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Avalon reappeared in the tower-room that she'd left, gazing out over the gray water as it surged forward. The bed still seemed untouched, and a fine mist from the rain blew across her face. She'd checked the weather for the East Coast before leaving, but clearly she'd been wrong in her assumption that her wonder wasn't that far off the coast of New Jersey. Sunny in Lavalette, pouring cats, dogs, and probably snakes in Avalon. Still--she inhaled--it smelled much as it had before, with the ozone and sea-salt and a crisp, earthy smell. For someone who loved technology so much and depended upon it, her love of this place, of that scent on the wind, was a little unsettling. She felt like she should miss her cell phone and her laptop and all the little gadgets that made her life worthwhile, but standing at the window in her little room she really didn't.

Maybe that was something that would come with time. Maybe it wasn't. The brunette ran her hands over her hair and left the little room, proceeded down the slate pavers like she had all the time in the world. Maybe she did; after all, she didn't have the tournament to worry about anymore, didn't have class or work until the next morning. Only other Knights would be able to contact her. The realization brought a smile to her face, and she hurried down into the nave of the little chapel that made up the only housing on Avalon.

"You're back," said Nimue, turning away from a door she appeared to have been about to step through. The woman seemed as intangible as ever, which was a little sad to her descendant; she thought, almost giddily, that she might have liked to hold her ancestor's hand and feel the strength of that grip. It wasn't possible, of course.

Avalon nodded, and she said, "Let's go outside--I want to hear the waves." Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel to pass through a high arch, clattering down the hallway beyond until they emerged into a covered courtyard.

Nimue had followed without complaint, the high silvered notes of her laugh more like the pealing of a bell than anything. "You would've made a good Neptune Knight," she said. "I think it's a close thing for all of us, the choice between Earth and Neptune." Except Avalon hadn't had a choice, but she didn't see the point in picking nits, not with a supernatural ghost grandmother. She stopped at a low-slung wall and settled herself on it, hooking auburn hair back out of her face. Beside her, Nimue settled in a passable facsimile of sitting on the wall--except for the gap of an inch between her and the wall. "I knew a Neptune Knight. Euphrates Knight, his name was Vittorio dal Cielo, sometimes--"

"I found your note," interrupted Avalon, crossing her long legs under her. That misty look in Nimue's eyes could not have boded well. She didn't need to know the details of her relations with other Knights. "What do you mean, ascend to a higher plane? Like, dying and running off to Heaven?"

Her dark-haired ancestor shook her head quickly. "No, not really," she said. "Although some people do think of Avalon as a sort-of heaven. Have you never heard of the Good King?" Taking Avalon's puzzled look as a no, Nimue sighed. "The son of Uther Pendragon, who pulled the sword Clarent from the Stone and by doing so proved his--"

"Oh. King Arthur."

"--Right! Well… He's here. Or, he was here--I suppose the enchantments faded, after everything happened." Nimue scratched the side of her face, looked off towards the foaming sea. "So he would be dead now."

Avalon remained silent for a long moment, and then in a low voice, she sang to herself, "Arthur my king lay dying, his golden crown was broken." Nimue joined her for the rest of the poem--it was a lullaby that had been passed down for generations on her father's side.



In silence, then, as the last echo of Avalon faded away, the page waited for an explanation. Nimue looked pleased--pleased and a little frazzled. "Yes. This place, the original charms, all were cast by Merlin--he had some kind of mysterious affliction, you see, and passed by while he was very old, but he became young again and--Oh, excuse me, my lady," that was in response to Avalon clearing her throat and giving her ancestor a look that quite clearly said get on with it. "I mean to say, no one can find this place without being guided by Avalon Knight. Or Squire, or Page, but preferably the Page should be in training and always accompanied by a Knight. Once or twice we've--fine, fine!"

Avalon shifted in place, the rocks digging into the back of her thighs. "You're beating around the bush," she said. "Get to the point, Nimue."

The dark-haired ancestor looked more than a little chagrined as she scrubbed her palms along the tops of her thighs, a tic that Tate shared. "A knight of Avalon must learn patience, and true honor. A knight of Avalon must learn when to hold on and when to let go. There are some who cannot be saved, and some who must be saved, and a knight of Avalon must know who falls into which category. Else, every spell will fail. I know it seems odd to you, to hear that part of knighthood is letting go. But I know, too, that you'll learn this lesson much better than I will."

"How," asked Avalon, leaning in towards her ancestor. It didn't make sense for someone from generations back to declare that their descendant would do better than they. Avalon certainly never would have, ever; acknowledging someone could be better than her bothered her, niggled at her until she worked hard enough to surmount their supremacy in whatever they'd claimed to be better than her in.

