What is the greatest sacrifice you've made for love?

...What exactly do you mean by "sacrifice?"

*later after much poking*

I'm here. Not at home. I have a kingdom to run, subjects who depend on me. And while I'm not shirking my responsibilities, because I do go visit and I have a very capable administrator who reports to me regularly, I'm not there. I'm not home. I'm not among my people. And it's not that I'm not happy here. Not that I don't like the Realm. I am, and I do.

But sometimes I miss home. I miss Ireland. I miss the smell of the wind off the sea and the cool mist on the hills in the morning. I miss the green of the grass and the call of the pipes from the glens and moors. I miss dancing under the moon and riding to the Hunt behind my son.

I miss my sister. I miss my father. My mother. I even miss that cur of a foster-son of mine, Angus.

I miss my Hall and my throne and the challenge of sorting out the daily problems that bedevil a court, especially one made up of Fae and their petty quarrels.

But this is her world, and his, and they've made this their home. And I don't want to force them to mine, force them to live in a place so foreign. A place that by it's very magic could trap them there forever. And that they would never grow old there...it is a temptation. Just to take them sometimes.

But I don't. I won't. It must be their choice. And until then, I will stay here. Because as much as I miss my home, I would miss them more.