Title: Ubi Bene, Ibi Patria (Where One is Happy, There is One's Homeland)

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Original slash

Pairing: Original characters

Rating: NC17

Summary: A little about the Vidarians, and Omri is introduced. He is preparing for his ascension into manhood, an event which will mean more freedom for him, but the attention of a lecherous High Priest may mean trouble.

Archive: Ask permission. If given, I need credit and a feedback address supplied, and I will ask for removal if I find a publisher.

Sequel/Series: No

Disclaimer: This is an original and copyrighted work.

Warnings: This series will contain graphic sex, exclusively slash (m/m). There will be rape,
non-consensual sex, multiple partners, use of sex toys, and underage sex. I will provide specific
warnings on individual chapters.

Thanks to Vigdis for the beta. Blessings on her for her patience in helping me with the thees and thous.

Formatting: *indicates thoughts*

Notes: The world of this story is a complete fantasy, but its main influences are Imperial Rome and Medieval Europe. While other planets have achieved intergalactic travel, this planet (though aware of the more advanced outsiders) is still in its own Dark Ages, and will be slow to interact extensively with the interplanetary visitors.

Names: I like to use names that say something about the characters. Not always, but often. Omri - Hebrew for 'peace'. Tehtu - the closest I could come to writing the French word for 'stubborn' without using the weird pronunciation mark. Gierig - German for 'greedy'. Vidar - strong god in Norse mythology. Bell - French for attractive friend.

Chapter Warning: Ritual sex practices, involving statues. Mention of incest, and underage sex.

Ubi Bene, Ibi Patria (Where One Is Happy, There Is One's Homeland)
By Scribe

Worship Chant of the Vidarians

"All hale Vidar,
Great Warrior,
Protector,
Scourge of our enemies.

Oh, magnificent one,
To thee we pledge
Our allegiance,
Our very being.

Take what thou wilt of us,
Pleasure, or pain,
Seed, or blood.
All we give willingly to thee.

To thee belongeth the first of all -
Be it cattle, grain, wine,
Or the fruit of our loins.
Bless us with thy acceptance.



Chapter One


Tehtu awoke quickly and with a clear head - as always. This habit had served him well in his profession. A military man had to be alert at all times if he wanted to advance - and Tehtu was an ambitious man. Unlike most of the officers, he hadn't been born into a military family. His family had always been farmers, tilling the same land for as far back as memory reached. It was expected that he would stay on the land, receiving part of the crops he raised for his Lord, and producing more sons to continue the tradition. But on his Initiation Day the priest had tasted the blood and shit left on the tool of his ascension into manhood, had looked deep into his eyes,
and had declared that Vidar wanted this one, but not as a priest or temple slave. He was to serve in the army. His father had left him there, going home with his head held proudly, and tears streaking his cheeks.

That had been almost twenty years ago. He had risen through hard work, shrewdness, and the willingness to do anything he was ordered to do - be it suck a cock or lead what seemed to be a suicidal attack. He held the title of Major at the relatively young age of thirty-five. Tehtu had a comfortable wage, his own horse, and a small, neat house near the barracks. The last two were things that only officers were allowed - or could afford.

He got up, ignoring the pair of breeches folded on the bedside chair, since there was no point in dressing before he tended to nature. Tehtu reached under the bed, taking out the chamber pot. He checked it critically, but it was scrupulously clean. Taking care of the waste containers had been Omri's job since he'd come to stay with his father, seven years ago. The boy had learned quickly - it had only taken a few beatings to teach him to be prompt, and thorough. He hadn't really expected to find fault, but habits died hard.

He peed first, angling the pot so that his strong, pungent stream didn't splatter. There were occasional debates (usually during a communal drinking binge) about which was the best order - pee, then shit, or shit, then pee? The ones who favored shitting first claimed that they didn't want to have pee splash on their ass when they dropped their waste into the pot. Tehtu argued that unless the pot was VERY deep, or you passed nothing but hard rabbit pellets, or it was half
full because you were sluttish about emptying it promptly, the splash formed wouldn't reach your ass, whereas peeing last could be a hazard - if your bowels were the least bit loose. That wasn't a problem today. He had a healthy shit, and wiped himself with the rag that had been left ready, on top of his clothes. When he was done, he dropped it in the pot and shoved the now fragrant commode back under the bed. Omri would take care of it as part of his afternoon chores.

