though.

What if Caliburn was trying to talk to him and he just… couldn’t respond? What if the Knights or his advisors or the servants asked him a question and his voice locked up? They wouldn’t understand, would they? They’d think he was being rude or weird and… Well, it was weird, he supposed. They were all going to get frustrated with him. And then Caliburn had to realise that Sonic wasn’t fit for the role he’d been given.

“Sonic?”

The blue hedgehog jerked, suddenly aware that he’d stopped walking. And Caliburn, as always, had noticed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Sonic said, turning to give the sword a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The smile felt acidic on his face. Caliburn narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Sonic glanced out the window as he started walking again, mostly just to avoid the sword’s thoughtful look. The sky was pink. The type of pink where you weren’t sure if it was pink, that type that was one step away from being purple. He was missing the sunset. But that did mean he could do some stargazing soon instead.

Sonic nibbled off a piece of the bread. It was still warm and super soft on the inside. It tasted kind of earthy but in a good way, with a very subtle sweetness to it. Not a sugary sweetness. Just a bread sweetness. It had been a while since he’d eaten bread this fresh. He could remember it, the taste bringing him back to that moment for just a second.

Vanilla had baked that bread.

He sighed, pushing open the big door that led out to the Western Courtyard. He had to stop thinking about the people he knew back home. But it was difficult. Especially when so many mobians here looked like some of them. So he nipped at the bread some more as he walked through the sad looking Courtyard. He knew he had so many other important things he probably had to do, but Sonic really wanted some flowers here, at least. He could imagine this area would be so pretty if there was just some life in it, some colour.

Caliburn was still drifting beside him quietly. The sword seemed content with leaving Sonic to his thoughts. Sonic appreciated it. He needed the quiet right now.

But not to be alone either.

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed in a haze. Sonic had a general idea of what he was supposed to do, but that didn’t mean he knew what he was doing. He’d been spending a few hours of every day going over laws and approving or abolishing them as he saw fit – or rather, under the guidance of his advisors. There were so many laws. And apparently, once he was done, he was supposed to add to them? His brain already hurt from that alone. He was also to look over finances and make decisions over the kingdom as a whole from the Chancery. They’d been easy on him so far, but those duties were supposed to increase once he’d gotten the hang of them. Joy.

When he was officially crowned king, he was also supposed to get in contact with the neighbouring kingdoms. But that would have to wait. He knew their names by now, the names of their kingdoms. He knew the resources they had, the trade that could be established. But he hadn’t yet met them. If Sonic was honest, they all sort of intimidated him.

They knew what they were doing.

Sonic’s days consisted of waking and taking breakfast with his advisors, who were supposed to update him on current affairs. Then a good chunk of his morning was spent in the Chancery. He was then supposed to “hold court” after this, but they were putting that off until he was coronated too. Sonic then had some time in the evenings to himself after various lessons. These included things that were supposed to be taught to a prince or princess before they were crowned. Etiquette, Law and Philosophy were dull and made him want to jump from one of the towers. But Sonic found surprising enjoyment in the Music, Geography and Language lessons. Several mobians came and went in order to teach him, and he managed to impress a few of them. So that was good at least. It was something.

He was supposed to close out the day with a feast of sorts, a supper, where various nobles and courtiers were supposed to join him. He hadn’t been forced to attend one yet – another thing that they were saving for after his coronation – but Sonic wasn’t looking forward to when he eventually was.

All this led up to where he was now.

Standing in front of some ceremonial throne moments away from being crowned. Actually crowned. Sonic felt ill. Physically ill. Like he might throw up at any moment. For a good while he was able to convince himself that he wasn’t a king. He was just doing the duties of one until Merlina could find him a way home. Filling in. But now it was really hitting him.

His chancellor, Bertram, was heading the ceremony. Odel was standing by, ready with all the various items needed to proceed. Sonic was sure Wilkin was lurking somewhere in the crowd but he couldn’t bring himself to scan any of the faces there. The raven stood slightly in front of Sonic. He rose his hands, addressing those gathered to witness the ceremony with a clear, strong voice that carried across the room.

“We are here gathered today to give our thanks to the King for his dedication of his life to our kingdom,” Bertram declared. “Camelot welcomes him with gratitude. Let us witness with great delight his anointing and crowning.”

Dedication of his life. Everything about this was feeling more and more… final. Constrictive. Like he had no way out. Was his life really just going to be this from now on? Paperwork and legal matters? Nobles and pleasantries and gross displays of wealth? Treaties and wars? All surveyed from a chair made of fucking gold? He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this he couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t do this.

“I present to you, King Sonic, your absolute King,” Bertram continued. “He commits himself to you. All who come this day, I ask you, will you do the same?”

“Gaia save King Sonic!” the congregation cried.

And all Sonic wanted to do was melt through the floor. It was too much. All this was too much.

He tried to stand still, with a blank face. But not rigidly, and not dead-eyed. Back straight, chin up, hands folded in front of him. Face neutral, eyes forward, ears perked and attentive. Anything not to betray how much of a mess he was inside. It was hard. Really, really hard. But Sonic was used to pretending. If he could get through this ceremony he’d be fine. He could escape somewhere to have an existential crisis in peace. Hopefully.

He probably wouldn’t be that lucky. They’d keep him here to mingle with the crowd, wouldn’t they? And Sonic was expected to make some grand speech after this too.

Suppressing the surge to shake out his quills, Sonic tried to pay attention. Some older hedgehog had come by his room roughly an hour prior to mess with his quills and fur. And Sonic had hated every second of it. She’d brushed him, which had felt foreign and strange. He’d never been brushed before, but his quills were the weirdest part; he always just let them do their own thing. They kept their sleek appearance purely from running, though they mostly grew that way too. So having the stiff prongs of a quill brush carded through them was wrong. Then she’d rubbed some waxy stuff in them to “polish” them, which had been even worse. At least the oils she’d used to fragrance his fur smelled ok. Personally, he could have done without the citrus from the orange, but the rosemary had been pleasant.

They’d made him put on a frilly cream shirt that hid his bandages too. It made him feel ridiculous. The wound in his side had scabbed over properly days ago and he’d insisted he no longer needed the wrapping. And then Sonic had ripped the scab off in the middle of the night and it had to be bandaged again. He wasn’t even sure how he’d managed it. But they wouldn’t let him get away without bandages until it was actually healed now.

His advisors would have made him wear the shirt anyway. The scab was “unsightly,” according to Odel. Sonic didn’t see why it mattered what he looked like; it didn’t impact his ability to lead any. He’d mess that up all on his own, he was sure.

“Do you, King Sonic, declare to uphold the law of this kingdom?”

Sonic snapped back to the present. And he’d been trying to pay attention…

All his life, Sonic had lived his own way, followed his own rules. But he recognised a lot of people preferred structure to their lives. And laws were there to not only help give structure, but to ensure that people who did wrong were deterred or punished. In that sense, Sonic knew laws were important. And while he did tend to abide by most laws back home purely by accident, as they more often than not matched up with his own morality, they’d always felt… confusing. The legal system was way out of his – rather pitifully small – range of expertise.

Still, he had to try.

“I do,” Sonic said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Do you promise to protect the Kingdom of Logres?” Bertram asked.

But of course he wanted to protect the kingdom. Just not like this. Sonic could be helping Logres better from the outside of the Castle. He struggled to find how he could do it from here. Not from a throne of precious metal and fabric. Not from a grand castle with rooms that were unnecessarily massive. Not as a… a…  He couldn’t even think it in the moment. It was just too scary. Which was completely stupid because he’d faced much worse before. But this was scary. His heart struggled in his chest more every passing second. And he just couldn’t figure out exactly why.

But Sonic did know own thing: he could be doing so much more out there. Not here. He was not cut out for this.

All he knew was fighting.

“I do.”

Odel approached him with a small bowl. The fragrant smell of bergamot, rose and jasmine drifted to Sonic’s nose. Oil. The next step was called “anointing.” He vaguely remembered being told about it a few days earlier. Still, he despised it. Sonic was to kneel in “humility” before the mouse. Then the fragranced oil was drizzled over his forehead and he had to clench his whole body to avoid cringing. It sunk into his fur, making him feel all gross. But the smell was at least pleasant. Supposedly it was purifying. Rose and jasmine were supposed to be pure. Still, Sonic didn’t really understand the practice. He’d rather have been given the flowers instead.

Next, he was told to stand again and a large sword was passed off to him to hold. Ceremonial. It was made of gold, blunt, with rubies set into the crossguard. Caliburn was lying on a table somewhere behind him. Sonic wished he was here, in his hands, instead of this useless sword. He longed to run his finger along that pattern on Caliburn’s hilt he loved so much. He had to settle for the smooth hilt of the decorative sword while it was still in his hands instead. But Sonic had the sword only briefly; he handed it off to Bertram not one minute later.

He struggled to find the point in this ridiculous show. He felt like some thing on display. And truthfully, despite his grievances with it, he would have preferred to keep hold of the sword. It was a distraction. One he desperately needed. Something to occupy his mind with.

Odel then grabbed a mix of various jewellery and Bertram took up a cloak. The cloak was a deep red, bordered with a fluffy white material flecked with black. When it was set around his shoulders and held in place by a little golden chain Sonic found that he… quite liked it actually. It was soft and it flowed around him in a very satisfying way. With every tiny movement, the long piece of fabric swayed around his form and Sonic rather enjoyed the sensation.

The jewellery he could do without. Though none of it was necessarily annoying or intrusive. Just a bit much. A necklace of lapis lazuli for honesty. A bracelet of quartz and sapphires on both wrists for balance. An arm cuff of hematite and black tourmaline for strength and protection. Another necklace of pink spinel and yellow jasper for creativity and nurturing love respectively. All were made up of gold, of course. Because why wouldn’t they be gold?

After all this, Sonic was instructed to sit upon the ceremonial throne. It was soft but not as soft as the real throne looked. This one was purple but otherwise was very similar. For a moment, while Bertram was yapping away again, Sonic shifted his hand slightly to fiddle with the fluff of the cloak. He wouldn’t mind wearing something like that going forward. In fact, he hoped he could continue wearing this one. If not, that he at least could get one similar. The cloak was the only part about this ceremony he’d actually liked.

Turns out he didn’t get to play with the cloak for long. He was handed a gilded sceptre with an emerald atop it. Something about growth and dedication again. Sonic stared at it for a moment. It could have been a Chaos Emerald with its size. But reaching out met him with nothingness. It had no Chaos inside it. Disappointing.

Next was a sphere encrusted with sapphires, rubies, more emeralds, and a solitary diamond. Distractedly, Sonic picked up that this sphere was to represent the weight of his responsibilities. It was heavy. And while Sonic was pretty strong, he couldn’t wait to put it down. Though, the point was that he had to keep hold of it. To prove he could handle the responsibilities of king or… something. Part of him wanted to fumble it, to drop the damn thing so he could be excused from this fate.

But he couldn’t do that.

Finally, Odel approached him with the crown. Specifically, the Coronation crown, the one only for this occasion. The State crown was the one he was to wear officially. He’d already seen that one; it was much simpler, with a sort of three-pronged leaf design and a single ruby in the centre. This one was more grand, with seven longer, feather-like spikes. On each upright piece of gold was a gemstone. Emerald, diamond, ruby, sapphire, lapis lazuli, amber and amethyst. Each one just reminded him of the Chaos Emeralds even more. Their colours matched near perfectly.

“King of kings, Lord of lords,” Bertram called out. “With this crown, we mark you, servant of this land, as divine Royalty. May you grace us with your unwavering righteousness for years to come.”

“Gaia save the King!” the crowed cried once again.

When Odel lowered it onto his head, Sonic involuntarily stiffened. There it was. This heavy crown meant he was officially king. That nauseating feeling rose up in him again. On the bright side, he could free his hands once more. The sceptre and sphere were placed back onto the cushions on the table where they’d been previously. They would be taken back to a special section in the Treasury once the ceremony had concluded.

Odel then offered Sonic his hand. The hedgehog took it and rose from the ceremonial throne. The crowd parted and he was led between them, making for the other end of the Throne Hall where the real throne awaited. With slow, fluid steps, Sonic swept up the slight stairs that led to the raised platform housing the throne alone. Then he perched upon the throne.

He was right. The cushion of the real throne was much more plush.

“Stand firm and hold strong upon this seat of Royal dignity!” Bertram and Odel cried together.

The gathered mobians all bowed before Sonic. It was like someone had flipped a switch within them; they all fell as one in a wave of bent backs. He couldn’t stop his ear from flicking irritably at the display. Discomfort swirled in his system and he struggled to remain impassive. But the cracks were forming. He couldn’t take this for much longer. Sonic’s claws curled into the skin of his palm where they were clasped in his lap.

Shit. The blood he’d surely drawn was going to stain his glove. Hopefully no one would notice if he just kept his hands as they were.

The Knights of the Round Table were lined up at the base of the steps. While the rest of the congregation had bent at the waist to bow, the Knights had lowered themselves onto one knee. It was similar to the bow he’d seen a lot in the last two weeks, but there were some distinctions. A copy of each other, each Knight had one hand crossed over their chest and their heads lowered. It was certainly a more elaborate bow. Sonic still hated it with all his being.

To fully close out the ceremony, Sonic was to appear before the citizens of Camelot in his ceremonial garb and make an address. Because of course he had to make a speech. The previous day, his advisors had gone over a speech they’d prepared for him. They said it was to take the pressure off him in the moment. Sonic had to repeat the damn thing thirty times; it was seared into his mind. But as he was led through to the balcony at the front end of the Castle, Caliburn’s words came back to him.

“Say what you think is right.”

Did that still apply here? Sonic assumed so. All he could do was speak from the heart, right? The rehearsed speech just felt… wrong. Not genuine. He just wanted to get this day over with, but he also wanted to stay true to himself. So he stood on the balcony, faced with so many mobians, and took a deep steadying breath. Bertram introduced him to the crowd as he had done inside, then he left to linger in the doorway. As the head of the Knights, Sir Lancelot stood next to the door with his hands behind his back. The dark knight had brought Caliburn with him and set him against the wall.

Sonic was grateful for the sword’s presence. He turned his head slightly and met Caliburn’s eye nervously. The sword simply stared back, ever calm. But there was reassurance in his eyes. It made Sonic feel like he was making the right decision in abandoning the practiced speech. He turned his eyes back to the crowd, unable to let his gaze rest on any mobian or human in particular.

“So, I’ll be honest,” Sonic started uncertainly. “I’m… not sure what I’m doing.”

Out the corner of his eye, Sonic saw Bertram start. Lancelot was still, perhaps too still. Stiff even. But Sonic ignored it. Was it the best move? No. But he didn’t want to be wholly fake. Sonic kept a lot to himself, he often let his emotions fester deep inside and make him queasy. But if he was to survive this, he had to be true with his intentions. He just had to be. It was just the type of mobian he was.

“But I’m going to try my best to lead you,” he said. “I’m going to give this my all. I just want what’s best for this kingdom, and I’ll try to be that. I thank you all for giving me this opportunity; I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”

Sonic dipped his head to the crowd and turned around to walk back inside the castle. He also wasn’t supposed to do that. But Sonic didn’t care.

He was hoping to make his escape, to go somewhere quiet to try and recharge a little. He didn’t get the chance; Bertram intercepted him and herded him back through to the Throne Hall. As they walked, the raven grabbed his arm. Bertram’s fingers gripped him a tad too roughly as he stepped close to whisper in Sonic’s ear.

“Next time, stick to the speech we rehearsed.”

“What the hell was he doing up there?” Lancelot growled.

The King had been ferried off back into the Throne Hall to mingle with some of the nobles who had been invited to the coronation. Lancelot lingered in the hallway with Galahad and Caliburn. The white Knight had slipped out of the room along with Lamorak and Gawain a few minutes prior. Percival stayed inside to keep watch in case of any problems. The other two Knights had left to patrol the Castle grounds.

“Yeah…” Galahad mumbled. “It doesn’t seem wise to admit to being clueless in front of the whole kingdom.”

Caliburn tutted, catching the attention of them both. As always, the sword did not appear nearly as worried as Lancelot felt. It only relieved him faintly. Lancelot hated to question the sacred sword’s decision but he still was not sure on their new King’s manner. The speech should not have been so informal, nor should the King have said what he had. It was one thing to be so blasé with his Knights, but in front of the whole kingdom?

“Not necessarily true,” the sword said. “Were you not watching the crowd? I think quite a few were rather receptive to his honestly. It is a valuable trait.”

A valuable trait it was, one that Lancelot did respect. But there was a time and place for honesty. While it was true that some of their people may find comfort in the hedgehog’s truthful way of speaking, others may be threatened by it. A split like that was dangerous.

Lancelot feared for the balance of the kingdom.

“I’m not so sure, Caliburn,” Lancelot muttered. “Some may see it as weakness and either panic or revolt. We’ll have to stay alert.”

“Trust in your King, Knight of the Lake,” Caliburn said. “I believe in him. And so should you.”

Shame filled him at the sword’s words. As Knight Commander, he shouldn’t be heard questioning the King, whether in private or not. Thinking them was bad enough, but to say what he had in front of the sacred sword who had chosen their King? It was downright traitorous. He should be standing by his King not condemning him.

“You’re right, Caliburn,” Lancelot said, bowing his head to the sword. “I apologise. I shouldn’t have let my mouth be so careless.”

“Nonsense,” the sword intoned. “There is no reason to apologise. I know this is hard but it has only been a fortnight. I simply ask that you give Sonic a chance.”

Lancelot started slightly. He wondered if the King himself had rubbed off on his sword. To forgive him so easily for his transgressions…

Galahad rested a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder. The younger Knight was always very gentle. Lancelot thought he might have picked it up from Percival; the two did spend a lot of time together. But the fretful hedgehog had not managed to attain the cat’s self-assured grace. Not yet. Perhaps in time, he might. Lancelot almost hoped for it. He should trust himself more.

“We understand, Caliburn,” Galahad said. “And we will. We promise.”

Honestly, it was interesting that Galahad was so quick to trust the King. He was a rather paranoid hedgehog ordinarily. But something about the King seemed to resonate with Galahad. A few days ago, Lancelot had pulled the younger Knight aside to talk to him about it. Galahad was unable to tell him what it was exactly that had made him lower his guard. Maybe it was his honestly. Maybe it was that the King felt weirdly… approachable. Or perhaps the white Knight had picked up on something else subconsciously that none of them had realised yet. Something that Caliburn had also noticed.

The two Knights dipped their heads to the sword again. Caliburn seemed eager to get back into the Throne Hall, so they would not stall him any longer. Lancelot asked Galahad to oversee the South end of the Castle – Lamorak was in the West and Gawain in the East. Lancelot himself would relive Percival of her position in the Throne Hall so she could keep watch over the Northern edge of the Castle. Lancelot would be the one watching the King directly, as was his proper station.

The Throne Hall was a bustle of talk. In the centre of it was, of course, the King. But the blue hedgehog himself didn’t seem to be doing a lot of talking. That strained quality was back in his eyes but it was subtle; none of the nobles seemed to notice it. The King stood blankly in the sea of mobians, occasionally nodding with a reserved, forced smile. For once, with his straight posture and his hands folded over one another in front of him, the King was looking the most Regal he had since Lancelot had met him. The crown and cloak helped somewhat.

But, though in appearance he seemed to finally be fit for the part, Lancelot’s trained eyes noticed what the others in the room did not. The blue hedgehog’s posture was straight but it was too straight. Tense. His hands were not relaxed either but rather clenched. The blankness of his face felt practiced somehow. And it was a blankness, not a neutral expression. There was a difference. Lancelot didn’t think the King was taking in any of what was said to him.

But Lancelot could tell he didn’t want to be in the room.

The dark-furred Knight spotted Caliburn off to the right. There was a frown across the sword’s face. So there was one other person who’d picked up on the hedgehog’s discomfort. For a moment, their eyes met. Caliburn seemed concerned. It was the first time since the blue hedgehog had been chosen as King that Lancelot had seen the expression on the sacred sword. There had been hints, but none so clear as this.

Was he realising he’d picked poorly? Or did his concern run deeper than that?

Chapter Text

Sonic felt a little guilty as he snuck out of the Castle. It was the day after his coronation and the overwhelmed feeling had almost crushed him throughout the morning. It had never really gone away, but he was managing it pretty well until yesterday. Now that he was officially stuck in the role he’d been given, Sonic was finding it harder to force down that panicky sickness again. He needed a moment to breathe. In his defence, it was already deep into the evening. No one would notice his absence.

Probably.

And besides, he actually had a productive goal in mind. Something that would benefit all the Knights. Even if it was a little for his own sanity too.

The Blacksmith used to work in the Castle grounds anyway. So it made sense that he should once again work within the stone walls. If he wanted to, at least. He had the talent, he had the skill. Clearly, he had the experience. And all the Knights vaguely knew him. It was perfect.

And if he bore the resemblance to a certain twin-tailed fox, well that was just happenstance.

Nevertheless, sneaking out was actually pretty easy. Not that he should need to explain himself if he was caught; he was supposed to be king. He just didn’t want to have to deal with Bertram’s inevitable lecture if anyone saw him leaving. It seemed like the raven was always breathing down his neck. That all his advisors were. Perhaps he just wasn’t used to such heavy guidance? Sonic had taught himself pretty much most of what he knew; for as long as he could remember, he’d been on his own. No parents, no guardians, no mentors. Just him and the wind.

Until he met Tails, of course. The fox had taught him a lot over the years. Some purposefully, some accidental, incidental even. How to read and write, how to sign – though, granted they’d learnt that together – basic maths and the like. But also about patience, which was still difficult for Sonic sometimes. Love and family. How to fight with others, to work together. How to trust.

Sonic shook his head. He was past the Castle Wall now. Skirting around the wall slightly to the east side, Sonic headed down to the city. Camelot, which encircled the Castle, was massive – at least for the time period – but he knew where he was going. And after the modern cities of Mobius, Sonic was hardly intimidated by it. It was practically more like a town to Sonic than a city. The hardest part of navigating it was the narrow walkways, winding back alleys, and sporadic placement of the buildings. It gave Camelot a spark of charm that enchanted Sonic. The townspeople certainly breathed life into the area surrounding the Castle too. Now, if only some of that life could make its way through to the other side of the wall…

When he was a good distance away from the Castle, Sonic picked up the pace a tiny bit while still keeping his steps light. He couldn’t help but let out a whoop as he felt the wind gently swirl around him and ruffle his quills. It wouldn’t take long at all to get to the city, and he would slow down when he got there, but Sonic just needed to move his legs a little. The sky was not far off from becoming painted in yellows and reds. Already, Sonic could see the townspeople milling about in the streets, packing up stalls and heading home for the day.

He hoped he could catch the fox before he closed his doors, if he hadn’t already. Sonic hadn’t had a moment to slip away until now. He just hoped he could get there fast enough. But he had to be mindful of the townsfolk too; the streets were too narrow for him to ensure he could swerve to avoid anyone.

When he pattered to a stop outside the stone structure, Sonic relaxed. The door was still propped open. The wooden sign hanging from a piece of iron in the wall denoted the humble little building as the Smithy. Stepping over the threshold, Sonic eyed the swords, lances, and other weapons he didn’t know the names of mounted on the wall. The little fox was nowhere to be seen. So Sonic strode over to the wall to inspect the swords further.

Even to a mobian who didn’t know a lot about swords, Sonic could tell the craftsmanship of each piece was remarkable. Nothing like Caliburn, obviously, but they were still incredible to behold. The Blacksmith here was noteworthy, one of the most renowned blacksmiths in Logres. Or so Sonic had heard. But he wouldn’t doubt the claims; Sonic had full faith the fox was exceptionally gifted. Hell, the kid had managed to fix up Caliburn rather nicely. And Sonic had heard that from the sword himself. Granted, in more old-timey sounding words. A glowing review from Caliburn was sure to mean something though.

“Gah!”

Sonic’s ear swivelled to the left instinctively before he’d even turned his head. At the startled sound of that hauntingly familiar voice, Sonic’s whole body was set on edge. He tensed, ready to protect the Blacksmith from whatever dared to threaten him. But no one else was there when he turned around. It was only Sonic’s presence in the Smithy that had frightened the poor kit. Which was understandable; he hadn’t announced his presence. Oops.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d startled his own two-tailed wonder back home.

“Sonic!” the fox exclaimed, then seemed to catch himself. “Er, I-I mean, Your Majesty! What are you doing here so late? Is something wrong with Caliburn?”

The hedgehog tried not to cringe under the title. So far, he’d heard similar things from several familiar voices. But none cut so deep as the voice of his beloved brother, Tails. Hearing it from him in particular made Sonic’s skin itch. Even if it wasn’t really him. The Blacksmith’s voice matched almost perfectly.

“Just Sonic’s ok, bud,” he said, forcing a chuckle that he didn’t really feel.

“Are… are you sure?” the Blacksmith asked. “I mean, you’re King.”

Sonic grit his teeth for a moment. But he wouldn’t be snippy with the fox. It was this world and the strict class system that had made him think that.

“And my name’s still Sonic.”

The fox seemed unsure. But he’d also been given that request from a king, so Sonic was pretty confident that he’d get what he wanted here. As awful as that sounded. He didn’t want to abuse his power but he also refused to let the fox refer to him by his title. Sonic just couldn’t stomach it.

“Well, I suppose if that’s what you want,” the fox mumbled. “Sonic it is then. So why are you here?”

Sonic had left Caliburn inside the Castle, simply because he wasn’t going far. Ordinarily, he would have brought the sword along for a stroll. But, while the wider expanse of Logres called to him, Sonic wasn’t planning on staying out too long. Frankly, he was kind of tired. He’d been exhausted a lot in the past week. And he wasn’t even doing anything that was physically demanding – something his body was used to. No, it was the mental strain, the stress, that had been draining him so thoroughly recently.

He leaned against one of the wooden worktops with his arms folded, trying to appear nonchalant. He couldn’t let the Blacksmith know just how much he personally needed this.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like a plot within the Castle walls again,” Sonic said.

The fox started, almost dropping the hammer-like tool in his hands. He turned back to look at Sonic, baby-blue eyes wide. For a moment, the fox fiddled with the hammer. It’s handle was rather short, but the head was massive. Sonic wondered how he had the strength in his tiny arms to hold it; it looked heavy. But then, the fox worked with massive swords, shields and armour all day, so he was bound to have some strength. Sonic just found himself feeling even more impressed with the kit. Pride bloomed in his chest.

Tails or not, the fox was still beyond amazing.

“Wait, really?” the Blacksmith asked.

“You were a great help to me, and your work is exceptional,” Sonic replied. “Why wouldn’t I want you there?”

“I-I’d be honoured.”

No, Sonic would be honoured to have the fox around. He’d always felt blessed to have Tails by his side back home. The kid was so unbelievably smart and his heart was so big. It took Sonic a while to realise he could count on Tails to have his back, but once he did he couldn’t let the fox go. Knowing it was likely going be a long time until he could see his yellow-furred brother again hurt him deep in his soul. Like a sword strike to his core. Much deeper than the wound in his side.

He tried to shake off the thought.

“In that case… what’s your name, kid?” Sonic asked instead. “I just realised I don’t know, and can’t just keep calling you Blacksmith.”

The Blacksmith had thrown him off so hard last time that Sonic had genuinely forgotten to ask his name. And he’d been in a hurry, to be fair. Still, he couldn’t help feeling awful for not knowing. Chaos, it was usually one of the first things you asked when you met someone.

But he’d looked so much like Tails…

“Oh, my name’s Melor.”

Melor. Melor. Just one more thing to emphasise that the fox before him was not Tails. Part of Sonic had truly been expecting Miles, hoping for it even. Just for one consistency to be present between the worlds. Perhaps it was stupid to have thought anything other the faces of these mobians would be the same. Their personalities matched up quite well, yet they were all so different too. Melor was a little more self-assured that Tails. The fox was on his own here and something about that made Sonic want him close. Perhaps that was the big brother in him. But he had to keep reminding himself that this fox with his brother’s face was not his brother. And Sonic could not forcefully insert himself into Melor’s life like that.

He'd just have to settle for being friends. And damn it, he would be friends with Melor. Sonic would be the best damn friend he could be. Provide financial support, materials, a roof over his head for free. Anything. Melor would never be a substitute for Tails and Sonic didn’t want him to be. That wasn’t fair fon Melor. And it seemed like a betrayal of Tails. The foxes were different and Sonic would treat them as such, even if that was difficult.

However, Sonic still wanted to keep the brilliant little fox close and well looked after. Safe. He had to.

“Good to know, Melor,” Sonic said, sending the kit a wink. “The old Smithy is gonna need a lot of fixing up, but feel free to move in whenever you like. I’ll get someone on repairing the building soon.”

