Part 3 - Raising the Stakes

Posted: April 2004
Title: More Lessons
Author: Khylaren

*****

His life in Mirkwood had been so much simpler, Galathil mused, surreptitiously rubbing his tender bottom. Not that he was complaining. Life in Imladris might be more complicated, but it was infinitely more interesting, and for an immortal, that was an important distinction.

He took a seat at the breakfast table, unable to keep from wincing as his sore buttocks made contact with the overly firm wooden seat of the chair. There was little he could do at this point except grit his teeth and bear it. After all, he had brought his condition on himself willingly. Perhaps he would soak in the bath later and see if that would help.

As he reached for a piece of fruit, his mind flashed back to the prior evening; the feel of the carpet beneath his knees, the sting of the crop on his already sore bottom, and the salty sweet taste of Erestor's seed in his mouth. His punishment for soiling his lover's robes had been a wondrous mix of pleasure and pain one he would not quickly forget. He had never been so aroused.

Afterwards, Erestor had tied his hands to the headboard, denying him any means of relief for his aching arousal. How he had managed to finally fall into reverie that way, with Erestor's nude body spooned against him, was a mystery. Somehow, though, he had managed.

When Erestor had untied him this morning, he had expected that his lover would take pity on him at last, or reward him for being good. Erestor did neither. Instead, his lover kissed him quickly and informed him that he would be busy all day, and that their regularly scheduled tutoring after tea would have to be postponed until tomorrow. He would not see Galathil until probably late this evening. With another, frustratingly quick kiss, Erestor had left their room and closed the door behind him.

Now Galathil sat eating his breakfast trying to ignore the throb of his buttocks and the ache in his loins.

"Maur aur, my Lord." Lindir's familiar voice tickled his ear, bringing him abruptly out of his thoughts. "Is this seat taken?"

Galathil looked up and shook his head, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "No," he replied.

Lindir smiled and took the empty seat beside Galathil. "Good. I was hoping we could continue our conversation from yesterday morning. You ran off before I could ask you if you wanted to go riding with me." He looked slyly at Galathil. "That is, if your afternoon is free. I know you have… lessons… with Lord Erestor after tea."

His cheeks were probably scarlet, but Galathil did not look away. He would never win Lindir by being shy. "Well," he drawled with a confidence he did not feel, "Lord Erestor has informed me that he will be busy this afternoon, so I am free." He smiled his most charming smile at the minstrel. "Riding sounds lovely. I am certain you know the best and most picturesque sights in Imladris."

Actually, riding sounded like a form of torture considering the way his bottom felt, but he was not about to admit that to Lindir.

Lindir nodded and rose gracefully from the table. "I will meet you in an hour at the stables, my Lord," he said. He paused and leaned down to murmur in Galathil's ear. "I would recommend a nice soak in a hot bath first, ernilen, or you will not enjoy this afternoon's… activities." He smiled knowingly and left, leaving Galathil to stare after his retreating back.

~ * ~

The bath had helped considerably, as did a nice slathering of muscle ointment. Galathil discovered riding was not as uncomfortable as he had feared – as long as they walked or cantered. Trotting was another matter and was borne only by gritting his teeth.

Thankfully, Lindir seemed inclined to take their ride slow, and they rode side by side down a path that wound through the trees that surrounded Imladris. Leaves of orange, brown and yellow fell around them, making a colorful carpet on the forest floor.

Galathil had been tense, unsure what to expect from the minstrel after this morning's innuendo; however, their conversation remained light with no hint of the double meanings that had laced their earlier discussion. That was a relief, for Galathil knew he had no skill when it came to wordplay.

"There is a nice clearing up ahead," Lindir was saying, turning to grace him with a smile. "I thought we might stop and take our afternoon tea there." He patted the rucksack that lay over his horse's withers for emphasis.

"That sounds fine," Galathil agreed. His stomach grumbled audibly, as if voicing its agreement as well. He had not eaten very much for breakfast; he had been too unsettled after Lindir's invitation to eat.

"I thought you might appreciate stopping as well," Lindir added with a wicked grin. "How are you holding up?" He glanced pointedly at Galathil's posterior and raised an eyebrow.

Galathil flushed and looked away, his actions eliciting a laugh from the minstrel.

"I cannot believe that, after being Erestor's lover for six months, you are still so shy. You blush far too easily, ernilen," Lindir laughed softly. "I would not bait you otherwise."

