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The horn sounded and a ragged cheer rose up from the battlefield as the surviving giants turned their backs on it. Steven himself was quite preoccupied with wrenching his sword out of the great horned beast that had nearly taken his head off with its massive jaws.
“I half expected it would never end.”
Steven whirled, which had the beneficial side-effect of providing enough force to remove the sword from the beast’s hide, and grinned at Sir James watching his struggle with his customary smirk.
“Come now, Barnes, don’t tell me you were growing tired!”
“We’ve been fighting since dawn, Rogers. I’d rather you tell me without a lie that you are not.”
Steven shrugged, sheathing his sword. It had been a good fight; their kingdom protected and King Arthur triumphant against the evil that had threatened its borders. He was never one to dream of battle, only to do what was right. To be a Knight of the Round Table was to be fulfilled completely, for Steve. “You know me, James. I can do this all day.”
James merely rolled his eye, walking forward to drag Steven into him and under his arm like they had done since they were children and more. Of course, Steve used to fit quite neatly there, before the wizard Erskine gave him the Draught of Rebirth. Now, James had to reach, but that had never deterred his old friend.
However, he was just short enough now that the edge of his chest plate knocked into Steven’s hip, where one of Mordred’s bannermen had gotten a lucky hit in the barest gap between his mail and his armor, cutting through the jerkin and beyond. The wound wasn’t deep and would heal quickly, but he was like to never hear the end of it until it did.
James edged away so he could look down and made a sympathetic face. “What will I have to do to prevent you from telling this to Anthony?” Steven asked. Anthony would worry without end, and though his mouth set in a pout was one of the most beautiful things Steven had ever witnessed, he was not overly fond of the overbearing caretaking that went with it.
But James, instead of beginning absurd bargaining as Steven expected, dropped his eyes down and to the left. “Yes. Well, about that, Steven…”
Steven’s heart nearly stopped. “What is it? Did Mordred’s fiends get into the camp?”
“No,” and Steven breathed out a sigh of relief. Anthony was the king’s heir, and so he was kept to the camp, where he was safe. “But you’re not going to have to worry about Anthony’s particular brand of tender care.”
“…What,” Steven said dangerously.
“Do you remember that massive explosion that took out their entire left flank around two hours ago?”
“What.”
Steven was going to kill him.
Anthony was being held in the infirmary tent. His bodyguard, Clinton Barton, went a little pale when he saw Steven storming through camp towards him. “You!” Steven snapped, seizing Clinton by his collar. “You were supposed to protect him!”
Clinton scowled, pushing Steven away. “‘M not locking him up in a cage, Rogers. Tony wanted to fight; so did I. We took out at least two hundred soldiers. What was your count?”
“Barton,” Barnes said softly, and Clinton took another look at Steven and sighed, stepping aside.
“He said he had a brilliant plan, yes?” he mumbled. “The man shoots fire out of those gauntlets. It is hard to say no to that.”
Steven considered him, then relaxed as well. Anthony was as persuasive as he was reckless, and he and Clinton had become great friends. He could not fault Barton too greatly for this.
He stepped through the tent, a small smile quirking at his lips at the sight that greeted him. Tony was thronged on all sides by Lady Pepper, Sir James Rhodes, and his own mother, the Princess Maria. Sir Margaret Carter stood behind him, holding him still while the grand Wizard Merlin crouched over him, muttering incantations over his chest and blocking it from Steven’s view.
“Oh, good, you’re finally here.” Steven looked to the side. Lady Natasha, Merlin’s own bodyguard, was doing the closest thing to smiling Steve had ever seen on her lovely face. “I half expect Anthony to make a break for it at any moment. Perhaps your presence will dissuade him. Ah, Sir Barnes, you survived.”
“I tend to do that,” James said, smirk back in place. Natasha mirrored it perfectly.
“See that you continue to do so. There might be a reward.” She turned back to the preceedings just in time for Rhodes’ ‘Of all the stupid-!’
“It was not stupid!” Oh, and Anthony was well on his way to being drunk if that slur was any indication. For the pain, Steven guessed. As they watched Tony drained the goblet in his hand but when offered a refill declined. “Go give the rest of that to Jarvis. He’s like to be in the same shape as I am. He’ll need it. Oh, and bring him some beer later. The Murkwood lager. It’s his favorite.” The servant nodded, more than used to Tony’s odd eccentries regarding Jarvis, his horse.
“And what shape is that?” Steven asked loudly, and the entire tent turned towards him, Anthony’s face lighting up with a bright smile as the teen swayed towards him as if drawn by a string. It always warmed Steven’s heart to see such a reaction, but now he didn’t know how much was due to drink or pain.
“Steven! Did you hear? I was fantastic.”
“And foolish,” Lady Pepper said.
“It was not foolishness, Pep,” Tony said, a genuine frown crossing his face. “Mordred’s army would not have even had those power stones if not for me. I had to fix my mistakes. Uncle will be proud of me, won’t he Mother? And Father, too.” He added, much more quietly. Margaret rubbed his shoulders soothingly.
“Oh, Anthony,” Maria sighed. “We never blamed you. You need not get yourself killed to make Arthur proud. A finer heir could not be asked for.”
“Killed?” Steven squawked. Unable to stand it any longer, he pushed forward, though Rhodes and Pepper stepped aside readily enough. Merlin glanced sidelong at him, finished his mutterings, and moved away, revealing the stone that was now resting in Tony’s chest, a web of already-scarring wounds and spells carved into the skin. Steven reached out a hand hesistantly. “Tony-”
“I’m fine,” Anthony said. “Merls patched me up good.”
“I wish you would not call me that, Your Highness.” The wizard turned to Steven and favored him with a gentle smile. “The stone calls to like. Prince Anthony, in his infinite wisdom, used his gauntlets to implode the enemies’ supply. Jarvis dragged him away after they were hit with debris, which almost pierced his heart, but this should halt its procession.”
“Tony,” Steven breathed, torn between exasperation. “I understand you feel blame, but if I lost you-”
“Then it would have been in good cause. I won’t regret it.” Tony grabbed Steven’s hand and pressing it to his chest. “Feel me, Steven. Feel me breathe. Feel my heart beat. Come now, would I leave you so easily?”
And indeed underneath the cool surface of the stone he could hear his mage’s heart beat proud and true. Steven didn’t know what his face might have shown; Anthony covered his hand with his own and whispered lowly. “For you, my knight.”
Steven surged forward, only remembering at the last second the company they were in, but Merlin merely scoffed. “If you think anyone is paying mind to you two with Lancelot and the queen acting with all the subtlety of a painted whore, you are mistaken.”
Tony leaned the rest of the way with a grin, kissing him so hard Steven tasted blood through the sweet taste of relief. Anthony was alive, and would remain so. The day was victorious. They were heroes all. Outside there was a sudden call for the whiskey casks to be broken open. The celebrations would begin soon.
“Oh!” Anthony exclaimed when a cask was brought in for them on orders from the king himself. “A toast!”
Somewhere Natasha snorted. “To Merlin’s superior magic, I hope.”
“To King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table,” Barnes added, prompting a cheer from Rhodes.
“To fallen enemies and Mordred’s defeat,” Clinton proposed.
“To Guinevere, Lancelot, and painted whores,” Tony murmured into Steven’s mouth. “And Jarvis.”
“Here, here,” Steve said, and kissed him.