I had not been the host I should have been. I could freely admit that.
Stark and his Lady had spent a month within Camelot's walls, and though I had given them sanctuary, I had not given them my time. France had demanded it of me, demons and witches drawing me far from home.
Yet it was not lost on me that Tony Stark had been left largely to his own devices, to amuse himself while I fought abroad.
That was not how a king ought to treat a guest. No matter what my reason might have been, or how valid it was.
So when Stark approached me about a public send-off — a demonstration, as he called it — I agreed. Not because I believed his theatrics necessary, but because I knew I owed him something. A host must honor those who dine at her table, and a king must honor allies, even when they are troublesome.
Even when they show up uninvited, this was something Ector had told me countless times, and even Merlin had repeated, though I suspect that he only did it because he enjoyed the trouble it sometimes caused.
Plus, Stark might be troublesome indeed, but he wasn't harmful; he was just a fool. So I saw no real threat in his plans, and it would give the people something to see, another grand event for them to enjoy.
Thus, it was scheduled for a week after our feast, a grand display of might, magic, and technology, as Camelot bid farewell to one of Albion's special technical advisers.
The morning of the demonstration dawned bright, the kind of sky poets would claim had been painted for the occasion.
Though in truth, it was simply I who manipulated the sky with my lance, the power of Rhongomyniad could easily do so around my grand city.
Right outside the gates of Camelot, there was a large green area, where Loki and guests of Asgard normally appeared, since they were at least smart enough not to send down the Bifrost within the city itself.
That area, which was normally kept empty for that use, was filled today.
A large stage had been constructed, as had some stands to allow people to watch the spectacle.
It was a familiar sight to me — the anticipation of a tournament, the murmurs before a joust. Yet this was no contest of lances or swords. This was Stark's stage.
Pepper Potts stood at my side, dressed with her usual understated grace. Her expression, however, betrayed a deep unease. "I did tell him this was a bad idea," she murmured, almost pleading, as though I could still stop what was about to happen.
"You did your duty," I reassured her gently. "But Stark is not a man easily dissuaded."
"That's one way to put it," she muttered, glancing toward the gathered crowd. Despite being used to being in the center of attention, she wasn't used to this many people.
"Let Stark know that if he decides to stop the whole engineering genius business, he might still have a shot at being an entertainer; a jester would suit him well." I added, trying to help her calm down a little.
"More like a clown, that man, I don't know how he does it, always getting away with everything." Pepper snorted.
Out in the distance, I saw the signal and finally stood up. And the crowds quickly grew still as they watched and waited. "Greetings, people of Camelot, proud citizens of Albion, free people of the realm! I welcome you all here on behalf of a special guest." My voice was carried all across the stands and fields.
"I am sure many of you have seen him around." I continued. "He is a man who doesn't understand what it means to keep a low profile, and a man famous for many reasons and few good ones."
There was plenty of laughter around the crowd, because indeed, Stark was famous for his Playboy tendencies.
"I speak naturally of Tony Stark, the Infamous Iron Man, one of Albion's special scientific advisors. For a month, he has been our guest here in Camelot, enjoying what our proud city has to offer, even if in such a short time, he hasn't been able to experience it all. Today, we bid farewell to Stark."
"And we do so, in style!" My final words were booming and immediately followed by music.
The crowd erupted in cheers, drums beating, horns blaring — Stark's doing, not mine. I had permitted him a send-off, but somehow he had turned it into a festival.
And there he came at last, striding across the green with the swagger of a man who had never once in his life questioned whether all eyes should be on him. Behind him, dragged on a wheeled platform, was a massive tarp-covered shape. His grin was as bright as the banners above the stands.
"Knights! Ladies! People of Camelot!" he called, voice booming unnaturally loud thanks to some hidden speaker. "You've given me castles, swords, feasts, and more magic than any sane man should ever be comfortable with. Now it's my turn. Time for a little fusion cuisine: twenty-first century genius, medieval presentation."
With a theatrical flourish, he yanked the tarp away.
Gasps and murmurs rolled across the field.
Beneath the cloth stood a suit of armor unlike anything my people had ever seen. And they had seen much.
Yet even I couldn't help but open my eyes extra wide at the sight of what he had uncovered.
Beneath the cloth stood a towering suit of armor, crimson and gold, gleaming like enamel but cut in the style of a knight's warplate. Heavy pauldrons curved outward with gilded edges, the breastplate marked by a glowing crest-shaped arc reactor blazing blue-white like a heraldic device. A long red cape trailed from its shoulders, and the helm rose sharp and proud, crowned with sweeping golden horns.
The Iron Knight.