The Sinda struggled for some intelligent reply. "I am not shy," he replied finally, looking back at the minstrel. "I merely find it embarrassing that you know so many details of my relationship with my lover."

"Hmm," Lindir said, sidling his horse closer, "It is only an educated guess, ernilen. I know well the type of games that Lord Erestor prefers." He offered Galathil an understanding smile. "I have been there myself, you see." He lowered his voice as he continued, "Bent over the desk in his study, or across his lap. Once I could not sit for an entire day."

Galathil could not help but laugh, though his body warmed at the memory Lindir's words evoked. "Yes," he said simply. They rode in silence for several moments, before Galathil ventured to ask, "What happened?"

Lindir glanced at him sharply. "You mean, why is it I am no longer with Lord Erestor?" When Galathil nodded, he smiled faintly. "He does not fall in love with those he tutors," he said softly. "Although, you would seem to be the exception." He tilted his head slightly as he regarded the Prince riding beside him. "I wonder, though, why it is that he does not mind you spending time with me?"

"I am free to spend time with whomever I choose," Galathil said, stiffening. "He wants me to be certain of my love for him."

"Or maybe," Lindir said slyly, "he is hoping you will fall in love with someone else and thereby free him of his obligation towards you."

Galathil frowned, not liking the direction the conversation was headed at all. "Someone like you?" he asked haughtily. How dare this minstrel imply that Erestor did not want his love!

Lindir only nodded and smiled. "Aye, someone like me." He cued his horse into a canter and shot ahead of Galathil, leaving him to follow or remain behind.

When Galathil reached the clearing, Lindir had already dismounted and was spreading a large blanket beneath the shade of a large oak tree. He glanced up as Galathil brought his horse to a halt.

"Hungry?" Lindir asked, placing the bottle of wine in the center of the blanket beside the two cups, fruit and cheese he had brought.

Galathil slid stiffly from his horse's back and watched it amble off to graze alongside Lindir's mount. "I suppose," he admitted.

"Do not be angry with me, please," Lindir said, looking up at him as he knelt on the blanket. "It is far too lovely an afternoon." He smiled so cheerfully; Galathil found it difficult to keep from smiling in return.

He sat across from Lindir, sipping his wine and nibbling on slices of apple and cheese. He tried not to watch the way Lindir's hands curled around the slices of fruit or the way he licked spilt drops of wine from his lips. He was conscious of the way the minstrel's tunic fell open at the neck, revealing the smooth column of his throat, and of the long, graceful-looking legs that were splayed casually in front of him while he ate. He did not realize that he was staring at Lindir's lips until they curved into a knowing smile.

"You really are dreadful at this, ernilen," Lindir said softly, his eyes bright with amusement.

Galathil started, meeting the minstrel's eyes in confusion. "Dreadful at what? Picnics?"

Lindir laughed and shook his head. "Seduction. I have been waiting for you to make the first move; instead, all you have done is watch me as though you want to eat me but do not know where to start."

The Prince licked lips gone suddenly dry. "I – I did not realize I was staring." His cheeks warmed under Lindir's bemused regard, and he looked down at his hands. "But you are correct," he sighed heavily, looking up in chagrin. "I am dreadful at this."

"Do you want me?" Lindir asked seriously, all playfulness gone from his _expression.

Galathil swallowed, nearly choking on his wine. "Yes," he admitted faintly.

Lindir plucked the now-empty wine glass from Galathil's fingers and tossed it carelessly aside. He leaned close to Galathil, and the Sinda looked up into his eyes. "I can see then, that it is I who must make the first move." He leaned closer, his lips just brushing the tip of Galathil's ear.

The words, combined with the warmth of Lindir's breath against his ear, caused a thrill of pleasure to tingle along Galathil's spine. Slender fingers touched his chin, turning his head slightly, before Lindir's mouth covered his.

He opened his mouth under the gentle pressure of Lindir's lips, moaning softly at the first velvet swipe of the minstrel's tongue against his own. He met it eagerly, his hands reaching out to grasp Lindir's shoulders to steady himself. He was only marginally aware that the minstrel was pushing him gently back until his shoulders touched the blanket and Lindir released his mouth.

"I want to see you," Lindir breathed, his eyes darkened with lust. "I want to taste you." His gaze lowered, fixing on Galathil's mouth, and he licked his lips reflexively. "I want to hear you cry my name."