A small smile from Nimue, and then: "Call it grandmotherly intuition. Avalon Page, you came here to learn how to become a Squire. Whether you knew it or not, that's what you did. So... come with me. I'll show you."

The ghost floated through the wall, towards the free air and the rain. Avalon didn't see how she had any choice but to follow her grandmother out of the chapter house and down a set of stairs cut into the side of the cliff. The waves, many stories below her, seemed immensely powerful and unimaginably small at the same time. More than once, Nimue had to call back over her shoulder to regain Avalon's attention. "What's gotten into you," asked the dark-haired knight as they entered the treeline; from the trees swooped the barn owl that Avalon had met last time, and he perched on her shoulder in a way that the auburn-haired young woman couldn't describe as comforting.

"It's wet," she grumped, scrubbing her hands down over her shirt and trying to wring out the bottom of her cotton tunic. "Maybe ghosts don't have to deal with the weather but I do."

Nimue made a face that might have been an apology, and they--Avalon--crunched through the leaves in silence, until they reached an empty circle of grass. "Okay," she said, looking about. She'd been here before, this was where she'd first met Nimue, and now... there was a hole there. "There's a hole here, and it wasn't there before," she pointed out to Nimue.

"That's how I knew you'd be coming," was the mysterious answer. "You need to plant your apple, and then when you go home, find Camelot Knight and ask him for his ancestral duty to us."

This netted her a puzzled look as Avalon Page dug through the dirt.

The ancestor heaved a heavy sigh and knelt down next to her descendant, holding out a hand for the apple. Both of them were surprised when her solid-looking hand refused to hold the fruit; Avalon picked it up, almost protectively, and tucked it into her sleeve. "Once you plant this, your access to the transformation magic will be gone," said Nimue, pointing to the sleeve that the apple had disappeared into.

"Then my answer is simple, I just won't plant it." Duh, seemed to be the overriding sentiment there; she made a face at the thought of losing her ability to transform. "Why would I do that, anyway?"

Nimue sat back on her heels. "Because that's how you become Avalon Squire," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You plant your apple and you train. I daresay it will go much faster for you than it did for anyone else, since things have changed--it used to be that it would take years." She made a face, as if recalling her own days as a Page. "Camelot Knight will lead you home, of course. That's how it's gone for centuries. Camelot was home to many heroes... over time, most of them walked this way to Avalon. So many, a path remained behind."

For a long moment, Avalon considered it. She pulled out the red apple, and held it out under the rain. "And me planting this apple will definitely make me more powerful?"

Her ancestor's response was a quiet nod and a certain one; Avalon had never seen Nimue look more settled in her path than that moment. The auburn-haired girl looked down to her weapon, feeling very unhappy with the idea of letting it go. Sure, compared to others' weapons--knives and chains and compasses--her apple didn't provide her with much help. But it was a gateway to this form, where she could compete on the same level. She couldn't give it up so easily, not when she'd finally tasted what it was like to have parity with the others at last. The words Nimue had spoken earlier rang back in her head: "A knight of Avalon must learn patience, and true honor. A knight of Avalon must learn when to hold on and when to let go." What if this wasn't a time to let go? After all, she didn't know for sure that Nimue was truly a knight of Avalon; she had only the word of the ghost herself, only the dull countenance of Arawn the owl. Not exactly a pair of beings whose word she felt secure in giving up her best protection on.

"You don't have to do it now," said Nimue. "If there's something very bad going on at home, don't. There's a time to hold on tightly, and a time to let go. And it's up to you to tell which."

She looked over to her ancestor, apple cradled in her hands. There was nothing in those blue eyes--patience, endless patience. Call it a grandmother's intuition.

With a sense of trepidation and dread, she dropped the apple into the hole that had already been dug up. She didn't even have to start pushing the dirt over it before she started to feel a terrible sense of abandonment. A shivering sensation told her that Nimue had just tried to pat her, and she choked out, "I'm not crying, Nimue, it's just-- it's raining. On my face." Her ancestor laughed into her hands, and then quieted down as Avalon patted down the earth over her apple and stood up.

"All I have to do is find Camelot Knight and then... what," she asked, brushing at the muddy knees of her uniform. Arawn hooted quietly, hooking her hair back with his wicked beak. "Wait?"

Nimue nodded, lending her incorporeal assistance to Arawn's and sorting out the soaked auburn hair. Neither of them were doing much, but realizing this was the last time she'd be here for a while Avalon let them try. "Yes. You won't be able to know for sure when it's time for you to come back. Just trust your senses, dear. You'll be fine." She combed a hand over Avalon's hair, sending shivers down to pool at the base of her spine. "Go home now, sweetie. Find Camelot Knight and come back when you're ready."

Avalon nodded, and with a half-drawn breath vanished.

Continued here
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