Chapter Text
He set off for his beloved in the late hours of twilight.
Dusk had all but swallowed up the castle, as each and every crevice was touched by the hands of the night sky. Servants were still preparing the torches to light the path, but King Arthur was so intrinsically familiar with the steps required to meet his secret mate, he paid the darkness no mind. There was not a falter in his step, not even a stumble.
If anything, it seemed the cobblestone trembled before his footsteps, as if parting way for him in regal regard. His cape swished and bellowed behind him, and cloaked under the moonlit corridors, it appeared obsidian instead of its typically vibrant crimson.
The reason for this impromptu visit was a questionable reflection of his sensibility, he shall admit with little objection. But something was not quite right. He could sense it.
Lancelot was avoiding him. And that in and of itself meant something most troublesome was afoot.
The knowing glances they would share across the Round Table have suddenly turned scarce. Not once has his love sought out his company in the past few days, whether by note, by wink, by sheer commanding presence. The darkest parts in him suggested his knight had found another, but he elected not to give it much thought. Lancelot was nothing if not loyal, as he’s proven time and time again.
That loyalty is what drew Arthur to him in the first place.
Loyalty. Fealty.
Devotion.
How much someone was willing to give up in order to protect him. Even defying nature herself.
He remembered that fateful evening as though it were not a distant memory from years before. No, it was as if it had occurred mere days ago. Arthur had still been but a prince, preparing to depart on a journey he routinely traveled on to one of his uncles with whom he shared a most cordial relationship with. That man had largely been responsible for his external education so his parents had no qualms about him making the trip several times a month.
But on one of these journeys, a youthful recruit was selected to accompany him in addition to the three guards stationed alongside his carriage. A fellow hedgehog, with quills as dark as the night intersected by vivid shades of red. A bit on the smaller side he had been, but Arthur did not make remark save for a dismissive smile. The young one’s name did not reach him and being of standard ignorance for his age and station, he did not even ask.
The departure in the before was simple. A book was lazily opened upon his lap, though Arthur had long since dozed off, lulled to sleep by the melodic rocking of the ride.
He woke up to bloodshed at dusk.
Raiders had swarmed the side of the carriage. Their yells and hollers still echoed through his mind, even after all this time. All three of his usual guardsmen were slaughtered. Butchered. Such cruelty had never before been shown to him but he recognized it for what it was in an instant. Execution.
But that young recruit did not and would not go down without a fight. Arthur watched through the torn shades of the carriage as his small and ruthless defender protected the landau without a second thought. Even as he withstood the sharp sting of his opponent’s blades, even as his blood spilt upon the darkening dirt, he never ceased his relentlessness.
When the last raider had fallen by his hand, only then did Arthur emerge from within. The hedgehog overpowered the urge to collapse to his knees, urging his prince to follow him into the cover of night to escape the potential arrival of even more foes.
Lancelot, his name was. A powerful name touched by the hands of beauty. Arthur obeyed without question, helping the other hedgehog to vanish into the undergrowth. Checking over their shoulder dutifully, even as night fell with a vengeance.
The cave they happened upon was small, a crawl space more than anything. Hardly enough for the both of them to rest side-by-side. But the following morning, Arthur had woken up to a scent he would remember for a lifetime.
Heat.
Lancelot, as it turns out, was no beta. The stress of the previous day had thrown his body into a premature heat, leaving him addled with pain and need.
Arthur had to admit it, his mind had been filled with the belief that those of the fairer sex were unfit for this line of work, that omegas had no place on the battlefield. But this omega, this person had saved his life, crushing those beliefs in an instant. How could they be right when Lancelot had so clearly proven them wrong right before his very eyes?
Lancelot warned him to leave, claiming that his scent would only be a beacon for those hunting them down. But Arthur vehemently refused, choosing to stand guard outside the cave for the nearly five days it took for the other’s heat to break.
The proximity was dangerous for them both. For Lancelot, it exacerbated the severity, to have an alpha within arm’s reach yet be unable to achieve relief. For Arthur, it took every ounce of control he could muster not to turn towards that cave. Every fiber of his being had screamed at him to take care of the omega just paces away, but he endured it all for the sake of protecting the other just as he had done for him.
In the aftermath, a sort of understanding had befallen them. Arthur did not believe these events to be the work of a miracle, rather instead an opportunity for a mutually beneficial relationship.
Tit-for-tat. A quid pro quo.
Arthur would keep Lancelot’s secret, even facilitate it by means of aiding in the cloaking of his scent. All in return for companionship. Companionship that quickly bloomed into affection. Affection that shortly after gave way to attraction.
