AN: In the words of the Tenth Doctor (from Doctor Who), I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

CHAPTER 10: The Dogs of War

Merlin came awake as he was hauled upright, his good arm thrown across a broad shoulder. "Wh-what?"

"Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, Merlin, but we have to get out of the trees."

Merlin tried to help, but mostly he hung off his friend's side with his feet scrabbling uselessly. He trembled with weakness and hated every second of it. The worst part was the motion. With every step, his head spun until he wasn't sure which direction was up. "Arthur, st-stop! I'm going to be sick. Just set me d-down."

"Hang on, just a little farther," Arthur encouraged. "I need to get far enough out of the trees to have a little space to move." Even as he hustled them along, he threw a concerned glance at Merlin, whose head was lolling with every step. "You can rest in just a minute, lazybones."

"Just stop the world from spinning and I'll be happy to walk on my own, your highness," mumbled Merlin, trying to sound like his normal self.

"I've been concussed before," said Arthur, laying Merlin down quickly but carefully. "Lie as still as you can and keep your eyes closed. I'll handle...this."

"What is this exactly?"

Instead of an answer, Merlin heard a low growl, echoed several other places, and the familiar ring of Arthur pulling his sword. "Oh sure, I'll just lie here with my eyes closed while the mystery monsters attack. Am I allowed to open my eyes if they start to eat me, or is that a bad idea?" Merlin knew he was talking too quietly for Arthur to hear, but he'd long had the habit of babbling when he was nervous. Lying essentially helpless on the cold ground while a recently-healed Arthur fought off unknown creatures alone? Yes, that definitely qualified.

Arthur turned toward the threats in the trees, stepping a few paces in front of Merlin. He broadened his stance and made his knees soft with the right half a step behind the left. He raised his sword just above shoulder level and drew his elbow back, pointing the weapon toward the threat. It was something that Uther had made him do when he was an impulsive boy with the tendency to attack without thinking. You can take the advantage when you make them attack first, he had said. Find their weaknesses. Every enemy has weaknesses.

There were at least five sets of eyes among the trees, with flickering flames for irises. Arthur pushed away the fear this caused and instead thought, okay, flaming eyes make them easy to see. I will consider that their first weakness.

The monsters he faced were giant hounds, standing nearly four feet at the ruff. Whenever they growled, blue flames danced over the black fur on their backs. That was a strength, he supposed, though it also made them easier to spot. And if they came close enough to burn him, he was probably already dead. Their canines, top and bottom both, extended past their lips so their appeared to be constantly snarling. They slunk in, keeping their bodies low to the ground, spreading out to maximize the area he had to watch.

If they fought like ordinary hounds, one or more would try to flank him to get at Merlin, who they would see as easier prey. The others would dart in and slash at his arms or legs and retreat, looking to bleed and weaken him. They would take turns distracting him while others attacked, and wear him down until they could go for the throat. He had to cut down on their numbers, keep them from Merlin, and stay alive until...until what he wouldn't allow himself to finish the thought, but chances were, it wouldn't turn out well.

As he finished his analysis, in less than three seconds, the hound to the far right slashed at his ankles, but he saw that it was a feint, and he spun instead to his left and found, as expected, that it was just a distraction. His slice missed, but caused the hound that had been heading for Merlin to leap back. All four took two steps backward, as if reevaluating this foe.

The next move was two at once, again not unexpected, but also just a test and not a true attack. Arthur pivoted without thought, moving to parry one with his sword and the other with a gauntlet. He could see them watch how he moved, and could sense they would go for his legs next. His leather pants offered far less protection than his chainmail, and they only had to draw blood once to realize it.

The next strike was lighting-fast and high and close enough that Arthur's sword deflected off of the hound's teeth. He allowed his momentum to keep him spinning and dipped his knee slightly so he could increase his momentum. As he'd expected, a second hound was coming from his blind side, but it was even lower than he'd thought, so his strike hit its shoulder, wounding it but not incapacitating it. Behind it was a third attacker, not one of the original five, and it was far closer to Merlin than he could allow.