He washed his hands in the basin of water his son had filled the night before, dressed, and then went into the kitchen. There was a cold meal of bread, cheese, and roast rennet fowl set out on the table. He got a mug of milk from the bowl in the stone keep-box, making a mental note to tell the boy to replenish the supply, then he sat down to eat. As he gnawed the last scraps of flesh from the drumstick, he reflected how convenient it had been to have his son come live with him. He hadn't had to pay a houseman for the last three years.

He burped contentedly, put the dishes in the wash pan, and went to look for Omri. The next Initiation Day was coming soon, and Omri was finally old enough to participate. He had to attend instruction at the main city temple. There were numerous classes offered in the weeks leading up to the great day, staggered so that all candidates could attend at least once. Tehtu was making Omri attend all the ones available at the main temple. He was determined that his son would not disgrace him when it was time for him to ascend into manhood.

The boy wasn't in his tiny room, but then Tehtu hadn't expected him to be. The boy might not be completely satisfactory, but laziness was not one of his faults. First Tehtu stepped out into the street and peered down the block, checking to see that he wasn't at the waste pit. Then he went around to the back of the house to see if he was tending to the chickens or the pig. He wasn't there, either, but the scattering of grain in the coop and the full water trough showed that he'd been there. Tehtu stood beside the pen, watching the pig root through the table slops from
last night, wondering where to look next. He'd have to find the boy soon if they weren't to be late.

A thin, sweet sound reached his ears, and he turned to look toward his neighbor's house. Adili had thrown open the shutters on his back window, and the sound was definitely coming from there. "Vidar's weeping cock!" swore Tehtu. He stalked around to the front and pounded on Adili's door. The lilting melody stopped abruptly, and he heard voices murmuring inside. He pounded again.

The door opened, and Adili peered out at him, his lined face showing nothing but polite curiosity. "Yes, Tehtu?"

"Do not play stupid, you stoneless git. Send my son to me."

"No need to be insulting, neighbor." He looked back over his shoulder. "Omri, child, your father is here."

There was a shuffling, and Omri appeared beside the old man. He was carrying the carved wooden flute that his mother had insisted on sending him for his twelfth natal celebration. Tehtu glared at his son, and Omri humbly lowered his sea green eyes. The strong morning sunlight made his pale blond hair look almost white, with silver glints. The hair was a legacy of his mother. Tehtu had not seen her since he had gone to fetch the boy ten years before, but he remembered the hair. She had worn it in a long, creamy braid, and her lover, a buxom brunette, loved to run it through her fingers.

The hair wasn't all that the woman had to answer for, Tehtu thought grimly. Instead of being tall and broad, like his father, Omri was no taller than the old man, only coming up to his father's shoulder. That might not have been so bad, had he been sturdy, but the boy was almost slender. True, his father had insisted on athletic training, and Omri's smooth skin covered solid muscle, but clothed, he looked fragile. In the robes that all youths wore till they earned the right to wear breeches, he looked almost feminine. Tehtu's fondest wish was that Omri follow in his footsteps, but as the years went by he began to lose hope.

Omri said softly, "Father, you told me I might take instruction, did it not interfere with my duties."

"You knew very well that there is a class this morning."

"Yes, Father, but not for another hour yet. I thought..."

"You think too much, boy. Come."

Omri bowed his head to his teacher. "Again I thank you for your time, good Adili."

"It is my pleasure, young one. All today favor the brazen instruments, or the drums. They want nothing but martial airs. I do not often have one willing to learn something so gentle as the flute, and seldom have I had one so talented."

Omri started out of the house, but Tehtu growled, "You will not carry that pierced stick with you." When Omri made a move toward their house, Tehtu said impatiently, "I will not wait for you to do that, boy! Leave it with Adili or throw it in the gutter - I care not which you choose."

"Give it here, boy," Adili said gently. "I will keep it safe for you."

