He let her slip away from him, an amused smile on his face. "I'll make sure you remember it," he teased, not quite noticing the knowing smile or misinterpreting it. He hadn't said a word regarding a sword, though he felt a little silly wearing an scabbard, almost naked without Joyeuse by his side, but he wasn't thinking on that now. He was thinking about which hunger he wanted to satisfy more - that of his stomach or his loins. But first things first. Food now, sex later. His smile fading a little at the mention of the Grand Master. "What's he like?" he asked, not having met the man yet, though it hadn't been hard to pick him out of the crowd.

Her fingers slid into his fondly, drawing him out of their secluded spot and toward the building that housed the Temple's kitchens. "He is stern, but kind," she ventured, though to be honest it was a struggle to describe the man who had shaped her life almost more than her father had. Nicholai Pimenov had given her skills; Lionel Cavendish had given her purpose. And now he had given her up to the service of the Lady, for whom he would have done anything if she only asked him. It was a strange feeling, to be caught in the midst of that unrequited, hopeless love. "He is a fair-minded man, dusha moya. And he will be able to answer some of your questions."

It wasn't usually like Rhys to beat around the bush, unless he was avoiding something, and he cut straight to the heart of the matter. "He's not happy about letting you go, is he?" he asked, as his fingers wrapped around hers and he followed along beside her to procure something to fill their empty stomachs. He had not forgotten that she was as much in need of sustenance as he was.

"I do not truly know," Natalya admitted with a small frown, hugging close to his arm as they walked along, looking less out of place than some of the others who passed through the ground around them in their medieval garb. "I think perhaps he was not expecting it. But the Templars are a small order, and each of us ....of them ....relies upon the others in some way. To lose one of our - their number is a blow that cannot be denied."

His frown deepened, realizing that in a way, he'd been the reason she'd left the Order, but then, hadn't the Lady predicted it years before" "You said something about the Lady knowing you'd be hers someday. What did you mean by that?" he asked, curious now that he'd rested and his mind was once again full of questions. He cast a passing glance at the others who passed by, wondering who they were, how they'd come to be here, what their stories were, though the only story he was really concerned with right now was hers. He noticed that some of the others were walking arm in arm, and he wondered if they looked out of place, walking hand in hand in their medieval garb.

Her hand squeezed his arm as she looked up to find him frowning, not wanting to dampen his spirits today of all days. It was a special day, after all. He had been admitted into a very elite group. "She told me that I had been given in trust to the Knights of the Temple, and that one day, she would call me to her service," she shrugged lightly. "She said I was hers from the moment I set foot in Avalon. I did not know whether to believe her or not, but it seems she was right. She is always right."

Their steps took them past a raised pool mounted in natural hewn granite, and whichever way you looked, the eye was caught by the flash of metal beneath the water. A sword, two-handed and sharp, the hilt inlaid with gold, the blade etched with the shape of a dragon. And around the edge of the pool, carved into the granite itself, stood the words, I am Excalibur. For Arthur was I forged, and to Arthur's hand I cleaved. Bedivere returned me to Avalon. Here I wait, for Arthur to claim me once more.

The frown wasn't due to sadness or worry, but more out of thoughtfulness as he tried to fit all the puzzle pieces together. "Did the Grand Master know that?" He assumed he must have if he was close to both Natalya and to the Lady. "I don't understand why he can't love her. Is he supposed to stay celibate or something?" The glint of metal caught his eye and he turned to glance at the pool and the unexpected sword that flashed beneath the water. He halted, distracted by the pool and the sword, and as he read the words carved into the granite, there was that look of wonder on his face again. "Excalibur" The Excalibur?" he asked in astonishment.

"He wants more from her than she can give him, and she will not allow him to hope for it," Nat tried to explain. "He could take a wife, make a life with another woman, but he refuses to do so. It is a painful situation for him, but one he holds to." She blinked in surprise as he drew up short, turning to find him staring at Excalibur's pool in wonder. Giving him the time be stare and be amazed, she finally offered him something of a reply. "Where else did you think it would be?" she asked with a smile. "Excalibur was a gift from the Lady of the Lake."

The Grand Master's problems with romance were temporarily forgotten as his attention shifted to that of the mythical sword that had always been touted as having belonged to King Arthur. All he knew about the sword was what he'd stumbled on in books or seen in movies, most of which he'd assumed was fictional and fantastical, and yet, the damned thing was right before his eyes, or so it seemed. But then, he'd just drank from the Holy Grail not more than a few hours ago, so why should Excalibur come as such a big surprise" She'd mentioned it was here, but he hadn't thought too much of it until now.

"I'm not dreaming this, am I?" he asked, wondering not for the first time if this was all some strange dream. "Why does it say it's waiting for Arthur to claim it once more?" he asked, as he let go of her hand to take a closer look at the sword's resting place.

