Date: Sat, 28 Apr 2007 13:37:47 -0700 (PDT)
From: Daniel Miller <ateanis@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Barbarian and the Boy, ch 4

This is a fictional story. The characters and events described herein are
fictitious.  The story and it's contents are the sole property of the
author.  It has been posted on the Nifty Story Archives page with the
permission of the author.  If you are offended by sex or sexual acts
between two consenting males, or by a relationship between an older man and
a significantly younger one please do not read any further.  For the rest
of you who don't need this read on and enjoy.  Let me know what you think.

Copyright 2006

Chapter IV

	They made their way south, Tristan and Kreshtar, walking from sunup
to sundown as they could.  A week and a half they walked, keeping to the
wooded areas whenever possible and following the river.  The days and
nights were becoming progressively warmer as spring was finally starting to
settle in.  Though winter refused to give up its hold and the nights were
still frigid.

	As they traveled southward they came across outlying farms.  Just a
few humble dwellings at firs, the ones where those in residence probably
lived off of the fruits of their own labors almost entirely.  But the
farther they traveled the more frequent they became, and the greater in
size.

	They avoided encroaching on anyone's land when they could, but for
the larger tracts of land it was nearly impossible to discern where the
estate began.

	After they had come across the first dwelling, and subsequently
avoided it a thought occurred to Tristan.

	"You know," he began, "we are going to have to come up with a
different name for you.  The name Kreshtar is just too well known.  And,
try as we might, the farther we move south the more difficult and
impossible it will be to avoid people."

	"The thought had occurred to me as well," Kreshtar replied,
pondering.  "Anything come to your mind."

	Tristan thought for a minute and a small grin spread across his
face.

	"Ateanis."  he came up with happily.

	"Ateanis?" Kreshtar repeated back somewhat dubiously. "Where'd you
come up with that?"

	"In the religion of the prevailing empire prior to the current one
there were creatures known as the titans," Tristan began to explain.  He
wasn't quite lecturing, he was a little too excited for that, but he began
to go on in great detail.  "Now, in their stories of creation the titans
were what came before the gods, in fact, the gods descended from them.  The
gods eventually overthrew and imprisoned the titans, but their remnants
still remain, in some cases descendants that were due to the coupling of a
titan with a mortal man or woman.

	"One such descendant was Anteaus.  Anteaus was a fierce warrior,
one of the greatest.  He also had a boon from being descended from a titan;
so long as he was in contact with the land, with Gaia, mother earth
herself, he was invincible, there were none that could harm him.

	"Now the names are not the same obviously.  But they just close
enough that a mother living on the boarder between the wilder lands and the
empire might have heard the story and named you after that figure."

	"Ateanis," Kreshtar repeated, testing the name on his lips.  After
a moments deliberation he decided he liked it, and the story certainly
appealed to him.  "Very well then, Ateanis it is."

	Tristan's smile grew to a grin, Kreshtar could not help but grin
back, draping his arm around Tristan's shoulders he pulled the young man
into him and placed a kiss on the top of Tristan's head.

	"So where did you hear such a tale?" Kreshtar inquired, his
curiosity piqued.

	"From on of my mother's patients," Tristan explained.  "Those who
were beyond the abilities of the... I think they call them physicians, in
the great cities to the south sought aid from another source.  My mother
had a very well known reputation and more than one such as that came
seeking her talents.  There were few she could not at least help.  A couple
even would talk with me, and I always asked about any legends that they
knew.  It was something I always enjoyed hearing about."

	"Hmmm...," Kreshtar pondered again, "there is one more detail that
needs to be decided.  How do we explain you?"

	"Oh," Tristan exclaimed with a dismissive gesture, "that's easy
enough, I'm your nephew.  I can still keep my name and I sincerely doubt we
will run into anyone who knows me."

	"My nephew, huh?  I guess you've put quite a bit of thought into
this then."

	"Yeah," Tristan grinned again, sheepishly, "I kinda have."

	They continued their journey southward, walking day in and day out,
stopping so that Kreshtar could hunt and Tristan could forage for roots and
other edible plants.

	In the nights they always slept together, the evenings of mid
spring still having a significant chill to them.  More often than not they
shared the treasures of each other's intimacy during the sunless hours.
Tristan schooled Kreshtar in the arts of such intimacy, or at least as much
as Tristan knew.  Kreshtar did, indeed, prove himself a most ardent and apt
pupil.

	They had not yet had a repeat of their first night together.
Tristan had to admit that he had been more than just a little brash that
first night.  He did not regret the act itself by any stretch of the
imagination.  But he had been sore for at least the better part of the week
after and there had indeed been some blood.  Not enough to raise his
concern, but it was still there all the same.  Kreshtar never pushed for
it.  He hungered for it certainly, but he would not force it on the boy.
He had come to the conclusion that it would be a violation of a kind.  A
violation of Tristan's trust and of everything that had started growing
between them.  Kreshtar felt that he would never be able to bring himself
to hurt the young man, it would never enter into his mind.

	Tristan promised that as soon as they came across a town large
enough to have a market place and they were able to pick up a few things
then they could pursue a repeat performance.  Kreshtar was hesitant to
venture into any inhabited area.  Simply the way they were dressed would
arouse the suspicion of anyone they came across.  But, as Tristan pointed
out, while they had been doing alright there were certainly a few things
that they could use to make life easier.  And, admittedly, the thought of
that first night is what finally decided him in the end.

	Several days later it finally happened.  This was the first living
soul either of them had seen besides each other.  The farmer just ahead of
them was watering his oxen for his plow in the river when he looked up and
saw the two travelers from the wild lands to the north.

	He was instantly suspicious, there were far too many wild men to
the north that would slit your throat and steel your purse as soon as look
at you.  The two men, one significantly younger than the other, looked to
have an easy enough gait.  But the large fellow had an equally large sword
to match his stature slung across his back.  The farmer was certainly put
on edge to say the least.

	"Ho thar!" the farmer hailed the two in very rough Norse, barely
enough to be understood.  "Wha' ye doin' on my land?"

	"Good day to you," Kreshtar spoke glibly, slowing his pace and
stopping when he approached ten paces away.  "We're just traveling south
towards the capitol my good man, we mean you no trouble."

	"Hmph," the farmer snorted derisively, "ye be travelin' south thar
roads fer tha', best stick to 'em an' be off with ye now.  I'll not have
strangers, an' wild folk at tha', traipsing about my land."

	"We mean you no trouble good neighbor," Kreshtar said almost
through gritted teeth, he had very little patience when dealing with people
who were outright rude.  "And as far as the road goes, what better road to
follow than a river bank?  Fresh food and water always provided, if a man
can catch the food at least, and one less place for someone to rob you
from.  We figured it would be the safest route to travel, what with the
battle taking place up north."

	"Funny ye should mention tha'," the farmer shot back, his suspicion
deepening.  "I'd figger a big man wit' such a weapon ta wield would be in
tha thick o' it.  Why aren ye up thar wit all tha rest o' tha savage men?"

	Kreshtar bit back a retort and his temper.  It would do no good to
pick a fight with this country bumpkin.

	"I'll not raise my sword till what's mine is threatened.  The
armies up north have yet to come up against me and mine.  Till then I've no
quarrel with them."

	"Tch," the man spat in disgust, "tha's tha probem wit' ye wilders,
no organ'zation, no community.  Ye all could'na give a whit less if yer own
people is slaughder'd, so long as yer li'l homes naw be bother'd.

	"Fine, follow tha river through my land, but be sure ye don' stray
from it."

	"Tell me," Kreshtar spoke as politely as he could, with much
difficulty, "how far is it to the next town?"

	"Hmph.  Keep followin' tha river 'bout three day's trek south, two
if yer quick 'bout it.  Now, git movin'."

	"Thank you, a good day to you neighbor," Kreshtar said with all the
politeness he could muster.  The farmer just save another derisive snort,
eying them till they were out of sight.

	"Maybe this isn't such good idea," Tristan admitted apprehensively.
This was the farthest sough he'd been and while it was exciting there was
just a touch of fear and anxiety.