Omri handed over his precious instrument, then hurried after his father, who was already halfway down the block. When he was five paces behind Tehtu, he slowed to a normal pace. They passed many similar couples - an older man trailed by a youth. A boy did not walk as an equal with a man - not till after his Initiation Day.

They entered the market place, and Omri glanced at the goods on display. On the way home, it was likely that he would be expected to choose the ingredients for their next few meals - the keep-box was almost empty, as was the larder. *Today Father will be given his wages,* Omri thought. *I hope he gives me the household money before he visits a wine shop.* There were times when they spent the last few days of the month eating bread and gruel because Tehtu had
purchased an extra crock or two of wine.

They came to the area devoted to Vidar. It took up several square blocks in the heart of the city. There were several barracks, including one for the elite Vidarian Guard - the men entrusted with the security of the temple.

Then there was the temple itself. It was huge. It towered above the surrounding sprawl, rising a
majestic three stories. Not even the mayor's house was so tall. Omri thought that it would be possible to become lost in the depths of the black marble building. He swallowed as they approached. Yes, it was very possible. He knew of several boys who had disappeared inside, never to return. They had been chosen on their Initiation Day to become temple slaves.

Tehtu led his son up the shallow steps to the great double doors. A Vidarian Guard stood on either side, watching them narrowly. Tehtu nodded to the one on the left, who returned the nod. The Guard reached over and tugged sharply on the silken rope that emerged from a small hole, high up on the wall. They heard a distant tinkle, then there was the clang of a bolt being lifted, and the right door swung open. They went inside.

The main hall was two stories high, with a gilt railed walkway across the back, on the second level. There dignitaries could lounge in comfort while they looked down upon important rituals. Unlike the somber exterior, the marble inside was gleaming white. The room was huge. It could easily hold a half-a-thousand supplicants, but it was nearly empty now. There was a group of a dozen boys, and several men (one who wore the pure white robe of a priest) gathered at the far
left side, before the main statue of Vidar.

Omri took a step toward them, and Tehtu said sharply, "Boy, you know that I may not enter till I have made my submission to Vidar. Wait."

While his father unlaced his breeches, Omri looked at the statue of Vidar that stood beside the door. Only unbreeched youths were allowed to enter the temple without first offering physical proof of their submission to the Great God. A slave stood nearby, waiting to assist any worshipper as required, prepared to clean the statue in preparation for the next supplicant. Omri thought he recognized the slave. He had lived on their block, but had been chosen as a
temple slave two years before. Omri had been saddened by this, since the boy had always been cheerful and kind. Omri tried to catch the young man's eyes, hoping to exchange a smile, and perhaps even a few words later. But the copper haired man kept his eyes on the floor, his expression blank. It was as if he was trying to go unnoticed by the world. Omri felt a twinge of sorrow. *My friend, you act as if you are merely one more temple ornament or convenience. Is
that what it is to be a temple slave?*

The thought made Omri uncomfortable, and he pushed it to the back of his mind, as he did with all other unpleasantries in his life. He returned his contemplation to the statue. Omri had never seen Vidar - the god had not deigned to visit this temple during his short lifetime. There were many elders who had been in the temple the last time Vidar appeared, though, and they all said that the temple statues were excellent likenesses.

*They say that he comes so seldom because we have been at peace for years now. He is handsome, but he looks so hard - rough. It is not surprising that he favors all things martial,* Omri thought. The statue was a nude representation of the god. Vidar stood with arms crossed, legs slightly spread. His prick rose proudly from the carved tangle of his pubic hair. Omri had
never seen a nude representation of Vidar where the god's member was limp. He wondered if the god was perpetually aroused. You couldn't tell with the clothed versions.

Tehtu had lowered his breeches to his knees. He bent and examined the uplifted marble cock, and found that it glistened with a thick coating of sweet oil, anointed from tip to root. Nodding his satisfaction, he spoke to the slave. "Just one finger, but use plenty of oil." Then he turned his back, bent at the waist, and reached back to part his own buttocks.

