Family
It's dusk in Camelot. The sun is sinking gradually lower in the sky, surrendering to the oncoming darkness. From where he stands, Arthur can see the whole kingdom, each inch clear as glass to him, familiar as the hilt of his sword. Far below, the courtyards are shrouded in evening shadows and if Arthur squints, he can just see the outlines of the few remaining villagers, rushing to finish the day's chores, so they can hurry home to warmth and family and laughter. He feels a twinge of sadness, of regret. He's the Prince of Camelot, the man who has every need attended to, the man with the money, the power, hungered after by every girl with noble blood, and a good many without. Yet he knows that when he returns to his chambers, there will be no laughter, no warmth, except that given by the fire, and certainly no family.
Family. The thought of that word sparks a quick flash of pain inside Arthur, one which he allows to reign for all of two seconds before carefully schooling his emotions back into the traditional state of numbness. The truth is that Prince Arthur has never had family. He has his father, certainly, but Uther is firstly King of Camelot, secondly leader of the anti-magic brigade and then, and only then, Arthur's father.
He had his mother, but she died, breaking his father in the process, and though sometimes he thinks of her, tries to remember, all she really is to him is a dream, just a set of broken memories that hurt too much to remember.
He has Morghana, the sister he never had. He supposes that he loves her, in a cool, detached way, but the truth of it is he knows that they can never be close, because in the end, both he and she are just tools, beautiful, noble, rich toys, to be married off for Camelot's gain. Morghana. The sister he never had, and the sister he never wanted.
He has his Knights. Good men, brave men, strong men. He trains with them every day and he can read their every action, interpret their every move, together they become an efficient, well-oiled killing machine. The Knights are his salvation really; whilst fighting, whilst training Arthur has no time to think and in working as part of that piece of machinery, he can, for a few seconds, leave the loneliness behind, filling the silence with the clang and clash of swords. Yes, he loves his Knights, but he can't bring himself to let even one of them in as a true friend, because he knows that one day, danger will befall Camelot, and then he will be expected to lead these men to their deaths. And he can't, just can't smile, and laugh and confide in them, when one day, he knows he will see them fall. Good men. Brave men. Strong men.
The light is failing now, only the top of the battlements where Arthur stands are free from shadows. A voice calls his name, and he hears footsteps, approaching the top of the tower. The heavy oak door creaks open, and he senses, rather than hears another figure emerge onto the roof. Merlin. He knows it must be his manservant, because no other man in the castle would ever have the cheek to yell his name, calling him to heel as though he was a disobedient dog. The thought spears a little warmth through him, and he has to take a second to smother the smile on his face before he turns around. Merlin is framed in the doorway of the staircase, long, lanky, uncoordinated as usual, his tunic dirty, and his hair sticking up. Arthur stares at him for a second, realising that Merlin is still talking, and considers the fact that he has found another sound, beside the crash of swords, to fill up the silence inside him. The incessant, irritating babble of Merlin, almost, almost a sound of home. Though God Forbid Merlin should ever know that. Shaking the last of these thoughts from his head, Arthur turns to follow Merlin back down the staircase, noting that his manservant has not paused to hold the door open, but merely expects him to follow. Almost like the treatment he'd expect from a friend.
As he reaches the doorway, Arthur turns and spares a last thought for Camelot, his almost-kingdom. For Uther, his almost-father. For his mother, his broken memory. For Morghana, his unwanted sister. For the Knights of Camelot, his killing machine. And lastly for Merlin, his manservant, and his friend.
As the door shuts behind Arthur, the sun finally concedes the battle, preparing to emit its final rays for the day. Further down the tower, the sound of irritated arguing arises, sparring voices, there's a yelp, a crash, and the yell of 'Merlin, you prat!' The sun flashes once, and the battlements are flame.