CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX #2
Just as she had before—emerging from the depths without sound, without urgency, as though time itself parted for her.
The lake opened like a curtain, revealing my mother inch by inch: first the crown of her head, hair like sea kelp falling down her shoulders. Then her alabaster skin. Then her full, indescribably beautiful form, rising to stand on the water’s surface.
Standing before Nimue, an ache began in my chest—a longing so potent it nearly knocked me to my knees.
Her presence suddenly felt like a balm to every wound I’d ever endured.
With every heartbeat, the familiarity between us became undeniable, as if our shared blood were an unspoken conversation pulsing through my veins like a silent hymn of homecoming.
My heart stuttered, not from fear, but from the overwhelming sense of belonging I’d been denied my entire life.
"Mother."
The word escaped my lips before I could stop it—half-strangled in my throat, caught between a damning accusation and a desperate, childlike plea. Years of abandonment, of unanswered questions, of never belonging anywhere, compressed into that single, trembling word.
Her expression changed.
The serene, otherworldly mask cracked like thawing ice, revealing something raw and ancient beneath.
Sorrow. Joy. Regret. Love. All warring in features that now looked heartbreakingly familiar.
Her eyes—luminous and deep as the lake itself—filled with tears that glittered like stars as she gazed at the daughter she'd surrendered so many years ago.
“My daughter, my Guinevere."
The sound of her voice folded me into an embrace stronger than any arms could have. The ache within me dulled.
And this time… I understood.
I knew now why seeing her made something bloom to life in my chest. Why, the first time I’d looked at her, I’d felt something ancient and unnamed stirring within me.
I'd recognized her then without even realizing it.
Because she was part of me.
And suddenly, the questions I carried, the pain that had been my companion since I’d learned the truth about my parentage, poured out in a breathless rush.
“Why did you hide me? Why did you give me away? Why bind my magic until my twentieth year?” My voice rose, shaking with the weight of everything I’d held in. “Why allow me to grow up believing I was ordinary when I carried your blood and Merlin’s blood—my father's blood?”
She stepped from the water onto the stone platform where Excalibur rested against the stone, abandoned.
The blade gleamed as if it expected me to lift it again.
But my focus remained on her. As she moved, the lake gathered around her, shaping into diaphanous robes of liquid that covered her nudity and shimmered even though no breeze stirred the air.
“I hid you to protect you.” A deeply profound sense of sorrow imbued every word.
"To hide me?" I shook my head. "Hide me from what?"
“From Arthur, and from your father’s growing obsession with defeating him.”
It was just as Merlin had said.
“You feared Merlin would use me as his weapon. That I’d become a vessel in their war.”
Her nod was barely perceptible. “When your father’s magic slipped beyond his control, and he and Arthur severed ways, I saw something begin to rot in Merlin. I couldn’t bear to see you shaped by that darkness.”
I swallowed. “The farmers who raised me—the people I thought were my parents... I had to keep myself from weeping at their memory; the emotions were so thick in my throat. They died because of me. Because of what I am.”
“They knew the risk when they agreed to love you, Guinevere. And they loved you anyway."
The tears started to fall then, and I wiped them away. "Who were they to you?"
“Distant kin from my mortal bloodline. One of the last families who still remembered the old ways, who kept the sacred knowledge even after magic was outlawed. They loved you as their own. That part was never a lie.”
And then something dawned on me. "Your voice," I said as the realization hit me like a lightning bolt.
"It was your voice I heard that day." I began to nod as the memories flooded my mind.
"After the incident at the marketplace in Eldenvale—when I ran back to my home and the King's Guard was already there.
And I… I lost control and my water magic flooded everything…
it was your voice I heard—your voice telling me to run.
That there would be more of the guards coming. "
"Yes," she answered simply.
"But how did you—"
"—the connection between us has always been strong, Guinevere, even if we hadn't seen one another since you were just a babe."
I opened my mouth to speak, to say something, then closed it again. Words tangled in my throat like fishing line, impossible to unravel. My hands trembled at my sides, fists clenching and unclenching as I struggled to process what she'd just confirmed.
It had been her. All along.
