Topic: Before the Dawn

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2012-10-22 22:05 EST
The afternoon passed into evening and evening into night, darkness falling as gently as a soft blanket over the hillside and the pair of lovers, both of them lost in dreams, resting peacefully in each other's arms, until a few hours before dawn when Rhys awoke, feeling restless. He brushed a kiss against Nat's brow as he eased out of her embrace, the solemn knowledge of what awaited him in the coming hours heavy upon his heart, despite the near certainty he'd survive it. He quietly drew on his jeans and shirt, leaving his feet bare and stepped outside into the night, looking first to the sky above him where the stars twinkled down like diamonds and the moon washed the world in silvery light, then to the village below, which, like Nat, was peacefully resting, torchlight flickering in the distance, proof that he and Nat were not really alone.

It wasn't fear he was feeling so much as the weight of responsibility, a familiar feeling after all these years. Despite what the lady had told him, it would be up to the Grail to determine whether or not he was worthy, and he knew it was very likely a matter of life or death, but he had not come all this way for nothing, and he believed that in the coming hours, he would come face to face with his true destiny. Lowering himself to the grass cool with dew, he sat quietly contemplating his life, all that had gone before and all that had been promised for the future, a quiet peace settling over him as he accepted the fate and the task that had been offered and promised.

He closed his eyes in quiet contemplation, thinking over how all his life seemed to have lead to this very moment, teetering on the precipice of enlightenment. Although he didn't remember it, he'd offered himself up once before because of love, not only because of his angelic love for humanity but from the deep desire to know human love, to love and be loved in return. He had offered himself up once again because of love, this time for the love of a woman and the children they had been promised, and because of another woman who had also made a sacrifice many centuries ago, sacrificing her humanity for the greater good, or so he surmised. Touched by such a sacrifice and moved by compassion the depths of which he barely understood, he longed to ease her suffering and by doing so, to ensure the safety of his own beloved and the longevity of their line of offspring. Consciously, he only understood all of this on a human level, but somewhere beneath all that, there was a part of him that transcended the conscious, that seemed to understand that no matter what doubts the human part of his self might have, this was exactly where he belonged and where he was meant to be.

In the bed he had left, Natalya stirred, bare limbs stretching out from beneath thin sheets as she rose from the enveloping depths of slumber to find herself alone. Her hand groped blindly for him, encountering only cool cloth, a testament to the length of time he had been absent from her arms, and a slow frown touched her brow as her eyes came open. She knew that in Avalon he could not abandon her as he had done before, that he could not find danger here no matter how foolish he might be, but still ....to awaken to a cold bed and no sound of him close by brought a thump to her heart that was only too reminiscent of Rouen and another such awakening not so very long ago. Drawing the thin sheet about herself, respectful enough of her surroundings here not to flaunt her habitual immodesty, she slid from the bed, her gaze seeking him through the moonlit darkness. "Rhys?"

He heard her voice calling to him from behind him, not realizing she might awake and worry where he'd gone. He'd promised never to leave her again, and it was a promise he meant to keep. "Out here," he called loud enough for her to hear him, but soft enough not to shatter the still of the night. He didn't bother to turn around, knowing she'd join him soon enough, relishing the peace and quiet of the short time left to them before the break of dawn, wanting to absorb it all, soak it in, remember it, just in case the worst did come to pass.

He knew her well, despite the relatively little they had shared with one another of their pasts. His call drew her from the cool stone and out onto the dewy grass, to lower herself down beside him, wrapped only in that sheet, her hair a wayward flow over her shoulders. Her cheek found rest against his shoulder, drawing the quiet around him once again as she gazed over the sleeping valley. In a few hours, Avalon would awaken, and the day would begin, but for now she could believe that time had stopped to give her precious peace to share with the man she loved.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked softly, not wishing to break the silence but unable to keep her fear upon waking entirely secret. "You know I would rather be restless with you than peaceful without you."

He didn't have to glance aside to know she had joined him, almost sensing her approach as much as hearing and feeling it. He drew an arm around her as she settled herself against his shoulder, both of them looking out on the quiet sleeping valley before them. There was still so much they didn't know about each other, and there was no time to share it all now in the few hours they had left. None of it really seemed to matter, and yet it did. He needed her to understand before he drank from that cup just how much she really meant to him, how deeply he loved her. "I was feeling restless, and I didn't want to wake you," he told her quietly and honestly, and in all truth, he needed a few minutes alone to think and prepare himself for what lay ahead. "What happened when you drank from the Chalice, Nat?" he asked suddenly, abruptly, letting her see that despite his certainty, there was a trace of mortal fear.