And soon enough, they were meeting under circumstances just like this.
As his knuckles rapped upon the wooden door, Arthur listened carefully for the sharp intake of breath from the other side. His keen hearing picked up on the rustling of silken sheets, the soft taps of footsteps, the closing of a book.
“It’s me,” he supplied quietly, though his scent would have already been identifiable by sheer intensity alone. Lancelot would have known it was him approaching from the moment he turned the corner of that hallway.
“My lord, you may enter,” came the respective quiet voice, and Arthur nearly sighed in relief.
Heeding his love’s command, he pushed the doorway open and gazed upon the one he held most dear in this world.
Lancelot was not wearing his armor. Nor the thin clothing meant to be worn underneath the polished plates of metal. A simple linen frock was all that hugged his body, obfuscating the rough edges of his curves in a manner that enticed him.
But that was not the reason for his sudden visit.
“If I have done something to offend you, I sincerely apologize,” the king announced as soon as his feet crossed the threshold of the small room. Lancelot’s quarters were a far cry from his own – knights were only afforded a simple room with a modest bed tucked away in the corner. A dreary thing though it was, its isolation had more than a few benefits.
It allowed them perfect privacy for their routine scent exchanges. The east facing window, when ajar, allowed for gracious ventilation, airing out the heavy muskiness that typically arose from such contact.
“Offend me?” Lancelot cocked his head to his side, reaching to close the door with a resounding thud. The lantern at his bedside illuminated a mere half of his face, of which he could see both confusion and concern. It also shed light on a familiar scar upon his cheek from the night of their first meeting, one he’d grown to adore. “Arthur, dear, whatever do you mean?”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” the king muttered without much fanfare. “Clearly I’ve upset you. I’ve come to remedy that.”
After a few moments of steady puzzlement, the rare act of laughter tumbled from the hedgehog’s lips. His eyes carried fond amusement, though melancholy wrapped around him like a halo, pervading such a jovial sound with a sadness that Arthur could not quite place.
“I see it matters not the opulence of the crown jewels upon your head, you shall always be a fool,” Lancelot chuckled to himself, pushing the man the few distinct paces to his bed and straddling Arthur’s waist. Sensual though it was, just the mere contact was enough for their bond to rekindle its flickering spark. Arthur’s scent flared in instinctual response, a heavy sandalwood dusted with sea salt. “My utterly dimwitted fool of a king.”
The king’s large hands found their rightful place upon his knight’s waistline, molding around the fabric and wanting nothing more than to tear it from his love’s body.
“I could have your head for insulting me so, I hope you understand,” Arthur smirked teasingly.
“I’m well aware you could have my head,” Lancelot countered with a knowing smile.
Arthur’s quills bristled at the innuendo and he couldn’t deny the surge of blood flow southwards. Even beneath the limited light of the lantern, he could see the way Lancelot’s pupils dilated. For a moment, he questioned himself with whether his omega was in preheat, but no. He can't have been.
Lancelot’s heat, being such an integral factor of their first meeting, was deeply familiar with him. He knew that scent like he knew the back of his hand.
His scent now? Muddied with…something. Not his heat, not his own scent. And that thought was one he couldn’t let go of. Had he been in contact with another? Just the idea alone was enough to taint the arousal that had been rising.
“Am I going to get a real explanation? Gawain even said you were indisposed this afternoon,” Arthur whispered against Lancelot’s lips, pulling away at the last minute.
The knight’s mood soured instantly and he sat back on his haunches. His arms, once snug around Arthur’s broad shoulders, returned to his own sides as if comforting himself. The sight was a pathetic imitation of the confident lover Lancelot had been mere moments ago.
“I…needed some time to myself. Alone,” he began, ears drooping and eyes glancing away.
The king’s fears were not alleviated in the slightest from that admission. Do his concerns and worries bear some truth?
If so, he’ll be devastated.
“What is the matter? Tell me, love,” Arthur urged.
A tense sigh escaped Lancelot’s lips as he pondered how to articulate his words. Several times his mouth gaped open with pause, only to shut moments later. He finally managed to muster up the courage to ask, “Will we always be just a secret?”
The foundation of their very relationship was built upon secrecy. Concealing Lancelot’s status, evading the many advisors who looked at their bond too closely. Never before has his mate shared any interest in the limelight.
What changed that?
“Lance?” he pondered cautiously, attempting to slide his palm over Lancelot’s arms to force the other hedgehog to face him.