Natalya blinked, surprised once again as she moved to stand beside him, looking down at the fabled sword of the High King of Britain. "Do you not know the legend, dusha moya?" she asked him, her voice quiet out of respect for the marvellous sword. "That Arthur did not die, but came to Avalon with the promise to return when Britain had need of him again? Only he can wield Excalibur."

"Are you saying Arthur is here?" he asked, arching both brows, that familiar look of amazement on his face again. No, he wasn't overly familiar with the legend of King Arthur, other than what he'd seen on TV. Sword in the Stone, Merlin, Lancelot and Guinevere, yada yada yada. Admittedly, most of his knowledge about King Arthur had been derived from the Monty Python version. As he gazed at the sword, he wondered what myths and legends would come to life in the place, but then he already know that most of mythology was based in fact. It was just a matter of sorting out fact from fantasy.

"I believe so, yes," Nat told him quietly, a little nonplussed by his amazement. "I have never seen him, of course. I do not believe many have. He is supposedly simply a spirit, a soul waiting to be reborn when the time is right. The Lady Guinevere is here, too, I have been told, though again, I have not met her." She smiled, shrugging lightly, touching her cheek to his shoulder as her stomach growled quietly. "I am sure the Lady or the Grand Master could answer these questions more clearly than I."

"So," Rhys mused aloud as he tried to wrap his head around what Nat was telling him. "Until the time is right - whenever that is - he's stuck roaming Avalon waiting to be reborn" He could be waiting a pretty long time." He contemplated that quietly a moment, not knowing very much about Arthurian legend and myth, until the growling of her stomach drew him back out of his thoughts. He cast a glance down at her as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. "Someone's hungry," he said with a gentle smile.

"Uh, Nat?" He tilted his head conspiratorially toward hers. "They're eating with their fingers," he remarked, as if she hadn't already noticed that on her own. There were finger foods and there were finger foods, and beef with gravy wasn't one of them. Still, at least it was meat. It could have been worse, like porridge. "The next time we come here, remind me to smuggle in a fork." He took the knife from her and somewhat awkwardly went about cutting up his beef into bitesize pieces, skewering one and toasting one of the handmaidens who had glanced their way before stuffing it into his mouth.

"Shush," Nat smiled, amused by his apparent distaste for the natural custom here. It had not occurred to her that he might not realise how relatively modern the invention of the fork was when compared with the era most of Avalon remained in. "That is the way they have always done it. I forgot to warn you." When it became clear that he wasn't surrendering the knife back to her, Natalya laughed again, turning her head to softly request her neighbor's knife. She cut her own meat quickly, and handed the knife back, using her fingers to fetch a mouthful to her lips.

He had full intentions of returning the knife to Nat, until she asked her neighbor for another. It wasn't really necessary after that, and he happily continued making use of the knife Henry the VIII style. He smiled amicably to his neighbors, wondering what the Handmaidens thought of him, wondering not for the first time if they were virgins. "So, what do you all do for entertainment here?" he asked, waving his beef-laden knife in the air, addressing Nat or whoever wanted to answer him, curious to see if he could get a few bashful giggles out of them. "Bonfires" Roasting marshmallows" Dancing naked under the full moon?"

If he had been expecting shyness and blushes, he was about to be surprised. The Handmaiden sat opposite him, a woman of considerable years in appearance despite her veil of agelessness, offered him what was possibly the most robust grin Natalya had ever seen. "Now why would we be dancing under the full moon when it's so much easier to just lift your skirts and lie back?" she asked with a hearty laugh. "There are plenty of men around here who'd dance for a chance to get between a Handmaiden's legs." Beside Rhys, Nat choked on her mouthful, swallowing her laughter in a gulp of water from her cup.

Rhys nearly choked on his slice of beef, eyes widened at her reply. She was apparently not as virtuous as he had assumed. He rolled his eyes at Nat and looked back at his meal, trying to look as innocent as possible. "A little too much information," he muttered, as he dunked his bread in his gravy.

His reaction set the Handmaidens nearest them to laughing uproariously. Evidently silence and reverence was not something they adhered to at mealtimes here at the Temple, and Rhys had rather walked straight into a trap of his own devising with his assumption that they were all sweet and virtuous. There were, of course, a few red faces, but none of the Lady's women was going to admit to the Champion that they were untried.

Nat nudged Rhys' elbow gently, flashing her grin in his direction as he appeared to backpedal quickly. "I did warn you, dusha moya, that chastity is not a vow taken in Avalon any longer," she reminded him with a smile.

"That makes me feel so much better," he remarked, eyeing the snickering women with a small frown of wounded pride. "Sorry to disappoint you, ladies, but I won't be dancing my way into any of your skirts. I'm already spoken for." He flashed a slightly smug smile as if to make up for his faux pas and turned his attention back to his meal, skewering another hunk of meat and ushering it to his lips.