Galathil could not move or speak. He watched as if mesmerized as Lindir's clever fingers undid the laces of his tunic and spread the fabric apart, revealing his chest. His breathing hitched slightly as Lindir's lips fastened on one already hardened nipple, drawing it into his mouth with heat and suction. He groaned, his arousal straining against the laces of his leggings. His hands reached for the laces of Lindir's tunic, but he could not seem to make his fingers work well enough to untie them. With a low growl, he pulled, ripping the delicate cloth apart and baring Lindir's skin to his gaze.

The minstrel pulled the shredded fabric from his shoulders and gave Galathil a heated look that made the Prince shiver. "You will pay for that, ernilen," he promised softly.

Galathil did not care. His hands were already busy exploring the smooth flesh his hands uncovered. Lindir's body was as firm and muscled as any warrior's, and he commented on it.

Lindir smiled, capturing one exploring hand with his own. He brought it to his mouth, his tongue flickering out to tease the sensitive skin between Galathil's fingers. "That is because I am also trained as a warrior, ernilen," he said between licks. "I cannot sit idly by all day, playing and singing."

Galathil closed his eyes, reveling in the sensations Lindir's tongue elicited. He had not known his fingers were so sensitive! He opened them again at the minstrel's words and smiled. Somehow, it pleased something inside him to know that Lindir was a warrior.

"I would enjoy sparring with you some time," he said, gasping when Lindir drew two of his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them.

Lindir bit lightly on Galathil's fingers before releasing them. "Would you?" he challenged softly. In a swift move, he covered the Prince's body with his own, his hands on either side of Galathil's head as he smiled down at him. "Well then," he purred, rocking his hips forward deliberately. "Tomorrow morning? After breakfast?"

Galathil's legs fell apart, allowing Lindir to settle between them. He let out a low hiss of pleasure at the contact against his length. "Yes," he agreed, his hands traveling down the smooth planes of Lindir's chest before settling on his narrow waist.

"That is," Lindir said with a smirk, leaning down to lick Galathil's ear, "If you can walk tomorrow. I intend to make you quite sore, ernilen."

The words Galathil had meant to say were forgotten as Lindir captured the point of his ear between his lips, and all the Prince could manage was a gasp. His hips rose off the blanket, seeking contact with Lindir's body, and he heard the minstrel's soft groan. Pleased with the small victory, he moved one hand from Lindir's waist to trace a path up his flat stomach, feeling the muscles quiver slightly beneath his touch. He lifted his hips again, rocking their arousals together as his fingers brushed against Lindir's nipple. Another low groan escaped the minstrel, before Lindir captured his hand, pulling it away from his chest. He sat up slightly and caught Galathil's other hand as well. Transferring his hold to Galathil's wrists, Lindir pinned them over the Prince's head with a low growl.

"Leave them there," he instructed, his tone leaving no doubt in Galathil's mind that he expected to be obeyed.

A slow smile curled Galathil's lips. "Make me," he breathed, his body tensing in fevered anticipation.

Lindir held him, his grip tightening on Galathil's wrists as he stared down at the Prince with slightly narrowed eyes. "You like that, do you?" he murmured, pressing harder as Galathil squirmed beneath him. He ground his hips forcefully against the Prince's, causing him to groan and close his eyes. "Yes, I can see that you do." He leaned down, running his tongue over Galathil's lower lip before catching it lightly between his teeth. "Leave them there, ernilen, or else." His eyes locked with Galathil's, and he heard the Sinda's ragged breath.

Slowly, Lindir's hands released their punishing grip on his wrists, but he did not move them. Later, perhaps, when he knew more of what Lindir expected and wanted from him, he would push the boundaries. For now, however, he would obey.

Lindir moved back, settling on his heels, and looked down at Galathil with a thoughtful _expression. "Now that I have you, I cannot decide what I want to do with you first," he mused, chuckling softly. His gaze slid down Galathil's chest and lingered on the bulge readily apparent in the prince's leggings. "Banwain," he murmured. "I could torment you for hours and still not tire of it."

Galathil looked boldly at the minstrel. "Then torment me, my lord," he whispered. "Aníron han."

"So be it," Lindir replied. His hands made swift work of Galathil's boots and leggings, stripping them from the Prince's body in haste. He paused to admire Galathil's body; Lindir's fingers lightly traced the muscles of his chest and across his ribs, sliding down his flat stomach to curl in the soft dusting of hair at the base of Galathil's arousal. The Sinda made a low, whimpering noise in the back of his throat, his shaft twitching slightly against his stomach.

