CHAPTER FORTY #2
"Yes, I did know." He sighed and then paused. "I was awaiting your arrival—all these years. It is the reason why I intercepted you personally when you crossed the Standing Stones.”
“You didn’t intercept me,” I shot back. “The Twilight Wardens did.”
“On my orders. Your magic signature was unmistakable.”
I clenched my jaw. His answer only raised more questions. “Then why keep pretending I was just another refugee? Why not tell me who I was—who you were?”
His expression darkened, shadowed by something I couldn’t name. “Nimue feared me. Feared what I might become." He paused. "I did not want word getting back to her that you were… our daughter."
"Why not?"
He breathed in deeply. "I feared she would… take you from me."
"But you had to have known she would figure it out!"
"No," he shook his head. "I never imagined you would even meet her. Other than to Arthur, she does not appear. And she only surfaces when the sword chooses a new bearer. And, Guinevere, there was no reason for me to believe the sword would ever call to you."
His honesty landed like a punch. Cold. Blunt. “You sent me here without telling me the truth about anything. You allowed me to believe lies all my life.”
“I wanted to protect you. From the burden of our legacy. From becoming a symbol before you became a person.”
“You don't protect someone by sending them to the lair of your enemy,” I hissed. “The truth is more along the lines that you wanted time to turn me into your dagger. And now that I’m sharp enough, you’ve finally seen fit to let the truth slip—only because the Riddle of Blood forced your hand.”
His silence was confirmation enough.
The water shimmered between us, holding Merlin’s image like a captured memory. His expression hardened slightly, but pain still flickered just beneath the surface. Still, Corvin didn't utter a word. He just watched everything passing between us silently.
"You speak as though you've been nothing but a tool to me," Merlin said quietly. "Have I not trained you personally? Protected you? Guided your magical development with more care than I’ve ever given another student?"
"As your daughter or as your agent?"
He paused, just long enough for the silence to ache. “Both.”
The weight of that admission strangely softened my anger but tangled it with something messier—confusion laced with bitterness laced with an incredible sadness, the likes of which I'd never felt before.
"Why did she hide me?" I asked, my voice lowering, fragile. "What happened between you and my mother?"
His gaze drifted, eyes distant, as if the memory itself were painful. "I knew she would always side with Arthur."
"Why?"
“She aligns herself with whoever pulls the sword from the stone—not by choice. The sword is ultimately her master.”
“So she hid me because she chose Arthur?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “She hid you because she feared what I might become. She feared what I already was—driven, angry, consumed by my conflict with him. She feared I’d sway you with that hatred. And… she may have been correct.”
“When I pulled the sword,” I said slowly, “my mother was there. Nimue. She could have told me everything. But she didn’t.”
“She didn't know you, Guinevere."
I felt my eyebrows knitting. "How is that possible?"
"She only sees what the sword shows her. Perhaps it did not tell her who you were." He paused. "And that is how it should be. Had you known then that you were her daughter… perhaps you would’ve doubted your own merit where Excalibur was concerned. Perhaps you still do.”
I did. But I didn’t say as much.
“Your mother always had her reasons,” Merlin continued, his voice quieter now, as if speaking to himself as much as to me.
“When she stole you away, when you were just a babe, she said she would protect you from Arthur’s fear…
and from my ambition. She said you deserved a childhood free from the war that consumed us. ”
So she hadn’t just feared Arthur. She’d feared both of them.
The truth settled in my chest like lead. My mother had seen something in both men that she couldn’t trust. Or maybe she'd simply wanted something better for me. Perhaps that was what true love looked like: not allegiance, but protection. Even from the people you love.
"That night," Merlin continued, voice tight, “I lost not only my child… but my greatest love.”
I hadn’t even thought of them that way—of what they must’ve meant to each other. What it must have cost him to leave her. What it must have cost her to let him go.
But I couldn’t linger there. Not now. The emotional toll was too much. I was already broken as it was.
“And the sword?” I asked, shifting back to the one piece of this that still didn’t make sense. “Did you know it would choose me?”
“No.” His answer was immediate. Honest. That…
surprised me. But in hindsight, perhaps it shouldn’t have.