Amidst a chorus of teasingly disappointed groans, Natalya decided to join in with this playful banter, relaxing a little more into the sense of companionship that prevailed at the table as they ate. "Yes, if you want him, you will have to make an appointment through me," she informed the women sat around them, and almost laughed aloud when at least three of them seemed to take this suggestion very seriously indeed.

He lifted a brow at the interest Natalya's suggestion seemed to have generated. "Uh..." he broke in, somewhat speechless, his teasing having backfired on him. "I don't think the Lady would approve of her Champion personally servicing her Handmaidens." He looked to Natalya with a look that said, "Help me," though he'd gotten himself into this one all on his own. Despite his devotion to Nat and his apparent discomfort at the prospect of becoming the Handmaidens' Gigolo, the attention secretly gave his male ego a boost

Though she knew she should have let him stew a little longer in his own mess, Nat's natural possessiveness over her lover remaining hers alone came into play when he shot her that look. "Yes," she said with a suggestive smile in his direction. "He is going to be far too busy servicing his wife to be able to pass himself around the Temple." It was the first indication she'd given of the yes he had yet to ask her directly for in the wake of the blessing having been given, joined with a gentle pat of her hand over his.

The disappointment around the table was palpable, but the Handmaiden who had spoken before chuckled. "She'll be a lucky woman, that one."

Suddenly, Rhys had eyes for no one but Natalya. They might as well have been sitting alone for all the notice he gave the Handmaidens. He set the knife on the table and turned his attention to her, brows lifting in unison as he realized something. "We don't have to ask the Grand Master," he murmured quietly, wondering if he should ask her again, right here, right now, with the Lady's Handmaidens to witness her reply.

Her eyes turned slowly to meet his when she realised he was looking at her once again, the rest of the table forgotten the moment their gazes locked. She suddenly felt very young under his gaze; young, and yet old, feeling the full weight of his love for her and hoping he could see her own for him reflected in the dark eyes that looked tenderly on his. "No, we don't," she agreed in a low murmur of her own. "You have the Lady's blessing."

His heart swelled with joy and relief at this realization and all of a sudden, he was bending down on one knee in front of all those gathered there, and reaching for her hand. He had already asked her once and he had the Lady's blessing. He had pledged his heart and soul and life to her in the chapel, but that wasn't enough.

For her part, Nat was startled to find Rhys no longer looking down at her, but up, her body twisted about on the trestle bench to face him where he knelt. Her hand curled into his as she felt her lips curve into a smile, knowing what was coming and yet strangely nervous of the moment as well. Last time, she had not been able to give him an answer; this time, she had no choice but to give him the answer they both sought.

"Natalya Pimenova," he started, as he held onto her hand, meeting her gaze with eyes clear and bright. "Lady of my heart....Would you do me the honor of being my wife and make me the happiest man in all of....In all of creation?" He already knew what her answer would be, what it had to be, but somehow he needed to make it official here and now for all to see.

"Dylan ..." She said the name with soft reverence, warm and respectful of the memory of the man who had raised the partner of her own soul. Her lips curved a little as a thought occurred to her. "I wonder if Dylan and Vadim ever knew of each other." She drew her breath in suddenly, realising there was a detail she had not given him in all the excitement. "Vadim is a lay brother of Avalon, we should ask that Adam be allowed to hold the secret. I do not like the thought of holding that secret within our triad."

If there was a look of confusion on Rhys' face before, it was even more apparent now. He looked at her sharply, like she'd just said something to him in a foreign tongue. "How would they know of each other?" Rhys asked curiously. As far as he knew, Dylan had nothing to do with Avalon, and Vadim was from another country. If they had ever crossed paths, Rhys knew nothing of it.

She shrugged, the sharp intelligence that her father had trained so well turning itself onto the consideration of the mysterious Dylan and his role in Rhys' life. "Do you not find it strange that he knew exactly when and where to enter your life, how to train you, what to teach you?" she asked curiously. "Perhaps he had some connection to Avalon himself. Perhaps not. It is just a thought, my love." Her hand covered his, noting how little enthusiasm was going into finishing his meal. "We cannot put this meeting off indefinitely."

He furrowed his brows in further thought. He'd never thought about it too much, assuming Dylan had read about him in the papers and put two and two together. "I don't know," he admitted thoughtfully. "Are you saying he was a Knight' If he was, he never mentioned it to me." Then again, Dylan had been killed before Rhys had reached adulthood and, devastated by Dylan's death, he'd left home and never really dug very deeply into his foster father's life. "What did you mean about Adam?" he asked, plucking up his gravy-soaked bread and taking a half-hearted bite at the hint that he might be procrastinating.

"I do not know if he was a Knight, I did not know of the man until you told me of him," she said gently, taking a sip from her water cup as she smiled, watching him attempt to prove that he wasn't stalling in quiet amusement. "As to Adam ....I do not like the thought of having to lie to him, of not being able to tell him the full truth of Avalon. I think we should ask the Lady for permission to make him a lay brother of the Isle, so he may know of its existence." Her hands closed over his, stilling the half-hearted movement as she looked into his eyes solemnly. "So you will not have to lie to your brother, as I had to lie to you."