	"They're not all like that," Kreshtar reassured him.  "He's one of
the more ignorant ones I've come across.  The towns will be easier to move
around in.  We will still stand out, but they get more people from
different places coming through, particularly if they have a river port.
Everything will be alright.  Besides, you have me.  So long as we're
together nothing will happen."

* * * * *

	Too much, there was simply too much to see.  Tristan stared openly
and wide eyed at everything.  The buildings, while most were made of wood
and thatch, which he had seen before, stood tow or even three stories high.
Some even had tiles instead of thatch.  There were even some buildings
scattered about that were made from stone.  Great buildings made out of
enormous blocks of hewn rock.  Tristan had heard stories before, but his
imagination could not have conjured such structures.

	The sounds were nearly overwhelming, all combining to create a
continual underlying din where ever they went.  Tristan was not so sure he
liked the noise, it was just too much for him.  But the bustle of the
people coming and going interested an excited him, so much going on.  The
people themselves were fascinating, and nearly innumerable to him.  There
must have been hundreds, maybe even a thousand or more.  Back in his
village there were maybe one-hundred to sometimes as many as one-hundred
and fifty people in residence, but that was including all the women and
children.  A gathering of thirty or forty people was considered large.
This dwarfed anything he had ever seen by far.

	There were sights and smells that tantalized his senses and they
were all assaulting him at once.  They had already passed a number of stall
with vendors selling their wares.  Everything imaginable was being sold.
Bolts of differently colored cloth, some that shimmered in the bright,
fresh spring sunlight, others that looked softer than fur to the touch.
Stalls that sold hot meats in juicy sauces wrapped in some sort of fresh
baked bread.  Stalls selling fish and dried fruits and vegetables, or herbs
and spices, some of which even came from the far east.  There were stalls
selling jewelry and finely crafted metals.  It seemed to Tristan that one
would merely have to ask and your hearts desire could be offered up to you,
for a price.

	Kreshtar watched Tristan's eyes dart from one sight to the next, it
was like watching a child at his first winter solstice, delight and wonder
and fascination beyond imagining.

	Kreshtar had been in a few cities before, but this was certainly
the largest, and he knew for a fact that this was not the biggest.  The
capital of this empire lay farther south still.  He had heard stories from
those who had dared venture that far.  If even half the things those men
had said were true then the city itself was a spectacle to behold indeed.
He leaned down to Tristan's ear to be heard above the noise.

	"We should probably find a room for the night before we get to
carried away."

	"Alright," Tristan agreed," where do we look for an inn?"

	Kreshtar spotted what he thought looked like one up the way.  In
his experience with places like this he knew that you only needed to wander
a bit to find a place, quality was another issue altogether however.

	They stepped inside the two story wooden building out of the bright
sunlight.  The first floor looked like it consisted of a tavern with a
surrounding balcony on the second.  The room was simply furnished but neat
and orderly, the tables and benches polished to a high finish.  A large
fire place filled up one end of the room while the other was taken up by
the bar and the subsequent innkeeper.  The wall opposite them had a small
raised area that seemed like it would be a source of entertainment when
more patrons filled the tavern.

	Kreshtar walked over to the stout man with a round face and a
shining pate.

	"A... room... would... we... two... desire," Kreshtar stumbled
through his broken Latin.

	"A room you tow gentlemen shall have then," the innkeeper said in a
surprisingly good rendition of Norse.  It was heavily accented by Latin,
which was obviously the man's native tongue, but he spoke well enough to be
understood easily.  The innkeeper smiled at Kreshtar's obvious surprise.

	"I've a fair number of fur traders from the north that come here to
partake of my hospitality on their way to other markets.  Now, a room for
the night will cost you three pieces of silver.  The accommodations may not
be fancy but they are always clean and I respect my patrons' privacy if you
respect the privacy of your fellow patrons.  Dinner is served promptly at
sundown during this season and we have one or two people on our staff who
can entertain you for the evening on our stage.  Antigone, one of our
serving girls, has a voice that Venus herself would be jealous of and our
head cook, Mathias, is a master of storytelling.  I am Marcus, your host
and the proprietor.  Now, will you be joining us for an evening?"

	Kreshtar was somewhat taken aback.  This certainly had to be the
warmest reception he had ever received.  He dipped his hand into the pouch
at his side and retrieved one of the pieces of gold and slid it across the
counter to the man.

	"My nephew and I require a room, and if I am insured our privacy
for the evening you may keep the rest beyond the three silver.  Besides, I
am quite a hearty eater, I do not mind paying a little extra to make sure I
go to sleep tonight with a full belly."

	"Well then!" the innkeeper Marcus said in a genuinely delighted
tone.  "We will be happy to accommodate any needs you wish.  Not all my
patrons do, but if you've a wish I can give your names to the proprietor of
the baths just a short walk away and he will give you a good rate on
freshening up.  He and I are old friends," Marcus confided in a
conspiratorial tone.  "And if you need to know where anything in the city
is please feel free to ask.  By the way, what are your names good sirs?"

	"I am Ateanis, this is my sister's son, Tristan," Kreshtar gestured
to each of them in turn.

	"Well then Masters Ateanis and Tristan, what business may I ask
brings you so far south?"

	Kreshtar had actually thought about this one and, in his opinion,
come up with a decent story.

	"My nephew Tristan here seems to have a healer's touch.  My sister
has asked me to take him to the capital to be apprenticed to the physicians
there."  Kreshtar explained.

	"My, my," the innkeeper looked duly impressed.  "Well, then you two
have a journey ahead of you.  Do you have any horses?  I can have our
stable boy take care of them for you."

	"We unfortunately lost a good deal of our provisions along the way
due to unfortunate circumstances, including our horses," Kreshtar
explained.  "We will actually need to pick up some in the market.  If you
could direct us to a fair merchant for horse flesh it would be most
appreciated."

	"Absolutely," Marcus directed them to a stable, with fair prices as
well he assured them.  And he promised to run their names over to the baths
as well, the man who ran them would be ready for the two of them by the
time they finished their business in the market.

	"One request I do have of you Master Ateanis," Marcus added onto
his long winded speech, "when you return for the evening and have no
further plans to venture out I would ask that you leave your weapon in your
room.  I mean no disrespect and am not commenting on your character sir,
but I find that when some men get too much to drink they see such displays
as an open challenge.  I'm fairly certain that you do not start trouble,
but a man that carries such a blade is used to trouble finding him."

	"Very well," Kreshtar conceded, "I will leave the sword in our room
for the evening, but I will keep my knife with me.  A man as keen as
yourself to recognize the mere presence of such a weapon as a possible
conflict would know that the presence of a man of my stature would also be
a source of, conflict, as you put it, in the company of such men."

	"Too true, too true," Marcus conceded in turn.  "I've no problems
with that, though I'll warrant that a man such as you has no real need of
the knife either in such a situation.  But I'll not deny you that, indeed I
know it is only too true.

	"Well then, if you don't leave for the market now I'm liable to
talk your ears off.  I shall expect you this evening with a hot meal and a
room prepared.  Till this evening gentlemen," and with that the innkeeper
busied himself with other work.  Kreshtar stood their for a moment, still
taken aback.  He had had innkeepers and tavern masters refuse to put him up
for a night or even serve him, and many times that was without knowing his
reputation.  The measure of hospitality extended him here had him well and
truly thrown.

	Tristan tugged on Kreshtar's arm, eager to be off.  Still so
innocent, Kreshtar thought, despite everything he has been through he still
doesn't realize what a rare thing it is for the innkeeper to have given us
a room at all.  Let alone acting in a kind manner and the truly rare
addition of knowing their language.  Truly rare indeed.  Kreshtar felt no
qualms at having paid the man extra and did not begrudge the request of
leaving his sword in his room.

	He finally gave in to Tristan's eagerness, playing well the part of
the indulgent uncle.