"So needful already," Lindir purred, his fingers wrapping tightly around Galathil's shaft. "Let me ease the burden a little before we truly begin."

Galathil groaned at Lindir's touch, his hips rising and falling with the rhythm of the minstrel's strokes. It did not take long for him to reach his climax, and he shuddered when it overtook him, feeling the hot splash of his seed against his stomach.

Using the torn remains of his shirt, Lindir gently cleaned the evidence of Galathil's passion from his skin before tossing it aside. Galathil watched with half-closed eyes as Lindir finished undressing, his eyes widening in appreciation as the minstrel slid his leggings down over his hips and revealed his arousal to the Sinda's hungry gaze. Lindir kicked his leggings away and stood smiling down at Galathil, noticing the direction of his stare.

"Use that lovely mouth of yours, ernilen. Pleasure me," Lindir crooned softly, spreading his legs further apart.

Galathil needed no further prompting. He rose to his knees, his hands reaching up to grip Lindir's hips to steady himself. Lindir slapped them away.

"Put them behind your neck, ernilen, and leave them there. Touch me with your tongue and lips; nothing else," the minstrel commanded quietly.

He moved closer, linking his fingers behind his neck as he had been told to do. He felt Lindir's fingers in his hair, guiding him closer, and he opened his mouth eagerly. Galathil felt the hardness of Lindir's length against his tongue like living velvet, the texture both hard and soft, before he wrapped his lips around it. He drew back, letting the shaft slide between his lips, taking it deeply once more.

"Open your throat, ernilen," Lindir whispered, his hand in Galathil's hair both guiding and steadying the Prince. Lindir's eyes were half-closed as he watched his length disappear between Galathil's lips. A soft groan escaped him as Galathil struggled to comply, the Sinda gagging slightly as he tried to take Lindir's length deeper.

Lindir's eyes closed, and his head fell back against his shoulders as he gave into the pleasure. Galathil's mouth, inexperienced or not, was bringing him quickly to the brink of his pleasure. He debated briefly on pulling away, to hold his release at bay for as long as possible, but decided against it. He knew his own body well enough to know that he would recover quickly enough.

Galathil felt Lindir's fingers tighten in his hair, holding his head still as the minstrel took control. He struggled not to gag as Lindir thrust into his open mouth with increasing force. He felt the hard shaft give a warning pulse and heard the minstrel's deep cry of pleasure before the salty warmth of Lindir's seed was filling his mouth. He swallowed, using his lips and tongue to catch every drop, wringing another soft cry from the minstrel.

Abruptly, Lindir released his hold on Galathil's hair, and the Prince nearly toppled backwards. His hands slipped from their position on the back of his neck to catch himself before he fell.

"Did I tell you to move?" Lindir asked sharply, his chest still heaving from his pleasure. "Hands on your neck, ernilen."

Galathil trembled at the steel in Lindir's voice and hastily complied, clasping his neck once more. His arousal, which had started to harden when Lindir began thrusting into his mouth, did not flag, but grew harder still.

Lindir drew his leggings on and laced them swiftly but left his feet and chest bare. He looked down at Galathil, nude and kneeling before him, and smiled with satisfaction. "Do not move from that spot, ernilen," he warned him. "And keep your eyes straight ahead."

Galathil heard Lindir move away, but could not look to see where he went, though it was sorely tempting to sneak a peek. Several moments passed, and he heard the sound of the pack being opened before he heard Lindir return.

"Come here."

Galathil turned, nearly forgetting himself in his surprise. Lindir was seated on a fallen log with the pack at his feet. His long hair was braided in a long, single braid that fell down his back. He was pulling on his riding gloves, smoothing them over his long fingers. Galathil's legs trembled slightly as he made his way to where Lindir sat.

Lindir looked up at him, his _expression utterly neutral except for the heat in his blue eyes. "You are cheeky, ernilen. Your tongue says things it should not, and you forget your place, do you not?" He arched an eyebrow at Galathil. "Answer me, ernilen."

"Yes, my Lord," Galathil whispered, his whole body trembling. He could imagine the feel of those gloves on his skin, the sting of the crop on his buttocks. His arousal throbbed almost painfully at the thought.

"I am going to teach you a lesson in manners, ernilen. That is, if you agree. I will not do anything you do not wish me to."

Galathil licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak. He hesitated, and Lindir gave him a warm smile. "You may speak freely this time, Galathil. Tell me what you wish to tell me."