Stark stepped forward and the armor sealed around him with a hiss, plates folding tight across his body. The helm lowered into place, visor glowing with twin slits of light like a predator's eyes. The reactor flared, and the entire suit came alive.
He raised one gauntlet and with a sharp hum, a blade of solid light extended from his hand — a knight's longsword, forged of pure energy. In the other gauntlet, hard-light shimmered and solidified into a kite shield, glowing with blue edges traced in geometric runes.
Thrusters ignited at his boots and back, roaring blue fire as he shot into the air. The cape streamed behind him as he soared high over Camelot, circled once, then came down in a thunderous landing, one knee striking stone like a knight bowing before his liege.
"Behold!" Stark declared, raising his blazing sword to the sky. "The Iron Knight— fully equipped with sword, shield, superior firepower, and of course… style."
The people roared their approval.
Mordred was halfway onto the stage already, eyes gleaming like a child before a feast. "Father! Look at it! Look at that! I want one! No, I need one!"
Stark's laughter boomed, filled with pride. "Even the heir of Albion itself knows superior armor when he sees it!" he quickly began showing off, flying about and doing cool but impractical aerial maneuvers.
Agravain's face could have soured wine. "This is no knight. This is mockery dressed in gilded plates."
Lancelot smirked faintly, lifting his goblet in salute. "If it is mockery, brother, it is executed with no small amount of elegance."
"Elegance?!" Agravain snapped, bristling. "It belches fire and screams arrogance!"
"Much like its master," Lancelot replied smoothly, earning laughter from the stands.
Pepper groaned quietly beside me, burying her face in her hand. "I told him not to do this. I begged him."
"Do not take it upon yourself, Lady Potts," I murmured. "Stark is like a storm, impossible to stop, only something you can endure."
Stark spun through the air again, cutting a loop before landing squarely on the stage, shield raised and sword blazing. The crowd roared their approval, all shouting in amazement.
Mordred was still shouting over them all, practically climbing the railing in her excitement. "Father, you must allow me one! With wings of fire! I'll outfly any foe!"
I sighed. "No, Mordred."
Her face fell for all of two heartbeats before she rallied, jabbing a finger at Stark. "Then I'll have him make me one!"
Now it was my time to apologize to Pepper. "I apologize ahead of time, because Mordred will be impossible as she demands that Stark make her a suit of armor."
Pepper shook her head, "I just hope he won't agree, or the Senate will be impossible."
Stark continued to fly around to impress, showing off the power and ability of his suit, swinging around his sword. Though I had no doubt it was Jarvis who did the heavy lifting.
No way Stark could use a sword that well.
Still, it served its purpose; the crowd was entertained as he used what was one of the world's most advanced weapons to put on a show.
The huge explosions as he shot off freaking missiles into the air only earned him louder roars from the crowds. People sure love their fireworks. Even if I didn't quite approve of his choice of explosive ornament.
Finally, Stark landed back on the stage and turned towards me. "Your Majesty, Camelot has its Round Table, its holy blade, its divine lance… now it has the Iron Knight. Consider it my humble gift of showmanship. And yes, for the record, I do accept knighthoods. Sir Stark of Camelot has a nice ring to it."
The laughter rolled across the green like thunder. Even I could not quite suppress a smile. For all his arrogance, his foolishness, his irreverence, Stark had made something wondrous. Even I had to agree on that.
"I am afraid I only grant Knighthood to my citizens, yet I am sure your own nation will shower you in honors, for you deserve it. This armor of yours is wondrous indeed." I nodded my head in appreciation of his craftsmanship.
The cheers of the crowd swelled, echoing like thunder against Camelot's walls. Children shouted his name, squires waved their wooden swords in imitation, and even the older knights who frowned at his arrogance could not wholly deny the brilliance of the display.
Stark bowed deeply, helm retracting to reveal his grin to all. "Remember this day, people of Albion. You had the honor of seeing the Iron Knight!"
Mordred, of course, shouted loudest of all. "Father! If you do not give me flying armor, I will steal that one myself!"
"You will do no such thing," I said, already knowing she would plague Stark with requests for months to come.
Pepper rubbed her temple, murmuring, "God help me."
As the laughter rolled through the crowd once more, I rose to my feet. "Then it is settled. Camelot thanks you, Stark, for your presence, your counsel, and your… showmanship. You leave us as guest and ally — and more than that, as friend."
The people erupted again, and I let them. For all my doubts, for all my sighs, I could not deny it: Stark had given my people a gift. A memory they would treasure, a tale to tell their children of the day a man of the future stood in Camelot's square and called himself knight.
(end of chapter)
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