He paused, his bread-laden hand hovering over the beef and gravy mixture, as hers covered his, and he turned to meet her gaze, mirroring her seriousness. "I can't lie to him," he told her simply. "He can read me like a book. He'd know I was lying." He hadn't thought far enough to consider what they were going to tell Adam yet. He'd just assumed they would tell him the truth.

"Then there is a need to ask for that permission, isn't there?" Nat pointed out gently. She didn't like to point out that she, herself, had lied to him when he had first asked her what she would do with Joyeuse, but her oath to Avalon came before everything else. Now he had to realise that his oath held the same place. She curled a hand to his cheek, leaning close to touch her lips to the corner of his mouth. "The Master is waiting, Rhys. Either finish your meal or don't, but we cannot keep him waiting any longer. It is rude."

He frowned, not caring that she'd lied to him, but knowing there was no way he could lie to Adam. They were brothers in every since but one, and whether he told him or not, he was going to find out one way or another. They'd known each other since they were boys, and there was no one he trusted more. "If the Lady knows me they way she seems to, then she'll give me permission," he told her, dropping the bread in the gravy. He wasn't really feeling that hungry anymore and knew he couldn't put off meeting the Master any longer. "Yes, Mother," he replied, feeling a little bit like a child being scolded.

"He won't hurt you," Nat promised him with a smile, touching a second kiss to his lips as she squeezed his hand. "And I'm not a mother yet." Sparkling brown eyes met his even as she drew back to twist about, lifting her skirts to bare her legs above the knee for the freedom to rise from the bench with some kind of dignity.

"How do you know" You might be," he remarked, as he climbed off the bench. Her kiss soothed him a little, but did little to untangle the nervous knot in his stomach at the prospect of meeting the Grand Master of the Knights Templar. Just the man's title made Rhys nervous, whether he was the Lady's Champion or not.

"Do you want me to be already?" she asked him, linking her fingers through his as she moved to draw him toward the open doors in the wall that encircled the Temple, the gateway that led into the town beyond. "Without first taking your name and making a home with you somewhere?" She lifted his hand to her lips as they walked along, somehow lighter now than she had been before, unafraid of the meeting to come with a man whom she admitted intimidated her a little.

He let her lead him by the hand toward their destination, wherever that was, quietly considering her question before answering. Though he wanted to do things in the right order, he wasn't sure if it really mattered. "I thought we were going to make Glastonbury our home," he mused aloud. It was the house he'd seen in dream, though that meant very little. "I don't..." He got that worried look on his face again. "I have an apartment back home, but....it's not big enough for a family." There was Dylan's house in Pennsylvania, but no one had lived there in years.

Natalya cast gentle eyes up at him as she led him this time away from the Abbey and toward another imposing edifice, a building reminiscent of the great medieval universities of Europe with gothic spires and busily crowded courtyards. "There is no rule to say we must make a single home in a single country," she told him softly. "You have too many ties in America to ever truly wish your home to be away from there, and I would never ask that of you. I would like to keep a home in Glastonbury, but I would also like to keep one on your home ground." She made no mention of Russia, though she knew she would have to broach the subject of her land and property there eventually. But Rhys had such difficulty accepting that the money really did mean nothing ....she did not want him to start feeling unworthy all over again.

The thought of a home - a real home - was a bit overwhelming, just as all the other sudden changes in his life. "I don't have any ties in America," he argued. "Just Adam." There was Gina, but he hadn't seen her in ages, and it was just as well. He only seemed to cause her pain and worry. "There's not much left for me back home." Except maybe trouble. There was always plenty of that, it seemed. But these were things that didn't have to be decided today, and he didn't want to cast a shadow on her happiness. He wished, not for the first time, that he could give her a proper wedding. She deserved so much more than he could offer.

A higher rank" Rhys arched a brow. He still wasn't sure what all this Champion and Priestess stuff meant. Okay, so they were destined to be responsible for the line from which the Lady's successor would be derived, but what else? He still wasn't quite sure what it all meant, and it was a lot to wrap his head around all at once. He dropped his hand as Nat moved forward, watching from behind her as the man gently reproved her. If he wasn't a father figure to her, Rhys didn't know what was. Rhys blinked as the man stepped toward him and he was suddenly face to face with the Grand Master himself.

"Whatever that title means," Rhys replied, unsure how to address the man, despite Natalya's suggestion. He offered a hand, unsure also of the proper protocol of the place. Should he shake the man's hand" Offer a bow" Drop to one knee" He wasn't quite sure. He sensed that the man was deserving of respect, but he wasn't in awe of him so much as he had been of the Lady.