“Wait, what do you mean move in?” Melor asked.

Sonic paused.

“Into the Castle?” Sonic said, head tilted. “I’m not gonna make you trek all the way up there every day. Besides, it’s probably more convenient for everyone if you’re nearby. I mean, if you want to, of course. Not forcing anything here.”

“But… I… the Castle?”

Melor was floundering. Sonic couldn’t see what the issue was. It was just practical. And, it kept the fox close. Not that Sonic was too worried about him being in danger or anything he just… he needed the fox kit close. For selfish reasons. Ones he tried not to acknowledge.

“Uh, yeah?” Sonic said with a chuckle “Where else?”

“Sonic… that’s… wow.”

Was it a bad sign that Melor seemed unsure? He didn’t mean to pressure him in to anything. It was just a suggestion. Did being king mean people would think he was making a demand when he was simply making an offer? Would they think they couldn’t say no because it was coming from him? And truthfully, Sonic was thinking selfishly here. Wouldn’t the kit be loosing a lot of foot traffic that way? Sonic hadn’t thought about that. He really was being selfish.

“I mean, I guess you’ll probably be missing out on a lot of business if you do move to the Castle,” Sonic murmured. “So I understand if you don’t want to. I just thought…”

“No, no I’d love to,” Melor said. “It just caught me by surprise. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, buddy.”

Melor smiled up at him. A bright, sun-smile. A smile so very, very Tails. Sonic had to clench his hand into a fist to prevent himself from reaching out and ruffling the fluff between his ears. Then he had to stop himself from wincing when he realised that was the same hand he’d dug his claws into yesterday. It was still sore. Was Sonic punishing himself by wanting Melor close? Probably. But Sonic found he wanted him in his life more than he feared getting close to him. If he had to go without seeing the fox’s face for the next few weeks, months, Chaos forbid year, he’d lose his mind. Even if it wasn’t his brother.

Sonic said his goodbyes to the fox, telling Melor to take his time with moving and that he was there to help should he need it. Then he made his exit. It was time to head back to the Castle and get some rest. Or at least try to.

Immediately, Sonic regretted his decision to walk back through the city. Every mobian he passed bowed to him. It sort of reminded him how he felt when he’d first made a name for himself on Mobius. Every person in every city knew his name by then. They’d all recognise him on sight because of his distinct fur. And he’d remembered hating his fur all over again back then. For a while, he’d only gone into Station Square with a jumper on, the hood over his bright quills. It had helped with the stares somewhat.

Did this world have some sort of substitute he could use instead? Sonic thought he’d look into it when he had some time.

For now, Sonic abandoned his desire for a slow return to the Castle and jogged the rest of the way to the gate. He’d climbed up the gate on his way out, and so he’d climb to get back in. At the moment, the Castle was understaffed after the Fake Arthur’s reign, so there was no one manning the gate. That would probably change soon. But, that meant as long as he could avoid whoever was out patrolling the Castle grounds, he could slip back inside seamlessly. And hey, Sonic was pretty good at sneaking around. He’d gotten by just fine infiltrating Eggman bases pretty much all his life. It was a sinch.

“Sire?”

Though, in his defence, robots were usually louder.

And he’d certainly been caught in more dignified ways before. Dangling from one hand a third of the way up a gate was certainly a new one. His foot had been extended out, prepared to fall the rest of the way. And at the call of a title that he was slowly becoming familiar with, Sonic sort of froze. Busted. But did he really need an excuse for what he was doing? They did keep saying he was king, right? A king shouldn’t need a reason to leave his own Castle.

At least, Sonic assumed he didn’t.

He loosened his grip on the metal bar and landed in front of the gate. He already knew which Knight had spotted him before he turned around by the voice alone. Sonic would never forget that voice. It was distinct and specific. And a touch grating. But while he would happily say that to Jet’s face, he didn’t really think it would be wise to say it to this hawk. He wanted to earn the Knights’ trust, not their ire. He probably already had that simply from existing anyway.

“Uh, hey Sir Lamorak,” he greeted the Knight awkwardly.

“Were you… trying to climb out of the gate?” the hawk asked, perplexed.

“Actually I was climbing in,” Sonic said matter-of-factly.

No reason to lie, after all. As far as Sonic was concerned, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. What was the problem?

“Right…” Sir Lamorak said. “Why? What were you doing out this late in the first place?”

The hawk had raised his visor to speak with him. Sonic could see those blue eyes narrow. Not quite suspicion. More confused and mildly annoyed. Ok, maybe a trace of suspicion. It was getting real late now; the sun was fully set and the moon had taken its spot among the clouds. Still, Sonic wasn’t sure why it mattered.

“Went out to see a friend.”

Why did it feel like he was being interrogated?

The hawk was about to say something else. But he paused. Sonic really just wanted to go inside. Now that he was back inside the Castle walls, he was hit with that fatigue again. So, while he resented himself for doing it, Sonic took the hawk’s brief pause to make his escape. Even though he knew Sir Lamorak had more to say.

“Well, I’m gonna hit the hay. Night, Sir Lamorak!”

He didn’t give the green hawk a chance to respond. He was already a blue afterimage by the time Sir Lamorak’s beak was opening. Running away wasn’t exactly classy, but neither was Sonic. He was tired, he felt cornered, and he was antsy to leave the situation. The rest of his dignity in the eyes of the feathered Knight was effectively gone, but Sonic couldn’t find it in him to care in the moment. Thankfully, the Castle was fairly quiet, so no one saw him sprint through the halls as a blur while he was racing for his room. Skidding to a halt outside the bedroom door, he yanked it open. He did close it more gently though before he dragged himself over to the bed.

He had actually managed to work his way up to using the bed now. One week; he considered that a new record. It was rather comfortable. Still, he envisioned himself finding other places to sleep later, when he was more awake and in the mood to snoop. For now though, he just needed somewhere soft to lie. And the bed was fine for that.

But not that stupid blanket.

Every time Sonic moved it, the silk blanket ended up back on the bed. Without fail. It was straightened out like the rest of the bed always was. Perfectly crisp. Sonic yanked it off, throwing it to the floor. Then he climbed up onto the too tall bed.

He spent a few minutes rearranging the pillows into a rough circle shape. Then he curled up within the centre. The sides of his makeshift nest kept out some of the chill and it was quite cosy. The pillows were feather-stuffed, which made them light and fluffy. But sometimes, if he was lying on them weird, the sharper ends of the feathers dug into his skin. So Sonic wasn’t a massive fan of them. Still, they made for great barriers between him and some of the drafty Castle air. Sonic didn’t like being hot but he did enjoy being warm.

Still, he refused to use that blanket.

Despite how tired Sonic had been a few minutes earlier, he found himself wide awake now. But he was exhausted. Just not able to sleep. Figures. He rolled from one side to the other periodically for a little while. Though he tried to keep his eyes closed to hopefully force sleep, they kept opening seemingly against his will anyway. Growling into the dark, empty room, Sonic sprawled out on his back. He scrubbed his hands up and down his face, ignoring his sensitive palm.

Sonic didn’t even know what it was keeping him awake this night. Most nights, it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was bothering him. But tonight in particular, he was stumped. All he knew was that his body would not settle no matter how hard he tried. Even though it was a fairly regular occurrence, especially recently, Sonic was frustrated. He rolled over, back onto his side again. He was facing the door, arm tucked up under his head. There was still a candle burning in a sconce out in the hall and he could see the light flickering in the slight gap between the door and wall. He watched that yellow-amber flicker for a little while until light footsteps sounded down the hall. A moment later, the flame went dark.

Though the light hadn’t been super bright, it had still been enough in the pitch black room to sear a line into Sonic’s vision. He blinked a few times, trying to dispel the phantom image. It lingered annoyingly. He couldn’t escape it by closing his eyes, so the distracting line served to keep him awake longer. For some reason, the initial light hadn’t bothered him any. But this did.

It was going to be a long night. But weren’t they all?

Chapter Text

News of the King’s strange little outing the previous night spread through the Castle like wildfire. By now, everyone would have known that he’d been scaling the gate. Lancelot had not heard it from the Knight on duty at the time. No, he’d heard it from a servant. It irked him terribly. That damn hawk had a big mouth on him and he didn’t know when to keep it shut. Lancelot stalked out into the Training Yard to hear the others gossiping. Percival at least had the sense to keep her mouth shut. Though she was still standing idly by, listening.

Lancelot was not pleased.

“If you must gossip, for Gaia’s sake do it inside,” the dark Knight snapped. “You’ll be lucky if your chatter hasn’t yet reach the King.”

“Come on, Lancelot,” Lamorak said. “You have to admit the King is rather odd. The fool was hanging from the gate when I saw him. He was mighty startled.”

Lancelot’s ear twitched. He glowered at the hawk, even though he likely wouldn’t be able to tell. It was his body language instead that put Lamorak on edge as he set his shoulders and brought one leg forward subtly. Lancelot rose his chin, looking down on the hawk. He only just managed to stop his quills from rattling at the audacity of Lamorak’s garish speech. Lancelot had to keep his calm, authoritative air to get through to the hawk; losing his temper outright would not be beneficial.

“Hush your mouth, cur,” Lancelot retorted sharply. “You may not have a high opinion of the hedgehog but he is your King. Have some shame.”

Despite Lamorak’s big talk, he knew better than to provoke Lancelot. Cowed ever so slightly, the hawk stepped down. Galahad’s face had turned a shade of pink, embarrassed, and Percival turned her head away. Gawain had his arms folded and he didn’t appear to be bothered by how disrespectful he was being. Faced with Lancelot, Lamorak could be fairly gutless. Gawain was not. The echidna liked to believe he was superior, despite how often Lancelot had bested him in various duels. It was a nasty trait that Lancelot didn’t much care for. Least of all now.

Like it or not, the blue hedgehog was their King now. Two days freshly coronated, it was official. He was entitled to their collective respect. He was to be revered. If the other Knights had to express their lofty opinions, it should not be done in public where anyone could overhear. It was improper. Disloyal. And a disloyal Knight was not worth the dust he kicked up with his sabatons. They all knew this. While Lancelot had his own reservations about the new King, he would wisely keep them to himself. Disloyal thoughts were wicked, but disloyal actions were straight treason. Lancelot would not stand for treason under any circumstances. Not on his watch. Such impertinence must not go unpunished.

“Lamorak, you’ll be cleaning out the stables for the next month.”

“Lancelot, you’re not serious!” the hawk squawked.

The dark Knight sent him a look and Lamorak fell silent again. He was Lamorak’s superior and would be treated as such. So would the King. If the hawk could not accept this, he would face the consequences. It was as simple as that.

“Gawain, I’ll need you to be on nights for now,” Lancelot said.

Gawain had not actively spoken up, but his obvious and continuous disregard for Lancelot’s authority bothered the hedgehog. Perhaps it was petty to put the echidna on the most hated shift. Still, Lancelot found satisfaction in watching Gawain’s eyes narrow. It was a subtle jab, a reminder of the echidna’s place. A reminder that Lancelot was the King’s appointed head of the Knights. And by the looks of it, he would be remaining the Knight Commander.

“Galahad, you’ll be on duty in the evening,” Lancelot continued. “Percival, can you take mornings? I’ll keep watch around the upper floors of the Castle myself. Lamorak will remain on standby for now, in case anything comes up. Until we have more Knights, I don’t want to hear any complaining. This is just how it’s going to have to be.”

“When will we be getting more Knights?” Gawain grumbled.

Lancelot turned towards the echidna. His ear flicked at Gawain’s tone but his words were understandable. Lancelot would be remiss if he didn’t admit to having the same thought himself after all. But ultimately, it was the King’s decision.

“When the King puts out a call for some,” Lancelot responded simply.

“Why hasn’t he already?” Gawain snapped.

Now, the dark-furred hedgehog hardened his stance again. It was not their place to question the King. If he didn’t think hiring more Knights was important compared to other issues, then he clearly wouldn’t be looking for them. He was sure the King was just busy. After only just being coronated and still actively learning his duties, the King would surely have more to be worrying about.

“The King has a lot on his plate, Gawain. He’ll get around to it eventually.”

“Perhaps you should drop him a little reminder,” Gawain huffed, pushing past Lancelot to go back inside.

He didn’t like it, but Gawain had a point. They were in desperate need of more hands around the Castle. It was too much for just the five of them. Patrols should be done in at least doubles and, ideally, there would be shorter shifts than they had now. Lancelot was taking on the majority of the Castle by himself and the other Knights were taking it in shifts to pace the entirety of the ground floor, including the Courtyards. It was a lot of work for one Knight at a time. But what could they do? They all had to be well rested if they had to be patrolling for hours upon hours; it was no good saddling up someone with morning and night shifts, or they’d be exhausted by the next day. And no schedule they currently had allowed them to have shifts that would not overlap. It was a nightmare to sort out. They were all struggling.

Maybe it was worth popping by the King’s Chancery. Just for a quick chat. The sooner the King could get on finding them more Knights, or at least some squires to train, the better. A squire could train on the job, so they’d have enough hands to take the burden of patrols. It was just a case of getting out the word to acquire them.

If the King was busy, he was busy. It wasn’t urgent. Still, it didn’t hurt to make a request.

So, while making the rounds, Lancelot made sure to find time to stop by the Chancery. It was on one of the upper floors. The Castle had about three storeys, with four distinct floors – if you avoided the towers. They wound up about two storeys higher than the rest of the Castle. The Chancery was on the second floor with the lower section of the Library, the bedrooms and the upper Library on the third. The Kitchens, Bakehouse, Servants’ Quarters and Knights’ Quarters made up the majority of the ground floor. The Throne Hall was actually on the first floor of the Castle. Lancelot took his time working his way through the halls, up the narrow stone stairs, around the rooms on the first floor, then up the stairs to the second floor.

The Castle was rather quiet this morning. Lancelot only passed a few servants on his way up. They seemed to be milling about aimlessly. Was there any direction happening in this Castle? It certainly didn’t seem like it. Slipping. Everyone was slipping. Lancelot had to wonder if it had anything to do with where the King had come from. It wasn’t a secret that he arrived here from another world. Perhaps they didn’t think it was worth the effort.

The King had asked for Merlina to look for a way to get him home. Which was understandable. But it didn’t exactly instil confidence in the rest of the Castle staff. Clearly, the King didn’t intend on staying. So why would the servants care? Why should Lancelot be agonising over the staff when none of it mattered?

Because for now, the hedgehog was King. That was why. No matter how long he stayed here, he was still King.

Lancelot was also still a little salty that it didn’t seem like the wizard would be getting any sort of reprimand. The King was too soft on her. They’d been friends when he was first brought here, but surely he felt betrayed by Merlina? She’d genuinely stabbed him. And he was ok with just… letting that go? Or maybe he was only being merciful because he still needed her.

He shook his head, finally levelling with the door to the Chancery. Lancelot rose a gauntlet-clad fist and lightly rapped his knuckles along the wood. It made a slightly louder sound that he’d intended. At least he knew the King would definitely have heard that. Still, it made him wince slightly. There was a shuffling sound of movement inside for a moment. Parchment perhaps. At the muffled call to come in, Lancelot opened the door and slipped into the room.

The King was sat behind the large desk, eyes down. He hadn’t raised his head to see who had called at his door yet and Lancelot would not interrupt him. True to what Lancelot had told Gawain, the King was very busy. He almost regretted stopping in to speak with him now. The poor hedgehog was swamped in parchment. He picked up one for a moment, then shook his head and set it down, reaching across the desk for another one. The crown sat on the edge of the desk, as though it had been thrown down in an afterthought. Lancelot stared at it for a moment.

Finally, the hedgehog looked up. Immediately, Lancelot could see the shadows gathering below his eyes, visible through the lighter fur on his muzzle. Excluding his coronation, it was the first time Lancelot had been close enough to see the hedgehog’s face properly for days. It didn’t look like the King had been sleeping very well. Lamorak said he’d been out last night, but not late enough to have missed sleep entirely. For just a split second, Lancelot saw the lassitude on his face before it was swallowed up by a brighter, more attentive expression. The shift was almost jarring. There was a document still clutched in his hand. The King appeared to have forgotten about it.

“Oh, hi, Sir Lancelot,” the King said, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Sorry. Can I help you?”

Lancelot dipped his head to the hedgehog. An apology of sorts for taking up his time. Whether the King recognised it as such was debatable. Still, he would insist on giving the King his every courtesy. And if a verbal apology would be better received, he would oblige. It was the least eh could do.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said. “I don’t mean to interrupt. But I’d like to ask that you consider looking into finding more Knights soon. The others are getting weary.”

“Finding Knights? Uh… how do I do that?”

Lancelot blinked, startled by the King’s confusion. He could delegate the work to someone else if he wasn’t sure how to do it himself. So it was bizarre that the blue hedgehog hadn’t yet done that either. Did it jut not cross his mind? How bothersome. Still, that uncertainty in the King’s voice made Lancelot unwilling to put the blame on him. He found himself hesitating.

“Just put out word that you’re looking for more,” Lancelot said, a little unsure himself now. “Surely it’s on your list, Sire?”

“Chaos, no,” the blue hedgehog breathed. “No one told me that was something I should be doing. I’m so sorry, Sir Lancelot, I would have done it first thing if I had known.”

No one had told him? Shouldn’t the Marshal have said something by now? The King sounded genuinely apologetic. Looked it too. His ears were pulled back, eyes wide. He really hadn’t known. How odd. Were his advisors of the same mentality as the servants? This information should have been conveyed to the King days ago; Lancelot had personally brought up his concerns to the Marshal. The lion must have passed the message on. It was imperative to ensure the Castle was well fortified and the kingdom was safe. To do that, the quantity of Knights had to go up. Lancelot would have assumed the Marshal understood that.

“When I’m done with this,” the King said, sorting through the lake of papers almost feverishly. “I’ll get right on it, I promise.”

There was something about the sincerity in his voice that assured Lancelot that he really would.

The dark Knight wasn’t sure why he lingered. The King didn’t seem bothered by his presence. It was fascinating watching how fast his eyes moved as he scanned each piece of parchment. The moment he was absorbed in his work again, he seemed to forget Lancelot even existed. After a few awkward minutes, it became clear that waiting to be dismissed was going to take a while. Lancelot was about to excuse himself but the King had turned to look out the window as he was heading for the door. He paused, watching the King once more. The blue hedgehog’s ear flicked and an unreadable expression crossed his face.

“Storm’s coming,” he mumbled absently to himself.

The early morning sun’s light spilled through the window, over cobalt fur. Lancelot moved further into the room again, following his gaze. All he saw was bright, clear blue skies, not a cloud in sight. He wasn’t quite sure where the hedgehog’s prediction was coming from.

“I’m sorry, Sire?” Lancelot couldn’t help but say.

The King startled ever so slightly. Maybe he really had forgotten Lancelot was there. He turned to Lancelot, the whisper of a frown in his eyes.

“Can’t you tell by the air?”

Lancelot could not. He had no idea what the King was talking about. The air? What did he mean by the air? It looked like any other sunny day out there. Not even a single wispy puff of white broke up the searing blue of the sky. And the air seemed normal. Perfectly normal. If a bit hot.

But the King was right.

By mid afternoon, deep grey clouds had covered over the whole sky. The wind picked up drastically. Echoey booms danced around the air in circles like the drums of war, distant at first, infrequent. Then closer, louder, ten or so seconds apart. The rain wasn’t far behind, stuttering on and off as the minutes changed. Heavy then light. Gone. Then heavy again. And Lancelot couldn’t believe it. He stood in the hallway, listening to the rain tap-tap-tapping at the window panes, questioning whether the blue hedgehog was a wizard of some kind himself. But then, if he was, he’d surely have been working on his own way home. But the prediction was just too perfect. There had been no signs this was coming. None that Lancelot could see.

As he was turning the corner into the hall outside the Library, Lancelot quite literally ran into somebody. Or rather – they ran into him. Lancelot hit the ground with a grunt. He cracked an eye open to see who the offending idiot running around the Castle was. Then instantly silenced that thought when he saw it was the King. The blue hedgehog had hit the ground beside him, chest-first. But he was already pushing himself to his knees.

“S-sorry, Lancelot,” he said.

The King seemed almost frantic. His eyes were wide, quills bristling. Immediately, Lancelot was on edge as well. He opened his mouth to ask the King what was wrong. But he didn’t get the chance; the King was already on his feet, sprinting down the hallway.

“I’ve forwarded the document to Wilkin; he’ll look into it tomorrow!” the King called over his shoulder.

“Sire?”

Lancelot scrabbled to his feet to chase after the hedgehog. The King boasted an unfathomable speed; but so did Lancelot. He followed the King down the stairs and out into the Eastern Courtyard, a little ways behind him. When Lancelot was opening the door, about to shout for the hedgehog to get out of the rain, the King was already hallway up the gate. He really had scaled it yesterday. Lancelot didn’t understand. What could possibly be so important that he’d run out into a storm for? The fool was risking his own health.

Rain lashed his face as he ran out to stop the King. The water clogged up his fur almost instantly, making him feel heavy. And he had to wonder how the King was powering through it like it was nothing. Lancelot’s visor blocked most of the offending rain, but the King was out here with nothing. How could he even see? Running around in this was extremely dangerous.

“Sire!” he called.

But the next roll of thunder drowned out his voice. He watched in horror as the King leapt from the top of the gate, landing with a roll on the other side. But he sprang back to his feet within the same motion and was already disappearing down towards the city in a blur, swallowed up by the rain. And Lancelot had to follow. He had to, to make sure the King didn’t hurt himself. He’d never scaled the gate before but he would if it meant offering his King assistance; it would take too long to run for someone to open it. And Lancelot was used to doing relatively unorthodox things in the name of Camelot and Logres.

The iron bars were slippery with the rainwater and his gauntlets weren’t the best climbing gear. So he abandoned them, opting to use the bare leather gloves beneath instead. He only slipped twice, but otherwise cleared the gate in record time. Though, unlike the King, he made it halfway down the other side before jumping the rest – clearly, safety had not been on the other hedgehog’s mind.

Which was worrying.

The rain made it hard to see properly, but Lancelot had caught the direction the King was heading in. He might end up having to do a lot of running around to locate the King; at least he had an idea of where to start. So he set off, being careful not to let his feet slip out from under him in the soaking mud. The King was presumably going somewhere in the city. But where? And why? For what purpose was all this panic?

Nothing about that hedgehog made sense. He made strange decisions all the time. And if there was some issue Lancelot didn’t know about in the city, how had the King known? Couldn’t it wait? Be delegated to someone else at the very least, to on of his Knights? That’s what they were there for.

The city streets were empty. Everyone else had the sense to stay inside. And here Lancelot was, sprinting through the rain like an idiot, desperately trying to catch a flash of blue through the buildings. So far, he was coming up empty, but he couldn’t be too far from the King. He must have been around here somewhere. The question was where to look and Lancelot had not a clue.

He came to a panting stop across the street from the Smithy. It took him a moment to realise that the door had been left ajar. Curiously, original mission briefly forgotten, Lancelot approached the door. There was movement inside, a muffled voice. He perked his ears. No one would be stupid enough to be attempting to rob the Smithy in this weather, would they? Still, as a Knight, Lancelot had to check it out. For the safety of the fox and for his own peace of mind. So he slowly eased the door open further so he could glide into the building, hand already hovering over Arondight.

Inside, Lancelot managed to clear both of his objectives in one swoop. The Smithy was definitely not being robbed.

And Lancelot had found the King.

Soaked through almost assuredly to the bone, the hedgehog was crouched down beside one of the long worktables. A blue ear flicked back, picking up his footsteps as he drew closer. The King spared a brief glance over his shoulder, only a hint of surprise there once more, before his attention was pulled back to the table. Underneath, the yellow-furred Blacksmith was cowering, hands over his ears. His eyes were scrunched closed. Poor thing looked petrified with his fur all fluffed up like that.

As Lancelot was watching, the King took hold of the fox’s wrists. He was exceptionally gentle as he pulled the Blacksmith’s hands away.

“Melor, everything’s ok,” the hedgehog said, so soft it was almost a whisper.

A crack of thunder split the air. The fox jumped terribly, letting out a whine. The King’s ears flattened, keeping the fox’s hands from going back to his ears firmly, but still with that odd gentleness. He moved his hands down to clasp the fox’s, giving them a light squeeze. Melor opened two large, wet eyes to stare at the King.

Melor was terrified. Terrified of the storm. And the King had known about it, had known the fox. Was this why he’d left the Castle in such a rush? But when Melor’s face briefly morphed from scared to confused, Lancelot didn’t know what to think. The fox seemed as perplexed as Lancelot did. And again, Lancelot couldn’t connect the pieces in his mind. They were too scattered, and he was definitely missing some crucial information here.

“S-Sonic?”

He’d used the King’s actual name. Something inside Lancelot coiled in alarm. One was not supposed to refer to the King by name, unless his title came before it. It simply wasn’t the practice in Logres. Only peers were permitted to call the King by name, other Royalty. Certainly not some Blacksmith. But the King simply smiled at the fox. His whole posture seemed to relax some, even though his quills were stiffened as though expecting danger. That manufactured stiffness that the King seemed to have within the Castle walls seemed to just… drop away.

So Lancelot chose to let it slide for now. How could he lecture the kit in the state he was in? And clearly, the King didn’t seem to mind. Lancelot was torn on how he felt about that.

“Hey, bud,” the King said. “I’m not going anywhere. Can I come under the table?”

Something about the hedgehog’s speech, his demeanour, seemed practiced almost. But there was slight apprehension in his voice at that last question. Like he was actually worried the kid would say no. So when Melor gave a hesitant nod, the King ducked under the worktop to squash himself in beside the trembling fox. While there was no danger per se, clearly the King had wanted to be here to comfort Melor. It spoke of a selfless, compassionate heart. And if not anything else, Lancelot would give that to him. The hedgehog clearly cared a lot about the people around him. And, he had pushed Lancelot’s request through as fast as he could. Gaia, he’d had it done by the afternoon.

The thunder rang out again, reverberating around the room, the toll of a great bell. Melor flinched. Lancelot moved to close the door properly and settled himself on a chair. He could see the King and the Blacksmith from the corner of his eye. Lancelot made sure to keep them in sight while also watching the rain. A fork of lightning split the sky. It lit up the dim room for the briefest of moments.

Under the table, the King shifted. His quills were still sticking up and out. Under the next low growl from the sky, Melor clung to the blue hedgehog. The action made the King start slightly, not expecting it. But when the Blacksmith pulled away with a muttered apology, the King wrapped his arms around Melor instead. Melor seemed to relax. And so too did the hedgehog, oddly enough. A soft humming drifted to Lancelot. The King. He was half curled around the fox now and Lancelot realised that the hedgehog wasn’t simply on edge, he was being protective. As though his quills could shield the fox from the storm or somehow drive it away. Childish but rather sweet.

For a moment, Lancelot met the King’s gaze. His emerald eyes looked like they were glowing when the light flashed once more. Ethereal, almost unsettling. The lower half of his face was obscured by Melor’s head fur, so Lancelot could only see his eyes. Everything about the hedgehog’s posture was alert. He didn’t seem Kingly under the table at all. More like some benevolent creature. Not of this world. Lancelot pulled his eyes away to watch the rain again.

“H-how did you kn-know I don’t like storms?” Melor whispered.

“Call it intuition,” the King said quietly. “You just remind me of someone is all.”

Chapter Text

Sonic let out a low breath. He wasn’t in his room when he woke up. The bed’s location was all wrong. He distinctly remembered wrestling with the damn thing yesterday morning, pushing it up against the wall despite his side’s protest. He’d figured, if they insisted the room was his, that he might as well make it feel like it. But this one was in the centre of the room again. Unless the servants had moved it back and he hadn’t noticed. His fur prickled at the feeling of the silky blanket over him too. And that was only ever put back on the bed after he’d left; he would not have used it at all. Still confused, the only thing that kept him in the bed, that kept him from flinging the blanket away, was the warm body pressed against his chest.

Melor.

Then he remembered.

When the rain had died down yesterday, he’d trekked back up to the Castle with Lancelot and Melor. Sonic couldn’t leave the fox alone, not after that. He’d given the room next to his to the fox and offered to stay with him as the thunder continued to pound on through the night. He hadn’t exactly intended to get into the bed with him but the fox had needed it. Sonic was unable to resist the urge. He hadn’t gotten much sleep in the night; the room was way more unfamiliar to him than his own and the blanket had made his skin itch. But it was for Melor, so he powered through it. Clearly, he'd dropped off at some point. Though the red light leaking through the crack in the curtain suggested that he sun was only just rising.