"You – you will not hurt me?" Galathil asked faintly. Despite their games, Erestor had never truly hurt him; their relationship was a trusting one – Galathil trusted Erestor never to push him too far. He did not know Lindir well enough to give him that trust blindly.

Lindir reached up, caressing his cheek gently. "I will not do anything you do not truly want. I will not really harm you. There will be pain, but also pleasure. You can stop it at any time you wish." His fingers drifted lightly over Galathil's lips. "I know I am asking a lot from you, but I ask you to trust me as you would trust Erestor. He is the one who taught me all I know, and I would never betray his teachings."

Galathil nodded and swallowed audibly.

"You will trust me?" Lindir asked. Galathil nodded again, and Lindir drew him downward onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around the Prince's shoulders, pressing their bare chests together as his lips claimed Galathil's. His tongue slid into the Sinda's mouth hungrily, feasting on the Prince's lips until he heard him give a soft, needful groan.

Gloved fingers pinched Galathil's nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. His groans grew in intensity and volume as Lindir worked first one nipple, then the other, until he was writhing in the minstrel's lap.

Lindir released Galathil's mouth to latch onto the delicately pointed tip of one ear, drawing it between his lips even as one gloved hand slid lower, grasping the Prince's arousal and giving it several firm strokes. Galathil whimpered plaintively, eliciting a soft, pleased chuckle from Lindir. He released his hold on Galathil's length abruptly.

Firm hands pushed Galathil down until he was kneeling, his waist and hips against Lindir's thighs. He shuddered as his arousal brushed against the fabric of the minstrel's leggings, unable to keep from rubbing himself against it until Lindir shifted his legs slightly, removing the source of that delicious friction. A slap against his buttocks, louder than it was painful, warned him that his slip had not gone unnoticed.

"You will not come until I tell you," Lindir told him quietly, stroking his back with his gloved fingers.

Galathil nodded, his breath coming in short, anxious gasps as he struggled to stay still, keeping his hands behind his neck. Another stinging slap on his bottom made him wince.

"Answer me, ernilen."

"Yes, my Lord," Galathil whispered.

Lindir pulled Galathil's hair back from his face, leaning down to kiss him. His tongue twined against Galathil's hungrily, and he felt himself harden beneath his leggings once more. He released the Prince's mouth reluctantly, and placed one hand between Galathil's shoulder blades, steadying him. The other hand picked up the riding crop, and he used the end of it to tickle the cleft between the Prince's buttocks.

"Knees a little further apart, ernilen," he murmured. "Lean your weight against me."

Galathil's eyes closed as he complied; his breath quickened as the tickling touch of the crop abruptly left him.

"Look at me," Lindir demanded quietly. "Keep your eyes on my face. I want to watch you."

"Yes, my Lord," Galathil answered in a whisper, turning his head slightly and meeting Lindir's burning gaze. He did not know if he would be able to stand it, looking at Lindir as his body succumbed to the pleasure and pain of the crop. He bit his lip, holding himself in stillness the way Erestor had taught him. Lindir gave him an approving smile.

There was no real way to prepare himself for the first, stinging blow. It spread like fire across his skin, and he barely had time to accept it before the next landed just beneath it. He gasped, his back arching slightly, but he kept his eyes dutifully on Lindir's face. The minstrel's _expression had softened somewhat during his punishment, but the crop never ceased or slowed in its rain of blows upon his buttocks. He groaned, tears blurring his vision as he struggled not to flinch away from the crop.

Lindir groaned as well, nearly undone by the vision before him. Galathil's body arched, softening under the blows beautifully even as tears spilled down his cheeks. His mouth was open, his breathing harsh as he struggled even now to keep himself still, to yield utterly to Lindir's will. His buttocks were an even shade of pink, starkly contrasting to the pale gold of his skin.

Galathil cried out under the next blow, closing his eyes. He bit his lip, waiting for the next, and felt Lindir's gloved fingers lift his chin instead. He opened his eyes anxiously, and was rewarded by a gentle smile.

"You did well, ernilen," Lindir said approvingly. "Erestor has been soft with you, that much is apparent." He leaned down and licked the tears from Galathil's cheeks before giving him an open-mouthed kiss.

The Prince leaned into the kiss, grateful for the tender touch. His buttocks were one continual burning ache, throbbing in time with his pulse. His arousal, which had flagged during the final few strokes of the crop, hardened once more under Lindir's kiss.