The hand that clasped his was strong, despite the man's advanced years, callused with a lifetime of swordplay. "It is a pleasure to meet the man who managed to tame this one, even if you did give the Lady her excuse to take Natalya out of my ranks," Sir Lionel nodded to Rhys in a friendly manner, but he held himself a little aloof, as anyone might expect. After all, he had his own personal reasons for not truly wanting to have this particular man in Avalon, though he would abide by the Lady's choice to his dying day.

At Rhys' comment on the title he now held, the Grand Master frowned, glancing between Natalya and her fiance. "You do not know?" he asked, with no little surprise. "She did not tell you how astounding her acceptance of you both as her own truly is" How remarkable." He chuckled, unwinding Nat's arm from his and placing her hand into Rhys', turning away from them as he shook his head, apparently pleased with this bit of information.

Returned to Rhys' side, Natalya looked up at him in vague confusion, shrugging before he got the chance to ask what was going on. She had about as much an idea as he did. As the Grand Master moved away, she moved to follow, drawing Rhys with her to join the older man as he sat himself down in one of three deep, cushioned seats beneath the great stained windows.

Rhys clasped the elder Knight's hand in return, subtly measuring each other's strength by the grasp of the other's hand, firm or weak, calloused or soft, brief or lingering. Quick to come to the Lady's defense, though it was most likely unnecessary, Rhys replied, "To be fair, she probably told me all she thought I could handle at the time." It was no secret that he'd been in a slight state of shock since they'd arrived. "It's a lot to absorb," he continued, adding an almost absent-minded but well-intentioned, "Sir." He shrugged back at Natalya, as confused as she was, and followed the two of them toward the seats beneath the stained glass windows, which oddly reminded Rhys of thrones.

"Our Lady knows all and shares little," the Grand Master said, his voice warm and filled with something close to awe and reverence as he spoke of her, betraying the love Nat had warned Rhys not to mention. "Please, sit down," he added, gesturing to the other seats near him. "Of course, it is up to you whom you choose to explain these things to you. Natalya, my dear, would you set these back in their rightful places?" He raised the two books he had been holding toward her.

Nat paused for a moment, considering saying no, but years of obedience were a tough habit to kick. She looked to Rhys with a gently reassuring smile, and took the books from Sir Lionel's hands. "Of course, sir," she nodded in agreement, and stepped away, giving the men the privacy that had been so subtly requested.

Rhys looked over at Nat, realizing what Sir Lionel was doing. He wanted a moment or a few moments along with Rhys, for whatever reason, and was giving Nat busy work so the two men could converse alone, but why, he wasn't sure. Nat was as much a part of all this as he was, and he had to know that whatever he had to say to Rhys was going to be passed along to Nat eventually. Out of deference, Rhys said nothing, instead offering Nat a nod and a reassuring smile to let her know he'd be fine and he would be careful to show proper respect for the man.

He waited until Nat stepped away before taking one of the two empty seats and turning his attention to the Master. "She has great respect for you, you know," he said quietly when Nat was out of sight, and hopefully, out of hearing range.

Sir Lionel, too, watched until Nat was out of earshot, turning his leonine head toward Rhys as the younger man sat and spoke. His expression, though oddly formidable, softened just a touch at this offering. "I have been hard on her," he answered, keeping to the quiet tone Rhys had set for them. "I have had to be. She knows no other way for a father to be, and I am a father to my knights, Champion. Tell me ....how do you find her" Say nothing of love, it is clear where your heart lies. But of her ....Is she light at heart, or does she still carry darkness?"

"Rhys," he corrected, preferring to be called by name rather than by title, unaccustomed to titles, though he would not call the Master by name until and unless he was given permission to do so. Rhys thought on the man's question a moment, frowning as he considered a reply, needing to be honest with the Grand Master and himself. "We both carry some darkness inside us, I think, but without some darkness, how would we know light?" It wasn't really an answer, and yet, it was.

"Rhys." The older man nodded heavily, accepting the honor of being allowed to use the name of a man who outranked him. "Then call me Lionel, at least in private." He leaned onto one arm of his chair, toward Rhys and away from Natalya, who was taking her time identifying where the books she held were supposed to be. "Is there anything you have a need to ask of me, Rhys, that you cannot or will not ask of your soul's mate?"

Rhys blinked again in undisguised surprise at the man's question. He had expected an explanation or maybe even a lecture, not the man offering to answer any questions he might have about Natalya and it took him off-guard. "I'm not sure what you mean. Questions about her?" he asked, purposely keeping to the low tone so that she wouldn't overhear them. Rhys turned his head to watch as Natalya set about returning the tomes to their proper places, taking longer than was necessary, more than likely. "She's been through a lot. I know that. Her only family is Vadim and the Knights."

"Vadim is not her family," the Grand Master told him quietly. "He was set to watch over her when she first became a Knight, to keep her from divulging our secret, and guide her in concealing her dual allegiance from her father." He drew in a slow breath, turning his face to look at Rhys once again. "As for the Knights, we are friends, comrades. But she has never fully trusted us. She learned as a child to keep herself cold, to never allow herself any attachments. And yet you have thawed that cold heart. That makes you a very remarkable man."