He buried his nose in the sleeping fox’s fur, unable to bring himself to disturb the kit. Inhaling, Sonic took in Melor’s scent. There was a familiar tang to his fur but it was nothing like Tails’. His brother smelled of peppermint and motor oil. Melor’s fur carried the acrid scent of smoke and charcoal. But it was that dirty, working smell that held that hint of familiarity. Different but similar. Just enough to help him push the blanket from his mind. While not pleasant, just like the oil his brother worked with, Sonic found the scent put him at ease. He didn’t mind it in the slightest.

Sonic should really get up soon. He’d give it a few more minutes before he retreated to his room though. For a while, he just held Melor close, watching the light from the sun crawl across the wall in a scarlet line. Then amber. And finally a deep gold. He sighed.

Slipping his arm out from under the fox, Sonic expertly managed to avoid waking Melor; not his first morning escaping from a sleepy kit. Then he slipped down off the bed, making sure the awful blanket was over Melor, and padded his way across the room. His shoes had been kicked off by the door. He pulled a face at the mud caked on them and swiped them up before leaving the room. Sonic closed the door slowly to avoid making as much sound as possible. He let out another breath when he succeeded. Even with unfamiliar doors, his technique still worked a charm.

He stretched his arms above his head, messy shoes still in hand, and pattered down the hall to his own room. There should be fresh water in the washroom off the bedroom; a servant stopped by every morning to refill the basin in there. He’d seen them sneaking in to do it many mornings when he couldn’t sleep, though he never let them know that. He supposed he could rinse them off in there.

The larger basin, which was essentially a bath, was only ever filled if he needed a wash – the water would be heated elsewhere and brought up in buckets. He only had the displeasure of having a bath once so far; he’d made do with splashing water on his fur from the shallows of a river until the Castle. And he wasn’t looking forward to having another, though he desperately needed one after yesterday.

Last time he’d had to stall the servants from fetching more than three buckets of water. He just couldn’t have the bath fuller than up to his waist. And even that was honestly pushing it. That and the buckets were heavy. He sincerely hoped they weren’t carrying them all the way up the stairs from the ground floor. Sonic really wished there was some medieval form of shower right about now. The plumbing was almost non-existent here.

Maybe he could hold off for a little while…

The bed had not been moved back to the centre of the room when he got back. But the blanket was, predictably, back in its spot. So, they understood the bed thing but not his aversion to the blanket?

After scrubbing his shoes in the basin for a few minutes, Sonic managed to get all the mud off. He let them dry for a moment while he replaced his gloves and socks. His old ones were still kicking around somewhere but he’d been using substitutes from Camelot for a few days now. They were a little longer than his usual ones, just a touch. Instead of the cuffs resting at his wrists, they stretched halfway up his forearms instead. Sonic didn’t hate it. And they were soft. Velvet lined. A little extravagant but he did quite like them. The same went for the socks. Those stopped just above his shins. Again, not the worst. And they were made of the same material as the gloves.

His advisors had been trying to get him to change his footwear. He’d outright refused. They’d been forced to let it slide the day of the coronation because Sonic absolutely would not budge on that front. They were still trying though. No doubt he’d get an earful from them at breakfast. Joy.

His gauntlet was down in the Armoury. He found he sort of missed it. But he’d also been thinking of asking Melor to make him some new armour. Nothing extensive or restrictive. Just a little extra for going out into battle if it was needed, to protect his vital areas. Though perhaps he’d skip the helm; he liked being able to see. He acknowledged that fighting up close with swords left him open to strikes – his side proved that much. Though close combat wasn’t new to him, he was a little more used to fighting enemies who had more ranged weaponry. It made dodging easier with his speed; it wasn’t quite the same with sword fighting.

Sonic made a mental note to bring it up to the fox later.

But now he had to get his shoes and go about his day. He sighed, staring in the mirror. He hadn’t been given the cloak from the ceremony two days ago, nor had he been given a substitute. Sonic sort of wanted to ask for one because he’d quite liked it. And it helped give him a distraction when he needed one. But he didn’t want to bother anyone. There was already so much he had to do, so much going on, and not a lot of servants to carry out the tasks either. And, frankly, he wasn’t sure where to go to get one himself. He highly doubted anyone in Camelot sold one.

Or did they? Something to think about later.

Sonic had to start making his way to the Dining Hall. It was on the ground floor, so he had a lot of stairs to drag his definitely-not-rested body down. He reached out for the vanity blindly, frowning when his hand met nothing but air. After searching around with his hand for a moment, he glanced at the vanity to see that there really was nothing there. It took his mind a moment to mentally reboot.

Right. He’d left the crown in the Chancery yesterday when the storm started. He was still kicking himself for that one. He’d noticed the signs, the heaviness in the hot air, the stillness of everything. And yet, he’d been so absorbed in what he was doing that he hadn’t realised it was upon them until the first grumble of thunder echoed off the walls. It had startled him greatly. But what had set him on edge more was the thought that Melor was out there, alone. The poor little fox. He’d had no way of knowing if Melor shared Tails’ fear of storms. But Sonic was so glad he’d gotten there when he did.

Oh well. A slight detour on his way to breakfast would be fine.

He interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms above his head. His shoes were probably fine now. Sonic sniffed the fur on his arm as he walked into the washroom. A little musty from the rain but still passable. He’d already had a quick wipe-down yesterday to get the mud out of his fur, so it was fine. He wouldn’t be having bath today. Not like he had the time to anyway; he didn’t really want to be rushing to breakfast. He liked getting there before his advisors.

So he tugged on his shoes, buckled them up, and set off. The halls were very quiet. They weren’t exactly bustling with life most of the time either, but the hallways were often quite empty in the mornings specifically. No one was about. Sonic wondered if he needed to be hiring more servants. But at the same time, he didn’t like ordering people around. He could be paying people though… Why was this so difficult? Sonic wanted to help the citizens as much as he could but he couldn’t stand the idea of bossing them about. Still, that was kind of his role now. Just part of why he was struggling so much.

He stopped by the Chancery, grimacing at the state of the desk. There was so much parchment everywhere. He’d been trying to sort through it yesterday before he left in a frenzy. So now he had to do that before he got to anything else later.

Sonic tried to ignore it all and picked up the crown instead. It settled on his head quite a bit lighter than the Coronation one, which he had been very grateful for. Still, wearing it was weird. He hadn’t yet been able to grow used to the weight of it. Sonic felt like he had to hold his head very still or it might just slip off. That hadn’t happened yet, but he was mortified of it happening in front of somebody. And if that somehow broke the damn thing too? The thought just made him want to implode.

Shaking his head, Sonic started making his way to the Dining Hall again. Several flights of steep stone steps later, he found himself standing in front of the ornate door. He didn’t really like this room. It was probably his least favourite room next to the Throne Hall. Which, ironically, was practically across the hallway from it. Pushing open the door revealed that the room beyond was empty. Perfect.

He was supposed to sit at the head of the ridiculously long table. He didn’t exactly like it but he reluctantly sat down in the slightly more lavish chair. It was more padded than the rest with a twisty, swirly design on the back. It wasn’t that he hated the chair exactly; it was a nice chair. It was more the position of it, looking out over the empty, massive table. And the fact that it was different than the rest didn’t help. It stood out, singled him out as this other, when he was no different than the rest of them.

Well, other than the fact that he came from another universe. But that was beside the point; he was still mobian.

Sonic had about ten minutes to breathe before the doors opened once more. Odel and Wilkin walked in, dipping their heads to him before they sat down. Bertram wasn’t far behind. All three greeted him with Your Majesty as they always did. Sonic tried not to squirm in his seat.

A couple servants funnelled in, bringing with them various plates stacked high with food. A lot of food that was going to go to waste. Sonic hoped the leftovers would be distributed amongst the servants and kitchen staff or even the Knights; he wouldn’t be eating much. Bread, some sort of ham or bacon, bowls of various fruits and nuts. And they always seemed to put a tankard of alcohol in front of him. Ale, he believed.

Sonic did not drink. First of all, he was underaged. Second, it really didn’t appeal to him anyway.

For some reason, no one had picked up on that yet. Nor had they noticed his usually low appetite. Of course, he sometimes had moments where he’d eat a lot, but those times were infrequent at best and reserved only for certain foods. None of which seemed to exist here. That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy the food in Logres; Sonic wasn’t particularly picky. Though he wouldn’t touch strawberries. Those were a no-go.

Sonic pushed the tankard away and instead filled a glass with water from the pitcher instead. No one noticed. No one cared. Nothing would change. It was whatever. Then he plucked a piece of white bread from one of the platters, buttered it, and proceeded to nibble on that and a piece of thick-cut bacon. No one noticed that either. Only that he’d picked up something.

He’d learned that his company would not eat until he had made a move first. So he usually wasted no time in picking something to reluctantly force down once the food had come out. His advisors always ate far more than him. Excessively, Sonic might say. But maybe he only thought that because he usually didn’t eat much himself. He had no right to say how others were eating, nor should it bother him. It was simply something he’d noticed.

“I will be putting out the call for Knights later this morning, Sire,” Wilkin said. “We should hopefully hear word within the next few days. I’ll keep you posted.”

Something was still bothering Sonic about that. Sir Lancelot had seemed to think Sonic should have already known about it. But he could not recall ever being told. Sure, he’d noticed that there weren’t many Knights in the Castle. But he wasn’t really aware of how many were required, were typical of a kingdom. And how was he to know that someone else wouldn’t be in charge of that? One of the Knights themselves or his marshal, for instance.

“Wilkin,” Sonic started. “Why didn’t you tell me I had to put out a notice for more Knights in the first place?”

“I did, Sire” Wilkin insisted.

Sonic blinked. He felt one of his ears tilt back slightly.

“You… you did?”

“You must have forgotten,” Wilkin said. “The past week has been very busy.”

“It has…” Sonic mumbled, brow furrowed. “Sorry. Guess it must have slipped my mind.”

Had he really forgotten that? Sonic supposed he’d had several information overloads in the past week. He genuinely didn’t remember hearing the lion mention it though. He looked down at his plate, feeling like an idiot. Maybe he should be paying attention more. Stupid. He shouldn’t be making these mistakes.

“Well it’s done now,” Odel said. “Put it out of your mind, Sire.”

“Yeah, ok…”

Odel gave him a report of the recent expenses. If Sonic was honest, he didn’t fully understand a lot of it. He’d had to allocate funds and land over to several nobles he didn’t even know in exchange for their loyalty or… something. Shouldn’t they be pledging themselves to him because they believed in him? It all sort of felt like a bribe or something. It made Sonic feel all weird and kind of dirty. But apparently it was a standard practice. And Sonic would have no way of knowing if that was true or not, so he just had to go with it. He hadn’t a clue how to rule a kingdom until recently. And even then, he still didn’t really know. Sonic was sort of figuring it out as he went, relying heavily on the guidance of his advisors.

“They all seem to have responded well, My Lord,” Odel said, rather smugly.

“Uh, yeah… good.”

Bertram cleared his throat.

“Speaking of nobles,” the raven intoned. “I have made arrangements for your first supper with the nobles who have chosen to support you. I think we’ll hold off on holding court for a little while longer though.”

Good news and bad news. No court for a little while longer, that was the good. But he finally had to face an uncomfortable supper with a bunch of stuck up strangers. And someone there was sure to notice his eating habits. Which meant he actually had to try and eat a decent amount tonight. Sonic wouldn’t be eating a thing after his breakfast or he’d never be able to stomach anything later. He looked at the half-eaten piece of bread in his hand. He had to get through it though because it would be thrown out for sure if he didn’t eat it now – no one would touch it after him and he wouldn’t expect anyone to. The nausea roiling in his stomach at the thought of tonight would not overshadow his need not to waste food.

Sonic had to force his way through the bread. Thankfully, he’d already finished the bacon; it had tasted sort of sweet and smoky and he quite liked it. Fresh baked, like the piece he’d swiped his first night in the Castle, the bread was really good too. But he really didn’t want to eat anymore, which ruined the last few bites.

Not a single one of his advisors noticed his struggle. They never did. Not that Sonic was looking for sympathy. It just… might be nice to be acknowledged. That this routine wasn’t for him.

He listened to his advisors discuss the supper for a while, as though he wasn’t even there. He picked out a few names but otherwise wasn’t really listening. If they weren’t going to talk to him, why bother? They were only discussing the food and other stuff Sonic didn’t really care for anyway. That was, until Bertram brought up the same thing he always did.

“Sire, you really must get more presentable footwear,” the raven said with a sigh.

Sonic tried to avoid sighing himself. He was tired of this conversation. Eyes half-lidded, he propped an elbow up on the edge of the table. Resting his cheek against his hand, he frowned at Bertram.

“I don’t see why my appearance is so important,” he mumbled. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

Odel knocked his elbow off the table. Sonic sent him a look. The mouse was unimpressed. Sonic wasn’t so pleased himself. What exactly was the mouse’s problem now? Why was he always doing something wrong? Wrong clothes, wrong speech patterns, wrong behaviours, wrong attitude. They’d chewed him out when they’d learned he’d snuck out of the Castle the other night. And again when he came back drenched with Melor yesterday.

“It is improper to lean your elbows on the table, Sire,” Odel said. “And do speak up. If you don’t enunciate no one will be able to understand you.”

“What’s wrong with my shoes?” he asked, slowly and clearly.

It was a little spiteful. But Sonic couldn’t find it in him to care. When would they drop this talking point already? He would not give up his shoes; he thought he’d made that very clear. And he couldn’t help but get testy at their instance that he needed to replace them. They were important to him, extremely important. Never in a million years would he ever replace them. Faintly, he was aware of the fact that he was openly glowering at the mouse this time. Sonic felt a little bad about it but it was too late to take it back; all three advisors had seen it. He at least hoped the look said drop it. This was one point he would not back down on.

Bertram tutted. Disappointed. Sonic flicked an ear back. He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest. To hell with looking proper; that wasn’t him. Besides, no one else was around. What did it really matter?

No one was giving him an answer and Sonic was starting to get frustrated. The only actual reason was because his shoes were different. They didn’t fit with the very narrow view they had of what a king should be. But Sonic wanted to know why it even mattered. His ability to lead a kingdom was in  no way impacted by his damn shoes. Who genuinely cared what he wore on his feet other than his advisors?

“They’re improper and dirty, Sire,” Wilkin answered eventually.

Sonic glanced down at his freshly washed shoes. They were a little scuffed but he’d been pretty thorough when he was cleaning them earlier. Not a spot of mud remained on the soles; he’d made sure of that. Sonic could be rather tidy when he wanted to be. And what the hell did improper mean anyway?

This was so stupid. He was shutting this crap down now.

“There is nothing wrong with my shoes,” Sonic snapped. “I literally cleaned them this morning. And I’m not having this conversation again. I am not. Getting rid. Of my shoes. They’re important to me and I’m afraid you’re just going to have to live with that.”

He stood from the table, hands pressed against the surface. Ears flattened. Quills stiff. Narrowed eyes scanning over the raven, the mouse, the lion.

“I have more important things to be doing than sitting here and arguing with you. So if you will excuse me, I am going to leave now.”

He stared straight at Odel with that last part.

‘Was I enunciating enough?’ he thought venomously.

Sonic turned and stalked away, avoiding the gaze of his advisors. He was already starting to regret getting so snappy with them. Part of him wanted to turn around and apologise; Sonic really didn’t like raising his voice. Especially not at people who were supposed to be helping him. He flexed his hands once he was out in the hall, unaware of when he’d clenched them in the first place. He could do with a moment to clear his head, perhaps to stand out in the courtyard and smell the damp, earthy scent of the previous rainfall. But he truly did have things to do. He had to draft up about four different letters to the other Monarchs. And he knew he was going to make a fool of himself.

Chapter Text

Sonic had calmed down by the time he’d reached the Chancery. It really was a lot of stairs when he wasn’t feeling a hundred percent. His side was acting up again. It had scabbed over once more but he still wasn’t allowed to uncover it. He also had forgotten to replace the bandages this morning; they’d gotten wet yesterday and now his fur felt itchy under the material. And that was irritating the scab, which was also itchy as sin. Sonic wanted to pick at it so bad, even though he knew that would make it worse. He couldn’t be bothered to replace them right now; he’d do it later.

Once inside the Chancery, Sonic slid off the crown and dumped it, gingerly, on the edge of the desk, back where it had been earlier. Then he collapsed into the cushioned chair with a groan. He’d forgotten about the mess of parchment. It had to be sorted before he could draft up the letters. Sonic wasn’t in the mood but it had to be done; he’d doubtlessly regret it later if he didn’t.

So he picked up each piece, one by one, and scanned the page. He had to determine if they were law documents, financial plans, his own drafted suggestions, requests from his advisors and whether or not he’d signed off on any of them. If they’d been signed already, they had to go in a separate pile to be handed off to his advisors at a later date. Everything else needed its own pile too, so that he could keep track of everything. Sonic had a system. One that he was equal parts terrible at following and excellent at following. It depended on the day, really. And yesterday he’d lost a particular document, been overwhelmed, and he may have panicked a little. Which just set everything out of whack, so the piles needed to be established again. It was stressful looking at the desk as it was, but sort of monotonous and vaguely relaxing to sort through. Especially once he’d tamed the chaos marginally.

The organised piles slowly began to form and Sonic felt like he could breathe again. Order was being restored to his desk. Now if only he could organise his thoughts like that so he wouldn’t end up with situations like yesterday.

The document he’d lost had been in the correct pile the entire time. He hadn’t even needed to tear apart the desk for it. Which had just been even more frustrating.

Shaking his head, Sonic straightened the signed pile and set it aside. Desk clear; mind still swamped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This window let in enough light to reliably see but the walls were very dark. It made the room feel smaller but, next to all the other rooms in the Castle, Sonic kind of liked that. It was oddly cosy. Considering he had to spend a lot of time in this room, Sonic was glad it was one of his favourites. Didn’t mean he enjoyed endlessly signing, approving, disapproving, and drafting up documents though. It was a slog.

Taking four fresh pieces of parchment out of a drawer in the desk, Sonic set them down in front of him. Four kingdoms surrounding Logres. Four Monarchs to write to. And he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He remained firm that honestly was key. But what to write…?

He didn’t really want to write them the same message. It seemed lazy and not personal, not that they were likely to know. But Sonic would and for some reason he didn’t want to take the easy route with this. It was important. He had to invite them to Logres to meet and discuss the possibility of reuniting the kingdoms. Under the false king’s reign, all trade routes had been cut off and alliances severed. Sonic needed to re-establish them, or Logres would continue to suffer.

He hadn’t known until becoming king, but supplies were becoming scarcer and scarcer in Logres. The kingdom primarily produced wheat and wool. Along with other grains and crops like carrots, beets and tomatoes, the land was the most fertile of the kingdoms. Rice in particular was another big export in Logres. The citizens were mostly living off bread, porridge and rice. Proteins like meat and fish were imported in through the other kingdoms, so Logres’ citizens were lacking on that front. Though some were slaughtered on occasion, the sheep were primarily raised for their wool.

Soleanna was the biggest proprietor of fish, dominating the majority of the shores of the continent. They also produced cotton and a lot of fruit, like cherries, apples, oranges and lemons. Sonic hadn’t realised how lucky the Castle was to still have fruit within its walls at all. It made him all the guiltier knowing he didn’t eat any at breakfast. Now he seriously hoped it was going to the staff.

Sonic supposed, since it was on his mind, that he should write to the Monarch of Soleanna first. King Mephiles. He didn’t know much about the other Monarchs – Chaos, that was so wrong – other than their names, but King Mephiles was the most mysterious to him. He had no idea what the King was like. Which was sort of worrying. And it was hard to know how to approach him. He was definitely going to be one of the harder Monarchs to write to, so it stood to reason that he should focus on him first.

But Soleanna’s exports would certainly help Logres out, so a trade deal was very beneficial. Fruit and fish would greatly contribute to the diet of the citizens. And cotton was a big resource for clothing manufacturing. Wool was too, of course, but cotton was a very popular alternative. Plus, Soleanna had access to ports which could greatly widen the trade opportunities.

Chaos, he’d never had to learn so much about manufacturing and trade before… And he’d had to cram all this information in less than a week. He was kind of impressed with himself that he’d managed to remember a lot of it offhand. But he’d made sure he knew all the ins and outs as best as he could because it was very important to the survival of the kingdom.

Having a falling out with any kingdom could mean war if Sonic wasn’t careful in his approach. The tensions between Logres and the other kingdoms were already high enough after the false king’s rule.

It had confused him terribly when he’d learnt that Mobius was the name of a kingdom here and not the planet as a whole too. They were another big exporter of food, with livestock being the dominant trade. Cows, pigs and chickens. Though wood was a decent second. Again, Sonic was bothered by the bacon presented to them at breakfast when most of Logres were going without any meat at all. He made a note on a separate piece of parchment to look into what was done with the leftovers of all his meals.

Their Monarch, Queen Aleena, needed a very friendly message. Sonic needed to get in her good books desperately. He’d heard she could be severe in her leadership but fair nonetheless. She had been very unhappy when the false king had broken off their alliance. Winning her back may be challenging but certainly worth the effort.

Then there was Mobotropolis. Originally a part of Mobius, the smaller kingdom broke away and became its own recognised state after a vicious civil war. As far as Sonic was aware, both current ruling Monarchs were not in power during the time of the war and were on rather friendly terms now. So that was good to hear. They sat on a lot of mining areas though, so they dealt in mostly stone, metals like iron and gold, coal and flint. All very precious resources for building, fuel, and the production of currency. In addition to that, they had the biggest flax fields of any kingdom. As well as being used to make linen, flax was highly versatile.

King Maximillian of Mobotropolis was very… particular in his views, according to what Sonic could gather. A bit pragmatic and idealistic, he could come across more calculated rather than emotional. But if Sonic could appeal to his almost military sense of logic and reason, he was sure an agreement could be made. Besides, Sonic had no intention of being sneaky or swindling any of the other kingdoms out of a fair trade.

Lastly, there was Babylon. Their main exports weren’t necessarily as important as the other kingdoms’ but still highly sought after. Sonic was far more interested in the friendly alliance angle than the trade, but knew that Logres’ goods would be extremely beneficial to Babylon. So a trade deal was a good place to start, with an offer more so than an appeal for resources on the table. Babylon produced a lot of fine silks, jewellery and various spices, nuts and beans. For the more fashion-inclined, silks and jewellery would be more exciting – for Sonic, not so much. But the spices were definitely a plus. Maybe he could nudge the chefs into inventing chili… or make himself an improvised one. Hey, it was better than nothing.

He tried to shake the thought off and focus. This was for the benefit of both kingdoms, not his stomach.

Queen Alyva was newer to ruling Babylon, much like Sonic. Though she already had a few years under her belt and the added benefit of being of Royal descent to begin with. Unlike him, she’d had official training before taking the throne. Still, Sonic hoped to create an amiable alliance with her. Perhaps it would be easier asking her for tips out of all the Monarchs. Because even with his advisors, Sonic was struggling at the moment. Queen Alyva was noted as being rather laid back but practical. Sonic hoped to get on well with her.

Sonic had already started writing the first letter as his mind parsed out the specifics he knew. Writing with a quill was definitely a new experience. He’d knocked over the ink well three days ago; there was a lovely dark stain along the desk’s surface reminding him of that. Combined with his janky, chicken-scratch handwriting, his letters were going to be barely legible. Sonic had never been self-conscious about that until now. But this world was finding new ways of making him feel inadequate every day.

Would the other Monarchs even be able to read the letters? Would they mock him for his terrible writing and think he was incompetent? Was he incompetent?

Oh, the answer was most definitely yes. He had no clue what he was doing.

Was it… wise to let the other Monarchs know that? What if they thought he was weak and just decided to skip the pleasantries and attack? The whole kingdom could be at risk if he made a wrong move here. And he was such an idiot for not thinking about that. Maybe Bertram was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone off script during his coronation. Had he just put it out there that Logres was under inept rule? Did he put all of Logres in danger with just a few sentences? Chaos, he felt positively sick now. But he had to get these letters done.

Maybe he shouldn’t mention the not knowing what he was doing part…

An entire morning of indecisive writing was followed by the world’s most boring etiquette lesson of his life. Sonic had been through this one in particular already. But his advisors made him do it again because his manners weren’t up to snuff. He zoned out halfway through anyway and absorbed nothing. He didn’t really care. For whatever reason, appearances were so important to his position. But why did it really matter? Who really cared how he held a fork or cut his food or the way he fucking sat. Not a single part of any of that impacted his – lack of – abilities as king.

Odel had insisted he wear a shirt again to hide his bandages. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But again: appearances. Can’t let them know he was wounded for… what ever reason. The slice was scabbed over and healing anyway. And it was already covered. As long as he didn’t tear off the scab again, it would probably be healed in a few more days. It wasn’t a big deal.

It was ridiculous that he had to get all dressed up for some strangers. And only for an hour or two at most. He really hoped this wasn’t going to be an everyday occurrence. Sonic could not mentally handle having to put up a front every night before he went to bed. He was already drained from the rest of the day.

Despite Caliburn’s insistence that he eat something during his brief break around midday, Sonic hadn’t had a thing since breakfast. His stomach still felt unsettled from the stress of writing the letters though. They’d already been given to Bertram to send off, so there was no fixing what ever dumb shit he’d written. Frankly, the morning had been a blur and he couldn’t even remember what he’d put to paper anymore. But that just made him worry about it more. Which made him feel sick again. It was just a vicious cycle that he wanted to put out of his mind for now. But facing this new nightmare wasn’t helping either. A bunch of snobby nobles judging his every movement. And he didn’t even want to eat anything.

But he was obligated to.

Sonic sighed. The only plus he could find was that he’d been given a new cloak to wear. And this one he could keep. It looked similar to the one he’d worn during his coronation, but it didn’t have the fluffy white material around the bottom, only the neckline. The material was also slightly different, but still very soft. Almost like a crushed velvet or something. And the cloak sat a little different on his shoulders, not coming completely together at his throat like the other did. He was also given one that was sort of a red side-cape instead that was connected to a golden pauldron. But he’d chosen this one for tonight.

It was his one comfort as he was descending the stairs to the first floor. The chill of the night was starting to settle in as the sun went down. He could see it setting through a window in the hallway as he passed.

The supper was set up so that he’d arrive last. Sonic wasn’t thrilled about that. He liked being situated first. When he got to the door, a servant was waiting to open it for him. He flicked an ear slightly in annoyance; he could open a door by himself. The servant announced him as he stepped inside too, which was even more mortifying. They could all see the crown; they knew who he was.

Five faces turned to stare at him as he slunk awkwardly to his seat. Everyone was stood behind their chairs; they bowed to him deeply as he levelled with them all. His steps faltered slightly upon seeing two very familiar mobians at the table. A white bat and deep-purple cat. But he had to remind himself that these weren’t Rouge and Big. The others at the table were unfamiliar to him, however he recognised one from his coronation. A sleek, black-furred cat with deep green eyes. He didn’t know her name though. There was also an uppity looking blond mink and a yellow cat with inky-black, shoulder-length hair. They all, predictably, greeted him as Your Majesty and waited for him to sit before taking their own seats.

Sonic felt like he was sitting very stiffly in his chair. As the servants brought in the food – this time all plated up already – the guests introduced themselves to him.

The Big-lookalike was named Godfrey. He had the same deep, pleasant voice that put Sonic at ease somewhat. He also appeared to be just as calm and gentle as Big. Godfrey told him he’d moved to Logres from Soleanna just before the false king lost his mind. He was not born into nobility but gained the title of Lord for his service to the late Queen Elise of Soleanna. Godfrey also quite enjoyed fishing, just like his counterpart. It was nice knowing the cat was still doing what he loved, even worlds, and lives, apart.

The white bat who looked the spitting image of Rouge introduced herself as Guinevere. She was of noble descent – like most of the other gathered mobians before him – and, by the sounds of it, had a knack for getting into trouble. The mink, known as Bartleby MontClair, muttered some misgivings about suspected thievery and misconduct. Sonic couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. She certainly was like Rouge. A penchant for gemstones and a wicked tongue, Sonic already knew he’d like her.

Bartleby gave Sonic a foul taste in his mouth though. When he’d thought noble, this was definitely the sort of person he pictured. Snobbish and uppity and rather rude. He seemed to always be making snide remarks, talking down his nose at everyone. He was also the first to point out Sonic’s posture. Great start. Sonic already wasn’t keen.

The cat he’d recognised from the other day was Ebony. Soft spoken and graceful, she was the only one present who was not a noble at all. Apparently, Ebony was a wizard like Merlina. She was to be one of his courtiers. Maybe he could get her to work with Merlina if she wasn’t busy with other things.

Damn it. He shouldn’t be thinking of home right now.

Finally, the yellow-furred cat was Honey. Similar to Godfrey, she came to Logres from Babylon, interested in using the wool produced in the kingdom for her tailoring business. She employed a large number of workers to make the dresses and suits and other clothing. But she actually had a hand in the production of these clothes herself, which was rather unusual for a noblewoman. In fact, two independent noblewomen like Honey and Guinevere were often unheard of, certainly not in the positions they had attained, and managed to keep, unwedded.

