Merlin fastened a king's royal cloak below Arthur's chin with two gold dragon pins and stepped back to survey the final result. The cape was so long its tail end lay in red folds on the slate floor, the gold dragons curled up on either side, and his silver chain mail had been polished until it reflected like glass. The circlet Arthur had worn on formal occasions since being crowned prince was absent; a king's crown would be put on his golden head today but he already wore the chain of office around his neck.

The mood in the prince's chambers – the royal chambers – was solemn, so the sly smile playing around the corners of Arthur's handsome face worried Merlin as he fetched the ceremonial sword.

Arthur looked him up and down. "You're not attending my coronation dressed like that, are you, Merlin?"

An uneasy feeling uncurled in Merlin's stomach; that was the same expression his friend had worn when he gleefully held up a ridiculous feathered hat as the "official ceremonial garb of the servants of Camelot." That trick was not going to work again because Merlin was now aware those hats had not been worn for a century.

He looked down at the scarlet tunic which actually was the ceremonial garb of servants of Camelot. "Yes?" he answered although it came out sounding like a question.

Arthur shook his head sadly. "It won't do at all."

The feeling of dread grew. "Why?"

"That is not how one of my royal advisers should be dressed for my coronation."

The evil glint in his friend's blue eyes intensified but Merlin's brain was comparing what it thought it had heard to what it could rationally have heard. "What?"

"Much as it gladdens my heart for you to be rendered as close to speechless as I am ever likely to enjoy, you should probably express your gratitude more loquaciously."

"Gratitude?"

"Loquaciously means using sentences which are more than one word, Merlin. I appreciate the assistance you provided in getting me ready for the ceremony, but you should hurry along now with this young man – thank you, George," he nodded at a short servant with a pinched face who had entered holding a formal tunic and cloak in a rich burgundy with fur trim, "and get dressed yourself."

Merlin looked from the sour-faced servant back to his friend. "Th-thank you, Arthur."

"My correct title is 'Sire'."

"Thank you, Sire."

Merlin executed a deep, formal bow and Arthur's blond brows shot up to his hairline. "So you do know how to properly express gratitude to a king."

"Of course. You just hadn't earned it before."

It was meant to be teasing but Arthur was struck anew at how long his friend had waited and how much he had risked in anticipation of this day. "Why, Merlin? Why did you think I would ever … I mean, that I would …"

The corners of Merlin's mouth twitched but his voice was soft and serious. "I believe in you, I always have."

"Why didn't, Morgana?"

Merlin shook his head. "I don't know, Arthur." The dark-haired man put his left hand on his friend's left shoulder, the way the former prince had done for him in times past. "Perhaps she doesn't feel the same way about you that I do."

Arthur leaned away from the intense blue gaze as far as he could without shrugging off the hand on his shoulder.

"Or maybe she just knew you as an arrogant prat for far longer than I did."

With a broad grin, Merlin gave the king's shoulder a pat, signalled George to lead the way, and went to change.

Minutes later, dressed in the fine, new garments which felt incredibly soft against his skin, Merlin waited in the front row of the crowded hall beside Sir Leon who had greeted him with a sombre nod followed by a wink. Gwaine gave him a thumbs up from the far end of the first row while Lancelot sent him a congratulatory nod from where he stood near Percival, two cloaked Druid elders between them. Viviane raised a brow at his finery but both greeted him in Druid mindspeak as Emrys.

Merlin had seen Gaius's proud smile and Gwen's pleased look when he was escorted to a place of honour. Gwen, Merlin noticed, was wearing a new gown in Camelot red which suited her dark complexion and her hair was dressed more elaborately than he had ever seen it with not a single curl out of place.

Every wall of the Great Hall had been hung with red banners embossed with gold dragons so heavy they barely twitched in the intermittent draft which made the candle flames dance. Despite the squares of sunshine which lined the right side of the huge chamber, lighted candles in tall stands stood sentry to either side of a single throne set in the centre of the dais at the front of the room. Row upon row of knights in silver chain mail with long red capes and nobles with furs and gems lining their fancy dress stood facing the empty throne where Geoffrey waited with a crown in his hands.

A trumpet sounded and everyone in the Great Hall turned to look back as the wide double doors were thrown open and Arthur strode forward between the ranks of nobles and knights. Each caped or gowned figure bowed as he passed. Merlin caught his breath when he saw that in place of the ceremonial sword, Arthur was wearing Excalibur firmly ensconced in the scarlet scabbard.

A red velvet cushion with gold tassels had been placed on the middle step leading up to the dais. Here Arthur knelt to say his vows, promising to be protector of the realm, to govern the peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs, and to cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in all his judgments. When he had solemnly sworn, an eight-pointed crown was lowered reverently onto his golden hair and the entire hall burst into loud cheers.

