Lancelot has this nagging sense he knows what's going on, yet somehow he can't put his finger on it. He's dressed in a tabard marking him as a soldier, a playing card, with bright red hearts on it. It's a surreal sort of feeling, to at once understand a joke but be unable to explain it or escape it. His hair is flowing longer than it should be, obscurely, and he's attempting to tie it back out of his face when he hears footsteps. Instincts make him snap to attention and resume a soldierly pose when Sirius comes shooting past, and in the background he hears the hoof-beats of a horse following. He hesitates a moment before moving to follow Sirius through the maze. Whoever heard of a horse in a maze, anyway! It's far too small for such a thing. Flowers alternately cheer him and call for his head until Lancelot has a distinct, unnerving feeling Sirius is running toward a dead end and decides enough is a enough.

He turns and waits until the knight is turning his (... small? Is that a Shetland pony?) horse around the corner and forces himself to stand to attention.

"Stop!" he declares, and wills himself to sound confident. "By order of the queen! This man is late already for a game of croquet!"