Curled into his side, she allowed his question to sink into herself, not wanting to do him a disservice with a hasty answer but equally not wishing to hold the silence too long. She could well remember her own fear in the hours leading to her initiation, the terror that had gripped her heart, and though they were both close to certain that there was no danger to him, there was still that outside chance that something might not have been taken into account.

"It seems like such a small thing," she said quietly, dropping her hand to his thigh, holding onto him as he held onto her in the cricket-song night. "I remember that the water I had seen poured into the cup tasted of the finest wine, cool and refreshing to me in my terror. And I remember being warmed through, feeling as though I were burning, as though every part of me had been set alight, as though I was being cleansed of all my past sin. I will not lie to you - the pain was the worst I have ever felt. But in the midst of that pain, the Lady took my hand, and suddenly the flame was gone. I felt strong and clean, and I knew I had been forgiven." She shook her head. "I am sorry, dusha moya, this is not very clear, is it?"

His head did turn toward her now, green eyes shining in the moonlight, bright with life and longing. There were no tears now - he was long past tears - and very little real fear, more a feeling of nervous excitement, anxious expectation of the unknown. "You were cleansed?" he asked, brows arching questioningly. He had long felt the weight of guilt upon his heart for all the sins and mistakes and failings of his past, starting with the death of his father, still haunted by that night even after all these years and the fact that he hadn't been able to save his mother.

"That is what the Grail does," she told him simply. "It cleanses you of what has gone before. Not all survive that cleansing - it is ordeal by spiritual fire. Some die, some are driven mad. Some rise from the flames renewed, and in that rising, they are bound to Avalon by the touch of the Grail. At that moment, you will be taken into the Lady's service and asked to repeat the vow you have already made. And you will be hers."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2012-10-22 22:10 EST
"God," he muttered, as she laid out just what it meant for him to drink from the Grail, what it all entailed. It wasn't just a symbolic cleansing but a trial by fire. "All the things I've done, the people I've killed..." It could be argued that he'd had no choice, and while it was true that he'd saved more lives than he'd ended, each death weighed heavily on his heart and his conscience. He turned away again, looking out on the valley, but instead of seeing the beauty of the landscape spread out before him, he was seeing his own life and wondering if he truly was worthy.

"The Lady told me that what it comes down to is this," Natalya said softly, herself staring out at the valley and seeing something other than what was before them. "That there is no sin a human soul can commit that cannot be forgiven by the power of the Grail. The test is of your own endurance, to discover if you can weather the worst of yourself and step through to continue on your path, or if you will lose yourself to pain and suffering. It is an allegory for life, I suppose."

"I killed my own father, Nat." He almost regretted the statement before it left his lips, knowing she shared that sin with him, though the circumstances behind their father's deaths had been entirely different. "He was possessed. I didn't know that at the time. I was nine." He paused a moment before continuing, assuming she probably knew most of this already, but for some reason, needing to confess it to someone in these last hours before dawn. "He killed my mother. God, he loved her so much. I'm sure it must have been killing him to watch the demon inside him do that." He paused again, as if it was physically painful to continue. He had told the story so many times, and each time instead of getting easier, it only seemed to get harder, despite the passage of time.

She stiffened at his first words, as he knew she would, forcing her own guilt aside to listen as he went on, explaining to her the circumstances that had not been in the police report she had found on him. Her eyes turned to study his face as he spoke, silent and open to him, recognising the need to confess, honored that he had chosen to confess to her. She had thought that his confession might have been to the Lady, over anyone else. She twisted closer, touching her forehead to the curve of his neck as she settled into him, offering him the anonymity of her silence as she wrapped her arms about him.

"He had her up against the wall and was choking her," he continued, almost flashing back to that moment, feeling the pain and confusion and terror of the nine-year-old boy he'd been at the time, the horror of that moment forever etched in his memory. "I didn't know what to do. What was I supposed to do' I was just a kid, and he was going to kill her, so I ran to my father's study and grabbed his gun. I don't know what I was thinking. I didn't want to kill him. I didn't want to kill anyone." His voice broke, the confession one he'd made long ago as a boy to people who chose not to believe him, to believe his father had been abusive and that the boy had been so damaged by what he'd done, he imagined his father was a monster, rather than admit to the truth.