Lindir pulled back, releasing Galathil's mouth.

"The log, ernilen. I want you to kneel against it with your arms over the side," Lindir told him, brushing his thumbs against his cheeks.

Galathil moved to comply, shivering as the rough wood came into contact with his chest and arms. He laid his cheek against one arm and waited, his arousal weeping copiously against his stomach.

He heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle of oil being opened, and smelled the sweet smell of vanilla and nutmeg, before he felt the first touch against his opening. He gasped as Lindir's gloved fingers, coated generously with oil, pressed into him. They felt utterly foreign: cool and smoother than any skin. The strangeness of it aroused him further, and he gasped again as they pressed deeper, stretching him, preparing him to be taken. His gasp became a full-throated groan as Lindir's other hand caressed his recently punished buttocks; the touch of the glove against the sensitive skin brought tears to his eyes once more.

Galathil felt Lindir move behind him, and shivered at the warmth of the minstrel's breath against his ear. "I would keep you this way if I could," he murmured, pressing his fingers deeper and eliciting another groan from Galathil's lips. "So tender, the merest brush of my fingertips would make you moan." He withdrew his fingers from Galathil's body and slipped his gloves from his hands, tossing them aside.

With quick movements, he stripped his leggings from his body once more and set them aside, before resuming his place behind Galathil's kneeling body. He took a moment to admire the prince's form, from the smooth column of his neck to the tender skin at the backs of his knees. The redness of Galathil's buttocks made him only more appealing.

"Ernilen vain," he murmured, stroking the reddened buttocks lightly. "I would make you mine now."

Galathil shivered, quivering beneath the light touch. His whole body ached with the thought of being taken this way, hungered for it the way a starving man hungers for food. He felt the heat of Lindir's length press against him, and he pushed back reflexively, groaning as the hardness of it filled him. Lindir's hips cupped his sore buttocks, making him hiss at the combination of pain and exquisite pleasure.

Lindir wrapped an arm around Galathil's waist as he began to thrust forward and back, first deeply, then shallowly, until the Prince was moaning breathlessly. Galathil's hips rocked back to meet his thrusts, drawing a grunt of surprise from Lindir's lips.

"Harder, ernilen? Is that what you want?" he whispered between clenched teeth, grateful that the edge had already been taken from his need. The tight heat of Galathil's body was better than he had imagined, and he did not wish to end it too quickly.

Galathil moaned helplessly, his fingers curling around the rough bark of the log as Lindir rode his body with harder thrusts. His arousal ached, untouched, and he whimpered as the need for release grew with each driving thrust.

"Touch me," he groaned, not caring if Lindir punished him later for his transgression or not. "Please, Lindir." He nearly sobbed with relief when he felt Lindir's fingers curl around his length, stroking it in time with his thrusts. His body began to tighten, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps as he was driven towards his peak.

"Not yet," Lindir panted, his other hand tightening its grip on Galathil's hip. He drove harder, his hips slapping against the prince's almost painfully. His own release hovered just at the edge, and he struggled to keep from reaching it too soon.

"Please." Galathil's body trembled. "I cannot… I am going to…"

Lindir could no longer hold his own relief at bay. "Tolo sí, Galathil," he ground out, thrusting deeply one last time. He shuddered, crying out, filling the Prince's heat with his essence.

Galathil needed no further words, for his control was lost. His release claimed him utterly, leaving him weak and spent, shuddering against the log. He felt Lindir kiss the back of his neck tenderly before withdrawing, but he could not move for the moment, all his energy completely spent. Only Lindir's soft chuckle finally roused him enough to move away from the log. He collapsed face down on the blanket, refusing to move any further.

He heard Lindir move away for a moment, but did not open his eyes to investigate. The blanket felt so good beneath him, he never wanted to move again.

Soft, gentle hands soothed something cool and slippery on the tender skin of his buttocks, and Galathil finally lifted his head, curious enough to want to see what Lindir was doing.

The minstrel met his gaze with a pleased smile, and gathered more salve on his fingers, rubbing it gently into the welts on Galathil's buttocks. "Sleep, ernilen," he told him quietly. "Take your rest. I am in no hurry to return."

Galathil blinked at him, managing a faint smile, before he lowered his head to his arms once more. Lindir's hands were soothing, the ointment he was using taking some of the sting from his buttocks. It was not difficult, therefore, for him to comply. With a small smile of contentment, he drifted into reverie.

*****

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