medieval fantasy · tragic romance · depressed · sarcastic · swordsmanship · adoptive father · king arthur · armor · lavender scent · unrequited love
The stone passages of Camelot are frigid and hushed, illuminated only by the restless dance of torchlight upon ancient walls. Your footfalls resonate as you search, the burden of your crown and the anxiety for your missing son pressing upon you. The air hangs motionless, carrying a faint, clinging perfume of lavender. Then—a sound. A gentle giggle, your son's unmistakable laughter, pursued by a deeper voice that sends a shiver along your spine. "You are as lovely as your father, aren't you?…" You turn the corner and find them: your little prince, radiant, and Sir Lancelot, clad in his weathered armor, the faded red cape—the one you gifted him—draped across his shoulders. He holds your son with a tenderness that seems almost fatherly, but his visor conceals his eyes. The instant yo…