Sonic just though that made the both of them rad. He was glad they’d found success and status in a world that could be prejudiced at times. Having a woman as a knight wasn’t very common either. Logres was fairly progressive for the time period in that regard. Sonic hoped he could push that progress even further himself. It was refreshing.

Which reminded him… he’d been trying to get a particular document through to his advisors for a few days now. It always seemed to get lost or ignored though, put on the backburner as Odel insisted he focus on “more important matters.” He should push it more. Another thing to work on later.

The hedgehog was genuinely relieved to discover that most of his company tonight were tolerable – more than that really. Pleasant to be around. Sonic was content to listen to them speak amongst themselves or regale him with various tales. Bartleby left a little to be desire though and Sonic took a disliking to the mink.

Clearly, the feeling was mutual. Bartleby didn’t seem to like him much either.

“You’ve hardly touched your food, Sire.”

And there was what he’d been expecting. The supper consisted of three elaborate courses. Pottage and bread for the first course – typically fish was served as well, but the trade issues were making fish fairly difficult to acquire at the moment. The second course was roasted beef with various vegetables. Then the final would be sweet pastries, fruit and other various sweet things.

They were on course one. And Sonic couldn’t stomach any of it.

It wasn’t the soup. The soup was fine, tasted wonderful in fact, but there was so much of it. And with two more courses to come and an already upset stomach, Sonic was fighting to get down even half of it. Once Bartleby had pointed it out, the attention of everyone at the table was once again on him. The mink had previously mentioned his aversion to the wine but was ignored.

“I’m afraid I’m not that hungry at the moment,” Sonic said evenly.

Was that formal enough? Sonic didn’t know. He’d tried to talk as little as possible to avoid “speaking wrong,” as Bertram had put it. He’d tried to enunciate and speak clearly and avoid everything he’d been told to avoid. Chaos knew how well he was doing.

Bartleby hummed. The sound came across as very dismissive and almost contemptuous.

“Perhaps His Majesty should not spoil his appetite before supper,” Bartleby said, taking up his drink.

Sonic grit his teeth, biting back a snarky response. He hadn’t spoiled his appetite. The mink was implying he’d eaten late or had been snacking on something. But Sonic hadn’t eaten anything throughout the day, running purely on a single piece of buttered bread and bacon from the morning. Maybe next time he wouldn’t have breakfast at all. But he couldn’t really control the way his body was feeling either. Stress had made his stomach roil. That was hardly his fault.

Guinevere elbowed the mink, disguising it as an accident. But Sonic had seen the slight narrowing of her eyes before she’d struck. Bartleby spilled his wine all over his cravat. He jumped up, shouting indignantly. Sonic blinked. Had he really seen that right? Did… did Guinevere just… for him? They’d only just met and he hadn’t made the best first impression, he was sure. His entrance, the silence. But she’d retaliated against Bartleby’s remarks on his behalf.

“My sincerest apologies, Bartleby,” the bat intoned.

She didn’t mean it. Sonic could tell by her voice. It made him feel a little better that Guinevere was indirectly standing up for him. It was the first time anyone had thought about him properly, other than Caliburn, since he’d become king. It was kind of depressing to realise how much it cheered him up.

“Sire, if I may,” Ebony interjected. “Do not feel like you must force yourself for our sakes.”

“I agree,” Honey added. “Eat as much or as little as you like, Sire. What ever the issue, it’s not our business.”

Honey sent a look at Bartleby. Godfrey nodded his own agreement. Sonic felt his shoulders untense for the first time since he’d left his room. Other than the rude mink, his company was lovely. Sonic dipped his head to them as Bartleby left the room, grumbling. He was going to try and make himself more presentable. Sonic didn’t think he’d be able to do anything to get the wine out of his clothes though. Honey and Guinevere were snickering about it once he was gone; apparently, they weren’t his biggest fans either. It gave Sonic confidence that he might actually be able to make some more genuine friends in his new role.

Maybe he didn’t have to pretend so much around them. A theory to test at a later date.

Not tonight.

Chapter Text

The first thing Sonic did when he woke up was swipe the atrocious blanket off the floor and toss it out into the hall. Perhaps the servants would get the hint eventually. But for now, not his top priority. Sonic had more important things to be attending to. And that meant a slightly earlier start. Not that that was an issue; he hadn’t really slept anyway.

Having his bed in a more suitable position was definitely better. With two walls bordering the headboard and left side, Sonic felt way more secure. The room was too big to have that luxury and the window close, like in his room back home, but it would have to do. Besides, the sill was wide enough to be accommodating, should it take his fancy either way. Sonic hadn’t wanted to go searching for a different spot yesterday. And he didn’t really have the energy to make his pillow nest last night either, so he’d burrowed under them instead.

It hadn’t helped.

He’d been too bogged down by the letters and the tiring evening. Which was always insanely frustrating. How could he be so tired and yet get not a wink of sleep? How was that physically possible? It didn’t make sense to Sonic. He couldn’t help worrying about how his letters would be received by the other Monarchs. What if he’d already messed up? What if the other Monarchs saw Logres as weak and refused to make an alliance? It could end in war. And it would all be Sonic’s fault. And what if they couldn’t even read his handwriting? What if they made fun of him, thought he wasn’t fit to be King because if it?

Damn it. He was spiralling again. And, as it had been all through the night, he was getting nowhere.

He had to go to the Kitchens. That was his first task of the day. Everything else, including the customary breakfast with his advisors, could wait. Though, truthfully, he should be done by then; his little trip to the Castle Kitchens should, in theory, be quick. He was just going to ask a few questions, make a request or two. Simple. Or, at least, he hoped it would be. Sonic got the impression that the Castle staff were not so keen on him. Fair. But an issue. It certainly would make talking to them difficult. They were entitled to their opinions of him and he wouldn’t beg them to reconsider. Still, it might be nice to actually gain their trust. The only issue was how to do that…

Sonic was getting sidetracked. One thing at a time. He couldn’t focus on every little thing all at once or he’d burn himself out big time. Chances are, he’d reach that all on his own in time. But for now, he had to at least try to keep things as simple as possible. Contained.

After a quick scrubbing of his fur using a cloth and the water in the sink basin – he refused to use the bath unless he really had to – Sonic re-wrapped his side. He’d swiped some supplies from Merlina a few days ago so he could do it himself. He wasn’t a child. And he was fully capable of dressing his own wounds. The scabbed-over gash was feeling a little warm but otherwise looked ok. Possibly very early signs of infection. In hindsight, he really should have changed them yesterday, if not the night before when they’d gotten wet. But it was fine. As long as he kept it clean and remembered to replace the dressing more often, it should be good. There was no swelling. And no pus or anything else leaking from the scab. Sonic’s body was usually pretty good at fighting off early infections anyway. Many years of not having access to proper medical supplies had sort of strengthened his immune system. He didn’t usually get sick with minor ailments anymore and if he did he could power through them without issue.

His initial reaction a few weeks ago was… different. He’d been dealing with a lot at the time. And blood-loss was still a bitch. Nothing would change that. Now getting ill from stress? Definitely on the table. But a tiny, barely-there infection wouldn’t kill him. Nor would a little rain.

His advisors’ reactions to him being out in the storm had been both humorous and incredibly annoying. Unfortunately, more the latter than the former. Sonic did not get colds that often. Only extreme circumstances. A little run in the rain was not going to make him sick, for Chaos sake. How ridiculous. Of course, he wasn’t immune to them either. There were always exceptions. But he was feeling perfectly fine, aside from a little twinge of pain in his side here and there. Not getting enough – or any – sleep wasn’t really helping that situation much.

A problem for future Sonic.

Shaking his head, Sonic threw his new cloak around his shoulders and grabbed the crown. After adjusting it in the mirror for a moment, making sure it was in place comfortably, he swept out of the room and through the hall. Then down the endless stairs, all the way to the ground floor. When he reached the Kitchens, Sonic glanced around for someone who didn’t look as busy as everyone else. He wanted to talk to the staff but he didn’t want to distracted them from their work. Spotting a grey otter who’d just finished washing up a bowl, he tapped their shoulder. The otter startled and he apologised, pulling them aside for a moment. It was sort of noisy in the Kitchen, so they went out into the hallway.

“Sorry, can I get your name real quick?” Sonic asked.

“Olivia, Your Majesty,” the otter replied, a little stunned.

Everyone was also so bewildered to be talking to him. It sort of made Sonic uncomfortable. He hoped he’d end up giving Olivia the impression that he was approachable after this. Sonic didn’t want the staff to be scared of talking to him.

“Hi, Olivia,” Sonic said, giving her a bright smile. “Can I just ask you a few questions? I promise I won’t keep you from your work for long.”

“Yes, Sire, o-of course.”

So he asked her if she knew what was done with the leftovers from his meals. Olivia was confused but gave him what he came down here for. The answer he received was… not very encouraging. Apparently, it was all thrown out, just as he’d feared. What an awful waste. And with the trade issues making some of the ingredients harder to come by, it was downright disgusting. But, Sonic had to remind himself, it probably wasn’t the fault of the staff. Old rules or some order from elsewhere. Next, he asked who he should talk to in order to change some things. Olivia pointed him to the Cook, a sparrow named Millicent.

Sonic thanked Olivia for her time and slunk back into the Kitchens to hunt down Millicent. He found the tan sparrow instructing a young ferret boy on how to attend to meat on a spit. He, regretfully, didn’t catch the ferret’s name before he asked to speak to Millicent. She looked equally as surprised as Olivia had been to see him. And a little wary, like she expected him to fire her or something. He didn’t like that.

“Could we maybe arrange for any untouched food remaining after my meals to be distributed among the staff?” Sonic asked. “Or the Knights? I don’t want the food going to waste anymore. Or any of your hard work to be for nothing.”

Millicent’s violet eyes widened marginally at his praise. Sonic recognised that an ask this big would not change things immediately but he still had to try. It just made sense to him. But he also didn’t want the leftover food to be seen as not up to his standards. He was simply unable to consume that much.

It only now occurred to him that he might be misconstrued as being condescending. He didn’t want that either. Oh, why was this so difficult?

“If that is what you wish, Sire,” Millicent said. “I agree, it feels wrong to just toss it away every time. But it’s how we’ve always done it.”

“I understand it might be difficult to apply this change,” Sonic said. “I just think it would be better for everyone in the long run.”

Millicent nodded. She promised to start implementing the change as soon as possible. All the staff would have to be informed and it wasn’t as though the leftovers could go to everyone everyday either. Some sort of rota or system would have to be formed when there wasn’t enough to go around. Sonic did not want this to replace the staff’s regular meals. Though, he was sure they weren’t eating the same quality or quantity he was served on a daily basis. It would do them some good.

He still had one other ask. This one, he hoped would be a little easier.

Sonic requested he be served smaller portions going forward. There was no point serving him so much that would always go untouched. They didn’t have to make less food necessarily, as what ever they made could be dispersed among themselves. But why put something on his plate that he wouldn’t eat? This more applied to these suppers he was forced to attend than the more buffet-style breakfasts. And a lot of his other meals were either skipped or consisted of more snack-sized things he pilfered from the Kitchens directly. By now, the staff was getting used to him passing through. Today was the first time he’d actually stopped to speak to any of them though. Perhaps he should work on rectifying that, learn all their names. Sonic should make that effort.

The sparrow was a little surprised by his request. But she admitted that it made sense. As the Cook, she was in charge of the Kitchens, so she knew all that passed through. Though she was not usually the one who dealt with the waste, she was aware of how much there was. It would be obvious to anyone paying attention how little he actually ate. He supposed his advisors usually ate enough to account for his portion but surely the servers had noticed? As an aside, he did add that he’d prefer not to be served any alcohol anymore either. Again, something simple. Something that required less effort, not more.

Done with his mission, Sonic dipped his head to Millicent and fled the Kitchens. He met Lady Percival in the hallway on the way to the stairs. She lowered herself onto one knee as he passed and he awkwardly dipped his head to her, still unsure how to deal with such displays. His mind was admittedly elsewhere and, had she not called out the obligatory Your Majesty, he might have missed her entirely. Sonic sort of felt bad for not stopping to speak with her. But he really wanted to get up to the Dining Hall before his advisors.

Once he was situated in his designated chair, Sonic let out a puff of air he hadn’t known he’d been holding. By his estimate, he had a few more minutes to breathe before Bertram, Wilkin and Odel showed up. Which meant he also had a few minutes to go over what he wanted to say to them. Sonic had not spoken to any of them since his little outburst yesterday morning, besides the brief handing-off of the letters to Bertram. His ears burned when he thought about it. He should not have lost his cool like that.

His advisors filed in one by one this morning, Bertram being the latest to arrive. Sonic waited for them to settle. Then he took a slow breath to centre himself.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice yesterday,” Sonic said evenly. “I was just frustrated. But that doesn’t excuse my actions.”

“Water under the bridge, Sire,” Odel said, waving him off.

‘Yeah,’ Sonic thought. ‘For you, I bet it is.’

Sonic wasn’t sure what he expected. For anything to change? How laughable. Odel was just as dismissive as always, as though yesterday hadn’t even happened. He bet they hadn’t even thought much on it after. And yet it had been eating at Sonic all night. Perhaps his mindset was just that different from his advisors. Was it a cultural thing? Or did he just overthink everything all the time? None of his advisors seemed to be put off by his previous words. Like they’d reset for the day. Perhaps their skin was just thicker than his own?

Was Sonic really that… sensitive? He hadn’t considered himself to be before now. But maybe he was just reading too much into all this. Maybe he was taking everything, including his own actions, too hard. He just wanted to avoid upsetting everyone.

It just seemed like he was upsetting himself more than anyone else.

At the very least, it was novel not having a drink set down in front of him when the breakfast spread came out. Predictably, the amount of food had not gone down yet since he’d only just brought up his concerns to the Cook. That was ok. He knew Millicent would be working on a way for there to be less waste. With any luck, some of today’s food might actually be saved. Maybe that was a little hopeful. But damn it, he’d rather have hope than sit with the expectation that nothing would change.

Unless something came up, the suppers were, apparently, nightly. Which meant, even though his company had been supportive in his choice not to eat much last night, Sonic didn’t want breakfast at all. If he had to deal with these suppers on a daily basis, he couldn’t just not eat every time. The idea of stomaching breakfast knowing that so much food would be presented to him later was nauseating. Even though he’d asked for smaller portions, that didn’t change the number of courses. So Sonic pretended to reach for the bread so that his advisors could eat, then he fisted his hands in his lap. As usual, no one appeared to notice. And, as usual, Sonic just sighed. It really didn’t seem to matter to them how much he ate. Which was funny because everything else he did seemed to bother them like crazy.

Speaking of which.

“Your crown is crooked, Sire,” Wilkin said, almost exasperated.

Like nothing had happened; on cue, as usual. Sonic adjusted the crown self-consciously with one hand, shoulders a little hunched. They were just trying to make him better. That’s what he had to keep telling himself. They were nitpicking because they were trying to make him better. He didn’t know how to be a King but these mobians knew what he should be doing, how he should be acting. Maybe he should stop complaining and just do what they said. Maybe it would be better in the long run.

“How did the supper go?” Bertram asked.

“Oh, uh, it went ok.”

“You’re mumbling again, Sire,” Odel interjected.

Sonic cleared his throat. No doubt his knuckles were getting white beneath his gloves. But they were just trying to help. They’d been right about the speech so they must be right about this. Sonic just had to suck it up and deal with it. Which was fine. He just had to take deep, calming breaths, listen, and speak with purpose.

“It went well,” he said, clearer this time.

Odel nodded in approval, taking a swig from his tankard. It seemed like he wasn’t paying attention but Sonic was sure he must have been. His advisors were always business focused. So maybe his mind was elsewhere, that was all. Sonic could relate to that. Now he worried that’s how everyone saw him too. Did he always look like he wasn’t present? Like he wasn’t engaged in the conversation? Chaos, did he put off that vibe? He hoped not. But now he was sure he did. Sonic should work on that; he didn’t want to come off as apathetic. That wasn’t very approachable.

Bertram hummed, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“That’s excellent,” the raven said. “Though, Sire, I seriously hope you didn’t mumble last night.”

For a moment, Sonic grit his teeth. He forced his jaw to relax. Deep breaths.

“I didn’t.”

“Good.”

Truthfully, he didn’t speak much last night at all. It just felt easier. Sonic was starting to wonder if his current lifestyle was making him regress a little. He hadn’t been this quiet, voluntarily, since he was a kid. When he’d been learning how to talk properly, he remembered Knuckles making some jokes about the way he’d been speaking. It was nothing nasty, just some light ribbing. Knuckles had not meant any real harm. But Sonic had been self-conscious about the broken way his words were coming out, the stilted sound as he was still figuring out tone. And for a while, he’d avoided speaking too much around the echidna. Not until he’d practiced more. Sonic felt that same deep-seated shame now that he did back then. It hurt being told constantly that he was speaking wrong when he’d spent so long working on his voice as a kid.

It felt like he was going backwards.

Bertram informed him that his letters had all been sent off on horseback and should arrive within about two weeks. Probably. Sonic tried not to feel discouraged by that. He sometimes forgot that things worked differently here. And much slower.

He remembered folding the letters and sealing them; it had actually been kind of fun. He’d had to use a lit candle coloured with something called vermillion. The melted wax fell like blood onto the parchment, thick and vibrant. Then he’d pressed a little bell-shaped piece of bronze, with an elaborate design on the flat side, into the wax to create the seal. The imprint was the royal arms he’d seen throughout the Castle, the little dragon staring up at him from the wax impishly.

Sonic had practiced a couple times on an draft of his first letter that he’d scrapped in a moment of paranoid dread. The first came out really messy. He’d waited too long the second time, so the seal didn’t come out very defined. Then the seal itself had cooled too much, so he’d had to hold it over another candle for a little while until it was at the appropriate temperature again. It was a more complicated process than he’d expected. But, once he’d gotten the technique down, the seals had come out pretty good. Better than his handwriting, at least.

At least Wilkin had the call for Knights written out by proper scribes the moment Sonic had passed it to him. So he knew that would be legible. The Knights desperately needed to increase their numbers.

“Wilkin, have you heard anything back about the new Knights yet?” Sonic asked.

“Afraid not, Sire.”

Wouldn’t someone have seen it by now? Or was he being impatient? Sonic just wanted to take the workload off the Knights so bad. He felt responsible for them overworking themselves. Because it was his fault that he hadn’t heard Wilkin the first time. It was his fault that a notice had not gone out sooner.

“You… did put out the notice, right?” Sonic asked suddenly.

Was he just being paranoid again? Damn it, he should trust his advisors; they knew what they were doing. There were here to help. But Sonic couldn’t help but worry that his message wasn’t being seen.

“What do you take me for?” the lion said, affronted. “Of course I did. Sire, it’s only been a day. Give it time.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sonic conceded with a sigh. “I guess I’m just being impatient.”

“Perhaps we should make sure patience is covered in your next Etiquette lesson,” Wilkin said.

Sonic tried not to wince. Odel and Bertram were immediately on board. He sat there, kicking himself, as all three advisors began to make plans for his future torture. Sonic couldn’t stand those stupid lessons. And now he was going to have that contemptuous frog lecture to him about something he couldn’t help for two hours. Sonic had always had a problem with being restless and he highly doubted being talked at was going to fix that. It was part of his being. Oh, why did he keep giving his advisors more reasons to criticise him? He really should just shut his mouth.

Chapter Text

When Sonic tapped his arm in the hallway, Melor almost choked on his own spit. He spun around to face the King with a squeak. Sonic gave him an apologetic look as he chuckled slightly.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, Melor.”

The fox shook his head. Truthfully, he didn’t understand the King. It wasn’t that he had a problem with Sonic; it was the opposite. Sonic was exceptionally kind and considerate, coming to comfort him when he was terrified. But Melor still wasn’t sure how he’d even known he was afraid of storms to begin with. And offering him not only a plot in the Castle grounds once more but a room in the Castle itself? It sort of came out of nowhere. Again, not that Melor was complaining. It was an honour to work for the King directly and he was glad Sonic held him in such high regard. But…

Why?

Why him? Not to toot his own horn but he was a great Blacksmith. Was it really worth going to these lengths though? He’d even insisted Melor use his name and not his title when speaking to him. And he’d stayed with him all night during the storm. The King hadn’t left his side until the morning. All because he was being a scaredy-fox. But Sonic wasn’t bothered by that. Melor had helped him with his sword but what other reason did he have to be so… nice?

Melor could not find fault in him though. He didn’t think Sonic was doing it to butter him up or anything. The hedgehog had been too genuinely concerned for that. And if all he wanted was his Smithy skills, Melor didn’t see that as a bad thing; that was his job. It just sort of confused him, that was all.

“No, that’s alright,” Melor said, composing himself. “Just… wasn’t expecting you to be there.”

Sonic looked as cheery as he normally did. But there was something that felt more put on about it today. Something in his expression that was more… pinched. Like maybe he’d just come from a nasty conversation. Melor wondered why he felt like he had to force his smile. Because it certainly didn’t look the same as it had the last time they’d spoken.

“Have you checked out the Smithy yet?” Sonic asked.

The hedgehog leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. If it weren’t for the crown perched between his ears, Melor would have a hard time envisioning him as Royalty. Not that that was inherently a bad thing either. The crown just… didn’t fit. But Melor believed in his abilities; he’d been picked to be King for a reason. And from what little Melor knew about him, he seemed an odd choice but perhaps a refreshing one. Who said Kings had to all be the same?

“It needs a lot of work,” Melor replied. “The whole place has to be cleaned out before I can even think about bringing my tools up.”

“Need help movin’ anything?”

Melor blinked. Sonic had offered the same thing a few days ago but the fox had never assumed he was serious. He thought he’d get some servants to help him or something. Honestly, that was still what he was expecting. But why did it sound like the King was asking personally? That couldn’t be the case. Right?

Either way, he didn’t want to take the servants away from their work. He could handle just fine on his own. Probably.

“Maybe,” Melor admitted. “There’s quite a lot of stuff. But I’m sure the servants are busy enough. I’ll manage.”

Sonic tilted his head. He hummed.

“I’m not doing much at the moment,” he said.

Gaia, he really meant he would help. Melor didn’t know how to take that. The King shouldn’t be the one assisting him with this sort of stuff. Didn’t he have meetings to attend or papers to be signed or… what ever it was that Kings got up to on a daily basis? Melor could get the Smithy up and working by himself. It just might take a while longer. The King himself did not have to be doing manual labour. That felt really wrong.

“But, Sonic, I’m sure you have more important things to be doing…”

“Takin’ a break. I don’t mind lending a hand. Come on!”

“W-wait!”

Sonic scooped him up like he weighed nothing at all and zipped out into the Courtyard. Melor had only briefly seen his speed before. But experiencing it first-hand was a rush. One that, while not unpleasant, was a bit of a shock. The air seemed to wrap around them for the brief moment it took. It ruffled his fur. It was actually strangely comforting in a way he couldn’t explain. Melor watched Sonic’s cloak settle before the hedgehog put him down. Melor stumbled for a moment, a little disoriented, as Sonic strode towards the rundown Smithy.

The stone building was a little larger than the one that Melor was currently working out of, the one he set up after the previous King ousted him from his position. But that old building had still been his home, even when he had been working here. So having a place in the Castle was a little surreal. Sonic told him the night of the storm that he had no intention of making him give up the old Smithy. That he could keep both, travel between them as he needed. So Melor didn’t have to worry about leaving his old home forever, nor did he have to transport everything to the Castle. But Sonic made it clear that he’d always have a place here while he was about. And what a great honour to have the room directly next to the King’s. Melor was sure the room he’d been given was meant for family of the Monarch or important guests. He felt like he didn’t belong in that room. But who was he to question the decision of the King? He appreciated it all the same.

By the time Melor had gathered himself, Sonic was already inside the Smithy. The fox followed him. There were crates and rusty blades and scrap cuttings of leather strewn about everywhere. Things he’d never gotten around to fixing. Old tools and materials. And it had clearly been used as temporary storage or even a dump for things for a little while. He didn’t remember there being so many crates and was all that leather really from him? It was probably easier to drag most of it out and just start over. Some of the leather might be able to be repurposed and the old rusted weapons may still be salvageable. At least, some of their parts might be, like the hilts.

The King let out a low whistle. He took off his crown, placing it on one of the least cluttered worktops. Then he turned to Melor.

“So, where we startin’?” Sonic asked.

“Are you… sure you want to spend your break lugging things around?” Melor asked sceptically. “Wouldn’t you rather… I don’t know, sit somewhere and relax? Take a walk? N-not that I’m telling you what to do; you’re the King. This just doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d want to waste your time doing.”

“It’s not a waste if it’s helping you, bud,” Sonic responded.

There was something almost familiar about his tone, like he’d known Melor longer than he actually had. He’d had that same quality to his voice since they met. And Melor remembered several instances of the hedgehog making allusions to a mobian that the fox reminded him of. He was well aware that Sonic had come from another world. But Melor had to wonder who exactly this mobian was to Sonic.

If the King insisted, Melor might as well just go with it. He told the hedgehog what he’d been thinking before. The crates and a lot of the old materials would have to be thrown out. The old weapons and leather could be moved to one side. The armour was too far gone to salvage though, so that too would have to go. Sonic gave him a mock salute and got to work moving some of the crates outside. By himself. He was deceptively strong. Though some of the crates did appear to be empty. Melor still probably wouldn’t have been able to lift them though; he’d have had to push them out.

While he was busy with that, Melor started to pile the old daggers, short swords, longswords, greatswords, and broadswords in a corner out of the way. Melor’s specialties were always arming swords and longswords for Knights. A few spears, lances, battle axes and a couple maces joined the pile though. Melor also stumbled upon a poleaxe that was looking to be in pretty good condition still. When Sonic drifted back in to go for his fourth crate, Melor finally worked up the courage to ask him.

“You said I reminded you of someone,” Melor started. “Who were they?”

Sonic paused for a moment, back to Melor. The fox watched his hand stall on the top of the crate. His grip tightened slightly and Melor was afraid he’d overstepped. From this angle he couldn’t see the hedgehog’s face, couldn’t gauge his reaction. Melor wanted to backtrack but he didn’t get the chance. As he opened his mouth, Sonic’s voice beat him to it.

“My brother.”

His tone was unreadable. A little clipped, quiet. When he turned though, he didn’t look angry or annoyed. There was a smile on his face, smaller than the one he’d given him before. There was a sadness to it.

“Do you miss him?” Melor asked softly.

Sonic drifted closer to Melor. He seemed half in his own world but his eyes were locked on him.

“A lot,” Sonic said. “Every day. You really are like him, Melor. But I don’t mean to treat you like him. I… I know you’re not him. It’s just hard.”

“That’s alright, Sonic,” Melor assured. “I’m sure it would be.”

“But your skills are incredible, Melor,” Sonic praised.

The hedgehog took Melor’s hands in his. His eyes were practically glowing with pride and it made Melor feel all warm and fuzzy. This hedgehog, who didn’t really even know him, was proud of him. Of his accomplishments and his skill. It felt good. Really good. Melor’s tails swished.

“I don’t want you to think you’re only here because you remind me of my brother,” Sonic said. “I just know the Knights will benefit from your presence here. If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll try and tone it down a little. Or… or a lot.”

His hands dropped away awkwardly. Like the King had only just realised what he was doing. Sonic took a subtle step away, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. But Melor noticed it. Noticed the waver in the King’s posture. And the look on his face. Melor frowned.

He was going to say something but the King continued on.

“It feels… unfair,” Sonic said, a little strained. “L-like I’m trying to replace him with you or something. And that’s not what I want to do. You’re not him and that’s not fair to either of you. I’m sure you don’t want to be a replacement for someone you don’t even know. And it feels like a betrayal of Tails too…”

Tails. That must have been the brother Sonic was talking about. Melor thought he understood what Sonic was trying to say. That whether consciously or unconsciously, he’d been using Melor as a substitute for his brother. But it was clear that Sonic felt guilty about that. It was a little weird. But Sonic was giving him so much and his praise was sincere. And his openness about this... Melor could see his struggle. And with everything else the King must have been dealing with, to be missing his brother so strongly must have been painful. If Melor could take that weight from him, shouldn’t he? He didn’t want to be a replacement for his brother but Sonic clearly didn’t want that either. But if his presence was going to help Sonic…

Melor took one of Sonic’s hands back. The hedgehog started, going a little rigid. He looked upset and lost. The expression looked wrong on him; every time Melor saw him, Sonic always seemed so cheerful. Though, the fox supposed he’d only seen him in short bursts when he stopped by for improvements to his blade. And more recently when Sonic had first offered him a placement in the Castle.

