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Sacrificing his life wasn’t the hardest part. It was knowing that it would hurt Merlin and that Lancelot wouldn’t be able to explain and ask for forgiveness.
When it came to expressing his feelings, Lancelot was a staunch believer in the idea that actions spoke louder than words. (And glances. His glances were always meaningful.)
Except that it wasn’t quite true with Merlin. Talking to Merlin felt as natural as breathing, and Lancelot constantly bared his soul to the young warlock and did not mind it in the least.
But even so, he had never told Merlin how important he was to him. Only shown it, usually in small ways and almost unconsciously.
And now that his action would scream, he wanted nothing more than to whisper. To tell Merlin that he was important not because of his magic or his destiny but because he was Merlin. The bravest of people, the best of friends, the brightest of stars.
Lancelot would have found words to express everything that his heart was bursting with. He would have talked till he stopped making sense. But he couldn’t because staying silent was the only way to protect Merlin.
So, in the end, the only thing he could do was give Merlin a last meaningful look and hope he would understand.