The bards sing of many things.
They tell of fair maidens and handsome knights, of courtly love and ferocious battles. They sing of forbidden love, of secret meetings and lovers parted, of witches and dragons and enchantments to be broken. They tell you that you must fight battles for your love. They tell you that lovers can betray you. They tell you that love is the greatest thing you could ever feel.
They never sing about this.
They never sing of how you will have to stand there, silent, as you watch your lover's heart break. They never tell of how you must lie, and lie, and lie again, breaking your own heart for their sake. No bard will write the tale of how you told him that Morgause lied, all witches lie, that Uther is the good man he always believed him to be. They will never say how you had to betray your very being, deny yourself and everyone like you, so that the man you loved could know peace, because he was blinded by rage and shock and you saw no other way. You knew he would regret murdering his father no matter what Uther's past deeds had been and you would not stand by and let him condemn himself.
So you condemned yourself instead.
You are a liar, a hypocrite, a traitor to your people.
You spare a moment to let Gaius comfort you. You let yourself be a child for a few moments, clinging to the man who has become your parent, searching for guidance.
But then you pick yourself up, wipe away your tears, and go up to your lover's bedroom. You hold him, and kiss him, and comfort him in your turn, and you bury the hurt deep inside where you almost can't feel it. And you never let him know what you sacrificed for his peace of mind.
Because you love him.
And as any bard can tell you, love is the most powerful thing on earth.