Because when Merlin sighs and says, yes, sire, I will clean out your stables, I will fetch your laundry, I will serve you dutifully at dinner, I will sharpen your sword, I will lay out your armor and I will always stand by you in freezing forests carrying your hunting things, I will draw up your bath, I will suffer through endless, pointless feasts and put up with your temper, and polish your boots, and mend your cloaks, and bring you breakfast, because, because— and can’t ever seem to finish the sentence— what he really means (what you never realize) is: I would die for you. I would take my life and place it in the bowl of your palm, my heart and my mind, my everything. You can have it. Here. Now. It’s yours. This, every flutter of this, life-death-murder-love, is the first and the last thing I would do for you. Always.