The slave dipped his fingers in a small bowl of sweet oil that rested on a table at his elbow. Eyes still downcast, he stepped up behind the older man, and rested his clean hand on Tehtu's back with a murmur of apology. He carefully wiped the oil around Tehtu's brown pucker, then placed the tip of his middle finger at its center and pushed, slowly but firmly. When he had it fully seated he began to pump it in and out, opening Tehtu's back passage in preparation for his ritual submission to Vidar.

After a moment Tehtu said, "Enough." The slave immediately withdrew, and Vidar backed up to the statue, peering back over his shoulder to be sure of his direction.

The slave said quietly, "Sir, do you need..."

"No, I do not. I can spear myself without assistance, slave."

The ritual anal piercing was neither easy, nor comfortable for some of the smaller worshippers.
Often a step had to be provided so they could lower themselves onto their god's rampant cock. If even the step was not enough, a slave would have to lift the worshipper in his arms and lower him onto the statue's waiting dick. Tehtu was tall, though, and he had no problem.

Tehtu backed up till he felt the cold tip touch his buttocks. "I wish they would put a wooden statue near the door. Or perhaps a bronze one. I have heard that they can circulate warm water though those, so that you do not feel like you are taking an icicle into your ass."

"Father!" hissed Omri, glancing nervously at the slave. The other man still had his eyes down, but his lips were twitching, as if he were fighting a smile.

"What? Shit, boy, Vidar understands. You will, too, after you have had a few cocks up your ass." He spread his ass cheeks again and leaned back till the tip of the false phallus was nestled in the crack. He moved up and down a few times, pressing back a little, till the bulbous tip was pressed against his anus. There he paused. "Here is where the decision comes in, lad. To push back slowly, and perhaps have anyone waiting to enter grow impatient, or to just take it all in one glorious shove. I choose the shove. It hurts this way, but I am a man, by Vidar! I am sure he appreciates my willingness to take a little discomfort with my worship." Tehtu gritted his teeth, and rammed backward.

Omri wanted to look away, but his father had told him long ago that no son of his would be allowed to flinch from a perfectly common ritual. Omri watched as the thick, white stone prick drove deep into his father's ass, stretching the muscular ring till it was almost white with strain. Tehtu paused there, expression tense. This was all that was required - a single penetration. As was his nature, though, Tehtu had to show that he was willing to do more. He flexed his knees, rising half off the statue's prick, then sank back down. He did this a half dozen times, then pulled free.

If he truly wanted to fuck himself to completion, there were numerous other statues scattered about the main room. They were crafted of different materials, and in a variety of poses, but all presented erect cocks. As the slave wet a cloth in a bowl of soapy water and stepped forward to wipe his father's ass free of oil, Omri glanced around the temple again, and noted another worshipper employing one statue that was sculpted in a kneeling posture, prick sticking out
parallel to the floor. This one was made of dark wood, smoothly varnished. The worshipper, a muscular man in his mid-twenties, had stripped from the waist down. He was on hands and knees before the statue, working himself back and forth vigorously on the statue's thick cock. The man's own prick, swollen and thick with lust, wavered below his belly. It was considered a great act of devotion if a worshipper could achieve release only through the inanimate prick, without touching himself. As Tehtu drew up his pants, the man ground his buttocks back against the statue, crying out as his spunk splashed on the floor.

Omri had been watching closely, feeling a small stir of warmth beneath his robe. He was startled when Tehtu prodded him. "You will have plenty of time to watch once you have ascended, boy." He gave him a small push toward the group in the corner. Behind them the slave was carefully washing, drying, and anointing the statue's prick in readiness for the next temple visitor. A second slave was helping up the man who had just finished fucking himself on the statue, while a third began to clean the floor of his cooling seed.

The priest smiled at them as they approached. "Tehtu, good to see thee. And Omri - my most faithful candidate. Boys, you could take a lesson from Omri. While it is true that you art required to attend only one instruction, it does not hurt to listen again, and even again. Omri will be well prepared on Initiation Day." The other boys turned casually hostile eyes on Omri, who felt the blood creeping up his cheeks.

Tehtu clapped Omri on the shoulder. "Listen to him well, boy. I will be at the barracks when you are through." He left. The priest motioned, and all the boys sat on the floor. Omri stayed at the back of the group, knowing that it would be easier to avoid pinches and nudges.