The storm had been different.

“If me being here makes you feel better, I don’t mind,” Melor told him. “You sound like you could use a friend.”

Sonic took a deep breath. There was something a little pained in his expression. Melor was afraid he’d overstepped again. But the hedgehog did not pull away. Sonic looked down at their hands for a good while. He appeared unsure, hand almost lifeless in Melor’s own. He did consider letting go. Then Sonic’s eyes slid up to meet Melor’s.

“You’re not my brother,” the King breathed.

It was more like he was trying to convince himself more so than Melor.

“No,” Melor said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I get that it’s hard but I’m here if you need me.”

“I’ll try harder to separate you two in my head. I promise.”

Sonic had made it clear that he didn’t want to make Melor uncomfortable. But it was clear he needed some sort of connection that he was lacking in this world. Sonic did not have any family here. Melor could imagine that it would be distressing to be pulled away from family like that, though he’d never had much family himself. It wouldn’t be right to seek that brotherly sort of bond with Sonic, especially if he was already struggling with homesickness and missing his real family. But they could still form a bond. Melor didn’t really have friends; he’d been friendly with the Knights of the Castle but none of them had a personal connection. It might actually be nice to spend time with the King. When he wasn’t busy, of course.

“We’ll work through it together, alright?” Melor said.

Sonic smiled.

“Alright.”

The King’s eyes were shimmery, like he might cry. But he never did. His hand tightened around Melor’s and the fox returned the squeeze. He really wouldn’t mind getting to know this fascinating hedgehog better. And it seemed like the King had needed to get this off his chest, like he’d been wrestling with it in silence for too long. Perhaps there was a benefit to being like Sonic’s brother. Perhaps he would open up to him more easily so he could process things that were bothering him. Because from this alone, Melor was sensing that the King might have trouble with that…

They eventually broke apart and Sonic took a few more crates out of the Smithy. He was quiet. But the silence didn’t feel awkward. Despite still looking a little gloomy, Sonic appeared content. Like he was actually relaxed. And Melor noticed an immediate difference in his demeanour, in his posture. For the first time today, Sonic’s shoulders seemed loose. Melor hadn’t even realised Sonic had been so tensed until it was gone.

He wondered what the hedgehog had been doing before he’d come out here with him. Sonic seemed to jump at the opportunity to help Melor, like he’d needed an excuse to take a break and thought this would be more productive. Like lugging crates out of the Smithy justified it.

Come to think of it, they’d been out here for a while now. Shouldn’t Sonic be getting back to his duties?

Melor shook it off. Sonic knew what he was doing. Besides, for what ever reason he seemed to be enjoying moving stuff around for Melor. When most of the crates were out of the way, Melor asked Sonic to help him gather up the scraps of leather. They were everywhere. On the worktops and the floor, the stool and the old anvil. It was going to take ages to gather it all up.

While reaching down for a particularly large scrap, Melor and Sonic almost knocked heads. The hedgehog reacted first, dodging back before their skulls collided. His reflexes were very quick; Melor hardly registered what had almost happened until Sonic was chuckling to himself a couple steps away. Melor smiled. The King really did seem like a lively person at his resting state. He was the type of hedgehog who found joy in the simplest of things. Child-like. But not in a bad way. Maybe a lot of people could learn from Sonic’s outlook on life, Melor included.

They both reached out again. Apparently, they hadn’t decided who would pick up this particular piece of leather. Sonic blinked. But then something changed in his expression. Something foreign that seemed to trigger an old, long forgotten emotion in Melor. The fox’s ears flattened, eyes narrowing. A growl was building up in his throat but Melor was not angry. No. This was something different. Sonic’s position changed, adopting a more aggressive appearance. But like Melor, there was something different in his eyes. A spark of something that didn’t look threatening in the slightest. Melor also noticed the conscious choice on Sonic’s part to lower rather than raise his quills, something so opposed to the rest of his body language.

Melor’s tails twitched side to side before he pounced at Sonic. The hedgehog retaliated by letting his body go limp, causing them both to fall back. They kicked up a little dust as they rolled. Melor’s growl was met with one from Sonic but the lilt to it was more playful in nature. Neither of them meant it. When they finally stopped rolling, scattering more scraps of leather as they went, Sonic was on top of him. The hedgehog pinned him, a grin on his face. Melor rolled out from under him, surprised with the ease at which he was able to do so.

Though he supposed Sonic wasn’t really trying to keep him down, otherwise he would have been able to do it effortlessly. No doubt.

The fox sprung back at Sonic, wondering absently where his goggles had gotten to. They must have fallen off during their tussle. He wasn’t worried about them though; they were built tough. Melor actually managed to pin Sonic back, though he was certain he mostly had fistfuls of his cloak more than his shoulders. Still, Sonic didn’t even attempt to break free. He just started laughing.

Sonic’s laugh was infectious. Like a yawn. The type of sound that you couldn’t help but join in with. Melor wasn’t sure what they were even doing or why it felt so natural. But he found that he didn’t care. There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind, telling him it was the King on the dirty floor. Melor chose to ignore it; Sonic didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was actually enjoying this. And so was Melor. He couldn’t explain why. But it didn’t matter to the fox that all the cleanup had come to a halt. He leaned back, letting the hedgehog sit up again.

This was… fun.

“Your Majesty!”

The irritated snap startled them both. Sonic straightened immediately, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. The tension seemed to rush back into every pore of the hedgehog. The moment, whatever it had been, was gone. Melor frowned.

“Really, Sire, you must get back to work,” the light coloured raven said with a huff. “What are you even doing, sitting on the floor like a barbarian? You’re all dirty.”

“Sorry, Bertram,” Sonic said. “I must have lost track of time.”

The hedgehog’s tone had shifted along with his stance. Flat, quieter than he’d been before. The hedgehog rose to his feet, shaking out his fur. Then he offered his hand to Melor. The fox took it hesitantly. The mood had changed. The light, relaxed, silly air had just thickened into something oppressive. Melor felt his own ears flattening. Maybe they had been doing something wrong…

But how could something that felt so right be wrong?

Sonic hastily said goodbye to Melor, swiping up the crown, and practically scurried out of the Smithy. The raven – Bertram, Sonic had called him – turned to follow him out. He sent Melor a venomous scowl before he shut the door, wood hitting the frame a little too hard. It made the fur along the fox’s spine fluff up. Whoever he was, Melor didn’t like him. It wasn’t just the glare, it was the effect he had on Sonic. The King clearly knew this raven but he seemed more subdued in his presence, almost skittish. The change was concerning. There was something wrong with this picture. And Melor did not like it.

Not one bit.

Chapter Text

About a week later, still with no word from the other Monarchs or Merlina on her progress, Sonic learnt of something amazing. Something that, for the briefest of moments, made him forget all about the letters. Forget all about the stress. Until he realised one very sobering thing…

A Flower Festival in the city.

At the turning point between Spring and Summer, Camelot held a festival celebrating the height of blooming season. The Spring flowers were at their best, the Summer ones just coming in. The weather was pleasant but not sweltering yet. It was the perfect time to hold the festival. He’d learnt from Honey that the city was decorated with colourful banners and flowers. There were various stalls set up for vendors to sell flowers, seeds, food, and trinkets in the main square. And many of the townspeople would flood to the meadows just outside the city to dance and sing and have their portraits painted. And just… spend time together.

And Sonic was stuck inside. At his desk. Lonely and dying of boredom. Like most days. Because he had work to do and that’s why he couldn’t go.

He usually saw Caliburn when he’d take a breather to stretch his legs. Or he’d sit with the sword up on the castle wall before he went to bed. But other than the dreadfully painful breakfasts, the lessons in the afternoon and the suppers, Sonic spent a good deal of his time… alone. In fact, even when he was with his advisors or the various teachers, he didn’t feel like he was really present. If Bartleby made a stink during supper, Sonic would beg his brain to try and dissociate just to get out of the situation. It didn’t always work but still he didn’t feel fully connect to the situation. He still hadn’t built up the courage to be himself either, always so stiff and quiet and reserved. Sonic hated it.

He just wanted a few hours to… be himself again. And the festival was screaming his name. From the Chancery window, he could make out some of the banners along the streets. Lines of red and pink and green. It was killing him inside, to be able to see the festivities but not able to participate. He wanted to go so bad. It was distracting him from what he was supposed to be doing; he wouldn’t get anything done today, he could already tell.

So… what did it really matter if he left?

No. No, he couldn’t. He had to focus. Odel wanted these tax documents by the end of the day. Sonic needed to get them done. And he’d been caught sneaking out – well, in – once already and chewed out for leaving a second time for Melor’s sake. Bertram would not tolerate him skipping out on his duties again. Not that he’d missed much during the storm. Or, when he first left for that matter… Still, Sonic would definitely get an earful for ditching. He’d have to sit through an excruciatingly long lecture about setting an example and doing what’s best for the kingdom and acting like a king. He was so sick of the lectures. Every morning, non stop, lecture, lecture, lecture. All three of them.

It was always a roll of the dice on what it would be.

Everything was a target. Posture, speech, mannerisms, attitude, expression, work ethic. They’d recently been getting on him about his eating habits, so apparently they had noticed that. They wouldn’t let it be like Caliburn did either, didn’t care for his reasoning. And his appearance was a big one. The crown wasn’t sitting straight on his head. His quills weren’t brushed down. His fur wasn’t lying flat. His gloves weren’t pulled up properly. His shoes. Even after his outburst the other day, they still insisted on badgering Sonic about his shoes. Sonic didn’t think they’d even heard him when he’d been honest about how he felt about the argument. It was like it had never happened to begin with. So he’d learnt to keep his mouth shut. Why argue with a stone wall anyway? It wasn’t worth the effort it took to raise his voice.

Honestly, it was a miracle his voice had held out this long. He hadn’t been speaking as much for the past few days anyway, which maybe helped. But Sonic hadn’t had a full on mute episode yet. It was actually starting to worry him. Like his body was waiting for the worst time to strike. Even though he’d been compelled to keep talking to a minimum as of late, he hadn’t yet been rendered unable to speak. It was entirely possible that it might have hit him during a period of intentional silence and he hadn’t known. And maybe his choice was influenced by his brain’s need for silence.

He wasn’t a damn psychologist. But every now and then he could feel it creeping up. Like one more overwhelmed situation could trigger a shut-down of his vocal chords.

It was coming. He could feel it. Sonic just wasn’t sure when. He was never sure when.

Another five minutes of blankly staring at an endless page of numbers and Sonic couldn’t take it anymore. He needed a break or he’d have a wholly unproductive day. Caliburn had offered, several times, to sit with him in the Chancery. To help. But Sonic was being his usual stubborn self and insisting he was fine. He wanted to prove to the sword that he could do this, that he could fill the position Caliburn had given to him. He was sure he was doing a piss-poor job because of that. But now it felt too embarrassing to admit to Caliburn that he needed some support in this. It had surely been too long now. So Sonic did the one thing he felt he could do.

He stood abruptly from the chair, covered the length of the Chancery in about five steps, and practically yanked open the door. He was running to Caliburn to blow off some much needed steam. Like an irritated child.

Caliburn wasn’t far. He usually wasn’t. Sonic didn’t even want to go out into the depressing Courtyard today like usual. Seeing the dead, lifeless grass would just remind him how much he’d rather be down in Camelot with the vibrant flowers and townsfolk. So when Sonic intercepted the sword in the hallway, he just let himself fall into a folded-leg position on the floor in front of him instead. Caliburn blinked, obviously expecting to be whisked away outside. The sword settled beside him regardless.

“I can’t focus,” Sonic groaned.

The sword hummed. It was a grounding, familiar sound. The sword was thinking. About what, Sonic hadn’t a clue, but he didn’t much care. Just hearing his voice chased away the first layer of solitude. But there were more, many of which were quite clingy and persistent. The deepest layer had sunk it’s claws into his heart and he couldn’t shake it no matter what he did. But his trusty sword’s presence eased him somewhat.

“Perhaps you need a break?” Caliburn suggested.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Sonic said with a huff.

He rested his chin on his hands, elbows against his knees. At the moment, he didn’t care if anyone walked by. Sonic was miserable and for once he didn’t care if people knew it. He wasn’t really in the mood for Caliburn’s snark today either. But anything was better than sitting in the Chancery alone. With nothing but parchment, ink and a taunting window as company. He’d have drawn the damn curtain by now if that didn’t block out all the natural light he needed to go over the documents. And the candlelight made his eyes hurt after a while with all that flickering. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk the strain.

Sonic’s brain was feeling a little foggy too. He could no longer make his mind up if it was the lack of sleep or the light infection in his side. It wasn’t really going away. But it hadn’t gotten worse yet either. But that was fine. It would clear up eventually so it was whatever.

“I meant, why not go down to the festival?”

Sonic perked his ears up. Was he hearing that wrong or… or did Caliburn just tell him to shirk his responsibilities? That was very unlike the ancient sword. He eyed Caliburn warily. Was this some sort of test? He wasn’t mentally prepared for a test but he couldn’t figure out what else this could be. Still, despite his wariness, Sonic wasn’t about to fail. No matter how much he wanted to accept the out.

“Shouldn’t I… not do that?” Sonic asked.

“I think you need it,” Caliburn replied.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But the sword was serious. If Caliburn was allowing it, what was the harm? The sword was equal parts stern, sardonic and earnest. If he genuinely though it was ok… Then maybe it was.

“Only for a few hours…” Sonic mumbled.

“Only for a few hours,” Caliburn agreed with a smile.

Sonic sent the sword a grin. He ditched his cloak in the Chancery and picked up a pouch of rings he had stored away in one of the drawers. He’d thought it was just convenient to have it close by just in case – like if he felt the staff wasn’t being paid enough or something – but now it was actually coming in handy. Besides, he could probably solve two problems in one go again. He slung the little pouch over his shoulder and across his body, curling his fingers around the cord.

He said goodbye to Caliburn and zipped away down the hall. The sword was content staying in the Castle, so Sonic once again scaled the gate, so much faster than he had the first time, and practically flew down the hill towards the city. It occurred to him that everyone in Camelot knew what he looked like and he thought again to his old jumpers and jackets back home. He missed them. But there were cloaks with hoods; he’d spotted someone running for shelter in one during the storm. So there was an alternative. A pretty efficient one. More efficient than a jumper even, if he found one long enough.

Did anyone sell them in Camelot? Presumably yes. He’d been meaning to ask if Honey made cloaks but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Would it be admitting that he wanted to disappear? Sonic didn’t intend to leave-leave. He just needed a way of walking through Camelot without being recognised. Usually, Sonic didn’t hate the attention. But he didn’t love it either. Tack on the title of king, and Sonic was pretty miffed about being acknowledged. Being bowed to all the time was grating on his nerves.

Maybe a cloak should be his first goal. If he could find one first, he could enjoy his time at the festival in peace.

Sonic paused at the edge of the city, staring up at the pink banners set up between two of the buildings ahead of him. Lightly dyed cloth, rippling in the wind. Such a small but effective decoration that entranced Sonic. It added an extra dose of allure to the already charming medieval city. He strolled down the street, watching the banners change from pink to red to green, then start to repeat the further he went in. For a moment, lost in his wonder, he almost forgot there were other mobians and humans about. They were staring. He could leave behind his kingly cloak and crown but his blue fur gave him away in a heartbeat.

Time to track down a hooded-cloak.

It was risky to run in the tight streets, so Sonic had to endure the stares as he meandered his way through the city. He caught the occasional whispers but not what they were saying. Most of the citizens bowed to him as he walked past. He was assaulted with Your Majesty and My Liege almost every few steps and he tried not to sigh.

Reading signs on shopfronts and glancing at stalls, Sonic looked for anything resembling a tailor. One that he did come across was closed for the festival, so he was out of luck there. It was at least nice seeing all the flowers the townsfolk had put out in their windows and on their doorsteps. They perfumed the whole city, a pleasing floral scent lingering on the breeze. The next tailor’s shop he found was also closed though; so was the draper’s shop next to it, not like that would have been entirely helpful to him anyway. It seemed like most of the citizens had closed up early for the festival. Sonic was very glad they were enjoying themselves. It was just a little disappointing.

Maybe he would just have to deal with a couple hours of uncomfortable stares. He could always come back into the city at a later date for the cloak.

He’d made his way to the main square at least. Sonic chose to peruse the stalls from a distance, keeping an eye out for one that might be selling seeds. He wanted to plant some flowers in the Western Courtyard. It wouldn’t fix the dry grass but it would at least add some colour and hopefully encourage more growth. He just wanted the Courtyard to actually look nice because it was horribly sad at the moment. Of course, the grass would have to be dug up; it was too far gone. So if he happened to find grass seeds, that would be cool too.

He perked up. A grey ocelot was running a stall that had SEEDS painted on an a-frame style sign beside it. He waited for the small crowd around the stall to disperse before slinking over. The ocelot immediately froze upon seeing him. Then he bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty! M-may I help you?”

Sonic hid his wince at the umpteenth exclamation of his title and gave the ocelot a gentle smile. He wanted to ease the other mobian. The only thing that made Sonic special was his new title, and Sonic didn’t consider that to be all that important anyway. So he put on his friendliest talking-to-scared-stranger voice and pointed to the sign.

“No need to panic!” he insisted. “I just wanted to know what seeds you’re selling.”

The ocelot still looked mildly terrified. Sonic learnt his name was Hawthorn – because he was making a point to learn people’s names after fumbling with Melor, like in the Kitchens. Hawthorn walked Sonic, shakily, through all the seeds he had on offer. No grass seeds unfortunately. But, he did manage to score a few flower seeds. Most would take a while to produce but that wasn’t going to stop Sonic. Plants took time and care, both of which he was more than willing to put in to transform the Courtyard.

The ocelot seemed very surprised that he was actually buying anything at all. Hawthorn seemed to think that Sonic would just… take them. It irked the blue hedgehog. Sonic slipped some extra rings onto the stall’s surface before he made his exit. The seeds, wrapped in cloth, were tucked gently into his ring pouch.

He would keep Hawthorn in mind for when he inevitably needed more seeds. These were just to get a section of the Courtyard started.

As Sonic was taking his leave of the square to check out more of the festivities, he discovered exactly what he’d been looking for: a stall selling various cloaks. Several of which, he could already tell from a distance, had hoods. There was a vole running the stall with fur as white as the clouds. She was wearing a little red scarf – the same type that Honey wore every time he’d seen her. Sonic wondered if this was a seamstress that worked under the cat. As he approached, the vole had a similar reaction to the ocelot he’d just spoken with. Another bow and title-laced greeting later, Sonic asked to see the cloaks she had on offer. She was selling other clothes, all with flower themes but Sonic only had eyes for the cloaks.

He was immediately drawn to a flowing white cloak, the only one of its kind the vole had. It was embroidered with red lilies all along the hemline and was about ankle-length. Sonic asked to try it on. The vole handed it over, wide-eyed. It wasn’t as soft as his cloak at the Castle but the material it was made out of was still very nice and definitely more durable. The hood was wide, covering his quills and obscuring his face, exactly how he’d hoped it would. And it was super light. The vole offered him a matching lily broach to secure it which he gratefully accepted.

Sonic loved it.

“How much for both?” Sonic asked.

“You… you want to buy one of my cloaks, My Liege?” the vole asked, perplexed.

Chaos, did everyone expect him to just walk off with their products? Because he was king? That wasn’t right; they all deserved to be paid fairly for their hard work. If he just took this beautiful handmade piece he might be putting the poor vole at financial risk. Why would anyone do that? Especially someone of his position who had so much more money than the majority of the population?

Sonic found the very idea positively disgusting.

“Of course,” he said with a frown. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“But… you’re the King,” she said.

Sonic tilted his head, taking down the hood for a moment. He felt just as confused as the vole looked. He furrowed his brow. Was that seriously a thing? That he was supposed to get things for free because of a ridiculous title?

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The vole shifted in place. She fiddled with her glove.

“If you ask for something, I am required to give it to you, My Liege,” the vole said. “I can’t possibly charge the King full price. That’s just how it’s always been in Logres.”

So not necessarily a give-the-Monarchy-free-stuff thing then. At some point, whoever had been ruling over Logres had put that ridiculous rule in place. Sonic wondered if it counted as a law. If so, he was certainly going to sift through to find it so it could be abolished immediately. It left a lot of room for it to be abused. If anyone in the Castle – advisors, Knights and staff alike – were claiming to be purchasing things on the king’s behalf and getting it for free, Sonic had some serious issues with that. No, that definitely had to go.

“Well I say you should be overcharging me,” Sonic said with a chuckle. “Come on, I won’t know.”

He sent the vole a wink. She blinked, completely taken aback.

“90 rings,” she whispered, looking mortified.

Sonic had a funny feeling that wasn’t the full value of both items. It sounded horrendously low to him but this was a different time period and rings worked differently. Inflation or… something. Sonic didn’t keep up with stuff like that. The seeds had been five for one ring. And something like this, completely hand sewn with such an elaborate design… It could be anywhere from a thousand rings and up in his world, surely? But Sonic settled on a middle-ground that seemed fair.

“Then let’s go with 180.”

He set the rings down. The vole looked from the rings to him, then back at the rings. Her eyes were as wide as they could be, mouth agape. He didn’t want to give her time to argue. So Sonic pulled the hood back up, straightened his pouch of rings, and met her gaze steadily. He put a finger to his lips and smiled.

“Our little secret,” he said. “May I get your name?”

“L-Lily.”

Sonic chuckled again. Had he picked the most perfect cloak or what? A white cloak with lilies. It made remembering her name incredibly easy and Sonic intended to remember her. If he was right, and this vole did work for Honey, he intended to sing her praises to the cat. Her embroidery work was outstanding and the quality of the cloak clearly very high. Besides, perhaps he could put an order for a custom made one through Honey sometime. Something with a little more… yellow perhaps.

“Thank you, Lily,” Sonic said, with a dip of the head. “You just helped me out in a pinch. And the cloak is gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Lily said, breathlessly.

Sonic waved to Lily and started to pick his way down the street. It wasn’t the most anonymous cloak. Perhaps a duller colour, grey or brown, with a less extravagant design would have been more appropriate. But Sonic didn’t care. He adored the cloak and it hid his fur, that’s all he really cared about. The broach to keep it in place was just a wonderful plus. It was smooth and silvery, most likely made of iron. Where did she supply the broaches from?

Moving through the city was definitely more peaceful when he wasn’t being greeted by everyone. Not disrupting the day of the townsfolk was also nice; unwilling or not, his presence made them all stop whatever they were doing to bow to him. It was absurd and inconvenient for both parties. Though, he admitted that he probably still came off as someone with high status, a noble, with the cloak.

If he truly wanted to disappear, he could still do with a more subtle one. But this cloak was very pretty. Maybe it would even be approved by his advisors too. He snorted; fat chance of that. It was very unlikely it would be received well by them. Nothing he did pleased those mobians.

Oh well.

As Sonic made his way towards the opposite end of Camelot, where the meadows were, he admired the decorative flowers again. They were littered everywhere and really brightened up the streets. Sonic would be sad to see them go when the festival was over. He tried to keep track of the time too; he promised Caliburn he’d only be a few hours. Sonic would cap that at three hours, just to be fair. He really did have a lot to do back at the Castle. Especially now that he had a few specific goals in mind.

He tried not to let the guilt ruin his mood as he rounded a building and came face to face with the rolling fields of thousands of flowers. A rainbow on the ground, swaying gently in the breeze. Captivating. Mobians and humans alike were milling about, enjoying the assembled band and having their portraits painted. There was a group of kids playing in the flowers; he could hear their melodic laughter from where he was standing. And the upbeat sounds of the band made Sonic beam.

He had to go back soon. He seriously did. But he was really tempted to nap among the flowers.

Chaos, he hadn’t had a nap in so long…

Chapter Text

It was brought to their attention that the King was missing.

It was certainly worrying. But considering Lamorak’s insistence that he had snuck out once before and Lancelot’s account of the King leaving in a hurry – to console the Blacksmith no less – a day later, it didn’t seem like the most alarming thing. Moreso than worrying, Gawain found it rather inconvenient. The Knights did not have a lot of down time with how few of them there currently were. They were still waiting on new recruits. Hopefully that would be changing soon but for now they had to share the workload between the five of them. It was incredibly vexing.

And now he was being dragged about the Castle by Lancelot in order to track the hedgehog down. Percival was on patrol, Lamorak was cleaning out the stables per his punishment, and Galahad was on standby to take over patrol from Percival. Gawain was the only other Knight who was technically free, despite being a little tired. He still had time to get some rest before patrol duty in the night but it was still very bothersome. Lancelot wanted to check if Caliburn was present before they went out into Camelot and the surrounding area. To check if the King was armed, presumably. And to ask the sacred sword if he had any idea where the King had gone, should he still be in the Castle. Caliburn had known him the longest, aside from Merlina.

But none of them particularly wanted to talk to Merlina if they could help it.

It took them a few minutes to track down the sword. They eventually did find him in the hallway outside the King’s Chancery. He normally didn’t stary far if the King was at work. Except right now, the blue hedgehog wasn’t even here. So Gawain wasn’t quite sure why the sword was hanging about alone up here. Caliburn greeted them as they approached. The echidna dipped his head to the sword.

“Hello, Caliburn,” Lancelot said. “The King has been reported missing by his advisors. I don’t suppose you saw where he went?”

The sword hummed. He didn’t appear worried, so Gawain assumed he did in fact know where the King was. It was still odd though. Why hadn’t the sword said anything if he knew? Did the advisors not even bother to ask him?

“He is not missing,” Caliburn said matter-of-factly. “He went into the city for the Flower Festival.”

Gawain shared a look with Lancelot. The King left… to go to the Festival? How irresponsible and even more infuriating. His advisors were looking for him and he up and left without saying a word, just because? Gawain had no idea how Calburn had determined that this hedgehog was fit to be their King. He barely had the accountability to be a Knight. The skill, sure he’d give him that, but not the discipline.

“He told you that?” Gawain asked with a huff.

He folded his arms over his chest. The echidna could feel his eye twitching against his will. Gawain was not very good at hiding his displeasure. He knew this. But why make the effort to hide what he thought? If he noticed something frustrating, he was going to point it out. He would not be a coward with his own emotions like Lancelot nor would he remain calculated like Percival. Gawain was always true to himself and he’d stick to his own opinions, not measure them to line up with anyone else’s. Not anymore.

“Actually, I told him to go,” Caliburn responded.

Gawain blinked. Now he was even more confused. A glance at Lancelot revealed that the dark Knight felt the same. How bizarre. Why would Caliburn have told the King to put off the work that needed to be done? Wasn’t Caliburn all about responsibility? Or had he read the sword wrong all this time?

Gawain’s irritation was growing by the minute. So now they had the whole damn city to search? It wasn’t like the King didn’t stand out in a crowd with that fur of his but that was so much ground to cover. It was incredibly likely that they’d miss him, that the hedgehog would pass them, would be on the other side of the city. They’d have to comb through the place for the wayward King; it could take forever. Gawain’s prospects of getting more rest before his patrol shift were growing slimmer and slimmer. Guess he could wave that plan goodbye.

“Why?” Lancelot asked before Gawain could voice his own confusion.

“He was restless and very unlikely to get anything done as he was,” Caliburn said plainly. “I suggested he take a break. He will come back refreshed and more productive.”

That sort of made sense. But the hassle of it was still incredibly annoying. Gawain wasn’t necessarily against the King taking a brief break. But why didn’t he just say something? Then his advisors could go fetch him themselves and Gawain’s morning would not have been so thoroughly ruined.

“Odel asked us to find him,” Lancelot explained.

The sword sighed.

“Very well,” Caliburn said. “If it is not urgent, however, I ask you give him a little more time before you retrieve him. He is not due back quite yet.”

“How do you mean?” Lancelot asked.

“He said he would only be a few hours. Likely the King will come back himself when the sun is at its highest.”

Yeah, sure he would. How did they know he wasn’t just bailing on them? That he hadn’t dipped out to look for his own way home, too impatient to wait for Merlina? It was incredibly likely and Gawain was tired of Lancelot and Caliburn acting as if it wasn’t. What was there to really stop him from leaving? The King had no reason to remain here, nothing to hold him here. Responsibility was clearly irrelevant to him. For all they knew, the fast hedgehog was in another kingdom by now.

“How do you know he will come back?” Gawain grumbled.

It was no secret that the King was looking to go home. Gawain was not necessarily blaming the King for wanting to go back to his own world, obviously. Still, it made him unwilling to give his undying support to a King who wasn’t wholly present himself. Lancelot was blinded by his commitment to loyalty. Gawain had learnt, during the fiasco with the false king, that that type of loyalty was dangerous. He would not make the same mistake with this one. That wasn’t to say he would let harm come to anyone in Logres if he could help it; it was still his kingdom, his home. But why give his all to a King who was itching to leave them all?