Merlin chanted with the rest, trying to outdo a beaming Leon's loud shouts of "Long live the king!"

Arthur mounted the dais and spun around, his red cape flaring around his shoulders before settling back, the golden dragons stretching and then relaxing. He waited a long moment before he finally held up one hand to signal that he wished to speak. Even then it took several minutes for the last shouts of "Arthur" and "long live the king" to fade away.

"Thank you for the great honour you do me in welcoming me as your king. I would like to return some of the joy you have given me by announcing my forthcoming marriage."

There was a moment of surprised silence before the room erupted in loud cheers.

In the midst of the cheering, Arthur stretched a hand toward an embarrassed Gwen and beckoned her forward. Eyes on the floor, she clutched a handful of red saffron skirt in one hand and shouldered her way to the centre aisle. Then she lifted her head high, fixed her eyes on Arthur's, and allowed her long skirts to trail along the floor as she advanced toward the dais with smooth steps. Her back was straight and her gait was every bit as graceful as any noblewoman's.

She executed a deep curtsy from the bottom of the steps before mounting them to take Arthur's left hand and stand at his side. Along with the joyful shouts, a whisper ran through the courtiers as they tried to determine who knew the lady about to be their queen.

Merlin felt as though his smile might actually split his face at the happiness glowing from his two closest friends. It faded a bit when he sneaked a glance at Lancelot who stood stiffly, his expression blank.

Arthur held up his hand once more. "Thank you again for the warm greeting you have offered my lady, Guinevere. I am gratified beyond measure by your fervent welcome, and I have another announcement to make. All laws banning magic have been repealed."

There was a gasp from those nearest the king, then questions rippled out as if he had thrown a stone into a pond. Beside Leon, Sir Ector turned his silver-haired head and surveyed the crowd. His eyes fixed on someone behind them on the right and Merlin saw that Rolf had not taken a spot in the front row with the king's closest advisers. He glared at Merlin with dark hatred. Merlin ignored him and faced forward.

Leon was the first to draw his sword and hold it aloft. "Arthur!"

At his shout, the other knights drew their blades and held them up as they joined in the salute crying "Arthur!"

"No!" Rolf's yell overrode the echo of knights' cry. His fur-trimmed green cloak flared as he spun around to face the ranks of courtiers behind him. "We cannot allow the evil which so recently bathed this city with the blood of our warriors to be practiced again; not with our beloved king not yet cold in his tomb."

An angry mutter swelled behind Merlin from the nobles whose sons, brothers, husbands, and lovers had served as knights and been cut down by immortal soldiers at the command of a sorceress.

"Arthur is our beloved king," Ector corrected. "He and the magic at his side will protect us from such evil. Never again will we be helpless against those who seek to destroy us."

"Arthur!" Leon shouted again and the knights joined him, repeating the cry several times.

Many of the elegantly garbed nobles who had been standing near Rolf edged away from him and crowded closer to the ranks of knights.

Rolf eyed them with disgust. "Do you think such as these will protect you from sorcerers? There are barely enough knights of Camelot left to fill this hall."

"Sorcery is not our enemy."

At the newly-crowned king's words all eyes turned toward him.

"Odin has assembled an army and intends to invade Camelot."

Fear rippled through the crowd, washing over the confusion and anger.

"There are none left to defend us," someone said.

"We'll be slaughtered."

"On the morrow, I will lead my men to intercept Odin near the border before he can advance into my land. This," Arthur drew Excalibur and held the shining sword above his head so it speared a beam of sunlight from one of the high windows and splashed the light back across the crowd, "is a symbol that magic can be a shield as well as a sword, our protection as well as our weapon."

Every eye in the warm, glittering hall fixed on the shining sword and everyone was conscious of the threads of power glowing within.

"Evil resides in the actions of people, not the tools they use. The magic in this sword will give us victory over our enemies who seek to tear apart this kingdom, it will ensure that honour triumphs over villainy, and when this sword is sheathed we will enjoy peace again."

The stillness that had attended Arthur's speech was broken by cheering more frenzied than before. Shouts of "Arthur!" and "Long live the king!" from knights and nobles echoed back from the stone walls.

His face an angry red, Rolf spun on his heel and marched from the room, elbowing his way through the crowd, but few watched him go.

King Arthur stood looking west across the field to where Odin's army scrambled to form up, their metal helms and weapons barely visible in the first rays of sunlight which cut across his shoulder. The sky remained a deep blue-black behind the enemy's preparations as word of Arthur's approach spread through them.

His right hand went to the gold hilt of the sword strapped at his left hip, one finger brushing the velvet scabbard, relishing the tingle which went up his arm. How could his father have denied the comfort of such power as he could feel flowing from these magical items?

"We've stolen a march on them, they had no idea we were so close," Leon said.