The priest began his speech. Omri had heard it a dozen times, and allowed his mind to drift, even as he kept his gaze fixed on the priest. He knew very well what to expect. On his Initiation Day the candidates would gather, along with their fathers and brothers. The High Priest and any visiting dignitaries would watch from the balcony as the boys made their ascension into manhood.

First they would be stripped of the robes that symbolized their childhood. Naked, they would each be presented to a statue of their god for the ritual deflowering. These were special statues. They were brought in on individual pedestals, positioned in a line. Whether kneeling or standing, each statue was mounted on tracks, so that they could slide back and forth. The candidate was positioned, and the priest guided the god's prick to the boy's asshole. Then the statue would be driven forward, impaling the candidate.

It was commonly believed that the priests made the first thrusts as violent as possible, as a symbol of Vidar's complete domination of his new acquisitions. This seemed to be borne out by the fact that only the strongest, most muscular priests were given the task of assisting in the mass deflowerings. It was rumored that certain wealthy fathers made generous offerings to the temple, to insure that the priests who controlled the statues that their sons went to would be slow and careful. It wasn't uncommon for candidates to faint during the mounting. After each Initiation Day, a number of them had to spend a day or two in bed, recovering. Deaths were not unheard of, if the candidate was delicate, and the priest zealous. These were rare, though, and the worshippers simply assumed that Vidar had chosen those to serve him personally in the next life.

It was considered very bad form to cry out during the mounting. The more stoic the candidate, the greater his prestige. The only thing that brought more admiration than complete silence was if the candidate achieved stiffness. The priests generally did not draw the ritual out long enough, but if a boy ever reached completion, it would raise cheers from the onlookers.

Omri's absorbed contemplation of what was to come was broken when someone tousled is hair. He looked up to find a young man dressed in the red banded robe of a junior priest smiling down at him. Omri brightened immediately. "Bell!"

The black haired man held a finger to his lips, but his dark eyes danced. Bell was two years older than Omri, and had been born in the house next to his mother's. Omri had been disconsolate when his friend had been sent to live with his father, and elated when they had found each other again after Omri had done the same. They had been constant companions, up until Bell's own Initiation Day. Bell had been fucked long and hard by the statue, and had spent his seed with a triumphant cry. There had been applause as it was declared that he would be taken into the temple as a junior priest. Omri had wept for two days, earning a number of irritated cuffs from his father.

He hadn't been able to help it. Bell had been so understanding, so supportive. He had encouraged Omri to continue with his training on the flute, telling him that ALL music honored Vidar, not just the blare of army trumpets. Just before Bell had joined the priesthood, Tehtu's long-time lover had left him. For the first time Tehtu had demanded that Omri relieve his lust. Omri had lain quietly while his father rubbed against him, not protesting, but not enjoying. Tehtu had been a bit irritated that the boy had remained soft, but he had only pushed him out of bed. After the boy had wiped him clean, he had been dismissed, and Tehtu was snoring in moments.

It hadn't been that easy for Omri. He'd felt horribly confused - still did. It was the acknowledged right of senior family members to take pleasure of uninitiated boys, as long as their anal virginity was preserved for Vidar. There were few boys of Omri's acquaintance who did not use their hands or mouths to pleasure fathers, uncles, or older brothers. The servicing did not usually begin till the boys' fourteenth or fifteenth year, but some were pressed into sexual service as soon as they were brought from their mothers. Omri winced inside every time he thought of these boys. They might be boisterous or silent, but without exception their eyes were empty.

On that night, Omri had gone outside to visit the communal well across the street. He had used all the water in the house to wash his father, and he needed to cleanse himself and fill the bedroom basins. He'd drawn the water, emptying it into his own pail. Then, instead of carrying it back to his home, he'd sat on the side of the well, starring blankly at the ground. He'd been startled by a soft voice saying, "If you must stare, why not look up at the sky?" Bell had sat beside him, putting an arm around his shoulder. "He finally did it, eh?"

Omri wasn't surprised that his friend knew what was troubling him. He nodded. "I thought perhaps I would escape that, but..."