He wasn’t alone in that thinking. He knew the majority of the Castle staff felt the same way. Lamorak held an obvious dislike for their new King and he could tell Percival had her own doubts. Galahad seemed to want to give the King the benefit of the doubt but that didn’t mean the white hedgehog utterly believed in him either. Even Lancelot must be thinking what they all were, he just hid behind his unshaking devotion like a shield.

“Sir Gawain,” Caliburn said sternly. “I understand your concerns. However, I suggest you have more faith in your King. Sonic will not abandon this kingdom; that is not how he operates.”

The sword’s word meant nothing to Gawain. Not if he couldn’t verify it himself.

“No offence, Caliburn,” Gawain responded. “I have nothing but respect for you. Truly, I do. But tell me how you could possibly know that? Even you haven’t known the King very long. Certainly not well enough to be able to guarantee that.”

“Gawain!” Lancelot snapped. “Hold your tongue!”

The echidna didn’t need to see Lancelot’s eyes to know the pure righteous rage burning away in them. The flattened ears and tensed stance suggested the other Knight might actually strike him. Gawain wasn’t too worried about that though; Lancelot’s fuse was short but he wasn’t stupid. He would not draw his sword within the Castle walls upon a fellow Knight, especially in front of the sacred sword. But he’d certainly raise his voice to protect the honour of a King who wasn’t even here.

That sort of devotion really troubled Gawain. How had Lancelot not learned the same lesson he had?

“It is alright, Sir Lancelot,” Caliburn said, turning back to the echidna. “I promise you, Sir Gawain, that I do not need to know him well to tell you that. Simply look at all he has done for this kingdom so far. He could have left before his coronation if he truly had any intention of leaving us. Did he?”

Gawain did not respond. There was no point; the answer was obvious to them all. No, the hedgehog had not left. Yet. But that did not mean he wouldn’t. Gawain thought it was imprudent not to consider that it was possible he could have a change of heart. Still, he wouldn’t argue any further; it was clear Caliburn’s view would not change on this. And opening his mouth would just invoke the wrath of Lancelot further.

Frankly, Gawain did not want to join Lamorak in the stables any time soon. Though, personally, he didn’t think the hawk was in the wrong for questioning the legitimacy of their King either. Perhaps Lamorak should have just been more careful about blabbing his mouth to everyone. Gawain did agree with Lancelot on that, at the very least.

“If you feel like you must look for him, I will not stop you,” Caliburn uttered. “I only ask you keep what I said in mind.”

Ultimately, Lancelot and Gawain made their decision: they had to track down the King. They left the sword, after thanking him for his time, and made for the Eastern Courtyard. Lancelot flagged down a servant on the way to go man the gate for them. They were to open the gate so the Knights could leave and wait until they returned with the King. Leaving it open was negligent and it would be counterintuitive to be locked out on the way back. And they would not be climbing the main gate like ruffians. Gawain just knew that’s what the King had done too after Lamorak and Lancelot’s accounts. Just who raised that hedgehog anyway? Certainly no one competent. That hedgehog just wasn’t right.

The day was bright and clear, perfect weather for the Festival. Gawain was not particularly fond or averse to flowers. He didn’t much care for them but didn’t mind their presence either. Still, even he could admit Camelot looked quite pretty with all the colour everywhere. As they descended the slight hill, he took in the banners from a distance. They brightened the streets considerably. He could appreciate the view.

Lancelot was silent beside him, eyes forward and impassive as always. It was protocol to keep their visors down around civilians, so Gawain made sure to lower his when they reached the edge of the city. Lancelot pretty much always kept his down unless he was sleeping; Gawain wasn’t sure he’d even seen Lancelot’s face much since they became Knights alongside each other. He didn’t know what the hedgehog’s issue was, if he was being honest. Lancelot had always been a bit… removed from them all. In his own bubble. Standoffish.

More focused on his position than anything else.

As they walked the streets, the citizens made way for them, recognising their status. Knights were highly regarded across all the kingdoms, even if their methods and traditions varied from place to place. Gawain was proud to be a part of Logres’ esteemed protectors. Even after the false king, nothing could dampen his love for this kingdom. That was what Gawain was loyal to. Logres and Logres alone. As a direct Knight of the King, he was simply given more reach. More opportunity to give back to the citizens and fight for their safety.

Gawain scanned the throngs of mobians and humans for any hint of blue. The occasional flower caught his eye, distracting him. Every time he thought he saw the King, he was really only seeing flowers. Yet even those blue ones were few and far between, splashes here and there on doorsteps and windows. Predictably, this was going to be difficult. Blue at least wasn’t a popular clothing choice because the dye was so expensive. It was usually imported from Babylon anyway.

Lancelot had taken to stopping random people to ask if they’d seen the King around. A few reported spotting him around the main square. So that’s where they moved their search. After splitting up to talk with different stall owners, Gawain was getting real fed up with hearing that the king had been here but he’d moved on a while ago. He broke off from the main square and stumbled upon a stall with a white-furred vole. He thought he might as well stop and ask the girl if she’d seen anything, though he wasn’t expecting much.

So he was genuinely surprised when the vole hesitated. She knew something. And was very bad at hiding it.

“If you know where he is, I need you to tell me,” Gawain pressed.

The vole shifted in place. She looked mildly worried about something. As she thought about how to respond, the vole fiddled with a broach in her hands. Gawain forced himself to wait, though he was gradually losing patience with this whole ridiculous chase.

“I don’t know where the King is,” the vole muttered. “I promise I don’t but…”

“But?”

“I-I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you.”

Gawain sighed. If the King had directly spoken to this vole, it was very likely he’d told her not to say anything. As an order from the King himself, that was difficult to overturn. But this vole knew something. All he could do was convince the vole that he had to find the King. That it was important. Breaking a promise to the King was one thing but lying to a Knight looking for information was also wrong. She knew this; Gawain could see her wavering. He just needed to press a little further.

“I need to know where he is,” Gawain insisted. “I promise you won’t get in trouble.”

And he was being honest. He would not let this girl be punished for outing the King; it was that damn hedgehog’s fault for running off in the first place. He would sooner defend this girl than his own King if he was honest. The vole took a deep breath. She looked vaguely sick. But she did eventually give up information that was pretty helpful. Information that rose that bitter, nagging feeling once more.

“I sold him a cloak,” she said. “I got the feeling the King’s intention was to disappear.”

Gawain grit his teeth.

“What did this cloak look like?”

The echidna returned to Lancelot with this information, with the description of the cloak in question. They were looking for a white cloak with red flowers on it. The echidna brought up his fears of the King going rogue again. Lancelot dismissed him, parroting the line Caliburn had said. Gawain was no longer sure if the hedgehog believed his own words. Did Lancelot even think for himself anymore or did he purely function under the blind assumptions of the sacred sword and the wiles of the King? He was starting to suspect that was the case. Fool.

He glared at Lancelot’s back as the other Knight walked away. The questions about the King changed to asking for sightings of the cloak. The vole had assured him that all her clothes were unique, so there were no concerns about chasing down the wrong lead; the King would stand out whether they could see his fur or not.

Gawain allowed Lancelot to take the lead on questioning again, choosing not to help out of pure spite. Spite for the King and the Knight of the Lake. It still took longer than Gawain would like but at this point he hardly cared. Let Lancelot waste his own time, his won breath; Gawain had long since given up his ideas of getting some more sleep. Now he was just in it to watch the dark hedgehog suffer and grow frustrated. It was always fun to see the usually so put together Knight unravel in his own annoyance. Gawain revelled it in.

He no longer minded this little trip out of the Castle after all.

Eventually, someone pointed them in the direction of the meadows. They were already close to the iconic rolling fields of flowers by the time they’d gotten that tip. There was one of two ways this could go in Gawain’s mind now. Either they’d find the King or he’d already fled from the city, exactly how Gawain had said. He was readying himself for the smug “told you so.” It wouldn’t feel nearly as good as that phrase usually felt though. Because that would mean they were without a King. The Knights of the Round Table, how few of them were left, would genuinely have to disband. The kingdom would fall into ruin. And Gawain would have nothing to protect, would have no purpose. It wasn’t that he was looking forward to all that mess. It would just be proving that he was right to distrust that strange hedgehog.

How could Galahad put his trust in a King that didn’t have any reason to care for their world? How could Percival sit idly by when they were dangerously close to another disaster like the false king? How could Lancelot just unabashedly follow such an unfit ruler? What was wrong with the Knights around him?

How could Caliburn, the scared sword himself, seriously endorse the blue hedgehog when even he didn’t really know him?

At least Lamorak could have seen this coming. And the Castle staff. Gawain was not the only one with suspicions. And all of them were going to be right about the King. Gawain could see it now. There was no doubt in his mind on this: the King was long gone.

And then Gawain actually spotted him.

Sitting alone on a slight raised mound, far from the rabble, was the King. His back was to them, the cloak billowing to the side in the slight breeze. His hood was not even up anymore, though from what they’d heard it had been earlier. Blue quills stood out starkly, further confirming it was indeed the King. And Gawain had to eat his words.

 The closest citizens to the King were a group of kids, running around through the flowers off to the side. They were giggling and making a fuss over something. One of the hedgehog’s ears was tilted in their direction but he was otherwise still. A brightly pigmented statue. Still, there was something almost… serene about the hedgehog. Relaxed. More relaxed that Gawain had ever seen him, despite the still obviously half-raised quills. That did give him pause briefly though. Even doing nothing, the King appeared on edge. He was supposed to be taking a break, wasn’t he? Gaia, all the hedgehogs Gawain knew could benefit from a little relaxation apparently, even their weirdly laid-back King.

Lancelot and Gawain approached the hedgehog. The ear not listening to the kids flicked back towards them, letting them know they’d been heard; the hedgehog’s hearing was exceptional. The King turned his head over his shoulder. His face was mostly unreadable with a vague hint of surprise.

“Sire, Odel has been looking for you,” Lancelot said as they levelled with the King.

“He said he wanted it by the end of the day, not immediately,” The King muttered to himself.

It was almost assuredly not meant for their ears. But both Knights heard it loud as thunder. The King was exasperated. Perhaps he genuinely did need a break. Something was obviously bothering him. Did he really have the right to be upset when he’d been gone for hours though? Upset for being reminded he had duties to fulfil? Gawain was torn between actually feeling guilty for interrupting the King and a general frustration.

The blue hedgehog stretched his arms above his head, as though he’d been sitting for a while and his muscles had grown stiff. Gawain watched him carefully. It was hard to get a read on the King. Granted, he hadn’t spent a lot of time with the hedgehog outside of getting his ass kicked, working with him to stop Merlina, and the last time the hedgehog spoke to the Knights as a collective. Still, he’d seemed more… emotive when they first met. Gawain had passed him in the halls a few times but the King had seemed completely absorbed in his own mind, unaware of anything around him. From what he’d heard from Lamorak, the hawk had experienced the same. Presumably, so had everyone. The King seemed to live entirely in his own mind or something, like not a thing outside of himself existed. That’s what worried Gawain.

“I supposed I’ve been gone long enough,” the blue hedgehog muttered.

The King hopped to his feet, cloak flapping out around him as the breeze picked up a touch. He looked towards the direction the wind was coming from for a moment; face turned away, Gawain could not see his expression. The King lingered for a few seconds more, distracted it seemed, before he turned back to the Knights. He supposed they were just going to ignore what ever that was. His face was still pretty blank, as it almost always appeared to be now.

Incredibly unnerving.

“Ok, let’s go then,” the King said with a sigh.

“Wait!”

Stopping, the king turned around, looking to the little bee that came charging at him. The bee held a bunch of flowers in his hands, laced through each other to form a circle. A flower crown. Gawain didn’t know the names of any of the flowers it was made up of but they were red, white and yellow. The kid held the flower crown out to the King, who widened his eyes. Then he smiled, a soft, gentle smile and knelt down on one knee before the kid to take it. Gawain just stared, completely dumbfounded, as the King kneeled before a child.

“For me?” he asked. “Thank you, Lucian!”

The King bowed his head to accept the “crown.” The bee grinned in delight. When the King rose, he tussled the kid’s antennae, almost fond. The look of admiration and awe the bee sent him at the gesture was quite adorable.

And the King had taken the time to learn the kid’s name: Lucian. Gawain was taken aback by it. Their King was an odd one, wasn’t he? It struck the echidna as significant somehow. Perhaps the King wasn’t as self-absorbed as he seemed… And yet, what he chose to focus on were the most bizarre of things imaginable. The name of a random citizen, the shoddily made gift. Gaia, Gawain felt like he was going crazy. What the hell was the King playing at?

“I made it exactly how you showed us,” Lucian declared proudly.

“It’s very well made,” the King praised.

He had that soft tone to his voice, the kind you used to talk to a child. But at the same time, it was devoid of any condescension. Like the King was not just saying it to please the kid but more like he actually… believed it. He believed what he said. Genuinely. Meant it. The King seriously appreciated the gift. What Gawain couldn’t understand was why. What about this flimsy, fragile flower crown was so pleasing to the King? The flowers would be dead by tomorrow without at least some water. Even then, they probably wouldn’t last long. They’d be browning and dead by the next morning, perhaps even sooner than that. Was it the gesture alone that had him all delighted?

Exactly who was their King? And why had Caliburn chosen this particular hedgehog to be their Monarch? Gawain was so thrown off by the sudden shift in the King’s mood that he was at a loss for words. He wasn’t foolish enough to blabber off any of the thoughts swirling in his mind around the King himself. He did not trust this peculiar hedgehog but speaking ill of him would surely end in his death.

Yet, he could not help wondering why their King was so benign and mystifying. Never direct or present in the Castle but so comfortable out here. And yet, he was still somehow so closed off too. What a contradictory hedgehog…

Chapter Text

Percival was flitting around the Library listlessly when she saw Gawain and Lancelot return with the King. The horses were out, milling about the Courtyard; Lamorak was cleaning out the Stables. The King’s head turned in their direction but she could not see his face. She stood by the window for a moment, looking upon the King’s new cloak with interest. It flared out around him as he walked and the brilliant white and deep red shades were quite pleasing. It suited him. Percival couldn’t explain why. There was also some colour around his head that she couldn’t place from this distance.

Her shift had ended not too long ago. Galahad was already on duty himself, so the cat was free at the moment. She’d been intending to pick out a book to read down in the Knights’ Quarters. But Percival thought she might as well make herself useful and inform Caliburn that the King was back. The sword was lingering somewhere on the same floor as her. At least, he had been not ten minutes earlier; she’d seen him on her way up to browse the books.

As Percival backtracked through the winding maze of bookshelves to the door, she scanned the room. The Library looked rather grand but it was quite modest, despite the size. The upper section of the Library only had a handful of bookshelves and instead prioritised a two cushioned seating areas. A near floor-to-ceiling window occupied each wall either end of the balcony-like space, the base a windowsill bench on each. One corner offered a full wrap-around seat, connected to the windowsill, following the wall and then around the back of a bookshelf that closed off the little nook. The other side, which was bigger, boasted several other bookshelves and was more open with a table in the centre. A few shorter seats were dotted around there too. Percival had not seen anyone up there for a good while. Unless you were invited up, it was purely reserved for Royalty and guests.

She bet the views were spectacular though.

Caliburn was leaning against the wall a little ways down the hallway. The cat approached him with a dip of the head. She simply told him of the King’s arrival and allowed the sword to choose what he did with that information. Caliburn was often not far from the King, so she assumed he’d go to the hedgehog.

Predictably, she was correct. He thanked her and drifted to the stairs. For a moment, she watched him go, torn between going back into the Library or following the sword. Her curiosity was piqued about the King’s reasoning for disappearing this time. Gawain often joked that she was stereotypical for getting so easily nosey, but she couldn’t help wanting to know what was going on around her. Percival liked to watch and listen and just observe. It was advantageous.

So she waited a moment before shadowing Caliburn down to the Throne Hall. The King’s advisors were waiting there to speak with him, so that’s likely where the hedgehog would be heading. Caliburn reached the Hall first. Percival lingered around the corner and waited for the King to appear. When he swept down the hallway, Gawain and Lancelot were no longer with him. The colour she’d seen around his head had been flowers, oddly enough. Percival waited for the door to the Throne Hall to begin to close, then she rushed forwards to soundlessly catch the wood before it connected with the frame. Holding it open just a crack, Percival peeked through the gap. She could see the doors at the other end of the grand room – the hallway looped all the way around the Throne Hall.

“Your Majesty!” Bertram exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

The King frowned. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, fingers twitching. Then he folded his arms over his chest almost defiantly. There was something harsh in his eyes. Percival read it as defensive for some reason. She wondered why the King looked so cornered in his own Throne Hall.

“I heard about the Festival in the city,” he said slowly. “Why?”

Ah, so he’d been down at the Flower Festival. Percival had forgotten that was today. It certainly explained the flowers sitting on his head in place of his crown though. She found it sort of endearing. Immediately, Percival knew she should not be thinking about the King in that way. But like the cloak, something about the flowers just seemed to mesh well with the hedgehog. And still, Percival wasn’t sure what it was she was picking up on there. The plants just seemed to… fit. Fit better than the gilded crown did.

“You have responsibilities, My Liege,” Wilkin responded. “You must be here to see to them.”

The King’s stance hardened. Percival saw his ears stutter, as though about to flatten. There was a more subtle movement, which Percival was only able to pick up on from her experience in battle. The King had shifted his weight from one foot to the other, sliding one back ever so slightly. The unconscious tactic of a seasoned fighter.

The King was acting as though threatened, possibly because he had no other way of handling the situation. It was pretty telling, his body entering fight or flight. He’d clearly picked fight. Gawain had told them all about how the King had been sleeping the day after he was injured. Combined with the suspected issues with trust that Caliburn had told Lancelot and Gawain the same day, it was likely the King was not that old. Or there was some deeper issue that was bringing out the more juvenile traits. Both were possible and equally troubling.

Either the King had been thrust into the position too young or he was emotionally underdeveloped. Or both. Not that either of those scenarios were bad inherently. It just meant that the King was likely having difficulties. More difficulties than he presented on the surface. Perhaps Percival could convince the others to give the King more of a chance. He was still figuring things out after all.

“A bit of paperwork is hardly urgent,” the hedgehog said. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Still, his voice sounded slow, measured. It was as though he were trying to force himself to speak differently. This was not how he’d sounded that day in the Courtyard. Not at all. Then, he’d clearly been nervous, but he spoke with a cadence that was far more natural. Softer. Not the practiced and proper speech of a Royal, or this stilted approximation of it, but something more down-to-earth and honest. Immediately, this did not sound like the King who had addressed them on his first day, nor did it sound like the more confident hedgehog who had fought her, bested her, then saved her life. This was something else, something wrong.

It set Percival on edge.

“Sire,” Bertram interjected, almost exasperated. “You must stop this nonsense. You cannot just leave the Castle all the time; you have work to do. Important work.”

“And what is that mess on your head?” Odel added. “And this hideous cloak? Quit being childish, Sire. You need to set an example.”

For a moment, the King tugged on the edge of his new cloak, as though to pull it further around himself. Almost self-consciously. The fight in him stuttered slightly before swirling back to the surface. His brow was furrowed, mouth set into a thin line. One ear flicked. Irritation?

Her own tail twitched, eyes narrowing. She did not approve of the way his advisors were speaking to the King. They spoke down to him, plainly. As though he was stupid. Seeing him in action firsthand, Percival could recognise that the King was not stupid. He may make some… odd choices but that had nothing to do with his intelligence. Percival wanted to see more of the blue hedgehog because there was clearly something calculating behind his eyes. Lamorak could not see it because he was too near-sighted. He did not want to see further than a bizarre late-night situation. The hedgehog did things with intention, clearly. He would have had reason to be out of the Castle so late.

And was it really any of their business? If he left late at night with the clear intention of coming back, why did it really matter? If the King needed a break, what was the harm? If he wished to wear flowers in his fur and cover himself with a less regal cloak, why was that really a problem? Percival had been speaking with Galahad recently and they had come to a similar consensus: Caliburn chose this hedgehog for a reason. Just because they couldn’t see it yet, did not mean the qualities were not there. He hadn’t had power for long; the King had not yet had the chance to show himself.

“You’re supposed to be my advisors,” the King said flatly. “You’re here to guide me. But it feels more like you’re trying to control me. I thought I was king?”

And if his advisors were truly monitoring him as closely as he suggested, how could he ever show them who he really was? The hedgehog sounded as though he was not even making his own decisions within the kingdom. That was not right. Had they all really been commanding the King this whole time? The way they spoke to him was making more sense.

And they’d been getting away with it because they usually spoke to the King in private.

Guess they either forgot Caliburn was there or didn’t have as much respect for the sword as they should have. That also agitated Percival terribly. Caliburn was a sacred sword whose very existence commanded reverence.

“You are, My Liege,” Bertram said.

The phase sounded empty.

The way all of the advisors were standing was very oppositional towards the King. Like they truly believed they were above him. They were there to advise not control. The King was right; that was what they were doing, wasn’t it? Trying to control him. Did they think they could get away with just telling him what to do all the time? Where was the King’s input?

“It really doesn’t feel like it,” the King mumbled. “Speaking of which… A certain document I keep drafting seems to end up ignored or forgotten every time I pass it on to you, Odel. Do you want to tell me why that is?”

The fakeness of his voice was steadily slipping away. A sharper tone was taking over his words. It was starting to sound dangerous. Dangerous for the advisors. Percival watched in fascination as the reservation seemed to melt away. That calm air was shifting, like the beginnings of a hurricane. Though his stance had long since become aggressive, the King was collected enough not to act on it. Not yet at least. There was something to be said about that restraint. In the face of a very frustrating situation that must have been going on for at least several weeks now, the King was remarkably calm.

“Sire, you should be focused on approving and rewriting the current laws first,” Wilkin said instead. “Focused on the taxes and your rapport with the nobles.”

The King had not been addressing the marshal. He had directly asked a question to Odel, his treasurer. The mouse had not responded and didn’t seem to care to either. That was just blatant disrespect. They were trying to divert the King’s attention elsewhere. Dodging. Obfuscating. That sounded incredibly sketchy to Percival. If Odel did not correct that mistake, it meant all three were on the same page with this. It meant they all were purposefully trying to manipulate the King for their own purposes. That could be treason. The advisors were in serious trouble.

Caliburn floated beside the King, eyes hard. He was seeing what Percival was. Had he known about this or was it news to the scared sword too? The other Knights had to be told about this. It was far from acceptable. But Percival wanted to see how this played out first. What would the King do?

Would he stand up for himself or back down?

Pointed blue ears finally flattened completely. He did not look pleased. She watched his finger drum out some repetitive pattern against his bicep. His jaw was set, teeth clenched together. The King let the silence linger for a moment, purposefully drawing it out. Possibly parsing out what to say but also clearly for effect. He had a point to make that was significant to him that he wished to be understood. Using a rather smart technique in order to make sure they were listening to him too. Catching their attention with a deliberate absence of speech was a very powerful move. It actually made him come across more Regal than he had throughout this interaction. A great start.

“They were plans for a homeless shelter,” the King bit out. “I think that’s very important. Did you not even read them?”

Percival stiffened. Her eyes widened considerably. She felt her tail stall, ears perking up as a gasp was pulled from her at the admission.

What?

“Resources need to be diverted elsewhere for the minute, Sire,” Odel finally piped up.

“Aren’t I supposed to decide that?” the King snapped. “See, it’s like you’re making decisions on my behalf. But those are not my decisions. I didn’t painstakingly draft up those plans just because. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live without a roof over your head? Do you have any idea what it’s like not knowing when your next meal will come? Or if it even will?”

He wanted to help those who did not have homes. Percival took this information in solemnly. The King had noticed that. There were many humans and mobians within the city who did not have anywhere to go. They were shooed away from public places, ignored by everyone. You genuinely had to go out of your way to find them within Camelot but they were there. And the King knew of their existence. He wanted to help.

Immediately, Percival’s view of the King solidified more. The want for a shelter for these displaced people to go spoke of a selfless heart. A heart that wanted to do good with the power he had. She respected him for that drive. Even after Odel had dismissed the plans, several times apparently, he kept trying in the face of that deliberate sabotage. Just how many times had he drafted that particular plan? What else had he tried to get through the impenetrable wall of his advisors? What plans had he made that he didn’t know weren’t going into effect?

What else had they blocked?

“That’s not our problem, Sire,” Odel said with a huff.

“Get out.”

The advisors looked to the King in disbelief. His voice was not just sharp, it was so cold it burned. Even from where she was, the words not even directed at her, Percival’s fur fluffed up. Her tail doubled in size, swishing once in unease.

“Sire-”

“I said get out,” the King intoned calmly. “If you’re going to take advantage of my inexperience as King, I’d rather figure it out on my own.”

The blue hedgehog turned away. His tone had been even and quiet and calm. But his body language suggest otherwise. Percival could see his quills lightly bristling along his skull. Could see his hands ball up into fists as they dropped away from their folded position.

“On your own?” Bertram scoffed.

The King ignored him. But he did pause.

“Sire,” Wilkin said, a mocking edge to his voice. “You can barely control your own Knights. How do you expect to control a kingdom?”

Metal flashed. In the same time it took Percival to blink, the King had snatched up Caliburn. The tip of the sword’s blade rested mere centimetres from Wilkin’s throat. The lion flinched back, cowering. Odel started beside him, wide-eyed, mortified. Percival herself tensed even further. She had been expecting some sort of reaction, the tension obviously building within the room, but she hadn’t quite anticipated that. A direct yet restrained show of aggression. The King had not even turned around fully. He’d struck out blindly. But his intent was not to connect the strike, only to intimidate. Otherwise, he would certainly have followed through.

A hedgehog driven by his need to fight but also by his desire not to hurt anyone. Even with their one-on-one fight, the King’s attacks had been direct but not on Percival’s person. At best she’d gotten a few scrapes and maybe a scratch or two. She suffered more bruises than anything else. He had held back, something that became more obvious after he took down the false king. He was fully capable of landing his blows, he just chose not to or to avoid it as much as he conceivably could.

His intent was never to hurt anyone unless absolutely necessary. The false king had been considered a threat that had to be eliminated, not technically a person at all. But the Knights; Gawain, Lancelot, Percival, even Merlina, had all been spared.

“Say what you like about me,” the hedgehog said lowly.

He turned his head to glare at all three mobians. His gaze was dark, jagged. And when he next spoke, his words were flamed with righteous anger.

“But don’t you dare speak ill of my Knights,” he snapped. “I will not stand for it.”

Percival blinked. That was the last thing that made him crack? The King respected them, all of them, more than himself it seemed. He had taken all the advisors’ comments about him wordlessly, not even addressing what they’d said about his attire earlier. They had thrown their words at him and the King had not been swayed. But the moment the Knights were even mentioned, the King felt the need to defend them, defend their honour. Percival felt privileged that the King felt so strongly about them.

Perhaps the Knights should be reconsidering their own individual stances on the hedgehog himself.

It seemed like the raven was oblivious of the misstep, for Bertram continued in Wilkin’s place. Could he not pick up on the King’s anger? Did he not just see the way he threatened Wilkin? The man was a fool. He was considerably lucky that the King seemed to be morally opposed to harming others needlessly.

“My Liege, they talk behind your back,” Bertram retorted. “They do not think you capable of being King. They mock you.”

Those emerald eyes slid over to the raven The King had not yet lowered his sword. He seemed stuck in his pose, as though surprised the raven would even have the gall to speak to him after that.

“Let them,” the King said, unwavering.

The advisors exchanged a shocked look. Percival had been correct in her assumptions; he didn’t think very highly of himself. He was really ok with what they might be saying about him? Was he aware of that Lamorak had been gossiping? Was he aware that Gawain didn’t trust him? Did he know that none of them were particularly as supportive as they should be, that even Lancelot was forcing his way through loyalty that he didn’t fully believe in? That Percival herself hadn’t known what to think about him when he was appointed as King? That Galahad wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt but was easily swayed by the opinions of the other Knights around him?

How much did he know? Or was he simply uninterested and unconcerned in what they thought? Percival genuinely couldn’t tell which it was.

The King dropped his gaze briefly to his sword. He appeared both confused and almost pained for the briefest of moments, before that was swallowed up by determination. Caliburn was quiet, letting the King get out what he wanted to say, as his advisors should have been. The King was speaking; they should not be. That is how they should have been operating. Yet it seemed they had been stepping all over the King for too long. Percival was glad to see that the blue hedgehog had no more patience for it.

“It doesn’t matter what they say,” he said. “In fact, I agree. I don’t know why Caliburn chose me. But he did. And so I will see through his decision to the best of my ability.”