	Tristan had thought the other streets busy, he knew now that that
had been a gross misconception on his part.  The market place was was
packed.  There were so many people that in some places they literally had
almost no room to move through the press of bodies.

	People, however, gave them a wide berth.  Tristan didn't think it
was because they were quite obviously northerners.  He saw others amongst
the endless crowd of people so it was not unheard of to see such as them
this far south.  No, he suspected that the reason he and Kreshtar had
little trouble navigating the streets full of people was largely due to
Kreshtar's size and the size of the blade on his back.

	The stable man had indeed been helpful and the prices fair, for the
most part.  Their fortune in finding an innkeeper that spoke their language
had not extended much further.  Bargaining with the various men men at
their stalls had been frustrating at best when neither party spoke the same
language.  Tristan knew some Latin, more than Kreshtar at the very least,
due to the fact that his mother did not refuse to help someone if they
could pay, sometimes not even then.  As a result Tristan had learned a fair
portion, he was far from fluent though and he had a feeling that some of
the stalls they purchased things at overcharged them.

	For the most part though, things went well.  They purchased two
horses, a light and agile horse to carry any extra provisions and a large,
strapping stallion to ride.  Kreshtar's size made purchasing a horse that
was any smaller outright impractical.  The price had been steep, nine gold
pieces total for both, but it was fair.  Other than that they had only
purchased various odds and ends for traveling.  A proper blanket, and a
good fur cloak for Tristan were amongst some of the purchases. But the one
that had Kreshtar perplexed was a purchase of oil, olive oil to be
specific, three pieces of silver a piece for both of the two clay flasks
that Tristan acquired.

	"What are those for?"  Kreshtar inquired somewhat askance.

	"You'll see," Tristan relied enigmatically, flashing his signature
grin up at Kreshtar.  They had all their goods sent on to the inn.  When
all said and done they were left with about ten gold pieces and four
silver.

	"Well then," Tristan said after they had completed their last
transaction, "shall we go visit the baths like the innkeeper suggested?"

	"Sounds like a good idea to me," Kreshtar said, smiling down at
Tristan, "it's been a while since I've had a good bath."

	They made their way through the streets using the directions the
innkeeper had provided them with.  It was relatively easy to find, a large
stone building with big, elaborately carved wooden doors.  Inside the air
was misty and humid with the faint hint of fragrant oils and soaps.

	A slender woman with dark hair, almond colored eyes and fine linen
girded about her graceful frame and held in place at either shoulder with a
small silver clasp approached.  She greeted them in a cordial tone and,
from what Tristan could make out, asked what their business was.

	"We came for a bath," Tristan stumbled through his Latin as best he
could.

	"A silver piece each then," the woman replied politely.

	"My name is Tristan and this is my...," he couldn't think of of the
word 'uncle' in Latin, "this is Ateanis."

	"Ah, of course," she said, her tone changing to a more friendly
one.  She hadn't been unfriendly before but her manner had been somewhat
reserved.  "Marcus sent word that you would be by."  She was obviously
trying to talk so that Tristan could understand her, for which he was
greatful.  "It will be one silver piece for the both of you then, and a
private bath as well.  The usual treatment for any of Marcus' customers.
Right this way."  Kreshtar placed the required silver in her hand and she
led them down a corridor away from the main area.

	They walked past several wooden doors till she stopped and stood
beside one and held it open for them, gesturing inside.  Tristan and
Kreshtar stepped through, the door closing behind them.

	The air was heavy with steam which started to bead on their skin.
In the center of the room was a sizable circular pool lined with tiles and
steam rising from the surface.  A small waterfall fed the pool spilling
from a small stone fountain that jutted out from the wall churned the water
at the far end.  To the side was a large stone bench that followed the
curve of the pool for about a quarter of the distance around and atop it
sat a couple of neatly folded pieces of linen, presumably for drying
themselves afterwards.  Right next to the linens were three small bottles
filled with oils, a large chunk of scented soap that looked like it had an
herb of some variety mixed in and a simply wrought metal comb.

	Kreshtar moved to the bench, removing his sword as strode.  He
began removing the fur cloak and other articles as Tristan moved over as
well.  Tristan watched from a few feet back as Kreshtar removed everything
he was wearing.  The smallest and simplest habits of this bear of a man had
become fascinating to Tristan.  One might think that due to his size
Kreshtar might move with clumsiness and blundering.  But in reality the man
moved with a grace and fluidity not readily apparent.  The gestures were
small and reserved, but had a familiarity to them born of years of long
practice and honing.  Above all the sword on Kreshtar's back was the thing
he took the most care with.  He handled his implement of death gently and
with reverence.

	At length he finished unlacing his boots, removed his loincloth and
stepped down into the pool.  The water came up to his waist, which meant
that it would cover the better portion of Tristan's torso.  Kreshtar turned
and faced Tristan who stood by the bench.  Kreshtar watched as Tristan
removed his boots and loincloth, the only things the boy had on him.
Kreshtar stretched out his hand, beckoning Tristan down into the pool with
him.  Tristan took the hand extended him, stepping down into the pool.

	The water was as hot as the steam rising off its surface promised,
just this side of being too hot.  Tristan could feel the muscles in his
legs begin to relax as he became accustomed to the heat of the water.
Kreshtar drew Tristan into the circle of his arms, pressing their bodies
together.  Tristan looked up into those hazel eyes, eyes the color of tree
branches with the first buds of spring shooting from their tips.  It seemed
that no matter how long Tristan spent with this man, looking up into those
eyes always made him feel very small and almost helpless.  Yet by the same
token, looking up into those eyes also told him that he was treasured, that
he was precious.  To look in them was to both lose and find himself in the
same instant in those eyes.

	Kreshtar looked down at Tristan, the boy's features quickly loosing
the softness of childhood and turning into a man's.  Before Kreshtar knew
it this boy would be a man full grown.  Time was a precious thing to him
now, where as before he was indifferent towards it.  Looking in Tristan's
eyes Kreshtar thought that they resembled a faun's eyes, or more rather a
young buck or a heart.  Easily frightened or startled, but so trusting.
Those light brown orbs spoke volumes, saying that they knew he would never
hurt them or let them down.  Kreshtar, not being a very religious man under
normal circumstances, prayed a silent and fervent prayer that he would
never fail to keep his word to Tristan.

	Kreshtar bent his head down and Tristan rose up on his toes to meet
him.  Their lips met and Tristan melted that nearly imperceptible last
little bit of distance into Kreshtar.  Kreshtar had learned his lessons in
love making from Tristan very well indeed.  He ran the tip of his tongue
over Tristan's lips, caressing them and reveling in the smooth texture.

	Tristan ran his hands over Kreshtar's arms and shoulders, feeling
the bumps and ridges and gnarls of muscle underneath the skin almost like
the bark of a tree.  That was how Tristan had come to think of Kreshtar,
less beast and more like the Oak King made flesh among men.

	Kreshtar was kneading Tristan's back and the swell of his legs,
running his hands along the curve of Tristan's gluteus.  Kreshtar lifted
Tristan by his waist and pulled the young man up to him.  Tristan
obligingly spread his legs and wrapped them around Kreshtar's torso,
feeling his stirring manhood pressed between their bodies.  Kreshtar probed
Tristan's mouth with his tongue deeply, savoring the taste and rubbing his
tongue across Tristan's.

	"Mmmm..," Tristan gave a contented moan and pulled back from the
kiss.  "If we don't stop now there will be no stopping till we're finished.
And I have a little something planned for tonight.  Besides, we really
should get clean."

	"Alright, for tonight then," Kreshtar grudgingly agreed.

	Tristan gave Kreshtar his coy smile, the smile that was at once
both sweetly innocent and diabolically devious in the same stroke, it was
something Kreshtar had an honest difficulty resisting.  Tristan turned and
lifted himself up on the edge of the pool reaching for the chunk of soap on
the bench.  He turned and sat on the lip, legs dangling in the water and
held the soap up to his nose.  He inhaled deeply; rosemary, how fitting.
This man always did remind him of trees and the forest, so it seemed right
that the soap smell like pine and fir trees.