He drew a breath before continuing, the pain in the telling palpable, but somehow needing to be told. "I wasn't gone long. Not even a minute, but by the time I got back, it was too late. She was already dead and the....thing that had my father was laughing at me. It had yellow eyes. I'll never forget those eyes." He shuddered at the memory of it, drawn back to the most horrific moment in his entire life. "The thing threatened me, told me it wouldn't hurt me if I just put the gun down, but I couldn't. I pleaded with it, with my father, but he wouldn't listen. He told me my father was inside him somewhere trying to help, but that it was useless. I shot him. I don't know how many times. I shot my own father. I didn't stop until I was out of bullets." He closed his eyes, silent tears spilling over onto his cheeks at the memory of it.

For the second time over the span of a day and a night, gentle arms reached out to enfold him, to ease him through a moment of grief and pain and guilt that was almost too much to bear. She wept with him, crying tears for the child he had been and the parents that had been ripped away from him, the action he had been forced to take at such a young age. "You did not kill your father, dusha moya," she whispered to him, rocking them both gently back and forth. "You gave him the only release you could."

"She was pregnant," he continued, though he had no idea if she knew or not, turning to face her even as she took him in her arms and rocked him gently, like a mother to a child. "I was supposed to have a sister. I don't know what happened after that. I passed out. When I woke up, I was in the hospital, and no one believed me. I learned how to lie, how to tell people what they wanted to hear, instead of the truth." He drew another breath, drawing a hand across his face to wipe away the tears, drawing another deep breath. There was cleansing in the telling, as painful as it was. "I'm sorry," he said, frowning, brushing the tears from her face with a thumb. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Despite the pain in hearing his tale, in knowing his own pain was far greater, she smiled when he turned his thought to her once again, concerned for her in the midst of his memories. Her hand curled about his, unashamed of the tears that wet her cheeks. "Had you been any other, my love, I would not weep," she told him with blunt honesty. "But you touch my heart, and I feel your pain and your joy. I would not have it any other way." Her lips pressed a firm kiss to his hand in her grasp. "You are a good man, Rhys, who has suffered too much loss in his lifetime. I promise you now, you will never lose me."

He had shared what he judged to be his greatest sin, his worst failure, the guilt hoisted upon him by no one but himself. "It was in the papers, you know. The kid who killed his own father," he continued, brushing the tears from her face before she took hold of his hand and kissed it. The pain had faded with the telling, the betrayal he'd felt at the judgment cast down by an ignorant humanity upon his father hurting far more than his own sin. He shrugged suddenly, as if it was nothing after all, though that first encounter with demons had more of a lasting effect on him than even he was aware. He smiled a little at her promise, feeling cleansed of his sin. "I know," he told her quietly, turning quiet and content in her calm reassurance. "I'm gonna survive this, Nat, and we're gonna have the future we've been promised."

She held his gaze, her own eyes shining in the moonlight with fathomless dark but hopeful assurity. "I know we will," she told him in a gentle whisper, drawing her palm now against his cheek. "For a long time, even after I joined Avalon, I lost my faith in everything but my own ability to take what was not mine. But now I have faith again. In you."

His smile deepened, eyes closing briefly at the touch of her hand, comforting, consoling, lovingly gentle. "I need you to know how much I love you, Nat," he said, curling his fingers around the hand that she'd pressed to his cheek. "I love you more than there are stars in the sky. I love you with everything that I am, and I swear, as God is my witness....No, as Avalon is my witness, I'm never going to leave you again."

She drew closer, no smile on her face but that which only he could see in her eyes, needing no word to know how he loved her. The first thing he had done when he had returned from the dead was find her, that told her all she needed to know. Her lips touched his in a slow, gentle benediction of his own words. "I know," was whispered again, her breath almost lost in the sigh of the warm breeze that rustled through the trees around them as she moved, drawing herself to him in a tangle of thin cotton and bare limbs. "You are dusha moya ....your soul is mine as mine is yours. Even if, by some horror, we were never to look upon each other again, I would always be with you. There are no words in any language for how much I love you."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2012-10-22 22:17 EST
What could he possibly say to that' She had so succinctly put into words what he was feeling in the deepest recesses of his heart. He turned his whole body to face her, drawing her into his arms and replying the only way he really knew how, his kiss speaking for him, his lips as tender a caress as that warm gentle breeze that stirred the soft tumble of hair about her face. He drew a hand against her face, his fingers touching that soft fall of hair as his lips plied hers, a simple embrace that banished all the fear in his heart. Even if he didn't survive, his love for her would go on, too deep and too strong to be vanquished by something as ordinary as death.