The voice that had saved my life, that had urged me toward the forest while my world burned behind me—my mother had been there, guiding me even as she'd abandoned me.
Anger flared hot in my chest, warring with a desperate, childish longing I couldn't suppress. I wanted to rage at her, demand answers for every lonely night, every moment I'd felt like I didn't belong. But I also wanted to collapse into her arms and sob until there was nothing left inside me.
The emotions crashed over me in waves—gratitude, fury, grief, love—each one drowning out the last before I could grasp it.
"I don't..." My voice cracked. "I don't know what to say."
She stepped closer, water pooling at her feet. "You don't have to say anything, daughter."
I looked toward Excalibur, its surface catching the moonlight like a blade carved from starlight before I looked at her once more. “Why did it choose me?”
Her expression sobered. “The sword chooses based not just on worthiness—but on need. Once, it chose Arthur because the land required unity beneath a strong hand. Now… it has chosen you, Guinevere. Because both realms require healing, not more division.”
"Did you know this would happen?" I faced her resolutely, needing to understand how much of a part she had played and was playing in my so-called 'destiny.' "Did you know Excalibur would choose me—your daughter?"
"I did not. All I knew was that a chosen one was coming."
"And did you know who I was when I pulled the sword from the stone, when I first met you at this lake weeks ago?"
She paused a moment too long. "I did not know for certain who you were, no, though I had my suspicions."
"Your suspicions?!" I threw the words back at her. "How could you not have known when our blood practically sings to each other?!"
"I could not allow my own desires to interfere with the sword's calling, Guinevere." Her tone was calm. "I had to allow the sword to make its choice before I could allow my own personal feelings to get involved."
I didn't know what that meant. "Why didn't you at least tell me that you suspected I might be your daughter, even if you didn't know for certain? Why did you wait for me to find out for myself?"
"The answers cannot simply be handed to you, Guinevere.
Life is about discovering truth through your own experience, your own choices, your own pain.
" Her voice carried the weight of centuries, each word measured and deliberate.
"Knowledge given freely is often knowledge dismissed.
Understanding earned through struggle becomes part of who you are. "
I didn't want to accept her words because they cut through me like ice-cold steel, each syllable a blade that found its mark in the deepest, most vulnerable parts of my heart.
Yes, there was truth in her words, but that didn't make the pain any less bearable.
Hearing as much, especially from the lips of the woman who had given me life and then watched from afar as I stumbled through confusion and terror, felt like a betrayal that went bone-deep.
She shifted slightly, the water around her ankles rippling with the movement. "Then, once the sword chose you, you made the choice to run. You turned your back on the destiny that called to you, on the power that sang in your blood, on the very essence of who you truly are."
A pause stretched between us, heavy. The night air felt suddenly thick, oppressive.
"I never wanted that responsibility. I still don't."
"Yet it is your fate, your destiny, Guinevere."
I swallowed hard. It seemed Nimue was as detached from me as Merlin. They both had their goals for me—the role they wanted me to wear. To Merlin, I was his spy. To Nimue, I was the rightful wielder of the sword. But what was I to myself?
“I don’t want to rule. I never wanted Arthur’s throne. I still don’t.”
“Perhaps that is precisely why the sword found you worthy.” A hint of a smile touched her lips. “Those who hunger for power rarely deserve it. But those who accept it as duty rather than destiny...”
Then—footsteps.
Deliberate. Heavy.
I stiffened. The sound crunched over the ground behind me. Someone was here. Watching. My blood turned to ice as I turned around to see a figure stepping into the moonlight, emerging from the shadows like fate made flesh.
First, the silver thread of his royal robe glinted in the moonlight. Then came the hard lines of his face. His sword—Caliburn. His eyes—piercing, unreadable, burning.
Arthur.
Nimue turned slowly, her composure undisturbed. “Arthur Pendragon.” She didn't sound surprised to see him, and for all I knew, she had known he'd been there the whole time.
But I was surprised. No, I was shocked, and now my stomach twisted as I turned to face him fully, my heart thundering.
But I didn't know what to say. What was there to say?
I had no idea how long he'd been standing there, nor how much he'd overheard.
All I did know was that I'd been found out—that I was standing here without my Lioran disguise.