	"Come here," Tristan beckoned to Kreshtar.  Kreshtar walked over to
where Tristan was sitting on the edge and laid a hand on either of
Tristan's legs.

	"Turn around," Tristan motioned to him.

	Kreshtar turned and Tristan circled his legs around Kreshtar's
torso.  He leaned over and dipped the chunk of soap in the water and began
to work up a lather.  Kreshtar leaned back into the boy and let Tristan run
his hands over his torso, spreading the soap across his chest and stomach.
Tristan took his time with washing Kreshtar, enjoying the feel of Kreshtar
muscles and the scent of the rosemary in the soap.  He ran his hands over
Kreshtar's shoulders and arms and also began to lather up his hair.  He
pushed forward gently against Kreshtar and started to wash the man's back.
This had been a very good idea, Kreshtar concluded.

	Tristan finished with washing Kreshtar's upper body and let the man
go.  Kreshtar ducked himself under the water and washed his hair out.  He
turned to Tristan and gestured for the soap and followed the same procedure
for washing the boy.  Tristan could have melted, the heat of the pool
combined with the strength in Kreshtar's arms and hands as he washed
Tristan was beyond relaxing.  At length Kreshtar finished and let Tristan
rinse himself off.

	Tristan reached for the soap and having acquired it from Kreshtar
began to wash his legs and lower extremities.  He took particular care to
make sure to clean between the swell of his legs, where leg met torso.
Then he handed the chunk to Kreshtar who followed suit as well.

	They set the soap aside, the chunk considerably lessened, and
Tristan again sat on the lip of the pool, gesturing Kreshtar to him.
Kreshtar moved to Tristan as Tristan leaned over and grabbed the metal comb
on the bench.  Taking up the same position as when the soap was employed,
Tristan began to pull the comb gently through Kreshtar's hair.  There were
knots to be sure, there always were with hair.  But the soap had been able
to take care of the majority of them.  Tristan pulled the comb through
again and again, making sure that he missed nothing.  Kreshtar's hair was
beautiful.  Falling down to the middle of the man's back it was a deep rich
brown, almost black.  Almost the same color as rich planting soil.  Yet
here and there there were flecks of sun-streaked gold that flashed when the
light hit them just right, like the color of summer ripe wheat.

	Tristan finished with combing Kreshtar's hair and began to braid
it, like his mother had taught him to braid her hair.  He began humming
softly, not really intending to make any tune.  Yet the tune came to mind
unbidden, the tune that Kreshtar had hummed a few days ago.  He was able to
hum it relatively well, and Kreshtar started to hum with him, filling in
any parts that Tristan didn't know.

	Tristan finished braiding Kreshtar's hair.  Kreshtar leaned back
and reached for his pouch, procuring a leather thong intended for just such
a purpose and handed it to Tristan.  Tristan fixed the thong at the end of
the braid and tied it off.

	Kreshtar turned to face Tristan and as he did Tristan noticed
something he did not, could not have expected.  This giant of a man, this
ferocious monster that had slaughtered near innumerable men on the end of
his blade, this man had tears in his eyes.  It was the last thing that
Tristan had ever expected to see.

	Kreshtar noticed Tristan staring, and gave the small boy a sad,
sorrowful smile.

	"I don't know what it is about what has just happened," Kreshtar
murmured, "but there is something about what you did, combing my hair,
braiding it, and humming that tune all the while that evokes something from
me, something that I feel I should be able to remember.  I think in my
minds eye I can almost conjure a face, and a warm smile on it.  But it is
still shrouded in a thick mist, all of it."  Kreshtar's eyes had gotten a
faraway look, like he was indeed looking at a face clouded in a dense fog.
Tristan reached his hand up and cupped Kreshtar's cheek.

	"I'm sorry," the boy whispered, looking almost on the verge of
tears.

	"Don't be," Kreshtar murmured gently to Tristan, "this is something
precious that you have done for me, even if I can't remember the face or
the person, I can recall the feeling.  Something from a distant long ago
time when my life was not always violence and bloodshed. Sometimes it is
difficult for me to remember that there has ever been anything else.

	"Come," he said, placing a kiss on the top of Tristan's head, "let
us finish our business here.  If you've a plan for this evening then I
would hasten the fall of night were it in my power.  As it is I think i
will have to chase their god Apollo in his chariot across the sky to
quicken the coming of night."

	Mirth spread across Tristan's lips and face and it looked to
Kreshtar that the young man honestly felt like Kreshtar could pull off such
a ridiculous act.  Every once in a while, when he held this young man in
his arms, Kreshtar almost felt like he could.

	Kreshtar combed Tristan's hair in turn, following the same manner
that Tristan had.  And, drawing another thin leather thong from his pouch,
proceeded to braid Tristan's light bark colored hair, humming the tune that
he was coming to see as belonging to the both of them.

	"Well," Kreshtar said, almost with reluctance, "I think we're
finished."

	"Not quite yet," Tristan contradicted, "you're forgetting one last
step."  And with that he got out of the pool and walked over to the bench.
He gently and carefully moved all of their belongings to the floor a few
feet away and picked up one of the linen squares.  He spread it out over
the length of the bench and gestured for Kreshtar to lay down.

	Kreshtar hoisted himself up out of the pool and laid himself face
down like Tristan told him to, wondering what the young man had in store
for him now.  Tristan pulled the stopper off one of the bottles provided
for them and lifted it to his nose.  Rosemary, again, it shouldn't have
surprised him, but it was nice.

	Tristan poured some of the oil on to Kreshtar's back, letting it
make a small pool just at the small of his back.  The sensation of the oil
traveling down the length of his spine sent sent a small shudder up
Kreshtar, and it very faintly tickled.

	Tristan began rubbing his hands in the oil and spreading it across
Kreshtar's back.  He ran along the lengths of muscle, massaging them and
kneading them as well, making sure that the oil spread out evenly.
Kreshtar began to grunt his approval.  Tristan moved to Kreshtar's legs,
going back for more oil as needed.  This was a part of his craft, but he
also enjoyed the excuse to handle as much of Kreshtar as possible, not that
he needed an excuse.  He worked his way up Kreshtar's legs, coming up to
the sizable swell of the man's gluteus.

	Kreshtar hadn't thought he could possibly be any further relaxed
after the hot bath, he had been sorely mistaken.  It seemed like his body
was clay in the boy's well trained hands.

	"Alright, now the front," Tristan said with an air of authority.

	Kreshtar dutifully flipped over, giving no heed to his very
obviously aroused state.  The sight of his fully erect manhood was a view
he was certain that Tristan was intimately familiar with by this point.
Tristan trickled a small stream of the oil down the front of Kreshtar's
torso and began to repeat the process.  The thought occurred to Kreshtar
that if it weren't for the bones in his body he would probably slide right
off the bench.

	Tristan worked his way lower on Kreshtar's torso, sliding his hands
along the miniature foothills of the man's stomach and the small plane just
before coming to the rigid sex.  A mischievous thought popped into
Tristan's head and he began to massage the turgid spear and the large
globes beneath it.  Kreshtar let out a low groan as Tristan ran his hand
over Kreshtar's hard length.

	"If you keep that up for much longer mi'lad," Kreshtar breathed,
"then I will be forced to take measures into my own hands and go back on my
word to wait for this evening plan of yours."

	Tristan gave a small bark of laughter, but ceased his attentions on
Kreshtar's sex.

	"Very well, then," Tristan said through what Kreshtar would have
called an honest giggle, "think you could replicate the process on me?"

	"I don't think I'll be nearly as good as you are at it, but then
this wouldn't be the first time that that has been the case," Kreshtar
responded coyly.  "But as we have learned in the past, I can pick things up
rather quickly, if you let me practice."

	Kreshtar stood, his legs and other muscles responding surprisingly
well despite how languid he felt.  Tristan laid face down on the bench and
heaved a great sigh as Kreshtar began rendering the same treatment.
Kreshtar found that he liked being the one doing the massaging almost as
much as he liked being the one massaged.  He wasn't able to completely
replicate what Tristan had done to him, but, judging from Tristan's
reactions, he figured that he was at least doing a passable job.