The soft warmth of the wind that cleansed Avalon every night swept over them, ruffling the tumble of her wayward curls about his hand as her own arms rose to curl about him, her lips soft and tender as they played beneath his own. The modesty that had urged her to cover herself when she had risen fell away in the shared exposure of the moment they had cultivated, undaunted by the slip of that sheet to pool about her waist, never afraid to be completely vulnerable with him, even in the darkness of Avalon's rising night. Slowly, her lips parted from his, but she did not go far, letting her forehead press to his in tender affection as she drank him in all over again. Surely the Grail would not let him succumb. Surely.

In those last hours of darkness, when Avalon still lay shrouded in night, before the first light of dawn kissed the sky, he made love to her again beneath the beauty of the open sky, with only the moon and the stars to bear witness to the love that burned brightly for this beautiful creature who had somehow come into his life. He drank her in, like he would drink from the holy cup, savoring each precious moment as if it was his last.

He laid her back upon the cool grass, shedding his own clothing, both of them naked to the eyes of nature and perhaps to the Lady who smiled upon them. It didn't matter who saw, who knew. His love for her burned deep inside his soul and anyone who looked upon them together would have a hard time not noticing. He made slow love to her, a sharing, not a taking, not only in the physical sense, but that of heart and even soul. Two bodies tangled together in love's embrace, two hearts promised, two souls bonded, forever and always, from this moment forth and into whatever future Fate held in store for them.

They say it is always darkest before the dawn. Those who know can tell you that this is a lie. As dawn approaches, the sky lightens, the stars fade, and the slow awareness of the day to come begins to chase away all shadows from the heart and mind. Dawn came for the lovers sooner than this hour before the true dawning, in love and tenderness and the joyful release they shared as the stars began to fade. And as those stars fell and Natalya gazed into eyes she hoped she would never go a day without seeing again, the sounds of the Temple's awakening began to rise with the promise of that new day, a warning of the company that would soon be upon them as they had been told. Lulled into soft security, Nat smiled, touching a last kiss to a mouth she knew well and intended to know better. "Perhaps you should wear the sheet, dusha moya," she murmured teasingly. "I have nothing the Handmaidens have not seen before."

"And here I thought you hinted at them not being virgins," he smiled, lazily tracing her cheek with a finger, as they lay upon the grass together, watching as the darkness faded to first light, and the world around them began to waken. "No matter what happens, Natalya, I will always love you." He bent his head to brush yet another soft kiss against her lips, one of many but not nearly enough. He knew the time was growing short, and the Lady's maids would soon be there to prepare them. "I came back for you, Nat, because I love you, because I need you, because I'm nothing without you."

"Perhaps I am too jealous a woman to let them see what is mine," she chuckled softly at his lazy response, her laughter fading easily as their lips touched. "You are everything," she argued in a low whisper, though she did not dispute anything else he said, knowing that even if she did not believe it, he needed to say it and believe she accepted it. Her fingers eased over his shoulder, admiring the smooth strength of muscle with touch alone as she gazed lovingly into his eyes. "You should bathe, unless you wish the Handmaidens to wash you as well as clothe you."

He smiled, partly amused by her jealousy, which in his estimation was unnecessary. She was right about one thing, however - he did belong to her, in every sense of the word, and he'd given himself to her completely and willingly. "Maybe you should be my Handmaiden and wash me yourself," he teased, waggling his brows at her, but it was only half teasing. As tempting as the thought might have been to him years ago, he really didn't want to be fussed over by a bunch of girls he had no feelings for, no matter how much ritual was involved. He slid his fingers lazily through the softness of her curls, in no real hurry for the day to begin, though he knew he couldn't put it off forever.

She laughed, quiet in the gentle rise toward the pre-dawn, relishing the gentle sense of belonging they had cultivated together, enjoying the lazy caress of his fingers through her hair. Which brought a somewhat random question to mind. "What is it about my hair you like so much, Rhys?" she asked curiously. "It seems that no matter what I do to it, you are always impatient to have it loose and in your hands."

The question caught him off guard, unexpected as it was, and he found it was difficult to put an explanation into words. "I don't know," he replied after a moment, his fingers pausing a moment before continuing their gentle slide through her hair. "It's just so lovely and soft the way it frames your face, and..." He broke off again as he struggled to find the right words. "I love the way it feels between my fingers. It's like....it's like silk." He let his hand drop, feeling suddenly self-conscious of his caress, wondering if she'd rather he touched her somewhere else. "It's just so lovely I can't help myself, I guess."