Bell had hugged him gently. "Omri, few of us escape that particular duty. I have had to suck the cock of my father, and my grandfather. I count myself blessed that my sire had no brothers, or I am sure I would have ended up servicing them, also."

"I do not like it. It... it feels wrong."

Bell had shrugged. "I do not know of many who actually enjoy it, but it is a son's duty, Omri. It
has been since... since..." He laughed. "Vidar, I don't know. Since forever, I suppose. Just be
grateful he is not violent, and it will be over for you in a couple of years. Once you ascend, he will not be able to demand submission from you."

"Not unless I am chosen for the army, or as a temple slave," he had said bleakly. "Then he can fuck me any time he chooses."

Bell had bitten his lip, torn between reassuring his friend, and being honest with him. "I cannot say that will not happen, but it is UNLIKELY. The army is well supplied with recruits - many join even if they are not specifically chosen, so they only select a few from each Initiation. The same goes for temple slaves. And remember, there are Initiations in hundreds and hundreds of temples, all over the land." He took Omri's hand and squeezed it. "What are the odds, eh?" Then he had bent down and kissed him, softly and undemandingly. Omri had responded with a
fierce hug, tugging at his friend's robe, sliding it up his thighs. "Omri, you do not have to..."

"I WANT to," Omri had whispered. "I wanted the first time to be of my choosing. Let the second time be."

There had been a pile of clean straw in the shadows of a nearby building. They had stripped off their robes and lain down together, touching and kissing, strong young bodies shining in the moonlight. When they were both hard and leaking, Bell had gently directed him with words and touch till they lay on their sides, head to groin. Omri had shown Bell the eagerness that he had not felt with his father. He was a little clumsy, but earnest, and soon his friend was thrusting deep into his mouth, crying out as his seed spilled down Omri's throat. Then he had rolled Omri onto his back, took the younger boy's slender, rigid cock into his mouth, and gently sucked him to whining, shuddering completion. They had met often after that - till Bell had gone into service at the temple. Then he only saw him in public at the temple, and somehow Omri couldn't bring himself to approach his friend for sex that way. He knew that Bell understood.

Bell squatted beside Omri. "So, thy time hast arrived." Omri made a face, and Bell put his hand
over his own mouth to hide his smile. "When Fier," he nodded toward the priest droning on at the front of the group, "mentioned a candidate with white hair, I knew it must be thee. Congratulations, my friend." He whispered. "I will see what I can do to get thy priest to go easy..." His eyes flicked up suddenly, and he rose.

Omri turned back to see what had caught his attention, and felt his mouth go dry. Gierig, the High Priest, resplendent in his gold banded white robe, had entered the room. No wonder Bell had stood up so quickly. Omri had only seen the High Priest a few times, and that at a distance. He was a big man, even taller than his father. He was young to have gained such an exalted position - no more than forty-five turns of the seasons. His thick hair still had a goodly mix of dark with the gray, and the only wrinkles on his face were deep lines bracketing his mouth. His eyes were gray and cool, almost silver.

The boys started to scramble to their feet, but Gierig motioned them to stay seated. "No, children, do not rise." The boys sat once again as the High Priest approached, coming to stand beside Fier. He smiled at them. "I know ye are all surprised, and thou are quite right - I do not usually attend these classes. However, I have just had news - something that thou shouldst know. Art thou all aware of our Visitors from the sky?"

The boys exchanged interested looks, and despite the presence of the High Priest, an excited murmur ran through the group. Yes, they knew of the Visitors, though none had ever seen them. The Visitors had first appeared fifty turns ago, dropping from the sky in a wondrous contraption of gleaming metal - bigger than even the emperor's palace, it was said. They had presented wondrous gifts of precious metal and gemstones, the Emperor had declared them to be welcome ambassadors from the stars. Dealings had been amicable, even though communication was limited. The Visitors had a translation device, but it worked on only the crudest level.