Arthur's forces were tired from the night's advance but it would be worth it to catch Odin's army unawares and camped in this valley. The narrow confines would reduce the benefit of their greater numbers and make it impossible for Odin's men to surround them. And while the enemy soldiers were rested, they were also groggy, hungry, and likely battling the effects of the previous night's drinking.

"Gwaine and Elyan, take the right wing. Lancelot and Percival, take the left," Arthur said. "Leon, with me." The king would take the centre and lead the charge. Odin would be looking for him and Arthur intended to meet him head on. His hand gripped Excalibur's hilt more tightly.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly.

The king looked back over his shoulder. Merlin pointed to three figures who had left the main body of Odin's men and were climbing the steep hill above their camp. If they were archers they would be of little use at the top of the sheer cliff which overlooked the west side of the valley.

"They're not armed or wearing any amour," Merlin added.

Arthur frowned. Not soldiers then; no immediate threat. "So?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm not armed or wearing any amour."

Well, they had known Odin had sorcerers among his fighters. Perhaps they were a threat after all.

"The path to our left leads to the top of that cliff," Arthur said. "Take as many knights as you need, or archers if that will help, and hold them off as long as you can."

Merlin gave him an arch look. "I'll take care of it, Arthur."

"But there are three of them."

"I know."

The familiar grin was the last thing Arthur saw before his friend headed toward the steep path that would take him to the ridge above the fighting. The king briefly considered stopping the fool, but he had had little time to learn about this side of Merlin and he had to trust Merlin's judgement, despite the careless disregard for his own safety the sorcerer had shown all too often.

Arthur turned his attention back to the enemy forming across the valley floor. They outnumbered his men nearly three to one, most of them better swordsmen than the youths and raw recruits who made up Camelot's forces. The men behind Arthur faced the same odds as the sorcerer who had just left. Many would die today, but the warriors with swords he could lead, he could fight with, and they must be his concern now.

Arthur drew his sword and raised it high above his head, feeling all eyes fix on that shining blade which cast a thin, pointed shadow ahead of him across the field to the enemy preparing to meet his attack.

"For the love of Camelot!" Arthur cried as he brought the sword down and began to run.

A swell of noise followed him: shouts, the jangle of weapons and armour, heavy boots beating against the ground. Then his perception narrowed to the axe swinging at him, the helmeted face of the next man trying to kill him, and the arm wielding the next blade trying to slice off parts of his body.

Gwaine took no notice when the battle cries changed to shouts of pain or the grunts he and his opponents made as they hacked at each other or the sound flesh made when it yielded to metal. The smell of blood was so pervasive that he forgot there was any other smell. He did not feel the ache in his arms or his shoulders from the unceasing blows given and warded off or the salty dampness which clamped his long hair against his head and pasted his under-tunic against his heated skin.

The men he led were mostly green recruits, young and unblooded, yet they fought bravely by his side. Beside him, Elyan's blade parried and struck with a speed which nearly matched his own, but despite their best efforts the onslaught of enemy soldiers was wearing them down. For every one of Odin's men who fell, another stepped over the body to press the knights back before they could advance. The constant flow of fresh swords and superior skill was telling on the Camelot fighters. The men with Gwaine had fallen or been pushed back by the enemy's advance until he and Elyan were surrounded.

Beset on every side by enemies, Gwaine lifted his blade, prepared to go down fighting, when a bolt of lightning crashed to the ground in front of him sending a dozen of Odin's men flying backward. They lay unmoving where they landed, eyes staring upward and scorch marks on their armour.

Before the dark-haired knight could determine what the new threat was, another bolt of lightning cut a path through the enemy fighters. Several broke and ran, tossing their weapons on top of their fallen comrades. Gwaine coughed and blinked smoke out of his eyes before he looked up to the cliff above him.

A third bolt flew from the clifftop to chase Odin's routed left flank. With a half-smile curling his lip, Gwaine shouted as loudly as he could and raced after them, gratified to hear answering shouts and footfalls from behind him as the remaining Camelot soldiers in his wing pressed forward.

The big knight fighting at Lancelot's side moved a bit slower as his bare arms swung sword and mace against the enemy soldiers surrounding them, sweat shining on his arms along with his opponents' blood. No matter how many they felled, more of Odin's men poured into any breach they opened, cutting off their advance and finally forcing them back. Despite their bravery, few of the Camelot knights had the training or experience of their foes and gave ground grudgingly but inexorably as the enemy soldiers pushed forward.

A crossbow bolt disturbed the air beside the olive-skinned knight's cheek as it passed by his ear with a soft whoosh before he heard Percival grunt in pain. When Lancelot turned to defend his comrade as well as himself, enemy soldiers pressed harder around them.

Then something bright crashed into the ring of opponents with a roar like thunder and sent them flying backward as if they were sticks in a strong wind.

