Atlantis
Somewhere deep in your heart you knew, Arthur, that your life was a lie. You had a secret – even bigger than any of the secrets of people around you, and much darker, for you couldn't admit it not even to yourself.
You fancied yourself a good man – an honest man – and you couldn't admit how you felt even to yourself, for you couldn't face the consequences of those feelings. You had been a boy that expected the whole world to bend to your wishes and needs, but he had turned you into a man and a king that thought that indulgence could only lead to the destruction of everything you cherished.
So, you kept it tightly locked inside, too scared to even voice it to yourself. It could never be, not without breaking the heart and soul of people he loved, not without endangering your kingdom and your people. You made a choice in the day you asked Guinevere to be your wife. It mattered little to you that you hadn't known his true feelings back then – you had made a commitment and would never go back on your word.
In the lost moments between being awake and asleep you often though that you were a fool not to have noticed earlier that everything you loved and cherished, everything you had ever wanted and dreamed for your life when it came to friendship, loyalty, love or anything else was concentrated on your foolish manservant. And as the fool you are, you kept your secret, not recognizing that it ruled your whole life, that every one of your actions was determined by it.
And once again, Camelot sunk on the lies it had been built on.