Emerald eyes rose to his advisors once more, razor-sharp as broken glass. He held his head high, posture the most confident Percival had seen since he became King. And yet, the stance did not feel superior, only proud and self-assured and righteous. Percival did not get the impression the King felt he was above them in station. Maybe in morality but not station.

“Now get out. I will not repeat myself a fourth time.”

All three advisors scurried off, clearly understanding the gravity of the situation. Thankfully for Percival, they rushed for the far door instead. She sensed their fear as they retreated. And they should have been afraid. To have been blatantly manipulating the King like that was a serious offense. They were lucky to get off as easy as they did. The King did not explicitly resign them from their main positions but he was clearly done with their “advice.” It was a shame really; she’d hoped they would be banished form the Castle at the very least.

When the King and Caliburn were alone, the hedgehog sagged. He let himself fall backwards, landing on the red carpet with a drawn out, aggravated sigh. Caliburn had been released before the King dropped; he now hovered over the King’s side. The blue hedgehog stared directly up at the ceiling, limbs stretched out in every direction and cloak spread across the floor underneath him.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” the King asked.

He sounded so different to how he was around everyone else, Percival noticed. Different to how he just was, how he’d been at the start of his conversation with his advisors. This was much different than all of that. Talking with the sword, he sounded much more tired and stressed and lost. The King was subdued now, deflated almost. Like the moment his stressor was gone, the fight was drained from his system. And all that was left was a stress so palpable that Percival swore she could taste it. And none of them had even known about it; he hid it so well.

And that, by itself, was rather worrying. That he felt he had to hide it. That he even knew how to hide his stress like that. The King was obviously not doing well. Percival could see that now. Moving forward, she resolved to give him more of her support. And that would start with talking to her fellow Knights.

“I do not believe so, Sonic,” Caliburn said. “It was commendable to stand up for your Knights like that, even though your advisors spoke true.”

“I don’t care what they’re saying about me, Caliburn,” he responded with another heavy sigh. “They’re wonderful mobians. Strong, passionate mobians who just want what’s best for their kingdom. And… and maybe I’m not what’s best.”

Did he really think that?

All his praise for his Knights and he couldn’t extend the same courtesy to himself. Percival had never seen someone flip between confident and tentative, insecure even, in such a short timeframe. He was steadfast in his morals but uncertain in his own ability? But no, he’d flown into battle against the false king without a second thought. Was it the position of power that was so difficult for him? Percival found herself wondering why.

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” the King groaned into his hands.

“Of course you don’t,” the sword scoffed.

Caliburn moved around to be closer to the blue hedgehog’s head. He leaned over slightly. With his hands covering his face, the King  must have been unaware of the sword doing this. It didn’t deter Caliburn at all. The sword seemed somewhat used to this behaviour but Percival had caught the slight surprise in his face when the King had practically thrown himself down onto the floor.

The sword did not know the hedgehog completely. They’d been together for a while but not enough for Caliburn to know him inside and out. But the sword took it in his stride. Because he believed in the King.

“But that is to be expected,” Caliburn said, voice much softer. “No one is ever fully prepared to lead a kingdom. Even princes and princesses who are raised into the role find themselves lost in the beginning. You will get the hang of it.”

The sword was supportive, unconditionally. He had the King’s back, as a weapon, as a partner in battle, as a friend, and as an advisor of sorts. Perhaps the King didn’t need the mouse, raven and lion for that. Not if he had Caliburn. The sword’s voice was also the softest she’d ever heard it. The King needed guidance and reassurance and Caliburn was more than willing to give him that. It showed that the sacred sword truly cared about him. And why wouldn’t he? To be so impressive in battle, one must have an excellent relationship with their weapon. The King and Caliburn clearly had that.

Percival wondered if the marshal, treasurer and chancellor would stay on in their current positions or if the King would replace them entirely. That was what she personally wanted to see but that might take time. The King could not take on those jobs himself on top of everything else he had to do, especially as he was actively learning still. He might be forced to keep them on for now, which was incredibly unfortunate.

The sooner they were out of the Castle, the better off the King would be.

“What if I don’t?” the hedgehog asked. “What if I make mistakes? What if I make a mistake so bad the whole kingdom suffers for it?”

The King’s tone had become higher in pitch. Worry. Bordering on actual fear. The blue hedgehog was afraid of messing up. Honestly, he was starting to sound like Galahad when he’d worked himself up into a tizzy over something or other. The poor Knight had days where every step sent him into a new panic. Sometimes Lamorak would complain but even he never took it out on their anxious companion. Percival had to wonder if their King might share some of Galahad’s nervous energy. If he did, he was certainly better at managing it.

Or masking it...

“You are bound to make mistakes,” Caliburn admitted. “But the fact that you are this worried about it means that I know you will work so hard to correct them when they happen. You will be a great King, Sonic.”

Percival found herself agreeing with the sword. His apprehension showed a deep compassion. A compassion for people in a world that was not his own. That was incredibly hard for Percival to even grasp. The servants needed to fix their apathy – Percival was well aware of that – for the King had no intention of wrecking the kingdom. The opposite was true; he desired for all of Logres to be safe. That’s all the King really seemed to want.

“I’ll be a lousy King…” the hedgehog muttered. “All this tradition stuff doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Then do not rule traditionally,” Caliburn said matter-of-factly.

Sonic removed his hands from his face to look up at the sword. He looked as confused as Percival herself felt. Don’t rule traditionally? Sure, maybe some traditions were outdated and over the top. But it was an odd thing for the scared sword himself to suggest. But if he thought that would give the hedgehog free reign to rule the way he wanted to, Percival felt she had to support that. Maybe a change like that really would be good for Logres.

“It does not suit you anyway,” the sword continued. “Rule how you think you should rule, not how others tell you to. You are King, after all. I think you are exactly what Logres needs to heal, Sonic.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do!” the sword said with a good-natured laugh. “Why else would I have chosen you? Now, I do believe you have some changes to make. And a certain document that needs redrafting, yes?”

The King sat up. He seemed to perk up considerably at the sword’s words. The mopey moment passed and the King sprung back like it had never happened. This, right away, looked more like the hedgehog who she’d first met.

He blinked, looking around for a moment with a hand to his forehead. His flowers had fallen from his head when he dropped to the ground earlier. He turned, gathering them up carefully with a quiet consideration. They’d remained in their looped formation but the King cradled them in his hands for a beat, carefully checking them over. Determining they were alright, he seemed to relax. Then he settled them back in place over his ears.

“You’re right,” he said. “And this time, I’ll hand deliver it myself.”

The hedgehog hopped to his feet and grabbed the sword. He started heading for the door Percival was still hiding behind. She was about to make herself scarce – after all, being caught eavesdropping could be considered treason – or at least to make it seem as though she was just passing by. But the King paused, so she did too. Only for a second.

“Thanks, Cal,” the King said.

The sword huffed, back to being his usual dismissive self. The King smiled. A soft, fond sort of smile.

Chapter Text

“Damn it, Moonlight!” Lamorak snapped.

The pure white mare had just tried to bite him. Again. Lamorak hated Lancelot’s temperamental Friesian. He was just trying to clean out the remaining hay around the mare’s feet but she kept snaking her head around and stomping one of her forelegs. He was convinced Moonlight actively hated anyone that wasn’t Lancelot. Cleaning out the Stables was always a bothersome chore but it was made even more annoying with Moonlight’s lack of co-operation. Lamorak tried to inch closer and the mare stamped her hoof again, more insistently. She’d tolerated his presence long enough to use the manure fork and spade to remove the soiled bedding, but she was getting seriously impatient as he was sweeping up the last of the straw and dirt.

The mare had outright refused to move from her stall. All the other horses, including Lamorak’s handsome palomino Arabian, had all been guided out into the Courtyard. No problems. But no, Moonlight had to be stubborn like her rider and resist when he’d tried loosely tying a rope around her neck. So now he was stuck cleaning around the horse.

Lamorak was half tempted to just throw down some more straw and be done with it. But despite his frustrations – and possible angry declarations earlier – he didn’t want the mare to get sick. Not only would Lancelot kill him but Lamorak wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she became genuinely ill because of his incompetence. That wasn’t fair, even if she’d ripped out a few of his feathers a moment ago. She was the pride and joy of Lancelot, losing her would devastate the dark Knight. So he had to do a thorough job.

By the time he’d finally managed to sweep up the remaining mess, the floor was already dry. All he had to do was spread out a thick, even layer of straw in all the stalls. Then he could refill each of their troughs with water and hay.

And maybe he’d sneak in some oats for Rogue too.

With one last snap from Moonlight at his tailfeathers, Lamorak retreated to retrieve the bedding. He laid it down all along the floor in the five currently occupied – well, unoccupied – stalls. It could be a lot worse to be fair; the whole Stable was empty. There used to be three dozen horses in here. Now there were only five. It was kind of sad walking past all the empty stalls. Lamorak made sure he got some straw under Moonlight’s hooves before he was done. He had to shoo her to the side and then back again to achieve that but the Stable was clean.

He went out to fetch each horse before he set out their food and water.

Galahad’s horse, Tomorrow, was a dappled grey Andalusian. She was quiet and gentle, much like her rider, trailing after him without fuss. The smattering of white along her coat was like evenly dispersed snow – though, not to be confused with a snowflake pattern – and easily made her the most unique looking of the Knights’ horses. She was very pretty.

Guardian, Gawain’s trusty bay Percheron, was equally as accommodating. The stallion had white socked hooves and a stripe down his nose. Guardian was the stockiest of the horses with a strength unlike any other. Sometimes Lamorak was intimidated by him but he was a rather calm horse overall. Gawain never had trouble with the stallion who had a pride that seemed to exceed the echidna himself.

Then there was Cinder, the fiery chestnut Arabian. Percival was very proud of her horse and the mare was exceptionally intelligent. Lamorak didn’t even need a rope to lead her back to her stall. He’d best describe the horse as noble; she could have easily been mistaken for a Royal’s horse with the way she held herself. Truly something else.

Lastly, Lamorak made his way over to his own trusty steed. Easily the most striking of them all, though he might be a tad biased, Rogue was very spirited. Other than the moody Moonlight, he had the most personality. Energetic and playful, Rogue was always excited to see him. His tail flagged, pawing the ground impatiently. It looked like the stallion was ready to go out for some exercise. Lamorak was tempted to tack him up and take him for a ride, the poor thing was probably restless sitting in the Stables for the last three days with no exercise.

“Easy, boy!” Lamorak said with a chuckle.

He abandoned his plans, however, when he saw Gawain and Lancelot approaching. Lamorak rested his hand on the stallion’s flank and waved them over. He was sure he’d last seen them leaving to find their unruly King again a while ago. If they were coming out of the Castle, they must have found him already; Lamorak must have just missed them while he was mucking out the Stables. He already knew the King had been down at the Festival. They’d told him that earlier. Gawain was looking bored, eyes half-lidded. Lancelot was as unreadable as ever with his visor down, not that the hawk had expected anything different.

“How’d it go with the King?” he asked.

“It took us forever to find him,” Gawain complained. “He was all the way out in the meadows. Apparently playing with children.”

Their King, who should have been up in his Chancery working, had ditched his papers to… play with children? What was he, six? That hedgehog was wildly unprofessional and bizarre. Come to think of it, he didn’t really know the age of the King. He couldn’t have been that old to begin with but certainly not frolicking-with-children aged. But it was entirely possible he was younger than them. It was something Lamorak had not considered until now. It was probably not important.

“Ok…” Lamorak mumbled, brow raised.

“Don’t make me repeat what I said the other week, you two,” Lancelot scolded. “The Knights’ Quarters if you must, please.”

“I still need to finish feeding the horses,” Lamorak complained.

But then, the dark Knight surprised him. He took the rope around Rogue’s neck in his own hands. The dark Knight patted the flank of the Arabian. Lancelot was quite partial to horses, even ones that weren’t his own. Lamorak would have rather tacked up his horse and gone for a ride to be perfectly honest. Rogue was safe in his hands regardless though. So Lamorak wasn’t worried about that. All the horses similarly liked the dark Knight, though Moonlight could get a little jealous. Damn, that mare scared the hawk sometimes.

How did Lancelot deal with her?

“You’re dismissed,” Lancelot said. “I’ll finish up.”

Well, he wouldn’t question his Knight Commander. Lamorak dipped his head to Lancelot in thanks and strolled with Gawain back to the Quarters for a proper account. He wondered if he was being relieved of his punishment entirely or just for today. Either way. He’d take it. Galahad was gone, likely already on patrol, and Percival was still absent. Lamorak’s guess was she was in the Library. The cat loved her books after all. She’d probably show up later, fresh book in hand, but Lamorak wanted the details now.

So Gawain walked him through the extremely laborious process of combing through Camelot’s streets. According to the echidna, the King seemed to have been trying to hide. At least at first. He’d bought a cloak, apparently scared a girl into not saying anything about it, and then pranced around the city for a while. Eventually, he’d made it around to the meadows and from there it gets iffy. Clearly, the King had been cavorting around with some kids before coming to settle in a meadow, off by himself. Interestingly, by this point he’d lowered his hood. But Lamorak wanted to know why he’d been hiding to begin with. It sounded sketchy that their King had gone through such lengths to seemingly try and disappear. At least for a little while. What exactly did that mean for them if that was what was on his agenda?

Gawain shared his concerns. He admitted to the hawk that he’d been fully prepared for the King to have just bailed on them all. That he’d been surprised to have found him at all in the end. It made the echidna consider that maybe he wouldn’t leave, at least not yet. But Lamorak was still convinced the King would not be with them long. His increasingly frequent flights from the Castle, the fact he had Merlina actively looking for a way to get him home, what seemed to be some test with the cloak – there was no trusting this hedgehog. It was absurd to give him the benefit of the doubt, so he told the echidna as much.

“I’m not so sure, Lamorak,” Gawain said. “You should have seen the way he spoke to that kid. He took the time to learn his name. Why bother doing that?”

“How should I know what’s going on in his head?” Lamorak groaned. “All I’m saying is that he’s made it clear he’s not here to stay.”

The echidna sighed. He didn’t refute Lamorak’s comment because he knew he was right. Which meant, despite his loose argument, Gawain still held onto his doubts. Good. They all needed to. They had to accept that some day, probably not as far in the future as they all thought, their kingdom may be without a King once more. That they would have to disband. That all of Logres might get swallowed up by the surrounding kingdoms because of the absence of power. It couldn’t be far off; the hawk could practically taste it. They should all be thinking of that clear future. Thinking of what action they’d take, where they’d go, what they’d do. There was no point fighting against the inevitable.

Lancelot walked in, giving them a wide berth. He wasn’t the most social and didn’t care for gossip. The dark hedgehog was no-nonsense, all the time. He at least didn’t seem to be barking at them anymore. As long as they weren’t out in the open, right? There was no way Lancelot did not have the same thoughts they all had. He had to have doubts. Had to question their King’s actions and motives. He just wouldn’t say it out loud.

Because he was a coward.

Why not speak out against something you don’t believe in? Lamorak should have tried more to resist the false king’s actions himself; he regretted that now. But there had been nothing wrong with him at first. When their new King was just laying it out there for them from the get go, why not push against it? The King should not be shirking his duties, plain and simple. He should not be looking for ways out of his situation. He had an incredibly influential position that so many people would kill for, that throughout history people had fought for, lost their lives for. He was taking that for granted, damn it. Did he just not understand that? Was he that ignorant?

Lancelot was clearly just passing through. He grabbed a ration from the chest by his bunk and was about to leave again, likely to go back to patrolling. That hedgehog truly never stopped. But then Percival entered, having reached the door first, which stalled the hedgehog for a moment. She had a thoughtful look on her face.

“I did something terribly improper,” the cat prefaced. “But I am more convinced than ever that it was the right thing to do. So before you admonish me for it, Lancelot, I would like you to all hear what I have to say.”

A few minutes later, Lamorak was having a hard time figuring out how to feel. Judging by the silence of Lancelot and Gawain, they felt the same. Percival had just told them how she’d overheard a conversation between the King and his advisors. That his advisors had been talking down to the King and that it was implied they had been from the start. That they’d been the ones making his decisions for him. And though Percival told them the King stood up for himself, it just left a sour taste in Lamorak’s mouth, like spoiled milk. The King had been letting them speak to him that way? For weeks? Was he spineless? Regardless of whether he put them in their place today, it spoke of a cowardice that had persisted for long enough.

Why was Percival genuinely advocating for this hedgehog right now?

“They had no right to treat the King that way,” Lancelot hissed.

Ever predictable, Lancelot jumped at the chance to defend the King, even after a rather telling delay. But what did he really think? That Knight was so frustrating sometimes.

“He hasn’t exactly given them any reason not to,” Lamorak huffed.

Lancelot whirled on him, ears flattening. The usually so composed hedgehog seemed to take personal offense to his comment. But Lamorak meant it. Why would he let them push him around like that? And for so long? It was inexcusable. And this was the hedgehog who was supposed to be King? Were they serious? What a great start for their fearless leader. Caliburn had made a mistake, clearly. He was tired of Lancelot not seeing that. Tired of them all not seeing that.

“Pick your words carefully, dastard.”

He narrowed his eyes. The insult seriously ruffled his feathers. Lamorak wasn’t the one being cowardly here. He stepped up to the dark Knight, raising his head. This close, he could sort of see into Lancelot’s visor; all he really saw was darkness and the slight glint of his eyes. Gawain tensed beside him. Percival folded her arms. He could see the cat’s tail lashing in disapproval, whiskers twitching. Lamorak didn’t care. He didn’t care what any of them thought, damn it.

Even if he was against them all, he’d speak his mind. They needed to understand that their King was unfit for his role. He was going to drag the whole kingdom down and then abandon them all. Blind devotion was dangerous and stupid. Logres was at risk.

Perhaps they should be attempting to overthrow the hedgehog before he did too much damage.

“Sorry for pointing out the obvious, Lancelot,” Lamorak said evenly. “But you’re being ridiculous. Don’t call me a dastard when you don’t even know what you believe. The King is ignorant and gutless. And he doesn’t even want to be here.”

“Lamorak,” Percival said. “I think you misunderstood what I meant to say. The King is trying.”

“Well, he’s not trying hard enough!”

Gawain huffed to himself, walking further into the Quarters. He seemed to be growing frustrated by the conversation. Lamorak wanted to know whose side he was on. The echidna always seemed to be with him until Lancelot got involved then he didn’t seem to care. Coward. He was surrounded by cowards. Lamorak would not back down this time. He didn’t care if Lancelot was the Knight Commander, he would stand his ground on this point until they saw his side.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Gawain,” Lamorak accused. “You agreed with me before. Why not now?”

The echidna stopped. He turned, purple eyes burning. He shook his head, folding his arms much the same as Percival had moments ago. He looked unsure, undecided. Almost like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now. Lamorak couldn’t help but grind his beak, irritated. Not having an opinion on this was worse than agreeing with Lancelot and Percival. Because not having an opinion showed an indecisive mind.

Lamorak hated indecisiveness.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore,” he admitted. “Gaia help me, everything about that hedgehog is an anomaly. I want time to think on this.”

“Well, we have time now, don’t we?” Lamorak snapped.

Lancelot grabbed him by the arm, yanking the hawk around to look at him. The dark-furred Knight snarled. Lamorak pulled his arm away, glaring at the hedgehog, affronted. Lancelot’s ears were flattened. Righteous rage was practically rolling of him in waves. The hawk didn’t let it effect him.

“Enough, Lamorak,” Lancelot warned.

“No! I’m tired of pretending that the King is anything but incompetent. He’s a knave who should have never gotten the position he has.”

The door creaked, gaining the attention of all the Knights. Lamorak had, perhaps foolishly, been expecting Galahad. In hindsight, he should have known the timid Knight would still be on patrol. His blood froze solid in his veins when he met the level green gaze of the King himself. The blue hedgehog stood in the doorway, enrobed in the white cloak Gawain had briefly described, crown of flowers perched on his head still. His face was unreadable, betraying nothing. Not angry or hurt or anything showed through. Just a level expression of blankness.

Needless to say, they were all startled terribly. They hadn’t known he was there until the door groaned in protest. The King seemed to move across the floor like a Gaia damn ghost sometimes, devoid of sound. It was freaky. It made Lamorak’s skin itch.

How much had he heard?

“I know you don’t trust me,” the King said. “And that’s fine, that’s valid.”

Something in his face shifted. It was less blank all of a sudden. Lamorak still couldn’t quite read the expression there though. It was a mix of things. He picked out vulnerability. A little bit of nerves perhaps. But otherwise, the look was foreign to him. The King opened his mouth for a second, seemed to reconsider his words, and then continued. His voice was quiet but even and despite that seemed to cut through the thick air in the Knights’ Quarters like a well-polished blade.

“You don’t believe in me,” he muttered. “I don’t either. And I know that doesn’t exactly instil confidence but… but I want to be honest. I have no idea what I’m doing and you’re right, Sir Lamorak, maybe I am incompetent.”

The hawk swallowed the saliva gathering under his tongue nervously. He’d heard enough, clearly. Which didn’t spell good things for him. Gaia, he could very easily lose his life right here. And he wasn’t sure what to say or if saying anything was even a good idea at this point. He might just end up digging himself further into the grave he was already hollowing out. Lamorak’s life was on the line here and he genuinely didn’t know what to do. Bur tight now, the hawk was genuinely afraid. Incompetent or not, the King held Lamorak’s fate in his hands.

“But, if you’re able to offer me your patience,” the King said. “And just a tiny bit of your aid to help me figure it out, I would be eternally grateful.”

Lancelot blinked. He seemed to shake himself from his stupor. The dark hedgehog straightened his back, standing to attention like the dutiful Knight he was.

“If your order it, My King,” Lancelot said.

The King’s eyes widened briefly. He shook his head, insistent and nearing panicked.

“It’s not an order,” he said quickly. “I am simply asking. You are free to deny me. I will not hold it against any of you, nor will your positions in this Castle be compromised in any way. You have my word.”

Lancelot went to speak. Gawain seemed to do the same. They exchanged a glance but neither of them spoke. Percival did what she did best, standing by and observing quietly. And Lamorak was speechless and terrified, still anticipating the worst. He could tell his eyes were wide but he couldn’t seem to smooth his features. There was a long, agonising moment of silence. The blue hedgehog held up a hand.

“You don’t have to decide now. I’ll give you time to figure out what you want to do. I will respect what ever you decide. And please pass that on to Sir Galahad too.”

The King dipped his head to them and turned to leave. Lamorak almost felt sick. They’d been talking behind his back and the King had been aware of it. Very aware. They didn’t deserve his respect after that. And yet, as Percival had said, they had it. The Knights had done nothing to earn that from their King; he readily gave it to them for free. Lamorak had been the most outspoken, making it clear that he did not care for the hedgehog. He’d been expecting some sort of reprimand. To be escorted from the Castle, banished for his treason. Hell, even put to death. Not… not his respect.

It didn’t make sense in his brain; he couldn’t understand it. All four Knights looked at one another, lost. What were they supposed to do now?

Chapter Text

Galahad knew Gawain and Lancelot had left to go find the King. He hoped the blue hedgehog was ok. As of switching with Percival, the other Knights hadn’t come back. But he’d heard some commotion from a couple of servants a few minutes prior, suggesting the King had returned. Galahad was tempted to turn around and backtrack but he had a duty to fulfil. If he abandoned the Western Courtyard in order to chase what was essentially gossip, that was even more time that the area wasn’t being patrolled. It was hard enough patrolling all that ground as it was but alone was so much worse. It left a lot of the Castle undefended while he was on the other side.

Hopefully they’d get new Knights soon to help out. Galahad was really starting to worry about how… penetrable the walls were at the moment. They’d never been this low on Knights until the end of the false king’s reign – well, other than the Knights of the Underworld but Galahad was hesitant to say they counted as true Knights. Nevertheless, their numbers should have been increasing already.

But they weren’t.

Lancelot said he’d spoken to the King. He’d told them the King had immediately pushed the request to his top priority, that he’d given his orders to the marshal just before the storm broke out the very same day. The King really had fast tracked that. And yet, the Knights had heard nothing of it since. It was very odd. Galahad wanted to believe that the King was on it but he was also very busy with other things; it wasn’t fair to blame the blue hedgehog for the lack of response. What exactly was the marshal doing in order to rectify the situation? Galahad wanted to ask the lion himself but it wasn’t his place.

And last time Gawain mentioned it to Lancelot, the dark hedgehog got snappy. Galahad wouldn’t risk invoking Lancelot’s ire himself. It was terrifying.

The Western Courtyard was clear, so he made quick work of inspecting every corner, checking that the wall was fine and no one was sneaking in over it. The Courtyard was devoid of, well, anything, so it wasn’t hard to look over. Things had been relatively quiet since the transition of power. But Galahad was also very aware that tensions were rising in the citizens and their relationships with the other kingdoms were still rocky at best. The chance of an attack, despite this, was low but not impossible. The other Monarchs would wait for talks before jumping to war at the very least. It was ironically the citizens that were the unpredictable factor.

At any moment, a group of unhappy citizens could scale the walls and cause havoc. Galahad was constantly on high alert for it ever since Lamorak had brought it up a few days ago. And the hawk was right; that’s what scared Galahad most.

The white hedgehog sighed as he walked back inside the Castle. Things had been weird in Logres since the blue hedgehog took the throne. Not that it was any fault of the King; he wasn’t making things difficult on purpose. The entire kingdom was still reeling from the fact that the last few decades had been a lie. The white-furred Knight was grappling with that himself if he was honest. It wasn’t an easy thing to come to terms with. His entire Knighthood, served under an illusion…

Galahad choked on air when he rounded the corner and almost collided with the King himself. There was no mistaking that blue fur and those piercing green eyes, like a windswept field under a late summer sky. He was striking and intimidating, even if he was about an inch shorter than Galahad. Though he’d never seen the King in action, Galahad knew he’d taken down the false king. He was obviously tough but incredibly unassuming on the surface. It sort of made Galahad a little uneasy being in his presence if he was honest. He’d defeated Gawain and Percival one-on-one. He’d bested Lancelot, their Knight Commander, the strongest of them all. Just knowing the power under that small stature…

Needless to say, the white hedgehog froze up completely. The King usually seemed to glide on past. Not like Galahad wasn’t there – the King always seemed to expertly avoid walking into anyone, even without looking – but like the blue hedgehog was somewhere else mentally. The King didn’t this time. Maybe it was the way in which they approached each other today, the sudden jolt of almost walking into one another. But the King paused, a little startled at first. Then he smiled at Galahad. For the first time in the halls, the King actually acknowledged him. Again, Galahad didn’t think it was for lack of thought. On the first day they’d met, the blue hedgehog had made it clear that he cared about all the Knights. It was odd but reassuring in a way. No, Galahad just suspected the King was almost always lost in thought. And it wasn’t his place to ask why.

There was still something distant in his eyes, the field stretching on far out of sight, but they were a little clearer today for sure. Less fog.

“Hi, Sir Galahad,” the King said.

He was mentally smacking himself for not greeting the King first, as he should have. The blue hedgehog was amicable, apparently not even noticing. But it was improper. So Galahad sank into a bow, hoping to rectify the mistake. And also hoping it wasn’t too late to try.

“Your Majesty,” Galahad said, returning the greeting. “Hello.”

“Sir Lancelot has something to tell you when you’re not busy,” the King told him, looking a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I would myself but I really should to get back to the Chancery.”

It was a quick interaction, not that Galahad had been expecting more than that. Especially since he usually didn’t get to speak to the King at all. But Lancelot wished to speak with him? About what? He wasn’t aware of doing anything wrong, so it wasn’t that. That was a relief. But it must be important if the King himself had delivered the message to him. It still made something churn in Galahad’s stomach.

The King started to stroll away but then he paused midstride, brow scrunching. Something else had occurred to the blue hedgehog. So Galahad remained where he was also. If the King needed something from him he’d be happy to oblige. It wasn’t often that anyone seemed to get a direct order form the blue hedgehog himself apparently. Would Galahad be lucky enough to get one?

“I…” the King started, reconsidered. “You haven’t seen Melor around by any chance?”

Galahad blinked. Not what he’d been expecting. Did the King need to see the Blacksmith for something? The white hedgehog just now noticed that Caliburn was gripped in the King’s hand. The sword had been quiet and it wasn’t that common to see the King actually holding him; the scared sword was usually content floating alongside him. He thought about greeting Caliburn but then realised that it would probably be weird after he’d already been talking to the King. The bow could have also been directed towards the sword, Galahad supposed.

Caliburn didn’t seem to mind; greeting the King went hand in hand with greeting the sword anyway. It was probably fine. Galahad had to stop overthinking things.

