I don't own Merlin.
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I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.
Shakespeare
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There is something about the rising of the new grass after winter's grasp that makes blood stir. The inhabitants of Camelot feared it, as their King's eyes grew shadowed, their Queen's mouth grew grim, and their former Champion kept ever more to himself, hiding in his quarters to avoid their stares.