But it seemed the dam had burst, as the hedgehog violently leaned away from him with a snarl.
“You parade around the palace, letting all who gaze upon you witness your might and beauty. All the fair maidens fawn upon you without ever having the slightest idea you are taken. Every morning, I endure listening to these infernal comments and ogling. I hold my tongue upon your request but my lord I…can not stand it for much longer,” the hedgehog spat so vitriolic and bitter. It was very much unlike the Lancelot he knew and loved.
Jealousy was understandable, especially given their circumstances, but to direct it towards him? Arthur pulled back, affronted by the sudden change in demeanor. “If you are insinuating that I am ashamed of-”
“Don’t call me unreasonable, Arthur!” Lancelot interrupted, fire alight in his eyes. “Don’t you dare!"
A tense sigh followed his words, along with the almost frantic brushing of the quills atop his head. In times of stress, they become frazzled and out of place. The act of taming them was one he knew to bring the other calm.
This can’t have been about simple jealousy. There has to be more.
“I know you can have anyone you desire at the wave of your hand, and yet here I am waltzing around on a stage. A puppet being dragged on a pair of broken strings praying my master finally grants me mercy,” the knight stammered as he continued, shaking his head with subdued defeat. “All that we’ve built between us can never be the same, now that I am–!”
Lancelot’s eyes widened as he flinched back, one hand flying to cover his mouth, as if he had accidentally admitted a most troublesome secret. Arthur’s brows furrowed at the reaction, suspicious eyes bouncing over his love’s form with urgency.
“Pardon, I’ve said too much,” he whispered at last. In the low light, Arthur could see his lips tremble, his eyes flick towards the door as if looking for an escape.
“Well, I implore you to speak. What did you mean by that?” the king demanded, his heart thundering in his chest like the great crashing of the winds.
Lancelot was backed into a corner. Either he admit the intention behind his words or face Arthur’s wrath. Was this the end? It’s been this way for the better part of a decade, did Lancelot truly find another?
“Arthur, I never meant for this to happen,” the knight pleaded, his words drenched in sorrow.
Heavens, above. “Are…we alright?” the king muttered, trying not to let his walls come crumbling down.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It depends on what you think of…” Lancelot’s words trailed out into a low mumble, once more refusing to meet his majesty’s gaze.
Now, with the answer ripe on his love’s tongue, Arthur’s patience was worn thin. Should he have been more understanding? Absolutely. Should his temper have been controlled? Most assuredly.
But passion and fear had taken his worn heart captive and only the answer would set him free.
“Would you just spit it out already!”
“I’m with child!”
Silence filled the room as quickly as sunlight covered the land after daybreak. Screw a pin dropping, it was so incredibly quiet Arthur swore he could hear the air itself hit the ground. His lungs were suddenly devoid of oxygen, and his eyes shrunk into pinpricks.
“You…” His mouth gaped open, uselessly.
“Your inept nose has failed to notice the change in my scent. I noticed yesterday morning among other symptoms and informed Gawain of illness. There. That is the reason I have been avoiding you,” the omega huffed.
Arthur’s temper calmed considerably as he slowly inhaled the now potent scent of sweetened buttermilk. His nostrils flared as it blended with the subtlety of Lancelot’s dulled lavender, and that strange, swirling scent from before was finally identified to him.
A child.
Lancelot was pregnant with his child.
The emergent skittish behavior had not been because of a secret lover, but because of a pregnancy. And now, reexamining the signs, Arthur felt much like a fool for believing the former.
Of course! How could he have failed to take into consideration the possibility? They were not exactly careful in their clandestine meetings. They’ve indulged each other in heat and in rut. It was not a miracle, but in fact, long overdue.
“I’m…you…”
Lancelot must have took his shock for rejection, as he turned his shoulder harshly, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “What will you do with me? I anticipate your reputation will be sallied with a child out of wedlock. Born to your subordinate, on a station built upon mistruths,” the other growled, but it was blanketed by a stormcloud of grief.
To think he thought so little of him? To abandon his love without consideration? Never mind the future child, his future heir, but the one who seized him most dangerously and completely of all?
“I shall not cast you aside, if that is your worry!” he tried to reassure his love, putting as much heart in his words as heavenly possible. “I kept your secrets these many years, have I not?”
His hand rose to wipe Lancelot’s face of his tears and although a spark of relief crossed his gaze, there was still shame.
“Arthur, it will hardly be secret soon enough. Everyone shall know my status with time. My authority will be questioned, ridiculed. If I even retain that station, that is,” Lancelot grumbled sardonically, and at last some understanding crossed Arthur’s mind.