"Don't stop." Her smile was soft, a little guilty as she realised that her question had made him question himself even just a little. "It was just curiosity, that is all. I do not find any part of myself remarkable ....I may yet ask you many such questions in search of just how I ensnared you." The smile deepened to a warmer grin as she rose up, gently guiding him to sit with her. "I could never complain of your touch, dusha moya."

He sat up more out of astonishment than anything else, eying her curiously. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked, clearly surprised that she could be so blind to her own loveliness, both that of inner and outer beauty. He drew the sheet about her as he spoke, draping it across her shoulders to close at her neck. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

"Ah, but you are biased," she reminded him with teasing aplomb, easily side-stepping the compliment without accepting or denying its voracity. Her hand wriggled out from the sheet as he draped it about her, reaching up to tweak the tip of his nose affectionately. "It is in your interest to keep me sweet, or you might never get that day of being called 'master'." She laughed softly, daring him to take offense with a kiss.

He laughed, glad the mood had lightened a little before they had to face the inevitability of what awaited them. "You can't shirk on the bet. I won fair and square," he reminded her, allowing himself to touch that rich cascade of brown that tumbled about her shoulders once again, lifting it from the confines of the sheet and settling it about her shoulders. "So, is this some ritualistic bath I'm supposed to take" Do I get a last meal or what?"

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2012-10-22 22:23 EST
"No, it is just a suggestion that you may wish to wash off the scent of sex before walking into the Abbey and entering the Lady Chapel this morning," she warned him with a smile. "You remember the place where you found me, when you came back to Glastonbury' Here in Avalon, that chapel still stands. That is where the Grail resides."

"I happen to like the scent of sex," he remarked, with a smug grin. "Why would I want to wash it off" Do you think the Lady doesn't already know that we've fornicated out of wedlock?" He was only teasing, but there was a small part of him that wondered if it would make a difference when he was tested. Somehow, he thought it was only fair that he make love to the woman he loved before he was expected to put his life on the line. "I'm not exactly chaste, you know, Nat," he admitted with a small frown. He snagged his jeans from where he'd shucked them onto the ground and rose from the grass to pull them onto his legs before they were surrounded by a bunch of blushing virgins. "I remember," he replied quietly, his frown deepening.

"I know this," she assured him. "And the Lady, she will not mind. But the Abbey is a Catholic place, Rhys. I may not be Catholic, but I do not wish to insult the Abbot by flaunting myself too much. He has enough trouble accepting that he will have to allow weapons within the Lady Chapel, and that one of those armed will be female. He is still very much a medieval man." She shifted about onto her knees, sliding an arm from the wrap of the sheet about herself to reach out to him. "You can do this, Rhys. I know you can."

"Will I be expected to make a confession?" he asked, turning to face her, the sky growing lighter behind them. Time was running out, and it seemed he had so much more to ask her. He reached for the hand she had outstretched to him to pull her to her feet, both of them silhouetted against the fading night. "I know. I will." He smiled reassuringly, remembering the Lady's words to him, not even a full day ago. "You will drink from the Grail as the dawn breaks, and you will become a Guardian of the Temple of Avalon, one of my knights, to guard his beloved and the children you will conceive." There had been no uncertainty in her words, only conviction. She believed in him, Nat believed in him, he only had to believe in himself.

The sheet fell in loose folds around her as she let him pull her up, standing close but not too much so in the easy sway of the ever lightening dark. "No one expects you to confess anything unless you wish to," she told him firmly. "What is forgiven is between you and the Grail, and no one has the right to ask." She rose onto her toes, nuzzling her lips to his cheek for a moment. "Go, wash," she told him with a warm smile. "They will be coming with our clothing for the ceremony."

"Well, that's a relief anyway," he admitted, feeling slightly relieved that he wouldn't be forced to confess a long list of sins he thought he'd committed during his life. "I thought you were the one who had an aversion to smelling like sex," he teased, smiling down at her as she kissed his cheek, but making no argument. "You could join me, you know. Wouldn't that be scandalous?" He waggled his brows at her again, teasing her again, partly in an attempt to chase away the nervous tension that was slowly building up inside him.