"You carry both lineages—twilight magic from Annwyn and the legacy of Logres through Nimue. The sword responds to worthiness, yes… but it also seeks balance. And you, Guinevere, are balance. Between worlds. Between truths. Between Arthur and me, and between your mother and me.”
I thought of the vision I’d seen in the Labyrinth—Arthur and Merlin, two forces at odds, and myself suspended in the space between. A third path. One neither of them had expected.
“What do you want from me now? Now that I know the truth?”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then his expression shifted—something softened. Something paternal. Something that, maddeningly, I wanted to believe to be true.
“I want what any father wants for his daughter: for you to fulfill your potential, to become the woman you were meant to be.”
“And if that woman isn’t your obedient agent?” I asked, my voice rising with this new fire stirring inside me. “What if I don’t choose your path?"
"Arthur is a tyrant," he began, but I interrupted him.
"What if I don't choose Arthur’s path either? What if I choose my own way—a path of my own making?”
A glimmer sparked in Merlin’s eyes—something unexpected. Something that looked strangely like… pride.
“Then you would truly be my daughter." His voice dipped, softer now.
The water between us shimmered again, the mirror’s edges flickering as our connection began to fade. Soon it faded away entirely, and I sat there, alone once more in my stone chamber, surrounded by the lingering quiet.
The magic was gone.
But the truth remained.
I was no longer just a dairymaid with accidental magic. No longer only Sir Lioran, hiding behind armor and charm.
I was Guinevere—daughter of Merlin and the Lady of the Lake. Born between realms. Raised in secrets. Caught between two great men who had once been brothers and now stood as rivals.
What did it mean to be Merlin’s child in this twisted game?
Each revelation shifted the ground beneath me, warping my understanding of who I was and what role I was meant to play.
It felt like walking a high wire strung over an abyss—every step a gamble, every misstep a potential plummet.
My mission to infiltrate Camelot seemed small now, petty even, when weighed against the scope of my bloodline.
Was I meant to spy for Merlin or to protect Arthur? Or was it the other way around? Was Arthur in the wrong and Merlin in the right, as I'd originally assumed? Merlin or Arthur? Did I even have the luxury of choosing?
I pressed my palms against my thighs, grounding myself against the storm rising inside me. A bridge between worlds—that’s what I'd become. Not merely a blade in someone else’s hand, but something far more dangerous: a fulcrum. A force that could tip the scales either way or break them altogether.
The ache in my chest sharpened as memories stirred—Arthur’s laughter, his fierce loyalty to doing what he saw as right, his unshakable ideals, his goodness to Lance.
All those things stood in stark contrast to Merlin’s quiet calculation, his hidden fears wrapped in riddles.
I could almost hear their voices now, not as enemies, but as old friends speaking across time—laughter laced with regret, arguments frayed with love.
How could I hold both legacies within me without tearing myself apart?
What if this wasn’t a gift, but a curse?
The choice stretched before me—I could either embrace this lineage—with all its burdens and expectations—or let it drag me under, a tide too strong to fight alone.
As the moonlight continued to spill through my window, I felt the full weight of the night settling into my bones. The world outside remained veiled in shadow, but within me, something had shifted. A spark. A fragile but defiant resolve.
I would no longer be a vessel for someone else’s will. Not Merlin’s weapon. Not Arthur’s champion. Not a daughter, not a knight, not a spy.
From this moment on, I would forge my own path.
Every decision I made would be mine—not dictated by destiny, legacy, or the desires of the men who had built kingdoms on secrets. I would walk the line between light and shadow with my eyes open, guided by my truth, not theirs.
The thought washed over me like cool water, steadying and sharp.
My gaze drifted back to the basin, its surface still faintly shimmering from the spell I’d cast to reach Merlin.
The reflection that stared back was mine—but not quite.
It bore traces of two worlds—twilight and sunlight—woven together in skin and bone.
Magic hummed beneath the surface, not just in my blood but in my soul.
And I knew now, more than ever: I wasn’t here to carry out someone else’s legacy. I was here to claim my own.
-KAY-
She was powerful.
Too skilled with magic to be a common hedge witch. Her watercraft during the trials thus far was flawless—refined. Professional.
The question was: why was she here?
Assassination? Subversion? Spying for Merlin?