Happy Thanksgiving!

From the balcony, dressed in full regalia, Arthur projected his Kingly presence before the expectant crowd in the courtyard below. Two guards led Merlin, his wrists and feet shackled in iron, through a parted path in the crowd to the awaiting pyre. It was eerily quiet, only the clink of the iron echoing off the castle walls with each step. Though he remained outwardly steadfast, Arthur's heart constricted. As the guards positioned Merlin to the post above the kindle, Merlin looked up, searching for Arthur, and their eyes met. A lump caught in Arthur's throat. Merlin's expression was stoic, except for the glistening blue of his eyes that bore into Arthur as if seeing his very soul. He willed Merlin to understand the regret and sorrow tearing his heart. Arthur wanted to be near him, to caress his cheek, offer some comfort in this damned moment that the law had forced his hand to command. Then their stare was eye-level, Arthur standing before Merlin as the guards fastened Merlin's wrists and feet to the stake. When the guards finished, one handed him a torch. His fingers wrapped around the wooden hilt reflexively, moving out of duty despite the protest raging inside him. He held it aloft so it could be lit. The oil caught quickly. Arthur stepped closer, nearly flush with Merlin, their eyes trying to convey unspoken words that both assumed they'd always have time for later, one day. That time was being stolen from them by laws written before they were born, by hatred that was not their own. As Arthur leaned forward and lowered the torch, their cheeks brushed and he stilled. With his people watching he could not upturn his face to meet the lips he so desperately wanted to kiss, but as the flame from the torch jumped to the kindling, he prolonged this small contact hoping it brought Merlin some consolation. Arthur watched the fire spread beneath them, felt the searing heat rising around them. A tightening in his chest constricted his lungs, spread like bile into his stomach, made him dizzy, until he needed to pull back, just enough to face Merlin, search his eyes desperately for understanding, forgiveness, recognition of feelings long overdue. He barely registered the flames jumping higher as they shared a meaningful look of mutual regret, opportunities not taken, a future now lost. Arthur held back the tears and anger and pain, willed himself to be steady for Merlin's sake, but when the flames rose between them and a choking scream erupted from Merlin's throat, he cursed himself for turning away as Merlin was taken from him forever…

He bolted upright, immediately wincing and bracing his stomach with his arms against a sharp pain that shot through his side. A hand jumped to his shoulder and gripped tight to steady him.

"It's all right, it was just a dream," Merlin shushed, dabbing the sweat from his forehead.

He must have been fitful in his sleep for Merlin to already be at his side with a cloth. Though Merlin's eyes were full of concern, Arthur took solace in them, focusing on them like Merlin was his anchor to reality. Merlin's presence calmed him and his breathing steadied.

Merlin glanced to where Arthur was still bracing his side. He released Arthur's shoulder, drifted his hands down and gently peeled Arthur's arm away from his stomach. He lifted the corner of Arthur's tunic, revealing the scar from the mortal wound that appeared to be healing over, but he needed to assess any lingering internal damage. Meeting Arthur's eyes again to monitor for reactions of pain, he slid his fingers tentatively over the wound, pressing periodically up and down Arthur's side.

"How does it feel?"

Arthur knew Merlin meant whether it hurt, but the question made him evaluate the true impact Merlin's prodding fingers were having on him. The touch was warm, a little ticklish, but it also made Arthur's heartbeat quicken. A shiver ran up his spine and he closed his eyes, relishing his body's reaction to Merlin's graze.

"It feels…" alive. Arthur brought his hand to Merlin's, covering it and pressing Merlin's palm to his side. He heard Merlin's breath hitch and opened his eyes to see a shocked, but guarded expression on Merlin's face. He wanted to reach out, draw Merlin close, replace the vivid sensation of Merlin burning mere inches away with physical confirmation that he was safe and real and alive. He wanted to stoke this yearning growing inside him with more of Merlin's touches pressing on him, roving his body, making him feel…alive. Alive. Instead, he averted his gaze to the ground, drew a deep, shaky breath, and released Merlin's hand.

Merlin tried to decipher the looks Arthur was giving him, his own heart beating wildly. But when Arthur broke the stare and moved his hand to run it through his hair, Merlin sensed whatever Arthur had been thinking needed to remain unaddressed for now. He took his own steadying breath, lingering his hand on Arthur's side briefly before pulling away and dropping the tunic back down.

"Come on," he said quietly, standing and offering a hand to help Arthur up, "you need to eat."

For a moment, Arthur looked at the hand proffered before him like it was a lifeline, like he needed to look at it to keep from breaking apart. Then he sighed and clasped Merlin's forearm. In one smooth motion, Merlin hoisted Arthur onto unsure legs and ducked under Arthur's arm to carry some of Arthur's weight across his shoulders. He guided Arthur to a log in front of a campfire where steam was rising from a cauldron.

The flames flickered and sparked like any normal campfire, but Arthur's attention was fixated on it and his brow was creased with a far-away look. Merlin watched Arthur cautiously as he stepped around the site for a bowl and pulled warm broth from the cauldron with a ladle.

"Here," Merlin said quietly, holding the bowl out as he sat down next to Arthur. The movement stirred Arthur from his trance and he took the bowl into his lap. "Your stomach probably can't handle solid food yet," he explained, noting Arthur's perusal of the bowl's contents, "but you need fluids and nourishment."

A small nod was the only sign Arthur had heard. He brought the bowl to his lips, but barely sipped anything before bringing it back down and gazing once again into the flames.

Merlin looked between Arthur and the campfire, trying to figure out what was going through Arthur's mind. Finally, he gave up, sighing and settling into a more comfortable position on the log. They stayed like that for a while, lost in their own thoughts, Arthur occasionally sipping the broth, heavy silence interrupted only by random crackles from the embers.