She laughed again, tucking the sheet more securely about herself as though protecting the body he knew almost better than his own from his provocative teasing. As tempting as it sounded - and it did sound tempting - the last thing he needed was to be exhausted from amorous play when he faced the Grail. Her fingers stroked against his arm for a moment. "You are very bad for my strength of will, Rhys Bristol," she chuckled softly. "But I am going to stand my ground this once."

Though she had shared her own experience with him, he wasn't quite sure what awaited him when he drank from the Grail. He was doing his best not to think about it, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to avoid it forever. Morning wasn't far away, unavoidably looming in his near future. He plucked his t-shirt off the ground and tossed it over a shoulder. There wasn't much point in putting it on now when he was just going to be taking it off again. He smiled at her comeback, before turning his eyes to the Eastern sky, the smile fading. "I better get ready. It will be morning soon."

Her own eyes lifted to the sky with him, marking the threat of light beginning to make itself known. "They will be coming for us soon," she agreed softly, turning away toward the comforting darkness of their open-air room set back into the side of the hill. Their clothing for ceremony had been brought to them the night before, but they had been warned that Handmaidens would be coming to collect them before the dawn. She, too, would need to wash herself before dressing, but it would not take long. She had a feeling he was going to need a little help getting into the garb that had been left for him. "Come, dusha moya. The sun will not wait for us."

"Time waits for no man," Rhys idly remarked under his breath. Was it death or the threat of death that was turning him a philosophical lately' "Might as well get it over with," he continued, turning back to her with a smile he hoped would appear reassuring, slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close and dropping a brief kiss against her brow. "The moment of truth, as they say."

Her eyes closed for that brief kiss, breathing him in as she looped her own arm about his back, steering him toward the little alcove of a room, and the door set in the far wall that would take him to the bathroom - fully plumbed and modernised. Avalon wasn't that backward in certain places. Natalya, too, was trying to be reassuring, offering Rhys an answering smile filled with wild encouragement. "Do not use all the hot water," she warned him, keeping the talk, at least, away from what was coming.

He smiled and brushed a finger against her cheek, affectionately. "It's not too late to join me," he reminded her, his voice turning quiet, the two of them avoiding talk of what awaited them in the approaching hours of morning, in lieu of flirtation in an attempt to chase away a nervous case of jitters.

Oh, he was such a temptation. Too much of a temptation for her, especially when his unsettled anticipation was just barely hidden beneath the surface. Nat felt herself give in, knowing her smile showed that surrender before she even opened her mouth. "Only if you promise not to distract me," she murmured in a tenderly amused tone, forcing herself away from her own broiling concern for the ceremony ahead of him.

"I learned a long time ago never to make any promises you can't keep," he replied with a faint smile, as he reached for her hand to lead her back inside the small, open-aired alcove that served as a bedroom. "How much time do we have?" he asked, trying not to sound nervous. It seemed every second counted now in the predawn hours before the ceremony was to take place. A question occurred to him that he hadn't thought to ask before, having no idea how exactly this was to take place. "Will you be there?"

"The ceremony begins at dawn," she told him, glancing over her shoulder to the sky, judging by the faint touch of purple bleeding through the darkness how much time they had. "I would guess we have a little more than an hour." Her fingers squeezed his gently as he drew her from the freshness of the breeze. "I will be there," she promised him, stepping close to hug herself to his arm, touching a kiss to his shoulder. "I must take the vow with you when the Lady makes us hers."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2012-10-22 22:26 EST
He took this in with quiet solemnity, glancing down at her a moment as if there was still so much he wanted to say, but words didn't seem to suffice. He drew her hand to his lips for a kiss, smiling fondly down at her, as if it was an ordinary day, though there was tension in shoulders, a hint of worry in his eyes. Still, this was a choice he had made of his own accord, an honor and a privilege that had been bestowed upon so few. A trial by fire, to be sure, but not only for his own good, but the good of all. "I feel like so long as you're with me, I can do anything," he told her quietly, knowing the time for talk was running out. "We're going to be fine, Nat. Promise."

"I know we will." She twisted to take the lead, one hand in his to draw him into the bathroom, to keep him distracted a least a little while longer from what was coming. The Lady had shown him his future, had told him that their future was hers; there was no reason to think that the Grail would burn the life from him. But even Nat couldn't keep that thought too far from her mind, despite the confidence she held in him. All she could do was keep going, and hope that she could keep him from lingering on the worst of what could happen.