Lancelot barely had time to register the sudden emptiness in front of him when another flash of lightning struck behind him. He whirled around to see the space near him entirely clear for the moment and ringed by bodies of fallen enemies. His eyes snapped up to the clifftop at the west side of the valley.

Percival broke off the shaft of the arrow which had struck his upper arm and their eyes met. With a battle cry, they rallied the Camelot forces behind them to press forward as the enemy fell back in alarm.

For a moment, Arthur thought his line had broken on the right, then there was a flash of lightning and his forces surged forward again. Wait – lightning?

Before he could consider the strangeness of that, from the corner of his eye he saw the knight at his left drive his sword into a foe and then stare in surprise as the enemy soldier ran him through before calmly removing the knight's blade from his own torso.

When the enemy's blank-eyed stare turned to Arthur, he saw only a hollowness looking out from the sockets of the grey metal helmet, but he recognized the square jaw and thin lips which so resembled King Odin. That face had been pale and frightened when the boy had issued his challenge to Arthur, younger even than Arthur's own face had been back then.

The blond king pressed his lips together. Why did he have to be the one to kill this boy again? But the eyes of the creature facing him were not the hazel eyes which had glazed over when Arthur struck him down all those years ago; these were the empty sockets of one who was dead already.

The creature's blade was a heavy broadsword longer than a man's arm yet he wielded it without any sign of fatigue. His blow was strong enough that the arm of a knight who rushed to protect Camelot's king was severed entirely.

Arthur yanked Excalibur free of an opponent and swung toward the creature – shade or wraith or whatever abomination had become of Odin's dead son – who had cut through the Camelot knights without feeling any injury they attempted to inflict. The creature blocked Arthur's swing, then twisted the broadsword and cut at the king's left side. Arthur took the weight of the blow on his shield. A grunt escaped him as he was pushed back a step by the force of the strike.

While they were still in close quarters, Arthur quickly thrust his sword into the creature's chest where the knight's sword had pierced without effect. When Excalibur cut under the enemy's chest plate the dead, expressionless face almost appeared surprised. Before Arthur could take a breath, smoke erupted from the wound with the force of an explosion. The creature's entire body writhed, then flame curled out from its stomach. An inhuman screech echoed from its throat before it was utterly consumed by the death it had temporarily cheated. A few flakes of ash were snatched away by the wind until nothing at all remained of the creature.

Then a scream echoed the creature's cry as another enemy soldier with the same square jaw and thin lips covered by a black-and-silver beard pushed aside his own knights to charge furiously at Arthur. King Odin's face was contorted with rage as he lunged at Arthur.

Behind him, two of his soldiers moved to surround the blond king but Leon engaged both at once, drawing their attention away from the duel between the kings.

Arthur raised Excalibur, forced to parry Odin's first blows without getting in a strike of his own. The other king's sword sliced through the yellow shield with the black dragon as though it was parchment instead of wood and Arthur tossed the useless pieces aside. He barely deflected the next strike which glanced off his left arm leaving a gash above his metal gauntlet. Red filled the gouge in his flesh but none spilled out.

In the next moment Arthur had driven the point of his own blade up under Odin's arm into his side. When the other king fell, his final furious cries choked by blood, the line of soldiers behind him broke.

When the enemy scattered, Camelot's knights surged forward.

The sun had passed overhead and Arthur squinted as he looked across the valley to where Odin's men had camped the previous night. The camp was a shambles now, both from the hasty call to arms early that morning and the subsequent panicked retreat.

Leon finished reciting the list of Camelot's dead, including a few of the wounded Arthur had visited in the field dressing station only two hours ago. Arthur heard a soft footfall approach the spot where the king stood surrounded by his knight commanders.

"How is Percival?" Arthur asked.

"He won't be using his right arm for the next few weeks but he should make a full recovery," Merlin said.

The king turned fully around and faced Merlin squarely. "What happened to Odin's three sorcerers?"

Merlin flushed guiltily.

Arthur held up a hand. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

The stories of lightning bolts recited by his field commanders were enough for one day; he could only imagine what that had been like up close. They would have to have a serious talk soon about exactly what his friend was capable of and what had really gone on the past several years since Merlin's arrival in Camelot.

Arthur trailed the fingers of his right hand over his left forearm where the deep gash had been bandaged even though the wound had not bled. Then he drew Excalibur and turned the blade in his hand, watching it catch the sun. "You know, this thing is not bad."

Merlin grinned. "Thought you'd like it."

Lancelot glanced over. "Was it really forged in a dragon's breath?"

The king froze. Wait a minute, there were no dragons, only that one that had been chained beneath the citadel, the one Arthur had slain when … "Merlin, what about a dragon?"

"Well, I was going to tell you about that."