Rhys shook his head, knitting his brows defensively, but it wasn't himself he was feeling defensive about. It was Nat. "She's not..." he started, jumping to Nat's defense, but trailing off as Sir Lionel remarked on the changes in Nat, because of him. "I love her," he stated simply, as if that explained everything. How could he possibly explain the connection he felt to Nat or how it had come to pass when he hardly understood it himself" Instead, he decided to explain a little bit about himself and perhaps in explaining himself, it would explain how he'd reached Nat. "I tried that. It doesn't work. It just makes things harder. Everyone needs someone. Maybe we needed each other."

From the look of shock and amazement on both their faces, the answer to the Master's question was obvious, and yet, Rhys chose to reply. "No," he replied, looking to Nat as if to ask her wordlessly if she'd known any of this already. "Arthur was the first," he mused quietly in astonishment. "And I'm the second?" Not for the first time, he wondered why him' What was so damned special about him' Other than the obvious anyway. He wasn't about to tell Lionel that he was an incarnated angel. It sounded like a ridiculous claim and he wasn't sure he'd even believe him.

"No one has held those positions since Morgaine died, many many centuries ago," Sir Lionel told them both, uncertain whether to be concerned or amused by the shock on their faces. "You both must have some deep importance to the Lady for her to make you her own with such high offices. You outrank everyone on the Isle but the Lady herself."

Utterly gobsmacked, Natalya found herself slumping back against Rhys' leg, staring into space. "But ....why would she do this?" she asked in astonishment. "Why us" And why did she not make me Priestess when I first arrived?" Her eyes met Rhys', as lost in the sudden shock of information as he was.

The Grand Master shrugged his heavy shoulders, shaking his head. "I cannot answer those questions," he admitted reluctantly. "All I can tell you is what I know ....that you now hold the places held by Arthur and Morgaine when Avalon was young, and that you both must have some great importance to the Lady for her to have given you those positions." He sighed softly. "I only hope she thought to warn Sister Agnes Marie before this morning's ceremony."

Rhys shared some of what Natalya was feeling, though he was perhaps somewhat more used to receiving shocking, unbelievable, unlikely revelations, having been told a few years ago that he was, in truth, possessed of an angel's soul and not that of a human's, along with all that implied. Since then, he had witnessed more than his share of unbelieveable events, and in some ways, this was just one more in a long list of incredible occurrences in his life. Distracted momentarily by these thoughts, aware of Nat's own reaction to all this, he looked back to the Grand Master as he tried to wrap his head around it all. "Who is Sister Agnes Marie?" Rhys asked, unsure who that was or what she had to do with them.

Sir Lionel groaned at their lack of knowledge, wishing it didn't have to be him to pass on all this shocking information. "Before she took holy orders, she was Guinevere," he told them as gently as possible. "She is the nun who entered the Lady Chapel after the ceremony this morning was completed. She spends most days in contemplation of the Grail."

Nat made a small strangled noise. "But ..." She looked up at Rhys, unable to quite find the words to make sense of her sudden force of disbelief. She had swallowed everything else she had been told, but to be informed that the elderly nun they had seen only a few hours earlier was Guinevere was pushing it a little far, even for her.

Even Rhys had trouble digesting and accepting this bit of information, and though he sensed Nat's eyes on him, the Grand Master had his full attention. "How can that be possible if Guinevere lived over a thousand years ago?" he asked, quizzically, perhaps more inclined to believe the Master's claim than Nat, but still needing further explanation.

The Grand Master held his gaze for a long moment, solemn and sincere despite the fantastical element of their discussion. "Avalon is a place of great power," he said carefully. "A place where an oath sworn will hold, no matter the cost. When Guinevere took holy orders, she swore that she would never rest until she found forgiveness for her betrayal of Arthur with one of his own knights. The Grail could give her that forgiveness, but she has never asked to drink from it, and so long as her life endures, we know she has not forgiven herself." He shook his head sadly, deeply compassionate for the lady he spoke of. "She endures where Arthur and Morgaine and Camelot failed. I cannot imagine how each day must torment her."

Rhys fell silent as the Grand Master explained Guinevere's situation, as ridiculous as it probably sounded to those unfamiliar with the supernatural side of reality. He, like Natalya and Sir Lionel, had sought forgiveness from the Grail, but he knew in his heart that it wasn't so much the Grail that had granted absolution as it was himself. She would never find peace until she found the courage and determination to forgive herself. "There must be some way to help her," he mused aloud, more to himself than the other two.

Sir Lionel looked at him from beneath his stern brows. "Perhaps there is, for the Champion of Avalon," he said quietly. There was a pause, and he drew himself once more up onto his feet, reaching down to take Nat's hands and pull her upright with him. "Come, children. These are matters best left to the Lady, and we have business of our own." He looked down at Nat enquiringly. "Is Joyeuse with you, girl?"