He wasn't worried about dying. He'd died once before. It was more the fear of the unknown once he faced that trial by fire, but there wasn't much use in worrying about something he couldn't change. He'd survived worse before and probably would again, and he had to be brave and strong for her sake. He let her lead him back inside, to the bathroom that was amazingly modern considering the simplicity of the bedroom. It was charming in a way, quiet, peaceful, and he knew that was exactly why the Lady had offered it to them, so that they could have a little time to spend alone before the morning came. He kept his word and tried not to distract her. They'd already made love several times in the hours leading up to this moment, and all he really wanted right now was to feel her close, to know she was with him every step of the way.

She was slow and thorough, not with loving him this time, but with the simple task of washing their bodies clean, purifying herself and him in the warm stream of water from the shower-head. Not once did she break contact with him, even when they stepped out to dry their skin and face the next part of the day, never giving him a moment to feel alone. Her hands claimed him as innocently as they ever had before, lips murmuring the constant reassurance of her love and loyalty, of the future they had been promised. Drawn back out of the bathroom, she left him beside the bed, where his clothing had been mysteriously laid out by unseen hands, slipping away to find her own garb for the morning to come.

He savored these last moments of quiet solitude with her, no words spoken, no words needed. Actions spoke louder than words, after all, and the loving exchange of kisses and caresses they shared during the ritual purification of cleansing spoke volumes of their love and devotion. He found peace in the simple ritual, letting his hands roam over her body, washing her hair, committing to memory every last inch of her so that when the time came, he could call up that memory to get him through the worst of what might come. Left alone at last to dress and prepare, his thoughts turned not to what he might have to endure in the hours ahead, but to the end result, knowing in his heart without a doubt that he was doing the right thing. Nothing worthwhile was ever easy, after all.

Some touch of magic in the air seemed to maintain that closeness even when she moved away, keeping her acutely aware of him nearby as she turned her attention to what had been laid out for her. As she had expected, there were no shoes, nothing the modern world would consider underwear for her. Just a chemise of rough silk to wear beneath a sky-blue gown of fine linen, a wide green belt to set over it cross-girdled with golden cord. The silk was cool and warm against her skin as she slipped into it, feeling her curls tumble about her face once again as she fingered the blue of the gown set for her. Never before had she worn the Lady's colors in Avalon, always set in red and white, the colors of the Templars. This gown, another gift of the Temple itself, was more proof of the Lady's intention for her, and through her, for Rhys himself.

As for himself, he quietly got himself dressed after taking a few minutes to make sense of the clothing that had been laid out on the bed for him. The linen shirt and loose-fitting pants were simple enough to figure out, but the buckles on the jerkin gave him a little trouble. Still, he had to admit, he liked the feel and smell of the leather, like a well-worn, favorite jacket. Though the clothing was unfamiliar, it felt strangely fitting to dress the part, and he knew without being told that he cut a dashing figure.

The belt wasn't difficult to sort out, but he felt almost naked without a sword at his hip. He was surprised to find that he'd grown accustomed to the weight of a sword at his side, though he'd always believed guns to be far more efficient. The boots, too, were simple, the jerkin the most complex article of clothing for him to sort out. He finger combed his hair, pushing it to one side, not bothering to shave, leaving a faint stubble of reddish-brown beard on his cheeks and chin. Once he was finished, he nearly looked the part of a proper knight, and felt an unexpected swell of pride and eager but nervous anticipation at what was about to take place.

"How do I look?" he asked, once he was finished, the jerkin form-fitting enough to enhance a slim, athletic build, the belt cinched at the waist offsetting wide shoulders.

Natalya, too, had dressed herself in silence, accustomed by now to the complexities of tying laces at her back without assistance. The gown lay over her curving form with surprising elegance, cinched snug from her hips to the tuck beneath her bosom by the wide, cross-girdled belt that created a slender silhouette from the loose fall of cloth about her. The skirt hung full to skim the floor, her sleeves equally full and falling back to bare her to the elbow as she carefully settled her loose hair back from her face. Her head rose as he spoke, her body turning to follow the cast of her gaze as she looked him over. The smile on her face was proud and pleased, and not a little lustful, in the face of the dashing figure he presented. "You look very handsome, dusha moya," she promised him, twitching her skirt out of her way as she turned herself, checking the fall of her gown, the laces at her back, bare toes just barely visible as she moved.

"I look good, don't I?" he asked with a smug smile, vain enough to know he cut a dashing figure. "I don't get why we have to dress like this though. There's a modern bathroom, and we're dressed like we're going to a Ren Faire." He tugged the bottom of the jerkin down, smoothing a hand over the front of it, the buckles awkwardly fastening and bulging a little. He was accustomed to buttons and zippers, not fastening and buckles and belts. "You, uh..." Green eyes roamed over the vision of loveliness before him. "Medieval becomes you," he remarked, eyes admiring the cut of the fabric that flowed over her curves.