The original group went back to their home in the sky, promising to return in the future. There had been two more visits, but they could never stay more than two or three days. The Visitors had complained that they could not learn much of the culture in such a short time, and the emperor had offered a solution. When they returned to the sky the last time, a Vidarian was sent with them. He was to teach them the Vidarian language, and answer whatever questions they had about Vidarian society. It hadn't occurred to him that the language barrier might seriously hinder the process.

"The Visitors have resolved the problem that made their visits brief. True diplomacy will now be
possible between our world and theirs. I am proud to announce that some of them will be lodging in our own fair city. In fact, they arrive tomorrow, and will be honored guests at the coming Initiation Day. I am pleased that we will have this chance to show them such an important part of our religion - our way of life." He eyed the boys sternly. "I trust that ye will all acquit thyselves nobly. We must show them the strength and fortitude of our race. Any who disgrace us before them..." He paused, then said softly, "It would be regrettable, but I am sure I need not worry."

His eyes flicked over the seated boys, resting for a moment on each one. Then his glance was caught by a lick of brightness. The boy sitting at the back was almost obscured by the ones seated before him, but that silvery hair drew the eye. Gierig looked over at Fier. "We have a fine crop of candidates this time, don't we, Fier?"

Fier bowed. "Indeed we do, Holiness."

"Any thou feel might catch the favor of Vidar? Any thou thinkest may do for the temple?"

Omri felt his gut clench with nervousness as Fier said, "I would not presume to try to predict my god's tastes, Holiness."

"No, of course not. Still, I'd like a better look at those who are so soon to ascend." He lifted his voice in command. "Each of thee will stand, one at a time, and tell me thy name. Thou." He pointed to a boy in the front of the group.

The boys stood on command, speaking their names, and answering a question or two from the High Priest. Finally Gierig pointed to Omri. "Thou. Why doest thou hide in the back, boy?"

Omri stood. "I do not hide, Holiness. I came late to the group, and it was not my place to push forward."

Gierig nodded. "A properly humble attitude - one which the other candidates would do well to emulate. Thy name?"

"I am called Omri, Holiness."

One of the boys said, "Huh - PEACE!" and there was laughter.

"WHY DOEST THOU LAUGH?" thundered Gierig, and the laughter died immediately. "Fools. Vidar is the god of all - war AND peace. Doest thou think that Vidar cannot relish a time of quiet?" He looked back at Omri. "Have thee an ambition? What would thee have Vidar choose for thy future? Look at me, boy."

Omri dared not disobey a direct order, so he raised his eyes to meet those of the High Priest, and he answered honestly. "I would be a musician, Holiness. I play the flute." There were a few muffled giggles, but before Gierig could reprimand the group, Omri said bravely, "I have been told that all music honors Vidar."

"And so it doth, young Omri." Omri fought the urge to fidget. Though Gierig had defended him, he was still uncomfortable. The gray eyes were too intense. Omri felt the gaze almost as a physical touch, and it made him chilly. "I will watch your Initiation with interest, and I hope thy wish is fulfilled." He nodded to Fier and Bell, then turned and swept back the way he had come.

Gierig made his way to his study. Once there he poured himself a glass of strong wine and sat in the room's most comfortable chair. He sipped slowly, letting his head fall back on the cushions. "Well, well," he drawled. "I must make an offering to thee, Vidar, in thanks for that little treasure."

He set aside his goblet and hitched his robe high up on his thighs. He reached up under and fondled his cock. He'd begun hardening as he looked over the fresh crop of candidates, imagining their Initiation Day. Some of them were quite nice, and it would be a pleasure to see them taking the stone and wooden cocks into their virgin asses. Then... then he had spotted the beauty at the back of the group - shining hair, sea-green eyes, smooth cheeks, fair skin, and an almost delicate body.

Gierig sighed, feeling his prick thickening at the very thought of that sweet, wide mouth. *Boy, there are better things to wrap thy lips around than a flute.* He began to stroke himself slowly, imagining that it was the boy's small hand instead of his own. *Such a shame that Vidar must be the first to mount him. Such tender flesh is wasted on a lifeless statue. Ah, well...* He rolled his balls firmly in their soft pouch, then began to pump himself, hard and fast. *There will be time. I have a strong feeling that one is destined for temple service. A word to the officiating priests will assure it.*

END PART 1