Natalya shook her head a moment, stepping back from her former master. Guinevere's plight, while terrible, was not of immediate concern, after all. She held out her hand, her palm turned upward, and all her attention seemed to focus in upon her hand. In a muted flare of light, the broken hilt of Charlemagne's sword appeared, her fingers wrapping tight about it before it could fall. Her eyes lifted to Rhys, hands moving to set the hilt in his grasp. "It is your burden until it finds rest."

Rhys followed Nat to his feet, slightly distracted and troubled by his thoughts of Guinevere, cursed for centuries to bear the burden of guilt for a sin long forgotten by mortal men. He wondered what would happen to her if she was forgiven. Would she die a peaceful death at last' Would she join Arthur in the afterlife until he was called upon to draw Excalibur again? He looked to Lionel, arching a brow at his remark, but pushing it aside for now as yet another in a long list of questions for the Lady. For now, it was time to put Joyeuse to rest. He watched while Natalya called up the sword, summoning it to her hand. Though he had been given the sword, she had been the last to wield it.

He looked to Nat as she handed him what was left of the sword, setting the hilt in his hand, the blade broken. "It can't be remade?" he asked, as he closed his hand about the hilt. It felt good in his hand, familiar, like it belonged there, and he knew he would miss it.

She glanced briefly to the Grand Master, as though for assurance that she did, in fact, know the answer to Rhys' question. "No," she said softly, folding her hands about his. "Joyeuse has served its purpose, and the Spear within deserves to rest, no more to be wielded by mortal hand. Let it lie with Durendal, as Roland and Charlemagne lie side by side. It is time." She smiled gently, rising up onto her toes to kiss his cheek, covering a soft whisper with the tender caress. "Durendal was forged with the nails from the cross," she murmured to him as the Grand Master moved away, turning to lead Champion and Priestess down into the heart of the great library. "And it is as broken as Joyeuse. Some things are too powerful to tempt Fate by reforging them, Rhys."

Though Rhys would never openly admit it, he felt a swell of pride at the Grand Master's words of approval. His own father long since gone, and Dylan and David no longer living, there had been no mentor or father figure to replace them for a very long time. Rhys lowered the hilt of Joyeuse to the space beside Durendal as carefully and delicately as he would the most fragile of objects. Slowly and gently, he laid the hilt to rest, almost lovingly his hands caressed the familiar blade for what he knew would be the last time. "Rest well, my friend. You have served me well."

The sword hilt took up its sister's note in farewell to the hand that had wielded it, in recognition of the long rest that had been promised in the ages before it ever knew its true purpose. Beneath the cool metal, lines formed upon the stone, etching the name of Joyeuse beside that of Durendal, as Master and Priestess allowed the protection of the sigils to renew their circle and seal within for all time the power of the swords of legend. The song of the swords faded away until all that was left was the sound of three bodies, breathing in the cool quiet of the Templars' treasury.

Sir Lionel clapped a sturdy hand to Rhys' shoulder. "Very well done, lad," he approved heartily. "I can see you're going to fit in around here."

Oddly, Rhys found his throat tightening as he laid the sword to rest and he fought to contain his emotions, reminding himself that it was only a sword and that soon enough he'd be given one of his own, but the sword's song touched his heart, like a lover bidding him a final farewell. "Was it really made from the spear that pierced Christ?" he asked, his voice quiet, not trusting himself to speak any louder than a whisper, his hands slowly returning to his sides, feeling strangely empty without the sword.

"Who can truly say?" Lionel said philosophically. "Millions believe it is so, and belief has a power of its own. No one knows for certain, and no one ever will. It is all a question of faith." He squeezed Rhys' shoulder gently, stepping back from the younger man. Natalya moved back with him, pausing to exchange quiet words with her old mentor, the hint toward hostility forgotten in the act of duty they had shared.

Faith. There it was again. The belief in something that can never be proven. Rhys stood silent and reverent before the twin hilts, wondering how much of the legends and lore was true. Relieved that Nat and Lionel were conversing quietly, giving him a moment to bid the sword a silent farewell. He had died wielding that sword, and it seemed fitting he be the one to lay her to rest. He brushed some errant wetness from his cheek, hoping neither Nat nor the Grand Master had noticed, and drew a slow breath. It was really and truly over. Abaddon was dead. The Gates of Hell were closed. It was time to move on, to bid the past farewell and look to the future, but Rhys knew it wasn't as simple as all that. To forget the past was to repeat it. What he needed to do was learn from it, but never forget.

Behind him, the Grand Master took his leave with a gentle touch of his callused hand to Natalya's cheek, a shared smile between them hinting at the deeper sense of communion that Avalon had given those two very disparate souls. As his foosteps faded away, rising back into the library above, she turned back to Rhys, folding her hands together at her waist, content to wait in silence until he was ready to return from his thoughts.