A good portion of Lancelot’s concerns were centered around his perception by others. He’s spent his life building the persona of the stone-cold beta to avoid the stigma surrounding his sex. Even as Arthur altered the discriminatory policies the moment he came into power – Lancelot believed himself to be unworthy.
“I changed that rule as soon as I had the chance. You are no more deserving of your rank than the rest,” Arthur reiterated with sincerity.
“Still. I can see it now…the newer members of the guard won’t appreciate this news. Alphas, pups really, the whole lot of them. Eager to prove themselves and get ahead of the curve, I will be an easy target. Low hanging fruit. Never mind the fact I’m nearly half a decade their senior.”
The king approached his love, embracing him from behind. There was nothing on this mortal plane that would separate them. Nothing in life, nothing in death. Wherever Lancelot wandered, Arthur was destined to follow. Every breath from his omega fueled the king’s every step.
Maybe, it was about time he let the world around him know.
That he was off-limits. That he was not accessible. And that he was ever faithful.
“Perhaps they will mock their omega commander,” Arthur mused humorously, trailing a finger around Lancelot’s shoulder absentmindedly. “As all young and foolish alphas are born to do. But surely not their Queen.”
Turning his cheek to meet his king’s gaze, Lancelot stared into those emerald pools with befuddlement. His cheeks, stained with the lantern lighted tears of his admission, paused in their effortless rosiness to ponder the alpha’s words.
“What?”
“It seems as though I’ve neglected your needs and as such I must immediately rectify that,” Arthur announced with a smile. “I’d like you to join me on the throne.”
“I thought you didn’t care for such superficial titles.”
“But clearly my pregnant mate does,” Arthur muttered, and simply uttering those words caused a surge of proud protectiveness to flow through him. “And that is enough to alter my own thoughts on the matter. I am but a servant to your whims and wants, as should have been well and clear.”
Lancelot’s breath hitched dangerously as Arthur’s teeth ghosted over his neck. None too subtly leaning into the sharpened canines, the omega practically melted into his alpha’s touch.
“I’ll announce the engagement at once. We’ll have a modest ceremony in the throne room. Invite the nobles, take a carriage through the square, a reception in the gardens. You can wear my mother’s veil,” Arthur suggested, purring his words against the thin expanse of his mate’s neck, where his scent was the ripest. That perfectly milky aroma enveloped him like a cloud and the man couldn’t deny that he wished to keep a vial of it all for himself.
“My mother might object,” Lancelot pointed out, but obliged Arthur’s ramblings with a purr of his own. His tail jolted in excitement behind him, betraying his emotions in kind.
“Ha! Nimue adores me just the same. And knowing her, she’s likely well aware of your condition,” he chuckled, his wandering hands emphasizing his words as they circled around Lancelot’s stomach.
It was not yet soft. Still firmed by his knight’s rigorous training regiment, still toned by his love’s expert endurance. But the promise of what would be was more than enough to cause a stir beneath his belt.
Lancelot believed his state to be a burden, a disruption.
He shall soon see it would not hinder Arthur’s attraction in the slightest. Lancelot will see just how much Arthur is willing to go to worship his knight.
“So, what are your thoughts?” Arthur prompted.
“Hm?” Lancelot’s eyes were closed in bliss, so much so he hardly heard the question.
“Marry me?”
The hedgehog hardly gave it much thought before he swiveled around to smile against his king’s lips.
“I’d love nothing more,” he admitted shyly, the biggest grin splitting his face. It took all of Arthur’s self control not to beam at the sight of the rare occurrence. They shared a most tender embrace, a most serene kiss, before a yawn slipped out from Lancelot’s mouth.
“Alright, then it is settled. Now, let's retreat into somewhere more befitting of the future mother of my child. This room is far too stifling,” Arthur decided, grasping his omega by his hips and plucking him off the ground with an unbridled squeak.
Lancelot glanced one last time at the room that had served them well. Nothing had changed about it in all his time here. The bed still creaked something terrible. The ceiling still bore the dark oak vaulting. The window still faced east, towards the great lake.
He hopes it shall do its next tenant justice.
Uttering a final farewell, the knight leaned into his king’s touch, one hand around the man’s shoulder, the other nestled low on his stomach. He clicked and purred as they made their way through the dark castle hallways, leaving the small room out of sight and out of mind.
The lantern at his former bedside fizzled out and extinguished before the sun rose the next morning.