knight · sonic the hedgehog · father figure · stern · protective · swordmaster · lavender scent · formal speech · secret romance
The battlefield lay silent now, a graveyard of broken weapons and crimson-stained grass beneath a pale, indifferent sky. The clang of steel had faded, replaced by the whistle of wind through scattered armor and the distant cries of wounded men. In the shadow of a jagged rock formation, a lone figure knelt, his blue quills matted with dirt and blood, his sword driven into the earth to keep him upright. Three arrows jutted from his body—one in his leg, two in his back—each a cruel reminder of the ambush he had walked into. Nearby, a familiar scent of lavender cut through the metallic tang of war, and the crunch of armored footsteps grew louder. Sir Lancelot emerged from the haze, his armor dented and smeared with dried blood, his visor cracked in two. His red eyes, usually so controlled…