Rhys found that he was suddenly feeling weary, the events of the past days taking their toll, and where a short while ago he'd felt full of boyish exuberance, now all he wanted to do was spend a few quiet hours alone with Natalya and give himself some time to absorb everything that had happened. He heard the footsteps of the Grand Master as he departed, leaving Nat and Rhys alone to contemplate what had happened and what to do next. "Would you be angry if I said I wanted to take a raincheck on exploring?" he asked, feeling as though he needed a little time to absorb what had happened before he overloaded his brain with more information.

Though he couldn't see it, her smile was warm with understanding, knowing a little of how overwhelming he must be finding everything. For herself, she had discovered Avalon and her role here in pieces, and this last shock was isolated for her. For Rhys, everything had come at once, and she could not imagine how much it must have set his mind to whirling. "Why would I be angry, dusha moya?" she asked him softly, stepping close once again to enfold his palm between hers. "The Treasury is always open to you."

"The Treasury," he repeated, somewhat in awe. "It's pretty amazing, isn't it' I keep thinking I must be dreaming, and I'm going to wake up and find out none of this is real." He turned to face her, forcing himself to look away from the sword, to force it from his mind. "Silly to get attached to a sword, isn't it?" he asked with a faint smile, rubbing a thumb across the back of her hand. "Think the Lady will be angry if we wait until tomorrow to see her again? I feel like my brain is going to explode."

"You will have another sword," she promised him, "one that is your own, that will come to your hand when you call it." Her eyes lowered to watch as his thumb smoothed over her knuckles, warmed through just by that one gentle touch. Her head tipped back to answer his question. "She said when you were ready. I do not think she will mind waiting a day for that to happen."

"I know," he replied with a soft smile regarding the sword. "It's just sort of like saying goodbye to an old friend." He brushed his fingers against her cheek. "Selfish as it sounds, I'd kind of like to spend a few quiet hours alone with you, if you don't mind." He paused, before continuing, realizing that their time was not completely their own anymore. "Unless you have other plans." He wasn't sure what the Lady had in mind for them just yet, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be long before they found out.

Her cheek turned to the caress of his fingers, smoothing into his smile in the glistening darkness of the Treasury. "I have no other plans," she murmured. "And we are easy to find, if we are needed." Untangling her hand from his, she stepped into him, looping her arms about his waist as her head found rest against his shoulder, tucked into the crook of his neck. "I confess I, too, wish for nothing but peace and you for the day remaining to us."

He folded her protectively in his embrace, his arms slipping around her shoulders and back as she moved into him and rested her head trustingly against his shoulder. His heart beat steadily in his chest, and he sighed contently, tilting his head to bury his face in her hair and breathe her in, the scent of her filling him with longing. "Sir Lionel asked how I tamed you, but the truth is that you've tamed me," he admitted quietly.

She laughed quietly at the thought of herself being tamed, knowing herself to have been tamer than any before she had met Rhys, if not tamed to the hand of the Grand Master. "I do not want you tame," she murmured to him through her smile. "I want you wild, the way you have made me wild. I will still snap at any hand that is not yours and seeks to order me to a place that is not by your side." She tipped her head back to look up at him. "He did not mean to cause you anger," she told him quietly. "He likes you."

He shrugged his shoulders lightly as he met her gaze. Whatever had been said between himself and the Grand Master was forgiven and forgotten. "I was getting a little defensive, I guess. I understand how he feels. I know he's upset about losing you, and he probably wonders why the Lady chose me. Hell, I don't even know why she chose me. He said there will be some who resent it. It's not like I asked for this. I didn't expect it any more than anyone else."

"The Lady's choices are the Lady's business and no one else's," Nat said softly, her hand creeping from his back to curl tenderly at the line of his jaw. "I am as lost with her honors as you, my love, but we cannot ask anyone but her the reasons why she has done this to us." Her thumb swept over the curve of his cheekbone as a rather impish little smile touched her eyes. "And we will set a precedent of our own ....Champion and Priestess wed to one another."

"Who knows how many years it will be until the next Champion and Priestess?" he asked, leaning close to press a kiss against her cheek. "Shall we retire to our quarters, my lady?" he asked, with an equally impish smile, looking forward to a few hours of quiet and solitude in her companionship.

Her smile blossomed into life, parting her lips in a wide expression of laughing tenderness as her lips sought and failed to find his before he drew back. "As my lord commands," was her mischievous answer, her body half-turning to draw him back toward the steps, still tucked close into his side.

Oh, he'd make sure those lips received plenty of kisses once they were out of sight. In fact, he intended to keep her lips plenty busy in the hours to come. He turned with her, one arm kept wrapped around her to hold her snugly against him as they wound their way back up the stairs to find solace and solitude in each other's arms away from the prying and curious eyes of those who called Avalon home.

((Another long'un, and the day's barely over yet! Who knows what?s coming next' :grin: You guessed it ....spekki-flubulous awesomemagniflory thankies to Rhys' player!))