	At length Kreshtar finished rubbing Tristan down and they both
dipped themselves back in the pool once more to get rid of any excess.
They dried each other off with the other square of linen and replaced all
their belongings on their persons.

	As they left the bath Kreshtar reached down into his pouch and
lobbed another silver at the woman attending the front door.  She flashed
him a grin and pocketed the tip waving them good bye as they left.

	Time had not stood still while they had been bathing.  The day was
drawing to a close and people were making their way home for the evening.
The streets were quickly becoming deserted and they had no trouble
navigating their way back to Marcus' inn.

	When they stepped inside the common room there was already a fierce
blaze going in the fireplace.  A few people were already seated at various
tables and partaking in food that smelled mouth-watering and big mugs of
mead.  Marcus spotted them from behind the counter and waved them over.

	"A good evening to you both good masters," Marcus greeted them
warmly.  "We received all the goods you had sent on to us, including what I
may say is a fine looking pair of horses.  Of course, you'll have to check
all of the items over to know if everything is truly there or not, but
everything that was sent our way I took the liberty of placing in your
room.  Well then, if you're ready I can fetch you supper, a fine venison
stew, the meat fresh from this morning, and fresh baked bread from our own
ovens, and a tankard each of the best mead in the house.

	"I assume that you are going to make a trip up to your room before
joining us for dinner, Master Ateanis?"  Marcus gave Kreshtar a meaningful
stare, "I'll be sure to get your nephew, Master Tristan, situated at a
table with a good view and close to the fire."

	"Of course," Kreshtar gave Marcus a smile and a bow of the head.
He hadn't thought that the innkeeper would forget about the discussion
about the sword, but it had been a little blunt.  Kreshtar wasn't going to
quibble, the man had been gracious as far as he was concerned.  This was a
small price to pay for being able to stay the night.

	Kreshtar opened the door that Marcus had directed him to.  He found
that the accommodations were in the same fashion as those downstairs,
simple but clean.  There was indeed a small pile of goods neatly arranged
in the corner next to the door.  The door even had a bolt on it, which was
something that Kreshtar greatly appreciated.

	Kreshtar took a moment to inventory everything that had been sent,
and it seemed that it was all in order.  Kreshtar heaved a sigh and moved
over to the bed.  Slipping the leather strap that held the sword in place
over his head, he set the blade down on the fur blankets almost lovingly.
This blade had been his longest companion, and prior to Tristan, his only
real companion.  One of the earliest memories that he had was of waking up
in the dead of night with only the stars above and the forest surrounding
him.  And the sword, the pommel of the sword gripped tightly in his fist.
That was all of eighteen years ago, at least.  Sometimes it was hard to
remember exactly how much time had passed.

	At that time the sword had been almost as tall as he was, but then
he had also been big for that age.  The skill to use it had almost been
inborn in him, or at the very least had come very naturally, like a fish to
water or a bird to the air.  And he had honed that natural aptitude into a
skill as sharp as this blade itself.  It had been a long hard road, and he
had a whole host of scars to tell of his travels down it.

	It was sobering indeed to think that he would give it up, would
walk away from it and never look back without a moments hesitation, were
Tristan but to ask.  He ran his hand down the pommel and the length of the
blade, giving it one last caress before he turned from the room and shut
the door behind him.

	Tristan had told himself that when the food arrived he would wait
for Kreshtar before he would eat anything, it was only polite.  But when
the stew came all thought of politeness left his head and he was heartily
that he hadn't had anything to eat really since breakfast that morning.  He
dove in without further hesitation.  The stew was delicious, as Marcus had
said it would be.  Tristan broke his bread and found that it was still warm
from the ovens and dipped it in the broth.  The mead was quenching and sat
warmly in the pit of his stomach.  To a young man who had had to live off
of what he could forage and Kreshtar could kill, this meal was a veritable
banquet set out before him.

	Between inhaling bites of stew and bread and swallows of mead
Tristan actually managed to look about the room at the other guests.  Most
looked like they were either local folk who simply wished to enjoy the
hospitality of the tavern, which Tristan could not fault them for that, or
people of the other cities passing on their way to or from their
destinations.  Tristan spotted about two other men from the north that he
could make out, but they kept to themselves off in the corners.

	Tristan looked around for a moment, suddenly self-conscious.  He
really did stand out, he was the only one in the room not wearing anything
above the waist.  He had never really thought about it before.  Only during
the bitter cold winter months did anyone he knew wear anything more than
the loincloth and boots he had on.  All the other people around were
dressed in linens and such.  Not all of them were of fine make, but they
covered a great deal more that what he had.

	Tristan took a closer look at the crowd in the tavern.  Most of the
patrons seemed absorbed in what was going on in front of them, conversing
intently or laughing jovially with their fellows.  But he could pick out a
few men who seemed to be paying particular attention to him.  It was
uncomfortable being under such scrutiny, but there was nothing to be done
till Kreshtar got back.

	As if the thought of him had summoned him Kreshtar strode over to
where Tristan was seated, the sword missing from his back.  It seemed
almost unnatural to Tristan to see him without it, like a piece of him was
missing.  But the sight of him, sword or no, was still a welcome relief.

	Kreshtar walked over to Tristan who smile at the sight of him.
Yes, there would be no hesitation at all were it to come to a choice.
Kreshtar sat himself on the bench next to Tristan, who looked like he had
already started in on the delicious smelling meal before them.  He could
hardly fault the boy for not waiting, his own stomach was growling
impatiently with the demand to be fed.  Tristan visibly relaxed, with
Kreshtar here nothing would happen.

	At that moment a young girl stepped on to the raised area just off
to their right.  She could only have been a few years older than Tristan,
but she was in the full flower of her maturity.  She had a pleasing curve
to her figure and her clothes hung almost artfully on her slender frame.
Her hair seemed to match the luster and color of the polished tables on
which they dined and her dark eyes had a smoldering heat to them like the
last embers of a dying fire.

	Marcus approached the stage and started to address the audience, in
Latin of course.  From what Tristan could make out, and related to
Kreshtar, Marcus was introducing the girl, Antigone, to the crowd and
telling them that she was about to sing for them.

	Kreshtar was not sure what it was that he was expecting from the
girl, but whenever he looked back on it he supposed that he should not have
been surprised after everything else.  The girl opened her mouth and out of
it issued a soft tone, held for a moment like a lover would hold his
paramour.  Then the girl began her sad, melancholy melody.  She swayed
gently and gracefully with the tune, punctuating the sad song.

	It was enough to wrest tears from Tristan's eyes, though he could
not comprehend the words he felt the power of the emotions behind them.  In
the melody he saw memories, faces and places of those things that he had
loved from childhood to the beginnings of his entry to the brotherhood of
grown men.  He felt a great pang of longing at the loss of that which he
had known and loved for so long.  But unbidden came the thought of his
conversation with Kreshtar from a few days ago.  The fact that Tristan had
the memories to begin with was something he would truly cherish, and the
things his thoughts turned to became bittersweet instead of merely empty
longing.

	The girl made an end of her song and gave a graceful curtsy to the
uproarious applause from the crowd which had gathered.  Tristan cast his
eyes about and found that while this Antigone had been singing even more
people had joined the crowd on the tavern floor.  The inn was quite crowded
and full darkness had fallen outside.

	Tristan turned to Kreshtar and motioned for the pouch, he would
never be heard over the cheering of the crowd that was still going on, the
serving girl accepting it with all the grace of a seasoned performer.
Kreshtar surrendered the pouch and Tristan took out a silver piece.  He
knew that this money was not endless, but this would hopefully be the last
expenditure that they needed for a little while.  Other patrons were
throwing pieces of copper on the stage as they were cheering.  Tristan
lobbed the silver piece up at the girls feet and watched as the girl's eyes
widened as the coin came sliding to a stop.  Tristan gave a grin and a nod
and added his applause to the rest of the crowd's.  The girl gave another
curtsy in return and then proceeded to collect her rewards.