Arthur lost his strategy for the first time and stepped closer, slashing twice so the tip of his sword inscribed the shape of an x. The move put him too close to Merlin and pulled him slightly too far forward. So when his very first attacker came up again from behind him, he didn't have the space to move his feet. All he could do as the hound dove at him was to shove his forearm into its mouth. It clamped down on his arm, but he shoved back into the bite, ignoring the pain, and giving himself room to bring his sword around in an arc and stab into the hound's side.

He felt a moment of relief when his sword slid in and the creature gave a wheezing yelp. He hadn't let the thought materialize, but there had been a hint of fear that they somehow couldn't be killed. But with the adrenaline rush, he'd made his second mistake. He'd pushed the sword in too far, and it stuck hard when he tried to pull it back out. It took three tries to pull it free, and by then the five remaining hounds had surrounded him.

Arthur breathed slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He had learned long ago that to panic in battle was to die. Everything slowed down for a moment and he saw things in perfect clarity. It was like the fight was a dance and he knew exactly what the next move would be. It happened sometimes, the product of experience or practice or insight, who could say. The muscles rippled on the hound farthest away and Arthur knew it would leap high and long. He ducked completely under the charge, swinging his sword down with both hands to his left, where he could feel the next hound was coming from. The strike nearly decapitated it.

Spinning to his left and thrusting the sword instead of fighting, pushing his left arm behind him for balance, he stabbed another through the heart. He quickly kicked it off his blade – good lord those things were heavy – and turned back to make sure Merlin was still safe.

He was in time to see the final hound darting in between him and the sorcerer, whose eyes were screwed shut as if in pain. Arthur overreacted and dove toward it, not realizing this was another distraction. Instead of keeping his feet, he hurled himself across the distance to stab it straight down between the shoulder blades. He had the impression the beast had not expected him to be so fast.

But the maneuver had caused him to turn his back on two others and get in too close to Merlin, impacting the space he had to move. By the time he'd regained his balance and pulled his sword free, a mouth had closed on his calf and a second hound leaped to straddle Merlin. Down on one knee, Arthur pushed his sword through the one that threatened Merlin and slammed his left elbow into the one savaging his leg over and over, trying to get it to let go.

Its hold slipped just enough for Arthur to draw his dagger and send it into the eye of the hound. His left arm screamed at the motion and his hand burned like he'd put it in a fire, but the hound fell limp. Even in death though, its jaws did not let go. Another caught him, shoulder to shoulder, as it dove past and knocked him onto his back across Merlin's torso, his back leg bent underneath him. The hound whirled to attack and Arthur stabbed up desperately, somehow finding the strength or desperation to push the sword between two ribs. The hound died soundlessly and tipped over onto Merlin's legs taking the sword with it. Arthur's right hand was trapped under it and his left was starting to go numb from the crushing injury it had taken. His weapons were gone. And there was at least one more hound, the one he'd injured.

Arthur pulled with all of his remaining strength to try to get his hand free, but it didn't budge. A low growl out of sight maybe 15 feet above his head made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He had hoped it might slink off and give up, since its partners were all dead and it was injured, but no such luck. He pulled again, grunting with the effort, but the dead hound didn't move. With a grunt and a sigh, Arthur let his head fall back. "Sorry, Merlin. Guess I missed one of the burning wolf things."

To his surprise, Merlin answered. "If I gave up half my magic to save your life and you allow us to be eaten by burning wolf thingies, I will follow you through the afterlife annoying you for all eternity."

"That's fair."

Merlin grunted a little. "You know, you're really heavy. I don't suppose you can move?"

"Hey! It's not all me! There's a hound on you too. And...my armor." Merlin may have snickered.

The wounded hound growled again and limped into sight. Merlin twitched. "How close is it? I can't see. Touch my hand to it, Arthur."

"What? It will burn you!"

"Or it will tear out our throats."

Seeing his point, Arthur reached back with his left hand and felt around until he found Merlin's arm, then wrist. He listened for the growl of their final enemy, then shoved his friend's hand into the chest of the hound.

Merlin made a pained sound, then the it was the hound that screamed. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw in amazement that its flames had turned bright red and grown much larger. Yowling, it stumbled out of sight.

"Nice," said Arthur. "Now maybe I c-can try to get up, Merlin. Merlin?"

But he was silent and still. Giving one more futile tug on his trapped arm, Arthur said a word that his father had told him a king would never say, and let his eyes slip shut.