“No, Sire,” Galahad replied. “Melor’s gone.”

“W-wait, what do you mean Melor’s gone?”

It was hard to pick up what that tone in the King’s voice was. Something urgent, insisting. But also bordering on panic almost. Galahad knew that emotion well. He also knew it wasn’t always rational. Still, the fact it stood out to Galahad was a little alarming for the white hedgehog himself. He understood the inconvenience but not why it would bother the King so much. But then, the King seemed to like the fox’s company.

“I haven’t seen him around the Castle for about three days now, Sire.”

The King looked suddenly… stressed. It made Galahad feel guilty for making the King feel that way but he was only answering the question presented to him honestly. The King briefly pressed his fingers to his forehead.

“Can you find him for me?” the King asked. “After your shift? I-if you’re not busy, of course. Or tired. Please don’t go if you’re tired.”

Galahad blinked. The King spoke fast and frantic. Yet he immediately started backtracking, telling Galahad that he had a choice in this. Find Melor for the King or continue with his normal duties. The white hedgehog had always assumed an order from the King was absolute, something that had to be followed no matter what. But here his King was, giving him the option of declining a direct order. It reminded him of that first day in the Courtyard. The King cared about them. It was rather novel but it made Galahad more inclined to help the King out.

“Of course, Sire.”

“Thank you, Sir Galahad,” the King said and he sounded terribly sincere. “Check the Smithy in Camelot. If he’s not there… I don’t know. Come back and let me know. I don’t want you running around aimlessly.”

The King dipped his head gratefully to Galahad and swept down the hall. As he was rounding the corner, Galahad saw the King clutch his side with a tiny grimace. The white hedgehog frowned. Was the King’s side still not healing? Perhaps he should stop by Merlina and ask her to take a look at the wound. He wasn’t sure if it was an overstep or not but he didn’t like that the King was in pain. It felt wrong not to mention it. If the wound was refusing to heal or, Gaia forbid, getting worse, that could put the King’s life at risk. Not only would that leave Logres without a Monarch but Galahad quite liked the King from what little he’d seen of him. He seemed pleasant and thoughtful and overall… like he was struggling. If finding the Blacksmith would ease him, Galahad would do it.

But he’d also been worried about the fox himself recently. After the King had supposedly offered him a home at the Castle, Melor had been spending most of his time here. Mostly fixing up the Smithy, which was looking much better last time Galahad stopped by on his rounds. Disappearing like he had just made Galahad uneasy. Melor had been settling into life at the Castle just fine. So why leave now without mentioning it to anyone?

The King seemed rather fond of the fox too. It was odd the blue hedgehog had not been informed of this departure.

Taking the King’s rather panicked request – for that was all Galahad could think to call it, as it certainly wasn’t delivered like an order – Galahad thought he might push his luck and ask someone to cover for him. It was a big ask. But he’d just been given a request from the King; how could he refuse? Lancelot would understand. The sooner he could get on it the sooner the King’s mind could be soothed.

A plan in mind, Galahad made his way out into the Eastern Courtyard. When he opened the door to the Knights’ Quarters, he was surprised to see everyone clustered in the hallway, looking rather mortified. The King had presumably just been here. What exactly had he said to them?

“What… are you all doing here?” Galahad asked.

“Galahad, shouldn’t you be on patrol?” Lancelot countered, snapping out of it.

He lowered his ears slightly. He certainly should be. But he was on a mission, so he had to press forward. Even if it meant dealing with that ire he’d been hoping to avoid. Surely the King’s word would be enough to exonerate him? Lancelot was all about following orders.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” he started. “The King asked me to do something for him. I was wondering if someone could cover my patrol for now? I’ll take up the next one when I get back. I’ll even do double if that will make up for it.”

“Wait, what the hell did the King ask you to do?” Gawain grumbled.

Galahad paused. But he shouldn’t feel so nervous – he had good reason for this request. He couldn’t let Lancelot’s disapproving stare and Gawain’s usual gruffness sway him. Not now.

“He asked me to find Melor, the Blacksmith,” Galahad told them.

“Can’t that wait?” Lamorak groaned.

Galahad rubbed the fur on the back of his neck. He felt his ears threatening to fold but forced them to remain upright. He took a deep, steadying breath. It probably could wait – the King had said he wanted him to finish his rounds first – but, though it didn’t seem urgent, Galahad knew what he’d seen on the King’s face. That anxiety. He’d heard it in his voice, seen it in his posture and mannerisms. The blue hedgehog had been close to frantic upon realising the Blacksmith had been gone for days.

“Well… technically yes,” Galahad admitted. “But the King looked rather tense. I think it would ease him if I brought the fox back.”

Lancelot narrowed his eyes. Galahad was worried he’d made a mistake. But… no. He would stand by this. The King was upset. If the Blacksmith would make him feel better, shouldn’t they do it? It was the right thing to do. Besides, the others didn’t need to know that it had been a choice. An order from the King was an order.

“If the King asked, it is an order,” Lancelot said, like he’d read Galahad’s mind. “Go. I’ll get someone to cover your shift.”

Galahad was about to leave but Lancelot called him back. For just a moment. He said he had something to tell him and, honestly, it had slipped his mind that the King had said the same. Together, the Knights told Galahad an abridged version of what Percival had witnessed in the Throne Hall. Then the dark-furred Knight relayed to him what the King had said to them. That he was struggling and he admitted that. That he asked for their help but only if they were willing to give it. Lancelot told Galahad and the others to think on it independently and then come back to him with an answer. The King wanted them to be honest with what they wanted to do, so Lancelot was, reluctantly, giving them all that leniency. As per the King’s wishes.

To be truthful, the white-furred Knight didn’t have to think that long to come up with his answer. But still, he promised to give it some more thought. Then he mentioned the King’s side, dipped his head to his Knight Commander, and left. There was still a mobian manning the gate, so Galahad didn’t have to run for someone as he requested to be let out.

How troubling to hear about the advisors though. Galahad knew that wasn’t right, that they’d been lucky to leave that encounter alive. And to not have even been stripped of their positions? They were exceptionally lucky. He hoped they were ousted as soon as possible. Logres did not need that sort of disloyalty hanging around. But then, he also understood that replacing them would be difficult too. It was a difficult situation.

It sounded like Lamorak was blaming the King for not putting them in their place sooner. But Galahad didn’t understand that. The King was very upfront about the fact that he was unsure about what he was doing. That took great courage to admit. What if he’d thought that’s just how it was supposed to work? And if his advisors were the ones supposedly guiding him through it, what exactly did the blue hedgehog have to question? No one had given him the right answers. That was not on the King.

Galahad ran his hand down his sword, Rubricapulus. It was a nervous tic he couldn’t quite shake. It just made him feel better to know his trusty blade was by his side. Not that he was going anywhere dangerous or expecting a fight; Camelot was pretty relaxed today for the Flower Festival. Still, Galahad couldn’t get Lamorak’s words out of his mind. What if there was a group of unhappy citizens out there, plotting? The white hedgehog shook it off. He was just supposed to check the Smithy and then report back to the King. Though he was really hoping Melor was at the Smithy, he was willing to track the Blacksmith down – that was, if the King hadn’t insisted he don’t.

It was hard to decide if he should do what he thought was right or what was instructed of him.

So it was a great relief that the Smithy appeared to be open when he got there. Which was a little odd, since a lot of other shops were closed for the Festival. Galahad guessed the fox either didn’t care to celebrate or had his own way of contributing.

When the White Knight walked in, he could see Melor working on some fiddly looking metalwork. It was only half-finished and Galahad couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. Watching the fox work was fascinating though. He picked up the piece of metal with some long tong-like things and dunked it in a bucket of water. The rush of steam and the accompanying hiss was sort of satisfying.

Galahad lightly knocked on the door to gain the fox’s attention. Melor set aside what he was working on, taking his extra thick gloves off and slipping his goggles back onto his forehead. When he turned around he visibly started.

“Sir Galahad,” Melor said. “Hi. Can I help you?”

He could recognise the nervous way the fox’s hands couldn’t stay still. Melor wrung his hands out, fiddled with the cuffs of his gloves and had a general worried air about him. That was why Galahad found it quite easy to talk to him; he understood. And despite the edgy energy of the other, Melor was smiling at him. The white-furred hedgehog just wished he’d been able to interact with the fox more to actually become friends. His Knightly duties had gotten in the way. And, to be honest, his own anxiety. Just because it was easier to talk to Melor than a total stranger and, sometimes, his fellow Knights, did not mean it was effortless.

“The King was wondering where you were,” Galahad responded. “I think he wanted to speak with you? He looked a little… frantic.”

“Gaia…” the fox breathed. “I’m so sorry for making him worry.”

Melor looked genuinely upset. Other than the King seeking the fox out several times, Galahad did not know what their bond was. From the fox’s sagging shoulders, it seemed that they were a little closer than Galahad had suspected. Which made his quiet disappearance even more confusing to the white hedgehog.

“Why did you leave a few days ago anyway?” Galahad asked. “Not to pry but… you seemed quite happy at the Castle.”

It was entirely possible that the fox had simply forgotten to inform anyone that he was going to be busy at his old Smithy for a few days. That he’d gone back to work on something ahead of the Festival. Or even that he’d wanted some time at home. Last they spoke, Melore said the King had offered to let him stay at the Castle indefinitely but that he could also come and go as he pleased. So it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Even the King had forgotten to say something before he went down to the festival today. These things happened.

But Melor’s reaction suggested there was another reason. The fox immediately glanced around fretfully. He chewed his bottom lip with lowered ears. He looked suddenly afraid, like he needed to be watching out for something nefarious. It made Galahad’s quills bristle. Was there danger here in the end? His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword. What ever it was, he’d be ready.

“I was threatened,” the fox whispered. “H-he told me to leave or he’d make me. I don’t like him, he makes me uncomfortable.”

Galahad grit his teeth. Someone had threatened the fox?

“Who?” he asked.

The fox was quiet for a moment. Once more he scanned the windows, the door as though someone could be watching, listening. The fox perked his ears. Galahad followed suit. He didn’t hear anything. Melor looked up at him with wide, terrified blue eyes.

“The white raven,” Melor whispered.

Chapter Text

Lancelot practically collided with Galahad in the hallway and he was starting to wonder where everyone’s regard for safety had wandered off to. Why was the white-furred Knight running through the halls like a madman?

Hang on… hadn’t he just been trying to find the Blacksmith?

Lancelot stiffened. Was there an issue? Had something happened to the fox? The black-furred hedgehog took Galahad by the shoulders. He steadied the nervous Knight. Those yellow eyes weren’t looking at him though, they were cast over the white hedgehog’s shoulder, ears perked. His quills were rattling along his head. Lancelot had seen Galahad panic before but this was a little different. Not quite the same sort of scared-for-his-life panic as he often had. Nor was it the self-conscious panic of something more irrational. This was the sort of fear Galahad reserved for others.

“Galahad?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Lancelot! M-my apologies. But I need to speak with you.”

His tone was urgent and hushed. An emergency… but not something he’d wanted to go to the other Knights with? Surely it would have been faster to find Gawain – the echidna had agreed to swap shifts with Galahad – who was on the ground floor, than to climb all the stairs to reach Lancelot. Even as the Knight Commander, a genuine threat should have gone to the nearest Knight. If it needed his attention, a servant could have fetched him, allowing Galahad to get back to the fight right away. It was standard practice. The White Knight knew this. Which meant there was no immediate threat.

At least, not one that required immediate physical action. So what was it?

“Slow down, Galahad,” Lancelot said. “What happened?”

The white hedgehog suddenly shoved him into the nearest room. Since there weren’t many servants in the Castle, or much life at all really, this room was in disuse. Dark, barely furnished. Dusty even. The servants weren’t even cleaning this room anymore. Things had really fallen to the wayside in this Castle. Lancelot couldn’t fully blame this on the servants though; just like the Knights, there weren’t many of them to spare. This room was a stark reminder of how disorganised everything was at the moment. Galahad rushed to crack the curtain slightly just so they could sort of see. Then he flitted back over to the door. The cobwebs hanging from the ceiling caught the light, laden with dust that was starting to go taupe.

Lancelot was about to snap at Galahad, affronted. Then he saw the way the White Knight cautiously scanned the hallway before shutting the door. Gently. What ever he had to say, he didn’t want it being overheard. Which was worrying. The white hedgehog drifted over, fidgeting. Was this a more delicate situation perhaps? One that required a certain amount of discretion?

“Bertram made Melor leave,” Galahad said breathlessly. “He threatened the fox and made him leave.”

Wait, the chancellor? Why the hell would the raven want the Blacksmith gone? What would that even achieve exactly? Lancelot asked Galahad to clarify. He was having a hard time imagining it. The King’s chancellor going behind his back to get rid of the Blacksmith…? It just didn’t add up. There had to be something else going on here.

“I-I don’t know why,” the white-furred Knight responded. “Melor said the King himself had acted weird around the chancellor. Then he said that the raven had repeatedly glared at him before coming forward to threaten him to leave. Melore suspects Bertram wanted him away from the King.”

The King was acting differently around his chancellor? Lancelot had not noticed anything but then he was never around when the King spoke to his advisors. Thought it was very strange, Lancelot supposed it wasn’t an impossibility. And he didn’t know Melor to be the type of fox to lie about something this serious. Or lie at all, really. He was a very honest fox with a very humble role to play within the Castle.

But what threat did the fox pose to the King exactly? Why would Bertram desire for them to be separated? Was Melor a distraction, perhaps? They were obviously rather friendly though, so why insist on keeping them apart. The distraction couldn’t be that great. Besides, wouldn’t they see Melor staying in the Castle as beneficial? Aside from the Flower Festival today, every other time the King left the Castle was to see Melor. If the fox was here, didn’t they see that the King would leave less? What exactly was the goal?

“But why?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Galahad admitted. “But it feels weird, right? Like… that’s not right. The King invited the fox into the Castle; no one should be able to reverse the King’s decisions. And going behind his back to do it feels really sketchy to me.”

“Which is why you wanted to speak to me in private…” Lancelot confirmed, troubled.

Galahad nodded. His lips were pulled into a straight line.

The white hedgehog hadn’t wanted the raven to walk up on them having this conversation. Or anyone he might be associated with. If something sketchy truly was happening, there was no telling how many people were involved. It put into perspective the conversation Percival had overheard. They couldn’t prove it without evidence but there was a good chance the other advisors were in on what ever this was about. They seemed to speak to the King in the same derogatory manner…

The manipulation of their King might run deeper than they thought.

And Lancelot was not yet sure how he felt about it all. It wasn’t fair to blame the King, the victim in this, for being manipulated. But what did it say about the blue hedgehog, about the kingdom’s chances, that he had been?

“You did well coming to me with this Galahad,” Lancelot assured. “I’ll make sure this information gets to the King. Where is Melor now?”

Galahad dipped his head. He seemed to have calmed down marginally since he’d approached him in the hallway. Still, there was an unease there that had not settled. Lancelot could feel it himself, that almost insecurity within the walls of the Castle. Lancelot absolutely did not like feeling this way, not in his home. Something had to be done about this as soon as possible. Alas, he needed more information before he could proceed. Procedure dictated that he must know as much as he possibly could before addressing the King with his concerns. Lancelot should be able to answer as many questions the King had as possible. And while, in this situation, the information would be pitifully small, he still had to try and glean something, anything.

“Still at his Smithy,” the White Kight said. “I told him to stay where he was. He didn’t feel safe coming back and I didn’t think it was either.”

“Rightfully so,” Lancelot praised. “Did Melor tell you what Bertram said specifically? The more information we have, the better.”

Now, Galahad looked uncomfortable. Pale. Lancelot did not like what that look insinuated. What had Melor told him that made the White Knight so unnerved? Frankly, with Galahad, it could be any number of things. But with this particular situation, Lancelot would treat this with the utmost importance. Threats of any kind were always to be taken seriously, no matter what they were. They had to be taken as though the recipient was in real danger and the instigator would go through with it. Galahad swallowed thickly. His ears were flattened.

“Bertram said he’d gut the fox,” Galahad replied grimly. “That he’d use Melor’s corpse to send a message to the King.”

Definitely not the mental image Lancelot had been expecting. His own ears twitched. What a horrible thought, the fox bleeding out, insides no longer inside. It almost sent a shiver through Lancelot. Melor was a good fox who did not deserve threats so visceral. No one did. But it was the last thing the other Knight had said that really caught his attention.

“What kind of message?”

“Melor said he didn’t say.” Galahad said. “It sounded almost like the raven had let something slip.”

Lancelot gasped, coming to a sudden – and, in retrospect, obvious – realisation. Oh great Gaia, what was the raven planning?

Perhaps Melor wasn’t even the intended target. What if the fox was supposed to be used as an example, a warning? No wonder the fox didn’t want to return to the Castle. What if the raven actually went through with his threat? What if it wasn’t a threat at all but a promise? It was times like these that they could really do with more Knights, to send them out to guard and protect the young fox, just in case. But they had little to spare. And Lancelot would not allow the King to be vulnerable.

“This is more than just about the Blacksmith,” Lancelot muttered. “It’s about the King.”

Galahad widened his eyes. The white-furred hedgehog shuffled his feet, fiddling with the hilt of Rubricapulus. Sunrise eyes drifted back over to the door, as if itching to check once more that they were truly alone, that no one was eavesdropping. Lancelot wanted to tell him that no one would even know they were in here, that it was likely no one had entered this room since well before the false king lost his mind. What had this even been used for? He wasn’t even sure anymore looking around to be honest…

“Do you think he’s in danger?” Galahad asked fretfully.

“Hard to say for sure. Percival was right, it sounds like they’re trying to control him. But for what purpose?”

Galahad shifted in place once more. He was getting antsy and he needed time to breathe. Once Galahad relaxed a little, he would completely crash. He always did. His energy would tank after a battle – though he was a very strong and admirable fighter – and oftentimes, after he’d worked himself up, he’d need some time to sit and decompress. Lancelot knew this and, despite being known as dismissive and cool, he genuinely cared about the physical and mental state of his fellow Knights. They technically worked under him as well as alongside him and so he considered them all his responsibility.

“You are dismissed, Galahad,” Lancelot said. “If you can, let the other Knights know what’s happening. But keep it between us. You understand? Make sure Lamorak knows not to run his mouth with this. It’s serious. I’m not sure how bad yet but it’s bad enough. We can’t be sure who else is in on this.”

“Understood, Lancelot.”

The other Knight left, slinking away out the door, ears already beginning to droop. Lancelot took a moment to collect his thoughts. But only a moment. What a horrid situation. He had to tell the King. Now. So he followed Galahad out a beat later, making his way up to the Chancery. Upon reaching it, however, Lancelot found it empty. Then he remembered Percival fetching Merlina and changed his course, moving further up through the Castle to knock directly at the King’s chambers instead.

Normally, he would not dare disturb the King while he was in his room. But this seemed far too important to let it wait that long. And if Merlina determined his wound to be bad enough to have him confined to his bed for the rest of the day, Lancelot would be waiting pointlessly. No, it had to be now.

“It’s not that bad, really!” he heard from within.

“Sire, please. Would you at least allow me to put a poultice on it?”

Lancelot hated to interrupt but he rapped his knuckles on the wood. Merlina was the one to call him in, weirdly enough. He wouldn’t say anything but that was not typical; this was the King’s chambers, not hers. As he opened the door, the King huffed. His arms were folded, ears flicked back. It looked like he was ready to leave but he did not get up, did not dismiss Merlina. Nor did he reprimand her for speaking out of turn and inviting Lancelot in.

Well, not really in – Lancelot hovered respectfully in the doorway.

“Ah, Sir Lancelot, perhaps you can tell the King his wound needs to be seen to,” the wizard said haughtily. “And that he should not hide something so serious as this.”

“Fine,” the King muttered before Lancelot could open his mouth. “If you must. But it really isn’t serious, Merlina. I promise I’m fine.”

The way he said the last part was soft, almost fond. As though he was bothered by the fuss she was making but also admitting he appreciated her concern. Even after everything, he looked upon the girl with benevolence, a kindness Lancelot had never seen on anyone else’s face. He was a very forgiving hedgehog. Perhaps that was how he’d left himself open to that manipulation for so long; he’d been giving his advisors the benefit of the doubt. It was an admirable but foolish trait. Still, Lancelot didn’t quite want him to let go of that attitude fully. He did wish he’d at least punished Merlina with something minor though.

Even now, Lancelot had to bite back any remarks he had about the wound as he watched the wizard mix up her herbs. The skin no longer appeared to be broken on the King’s side but it was still red around the scab. Only a little but enough to be worrying. Had the King really been walking around like that the whole time? Gaia, why hadn’t he said anything?

The King rested his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand as he waited for Merlina to finish up. He winced only briefly as she applied the mixture but was otherwise very still. He looked up to acknowledge Lancelot, a slight look of apology in his emerald eyes.

“Your Majesty, I have something to discuss with you once your side has been tended to,” Lancelot said. “Would you like me to wait in your Chancery?”

“Why?” the King asked. “You’re here already, aren’t you? Why make you wait there?”

Lancelot thought the King would not want him in his chambers. He’d felt uncomfortable the last time he was here, sitting beside the ailing King in his feverish sleep. Being in the King’s chambers, outside of looking out for his safety, was bizarre and felt almost taboo. But the blue hedgehog didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Instead of loitering in the doorway, the King gestured for him to come inside with a tilt of his head. Lancelot finally crossed the threshold, awkwardly closing the door behind him. He’d been allowed to stay, so he supposed it didn’t really matter. It was just… strange.

Merlina packed up her things and hurried away, apparently eager to leave once Lancelot made his appearance. Good. As long as she gave the King’s wound the care it deserved, Lancelot didn’t much care. The blue hedgehog frowned down at his side for a moment, fiddling with Merlina’s work. Then he turned to look at Lancelot.

“What did you want to talk about?” the King asked.

“Your chancellor was the one who told the Blacksmith to leave the Castle, Sire.”

It was easier just to cut right to the chase. The King needed the facts presented to him in a straightforward manner so that he could decide his next steps. Lancelot was all about efficiency when he could achieve it.

“What?”

His voice was quiet, devoid of anything. Lancelot could not tell what was going through the King’s head. Those green eyes narrowed sharply. It wasn’t long since he’d snapped at his advisors in the Throne Hall; there was a good chance he was still seething from then. Percival described the King as acting enraged yet calm all at once. Was Lancelot seeing the beginnings of that himself here?

Perhaps, for now at least, it was best to leave out the raven’s words. Lancelot didn’t think they would help here, only make things worse. The King already appeared to be growing angry, in that quiet, calm sort of way Percival had described. Not mentioning the gut the fox part was probably safer. Perhaps Lancelot could mention it later, so long as he could be assured the King wouldn’t turn on him for keeping that information from him. He didn’t believe the King would but he still did not know the hedgehog well enough to say for sure.

“Galahad reported that Bertram had threatened Melor,” Lancelot told him. “Apparently, according to the fox, in some bid to control you. I’m not sure how, why or to what end though, I’m afraid.”

The King’s hand closed over Caliburn. Lancelot saw his fingers tighten around the sword’s hilt. The blue hedgehog stood, cloak falling back around his chest on one side, the other left open at an angle where he was gripping his sword. His quills had raised, ears pressing themselves flat against his head. The quiet calm on his face didn’t seem to fit the rest of his stance. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his face.

“Did you see Bertram on your way here?” The King asked.

The blue hedgehog was so stiff.

Lancelot regretfully had to answer in the negative. This didn’t seem to stop the King though. He strode past Lancelot as though the black-furred Knight wasn’t even there and made for the door. Lancelot wasn’t sure if the King wanted him to follow or not but he knew he should not stay in his chambers a moment longer. Besides, his duty was to protect and serve his King; if he required Lancelot’s assistance, he had to be there to give it.

Trailing after the King as he prowled through the halls was a rather unnerving experience. The blue hedgehog was giving off a very dangerous aura right now. They’d stopped a servant who had been cleaning a window to inquire about the raven’s whereabouts. The King’s voice had been level and he had addressed the mouse by his name. The tone had been so opposed to his stance, his posture, the blank look on his face. But the moment he knew where he was going, the King said goodbye pleasantly enough and then stalked away, still griping Caliburn like he might lose it completely if the sword wasn’t there. He was livid. And Lancelot had not seen anger on the King until now. It made his own quills bristle. He could see what Percival meant now.

Bertram was last seen in the dining room but they ended up running into him in the hallway outside of it instead. The raven was about to offer his greetings, apparently not noticing the King’s stance, but the King cut him off before he could utter a single word. He didn’t even bother beating around the bush, immediately jumping to the point.

“I know you’ve been threatening Melor,” the King bit out. “I will not tolerate threats being thrown around in this Castle and certainly not towards my Blacksmith.”

The raven looked, at first, quite startled. Not shocked like he didn’t know what the King was talking about, but surprised to have been caught. It was very telling. But Bertram couldn’t seem to help himself. He started muttering under his breath. But Lancelot heard every word.

“That stupid little fox, I warned him not to blab his mou-”

And so had the King.

The blue hedgehog lashed out so fast that Lancelot himself blinked in surprise. The raven screamed, stumbling back against the wall. Going off what Percival had told him, Lancelot hadn’t expected the King to actually connect his blow. But sure enough, Caliburn’s blade had sliced through the side of the raven’s face, leaving a clean vertical line from the edge of his beak to his forehead. Even the sword seemed to look astonished. Bertram held his hand against the side of his face, staring at the King in undisguised horror.

“You almost blinded me!” the raven squawked.

“Believe me, if I’d been aiming for your eye, I would have.”

The tone was a lot darker than Lancelot had heard from the blue hedgehog. The delivery was sort of flat but with a deeper undertone. The King took a deep breath. It came out shuddery which caused Lancelot to narrow his eyes. Caliburn was still raised, as though the King had frozen mid-swipe. Slowly, he lowered his arm in a sort of daze. Blood gleamed on the tip of the sacred sword’s blade. Lancelot swore he could see Caliburn juddering, indicating that his wielder was unsteady. Lancelot had not known the blue hedgehog long but he’d seen him in action a handful of times now. Never had he been so shaky before.

Was the King alright?

“Sir Lancelot,” the King said, strained. “Can you take Bertram to the dungeons for me? He needs to be questioned but… I… I’m aware that I’m not in the headspace for that right now. And I’d rather he was out of my sight before I make a mistake.”

His voice slipped back into that venomous lilt against towards the end. Otherwise, the King just sounded stressed. Very, very stressed. And if dealing with this deceitful raven would ease that stress somewhat, it was Lancelot’s duty to do so. Besides, if he handled Bertram a little rough on the way to the dungeons, he highly doubted the King would mind. The raven would pay dearly for his transgressions. Frankly, he’d love to interrogate the dastard himself but it was the King’s decision what happened with him, so he would have to wait.

Lancelot straightened his back. He dipped his head to the blue hedgehog, even though his eyes were directed elsewhere. Still, he would adhere to the customs of addressing a Royal at all times. It was only proper. He moved forward to take the raven by the arm, tightening his fist until Bertram winced.

“Of course, Sire.”

The blank way the King seemed to stare not at but through the raven was haunting. Lancelot began to lead Bertram away but the King’s eyes stayed fixed on the wall where the bird had been. The dark-furred Knight lingered for a moment, concerned for his Monarch. The blue hedgehog snapped out of it a little when he glanced down at Caliburn but he seemed… distant. Though his eyes softened.

“Sorry, Cal,” he mumbled.

He sounded sincerely apologetic.

The King gently wiped his palm down the end of the blade, stopping to rub his thumb over a spot he’d missed. He cleaned the blade so attentively, with a gentle, careful hand. The dark Knight’s respect grew for his King upon seeing it. But the action also caused Lancelot to freeze; Caliburn seemed to be in a similar state of shock once more. Pristine white gloves came back marred with a streak of crimson, a small, matching smudge at the thumb. They were thoroughly ruined. And the King hadn’t even given it a second thought, just stained his gloves with reckless abandon like it hadn’t even occurred to him what he was doing.

“Sonic, your gloves!” Caliburn exclaimed.

“S’alright, I can replace ‘em.”

The King was here but he didn’t feel present, not anymore. Like his mind was slowly slipping somewhere else, somewhere unreachable. His words were becoming slightly slurred, growing quieter. There was something off with the way he was acting. Like perhaps the anger had taken everything from the blue hedgehog and left an empty, hollow shell behind.

“I think…” the King started then paused. “I think I need to sit down for a m-moment.”

He sounded exhausted and pained. Was it his side after all? Perhaps he should fetch Merlina again. Or would the King even appreciate that? Maybe the best course of action was to leave him to sit and send someone to check on him again later on. Lancelot didn’t like leaving the blue hedgehog in this worrying state but he had orders to carry out.

And a raven to rough up.