	The crowd settled and turned back to food and drink while awaiting
the next form of entertainment for the evening, as did Tristan and
Kreshtar.  After a few minutes Marcus again approached the raised platform
and a hush came over the crowd again.

	Using what little Latin he knew, Tristan barely made out that
Marcus was introducing the head cook, Mathias, who was to spin them a tale
or two before the night was over.  Tristan settled back into Kreshtar,
having finished his supper and enjoying the comfort of the big man against
his back who draped an arm over Tristan's shoulder and across his chest,
drawing the boy farther in.

	After Marcus had finished announcing Mathias Tristan waved him
over.  The innkeeper weaved his way through the crowd and stopped by where
they were sitting.

	"Evening good masters," Marcus greeted them in a genuinely jolly
tone, "what is it I can do for you?  I trust the food is all to your
liking?"

	"Everything is excellent my good host," Tristan pipped back with
his easy grin.  "If it's not too much trouble for you I would like to hear
the story told this evening, so I would ask you to translate it for me and
my uncle here.  If it's not too much trouble of course."  Tristan added
hastily.

	"Why no my good lad, though if you truly are going to be
apprenticed then you will need to work on your Latin."  Marcus jibbed at
him before joining them at the table.

	Presently Mathias came out of the kitchen and limped on stage.  He
was a grizzled old man who looked like he had seen everything, and had
thought to remember it all so that he may tell others, the look of a true
storyteller.

	He sat on a chair provided for him, the fire light casting long
shadows across the deep lines on his face.  He looked his audience over, as
if measuring the quality of it's collective character.  Then he began his
tale.  Marcus translated quickly and accurately, Tristan dividing his
attention equally between the two.  The tale was that of Prometheus, the
giver of fire and healing to the race of man.  It was a tale that Tristan
had heard before, but Mathias was an animated storyteller indeed and so the
young man was held rapt.

	Kreshtar found that he enjoyed the tale, not being one for a
fanciful yarn Kreshtar seldom enjoyed storytelling.  More often than not he
would be asked by those present to recount the tales of his own exploits,
which in his own opinion were not all that fantastic.  If he refused
though, someone else would take up the tale of which ever endeavor was
being undertaken.  And, the respective storytellers always took liberties
with what happened, making him seem far greater than he really gave himself
credit for.

	The man on the stage made an end to his first tale and asked the
crowd if they would like a second tale.  A loud cry from his audience gave
a rousing confirmation on that point.

	"What story would you hear?"  The old man inquired of his audience,
being translated through Marcus.  Several members of the audience shouted
something or other, but the old man was waiting, it seemed, for something
that impressed him.  Someone shouted something from a remote corner of the
room and the storyteller gave an impressed look.

	"Ah," he almost wheezed, "you would have me tell you of the Beast
would you?"  He gave a cackle.  Tristan shifted a little nervously on the
bench and he could feel the almost imperceptible tensing of Kreshtar
against him.

	"The Beast is known by many names," the storyteller began, "he is
the untamed, he is the barbarian warrior from the northern wastes, he is
the man with the unfaltering, unwavering, tireless sword.  His name is
Kreshtar.  Men equally cower in fear and rejoice in rapture at the site of
his approach, for the man has but one drive, one focus, and that is
bloodletting.  He goes where ever there is conflict, where ever men spill
the blood of their fellows, or perhaps chaos and destruction merely follow
in his wake and he is the herald of their imminent arrival.

	"Whether he follows the one, or the one follows him is
inconsequential, for there are none that can deny that he is the fiercest
of warriors.  A man renowned for his violence and bloodshed amongst a
people know for their savagery.  Women swoon at his passing, whether in
fear, for their fathers, brothers, husbands and sons, or in lust, for he is
a mountain of a man that, were he too have his way, he could almost
definitely spread the legs of at least half the priestesses of Venus and
hardly break a sweat all in one night.

	"But much to the torment of many a lustful whore, and to the great
relief of many a jealous man, Kreshtar does not bother to sully himself
with the scores of women throwing themselves at him.  Why would such a man
as this, a man who seemingly indulges any and all appetites at whim, who's
loyalties are as inscrutably as fickle as Zeus' attentions to his wife
Hera, refuse the bounty so willingly laid out before him at his desire?

	"Some say that the man is a eunic, lacking the faculties to perform
such acts.  Others say that it is a simple vow of celibacy, a promise that
he has made to not let his mad blood lust be continued down to an heir.
But one of the more popular theories is that he already has lovers of his
own, lovers that all the women who throw themselves at him cannot be
compared with.

	"They say that since the man's only true love is battle that he has
lovers that he courts on the field.  They say that Kreshtar has a wife, a
maid of steel and iron. And he has a mistress as well, death.  On the field
he courts them both simultaneously, dancing with his wife of iron and steel
and satisfying the nearly insatiable lusts of his mistress, death.  They
say that between the two of them, they will not let him die, for never has
there been a man that knows them so intimately, knows just how to touch
them, how to satisfy their desires, and every time he proves himself a most
ardent and attentive lover.

	"There are still others, though admittedly much more rare and they
speak in far more hushed tones, for what they suggest is quite probably
blasphemy.  But they claim that he is a scion of battle, possibly even a
son of Mars, as impossible as it may seem.  Yet, their argument is not
without merit.  For how else could a mere mortal man be such an efficient
and deadly killer?"

	Mathias went on with his tale, detailing an exploit or two, and
doing a storyteller's job of it in Kreshtar's opinion.  All exaggeration
and spectacle, with no real understanding of the particulars.  Tristan made
a show of giving a face splitting yawn, which Kreshtar had the very strong
suspicion was fake.

	"Hmm..," Marcus considered, "I suppose the hour is indeed
late. You'd best retire for the night good masters, you've an early start
tomorrow and a lot of road to cover.  I'll see you to the stairs."

	"Thank you," Kreshtar gave the man a toothy smile, which felt
forced to himself, but the man made no notice of it.

	Marcus led them across the crowded floor and to the stairs.  As
they were passing the last table an arm reached up and caught hold of
Tristan's wrist.  The owner of the arm was a burly man in his own right,
but his hair was matted and greasy and he had the appearance of a man who
had once been endowed with a fine form, but through lack of physical
stimulation and the combination of indulging in too much mead was starting
to go soft as time caught up with him.  He leered a grin at the boy who was
momentarily shocked out of all action by the suddenness of the man himself.
The man's breath reeked of ale and the very scent permeated his entire
presence.

	"What's the matter boy?"  The man stumble drunkenly through very
rough and crude Norse.  "Can't bear to hear about your murderous hero?
Maybe I should give you a personal demonstration of what The Beast is
capable of.  I..."

	At that moment the man looked past Tristan just in time to see
Kreshtar bearing down on him.  Kreshtar grabbed the man's own wrist and
started to apply pressure.  He squeezed till he could feel the bones
beneath the skin on the verge of cracking.  The man began whimpering and
released Tristan's arm, impotently putting his other hand on Kreshtar's
arm, but he had no hope of trying to pry off Kreshtar's iron grip.

	"On your knees filth," Kreshtar growled low in his chest through
gritted teeth, a cold furry smoldering in his eyes.

	The man obliged, sinking to the plank floor with a whine as
Kreshtar kept just enough pressure on the man's wrist to not break it.

	"Touch the boy again and it will be the last thing you do.  Trouble
neither myself nor my nephew again, or I will give you a slow death that
would make this Beast you so loath shy away with revulsion, pig," Kreshtar
punctuated this last statement as he spat on the man's down turned head.
He released the man's wrist and watched as the man crumbled to the floor.

	Marcus began a tirade in his native tongue aimed at the crumpled
form, trying as best he could to both express his extreme displeasure and
not disturb the rest of his patrons who, for the most part, had remained
oblivious to the entire episode.  From what Tristan could make out
apparently the man was a trouble maker on a regular basis.  Marcus was
explicitly telling the man that he was no longer welcome in the innkeeper's
tavern.