She moved toward him, reaching to still the smoothing hand he ran down his front. "This is the way Avalon is. They do not ask us to dress this way but for the ceremonial and ritual." She did not think to answer his compliment to her, knowing he would have said something flattering even if she were wearing shapeless chain mail and steel-toed boots. Her fingers entwined with his fondly as she looked up at him. "You will not be unarmed for long," she promised him, recognising the slight awkwardness that came with his lack of sword. "And we will deliver Joyeuse to its resting place later today." Her palm slid up, resting over his heart gently. "You look the part, as though you were always a knight of the Lady."

Rhys Bristol

Date: 2012-10-22 22:32 EST
He stilled beneath her hand, the tension in him palpable, doing his best to hide it beneath a facade of levity, even as the hour at hand grew closer. "Would you be surprised if I told you I kinda miss it?" Maybe it was the angel in him, but he had taken to the sword as easily as though he'd wielded one all his life, and though he couldn't explain why, it just felt right at his side, like it belonged there. "It beats the hell out of a robe and wings, I guess," he remarked, flippantly. He sighed, growing impatient to be over and done with it. "You look amazing." His mouth twitched in a faint smile. "Hell, you are amazing."

"That depends entirely on where your wings are," she teased him lightly, wrapping his hand between her own as she leaned close into him. They were almost a picture perfect pair from another century entirely, but for the little differences that marked them as seemingly out of time. For once, the approach of the Handmaidens was audible in the rustle of robes growing closer through the greenery that choked the little path. "You are the miracle of my life." Rising up onto her toes, Natalya kissed Rhys one last time, pouring her heart into that single gesture of love and trust and promise even as two ageless women stepped into view, gathered to lead them out of the Temple to the Abbey not so very far away.

He arched a brow at the compliment, opening his mouth to reply, though he wasn't quite sure how one replied to that, her lips effectively silencing him and calming the nervous tension, if only for a moment. He set a hand against her arm, fingers smoothing the fabric that complimented and enhanced her beauty. He lingered in that kiss, not because he was trying to put off what was awaiting them, but because he needed that moment to draw courage from her kiss, confident she'd always love him, no matter what. "Why do I feel like the sacrificial lamb?" he asked her quietly, as he broke from her lips, resting his forehead against hers in a final show of affection.

She lingered there with him, under the unintrusive gaze of the women who waited for them, her lips finding a soft, understated smile to reassure him. "Because you are about to be shorn of the guilt you have been carrying for so long," she suggested quietly, squeezing his hand between her own. "Come, my love. It is time." With a last breath ghosted lovingly over his lips, she drew back from him, reluctantly releasing her hands from his as the Handmaidens gestured for him to walk with them. Natalya would walk in their wake, not a part of the ritual and yet necessary to its completion.

He frowned a little as she drew away from him, reluctant to let her go, hands falling to his sides as she let go, knowing she would be there to witness, but would be unable to help him. This was something he was going to have to do on his own. "Nat..." he called, as she pulled away from him, needing to tell her once last thing, though he already knew her answer in his heart. "Don't let me go," he told her quietly, no time to explain what he meant, hoping she understood his meaning. She'd already lost him once, and he didn't want it to happen again.

She smiled for him as he gave her that instruction, the expression hiding the sharp spike of anxiety that took hold of her heart as she comprehended his own faltering confidence. Her fingers squeezed his lovingly for a moment before she stepped back, promising without words that she was never letting him go. The Handmaidens stepped to take her place, one in front of Rhys and one behind, to guide and guard their charge from this place to their destination in quiet reverence for what he was to undergo in the dawning.

He watched as Natalya stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers. Despite what the Lady had told him, Natalya had said that the Lady was rarely wrong, but rarely wasn't the same thing as never, and though of angelic origins, he was possessed of a human heart and soul, full of doubt and fear, despite the knowledge and conviction that he was doing the right thing, and following his own destiny. "I love you," he told her, uncaring if the Handmaidens were there to witness, unafraid of proclaiming his love for her in their presence. That said, he allowed the Handmaidens to at last lead him away to take him to meet his destiny once and for all.

((Humongously humongous thanks to Nat's Player for her continued awesomeness. I am loving this story. More to come soon!))