	Kreshtar had already put a protective arm across Tristan and was
walking at a brisk pace back to the stairs.  Tristan could feel the
violence barely restrained quivering through the man's body, howling for
release.  When they got to the foot of the stairs though Kreshtar turned to
Tristan and gently took his wrist in hand.

	"You're not hurt, are you?"  The giant man asked quietly and
calmly.

	"No," Tristan responded, equally as quiet, "he only surprised me
and shook me up a bit, that's all."  Tristan glanced back at the man who
was being unceremoniously tossed out by two of Marcus' surlier employees.

	"Good," Kreshtar whispered back, not being able to say more.

	Marcus approached them both before they turned back to ascend the
stairs before them.

	"My sincerest apologies good masters," he began, and sounded like
he truly did regret what just happened, "the man has been a trouble maker
for a long time, harassing any of my northern patrons whenever he drinks
too much.  He is no longer welcome in my inn, I'll not have my patrons
badgered any more by the likes of him."

	"There was no lasting harm done fortunately," Kreshtar replied
coolly, still somewhat roused by the episode.  "So long as the man doesn't
come near us again then I'm willing to let things be as they are."

	"Again, my humblest apologies good masters," Marcus gave a low
bow. "Have a pleasant sleep and I shall have your things prepared for you
in the morning."

	Kreshtar nodded to the man and turned with Tristan to ascend the
stairs.  They walked to their room in silence and Kreshtar opened the door
and ushered Tristan in, bolting the door behind them.  Soft candle light
painted the walls and gave a gentle glow to the room. Tristan had turned to
face the door as Kreshtar sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around
Tristan.

	"I'm sorry I didn't see what was happening sooner," he was not
crying, but there was a deep remorse that colored his voice. "One moment
you were walking next to me and the next I didn't know where you were.  I
was ready to tear that pig limb from limb with my bear hands."

	"It's alright, Kreshtar," Tristan soothed, "I'm not hurt and the
situation was handled.  Other than being a little shaken up I'm okay."

	Kreshtar looked up at Tristan and Tristan looked down at Kreshtar,
giving him a smile, no mischief, no boyish laughter bubbling just beneath
the surface.  Simply a contented and happy grin, Kreshtar felt his heart
skip a beat.

	Tristan leaned down to Kreshtar and kissed him lightly, leaning
both hands on his broad shoulders.  It began chaste enough, a small brush
of lips, nothing more.  But Tristan began to engage in the act with more
fervor as the kiss turned passionate.  Kreshtar began running his hands up
and down the length of Tristan's back as their tongues met and they tasted
each other.  Tristan began making small noises as Kreshtar cupped the swell
of his legs.

	The giant man stood up suddenly, lifting Tristan by his hips and
gently laid him down on the soft furs of the bed.  Tristan looked up at the
man staring down at him in the almost delicate light of the candles.  He
let his eyes drink in every line and curve, using his eyes as though he
were using his hands.  It was becoming hard to imagine life without
Kreshtar, and Tristan didn't really want to contemplate the thought overly
much.  This man made him inexplicably happy and, slowly but surely, was
taking away the pain that he felt from his loss.

	Tristan reached an arm up to Kreshtar, beckoning him as he had
beckoned Tristan in the bath.  Kreshtar took Tristan's hand and let himself
be pulled down to the bed on top of the young man.  The weight was almost
crushing, but it was more a comfort to Tristan than a burden.  Tristan
wrapped his arms around Kreshtar, feeling the ripples and ridges in the big
man's back and running his hands along the length of them.

	Kreshtar kissed Tristan again, deeply, probing his tongue into
Tristan's mouth and running his tongue over Tristan's.  He could feel his
manhood hardening against his stomach as the young man began to writhe
beneath him and he could feel the answering hardness of Tristan's own sex
as well.

	Kreshtar sat up on his knees for a moment, undoing the clasp that
held his loincloth in place and discarding it on the floor, Tristan doing
the same.  Kreshtar laid himself back down on Tristan, luxuriating in the
heat of his own shaft pressed against Tristan's.  Tristan spread his legs
to accommodate for the girth of Kreshtar's torso, the walnut sized orbs in
the fleshy sack below the man's spear pressing against his own.  Kreshtar
pressed his mouth over Tristan's, feeding from it, drinking Tristan from
the mouth down.  One arm wrapped behind Tristan's neck, pulling the boy's
torso closer to Kreshtar still, gripping Tristan's shoulder.  The other
hand he ran along the length of Tristan's thigh wrapped around Kreshtar's
waist, caressing the limb and the swell where it joined the young man's
torso.

	Kreshtar' ran his hand up Tristan's torso up to the nipple.  He
began flicking it with his fingers as he still devoured the young man's
mouth, twisting and pinching it as well.  Tristan made a helpless moan in
his throat, writhing his rigid sex against Kreshtar's.  There was a faint
taste and smell of pine to the man, the result of the rosemary scented oil
from the bath and Tristan smiled inwardly, it seemingly fitting that this
man should taste and smell of the deep woods.

	Kreshtar moved down the boy's neck, kissing and bitting gently and
sucking at the skin.  Tristan's breath started becoming heavier as the man
on top of him moved farther down his torso.  Kreshtar began to lick the
nipple that he had just been playing with, running the length of his tongue
against it and flicking it.  He bit it gently, rolling it delicately
between his teeth.  He began to suck on the nipple, taking it and as much
of Tristan's pec into his mouth as he could.  Tristan made helpless breathy
noises as Kreshtar proceeded with the other nipple.

	Kreshtar moved lower yet on the boy, licking the lean torso and
flicking his tongue in Tristan's belly button.  He moved lower still and
came to Tristan's manhood.  Kreshtar rubbed his cheek against it, enjoying
the hard, silken texture against his face.  He began to lick and suck
globes at the base of Tristan's shaft, taking them both into his mouth at
the same time and running the length of his tongue over them.

	Goddess, but the man had been a fast learner, was the only thought
that ran itself through Tristan's head as Kreshtar moved on.  Kreshtar
began to lick Tristan's rigid sex with broad strokes and dipping his tongue
below the line of foreskin partially pulled back from the bulging head.
Kreshtar took the head into his mouth, sucking on it and running circles
around it with his tongue.  He began to take more and more of it, finding a
slow steady rhythm, gradually taking more of it with each downward plunge.
Tristan was in sheer bliss, Kreshtar had certainly learned his lessons
well.  Kreshtar made it to the end of Tristan's shaft, his nose buried in
the soft curls of hair where the length of the boy joined with his torso.
This was still difficult for the man to do, despite all the practice they
had done over the last week or two, but it was rewarding.  He began
massaging Tristan's sex with his throat, coming up for air when he needed
it.

	Tristan could feel his climax beginning to build, and he
regrettably pulled Kreshtar off his sex.  There was still more to come
before this night was finished and he wanted to make sure he lasted through
it all.  He pulled Kreshtar back up to him, indulging in a deep kiss before
telling the big man what he wanted to have happen next.

	Following Tristan's instructions, Kreshtar placed a knee on either
side of Tristan's head.  This put Kreshtar's sex right in Tristan's face.
Tristan began to administer the same treatment to Kreshtar's spear as the
man had just done to his own.  All throughout the taste and scent of
rosemary permeated the act of their coupling.  Tristan could not take
nearly as much of Kreshtar's length as he normally could, the angle was
just wrong for it.  But this was position that he enjoyed, running his
hands up Kreshtar's muscled legs and hips, cupping the swell of the man's
legs.

	Kreshtar's head was thrown back, his hand running over the length
of his shaft not devoured by Tristan's mouth.  Gods but the boy knew what
he was doing, he wondered briefly where exactly Tristan had learned to do
what he did, but only briefly.  Most conscious thought was pleasantly
driven from his mind for the time being.  Tristan came up for air,
breathing huskily and stroking the length of Kreshtar's spear.

	"Alright," Tristan said with his signature grin, that combination
of imp and innocence that was seeming something that only he could pull
off, "it's time.  Let me up for a minute."

	Kreshtar obligingly let Tristan stand.  The boy walked over to the
neat pile of goods they had acquired and riffled through it till he found
what he wanted.  He came back to the bed with one of the flasks of olive
oil and undid the cork.

	"Lay down for a minute," Tristan requested and Kreshtar again
obliging.

	Tristan poured a little of the oil from the flask onto his hand and
proceeded to rub it along the length of Kreshtar's shaft.  Realization
finally dawned on Kreshtar as he remembered how the boy had used the grease
from the bones from their meal their first night together.  The oil served
that purpose much, much better and Kreshtar finally understood why the boy
had wanted to wait till it was available.  Tristan poured a little more oil
in his hand and began rubbing over the length of his own shaft and used a
bit of it to lubricate the pucker between the cheeks of his gluteus.

	When he considered it sufficient he laid himself down on Kreshtar's
left side, motioning for Kreshtar to roll on his side.  Tristan propped one
leg up on the bed, bending it at the knee.  Reaching back he guided the tip
of Kreshtar's sex to his hole.  Kreshtar slid one hand through the hollow
of Tristan's neck and the other helped guide his shaft.  Kreshtar gave a
gentle push and slipped past the ring of muscle that guarded that entrance
to Tristan.  Tristan gave a sharp hiss as the familiar initial stab of pain
came.

	"Are you alright?"  Kreshtar hesitated.

	"Uh-huh," Tristan nodded, looking back and up at Kreshtar and
flashing a grin, "just take it slow," he said a little breathy, "your's is
the biggest endowment I've ever had to accommodate for."

	Kreshtar drew the boy closer to himself, tightening his grip around
Tristan's chest with the arm positioned under the young man's neck.  The
other hand he placed on Tristan's hip to give himself a little more
control.  He leaned down and kissed Tristan deeply as he slowly started to
progress his length inside the young man.  The gods had never made anything
finer, was about the only conscious thought Kreshtar was capable of.  So
tight, so warm, so smooth and soft, this made the entire trip into the city
worth it.

	Tristan's breaths were coming in gasps as he waited for his body to
accommodate.  Gods, but this man was big.  Slowly, inch by inch, Kreshtar
pushed into the boy, till the entire length of his shaft was finally buried
in Tristan.  Tristan let out a sigh as his body started to relax around the
enormous girth firmly planted between the cheeks of his gluteus.  Now, the
real event could begin.

	Kreshtar began to thrust his hips gently, barely moving an inch of
his length in and out of the boy.  Tristan felt Kreshtar's spear touch that
one spot, that point deep inside him where even the slightest touch sent
waves of sensation through his entire body.  He began to moan against
Kreshtar mouth, reaching back with the arm he wasn't laying on to firmly
grip the back of the man's head.  Tristan began to thrust back with his
hips to meet the slow, building rhythm of the big man behind him.

	Kreshtar started to grunt against Tristan's mouth, slowly speeding
up his pace, easing more of the length of his shaft in and out of the boy.
He moved his hand from Tristan's hip, caressing up the length of Tristan's
torso, beginning to apply more pressure with his hand till he dimly thought
that he would surely bruise the boy.  He began pinching Tristan's nipples,
the young man beginning to moan in earnest.  Kreshtar circled the boy's
stomach with his arm, squeezing tightly, beginning to pick up more speed,
thrusting with more of his length.

	Tristan was arching his back now, his neck and spine almost
impossibly bowed backwards, his voice was gaining volume, his moans
becoming more cries.  He was lost to the sheer ecstasy of the primal,
carnal act of their coming together.  There was no more logic, no
reasoning, just the driving force beginning to slam into him.

	Kreshtar was licking, biting and sucking at the tender skin at
Tristan's neck, his own grunts growing in their own volume and intensity,
till it was more growls and panting than any form of human communication.
He finally moved his hand from the boy's waist to the ample length of
Tristan's own sizable shaft.  The olive oil the young man had slicked over
his spear made Kreshtar's hand glide smoothly and easily up and down the
length of it.  Kreshtar began stroking Tristan's sex, matching the rhythm
to that of his own spear, he wanted to feel the boy's release and then his
own.

	Tristan began to feel it building, like a storm on the edge of the
horizon, a gigantic tidal wave speeding to the shore to crash and break
upon the land.  His cries became desperate as Kreshtar continued his pace
both inside and outside of him.  Till...there.

	Tristan arched his back even further, something he was almost sure
was impossible.  His whole body convulsed as Kreshtar did not let up his
pace, even though he could see that the boy was at his climax.  Tristan
cried out, wordless, just shy of a scream as his body continued convulsing.
The tightening inside the boy's guts was just enough to push Kreshtar over
the edge.  For the second time since they had met, Kreshtar emptied his
seed deep inside Tristan.  Tristan felt it inside him, almost impossible
hot, as though he should be blistering from the inside.  Kreshtar let loose
a deep chested howl that clawed its way up from the bottom of his throat
and out his mouth.  And it finished.

	Their bodies convulsed against each other for a few moments after.
Their breath coming in heaving, rasping pants.  Dimly, Kreshtar thought he
could hear a roar from downstairs, like the crowd was cheering at
something, and a thunderous applause that died down after a minute or two.
Mathias must have finished another one of his stories.  Kreshtar tried
three times to speak, his throat was sore from that last yell and his
tongue felt thick and sluggish.

	"You," he breathed, "you alright?"

	Tristan gave a full throated, contented laugh, sounding incredibly
satisfied, immensely entertained, and just as husky as Kreshtar's own
voice.

	"Oh," Tristan breathed back, still panting, "if you couldn't tell
from that last part then let me assure you, I'm doing quite well," he gave
a few more satisfied, deep breaths.

	"Should we," Kreshtar was mumbling almost, "should we go ahead and
separate ourselves?  So the same thing doesn't happen as last time?"

	"We should be okay," Tristan assured the big man, "the olive oil is
much better suited for this, it won't dry out like the grease from the
bones.  Besides," he continued on, "I've got to find some way of getting
you to your size, this is probably about the best," he gave another
contented laugh, sending shudders up the pole Kreshtar still had lodged
firmly inside the young man.

	Tristan heaved a heavy sigh with a smile spread across his lips,
sinking down to the pillow of Kreshtar's arm.  Kreshtar leaned down and
kissed the corner of the boy's mouth, doubling the smirk on his young face.
Pushing a stray strand of hair aside, Kreshtar laid his cheek on top of
Tristan's and heaved a sigh of his own.  The two almost immediately fell
into a deep, peaceful sleep.

* * * * *

	The candle light in the room finally stopped flickering and the
noise had finally stopped.  From the street below a figure stepped out of
the shadows.  The man from before, still half drunk from having indulged in
to much mead in the tavern, his thinking was still somewhat clearer.  The
humiliation of being thrown out into the street still burned at him.

	Bloody northern savages.  If it hadn't of been for them he would
not have been thrown out.  But that was alright, he would set matters to
rights.  There had been people whispering all night about the enormous
barbarian from the north and his boy companion.  He had even heard that the
big man had shown up earlier that day with a sword that matched his
stature.  What a fine prize that would make.

	He would need friends, of that he had plenty, or at least who
called themselves friends with one gesture and would steal you blind with
another if you were fool enough to trust them completely, possibly slight
your throat as well, to further reward such foolhardiness.  About nine
others beside himself, that should be sufficient to overwhelm the big man
with their numbers.  And then it would be his turn to show the northern
bastards who was superior.  And just to add injury to it, before killing
the big man he would have his way with the boy.  From the sounds of it the
lad knew what he was doing and could be a further source of entertainment
to him and his 'friends'.

	"Just wait barbarian," the man spat venomously under his breath,
"you will pay for humiliating me.  The gods themselves will turn away from
it.  Go ahead and sleep, for now."

	With that the man departed hastily.  He had much ground to cover if
he were to gather together a group of men sufficient to take the big man
down.