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In the morning, or what passed for it in the perpetual half-light that was the mountain, I was alone. I sighed, and wearily took to the now familiar halls to look for Tarvos. The air was fresher now, and the pass must be clearing. In a few weeks, the tracks would turn to mud again, and Valskr would come to life, insofar as it ever was alive.

I nodded a greeting to Nestor, his bronze hair still damp from the hot baths. "Have you seen Tarvos?"

He shook his head. "No, John, not for hours. I would not fear, but it is near to spring, and he usually leaves..."

At his I smiled. "No. Not without me he isn't."

Nestor nodded and smiled in return. "Of course. I do not mean to arouse fear in you. I only meant to convey his habit prior to meeting you. He was not in the baths, and I have been there for some time. Oretas will know where he is, I would gather. I had heard they were to meet."

I frowned, and nodded my appreciation as I ran past. I had hoped this would not be the case, for their last meeting had caused him no end of distress. And there was, of course, my dream. I had resolved not to pry, but now I must know, what of my dream was truth, and what was fancy? One word had stuck itself firmly in my mind: taurobolium. A ritual? He wanted to offer a gift?

Eventually I found my way to Oretas' room. Like Tarvos', it was plain, meant mainly for sleeping, but a table and two benches were present as well, for meetings. It was here that Oretas sat, facing the entrance, looking to me as I ran in. "John." He nodded in greeting, and gestured to the bench.

Like everything in the mountain, it was not build to accommodate me, but I was used to this by now. The bench was smoothed by years of use, but how many I could not say. For the minotaurs, this seemed like an extravagance, but this only went to show the position of esteem that Oretas was held in. Sitting at the table, I imagined I looked to Oretas much as a child would, yet he spoke with me as an equal. In truth, I had never felt treated much different by his people, and yet outside the mountain, most men treated minotaurs as beasts, or monsters, or large children, to be talked to simply.

"Where is Tarvos?"

Oretas shook his head. "Getting air. Let us speak together, John, for you have questions I think, yes?" His blue eyes looked at me piercingly.

"Is he avoiding me? Is... is someone dying?" As I looked, Oretas winced, each sentence of mine a spear in his side. "Is Tarvos dying? I... I dreamed -"

Oretas held up one hand to forestall my words. "I think perhaps we spoke too loud, and for this I apologize. I needed to address Tarvos in some matters that concerned him and me, and you as well, but this is not where I imagined the course of that conversation taking me. Le me ask you this, John: Do you know how long a minotaur will live?"

I shook my head. "I know you are long lived, but... no, I confess, I have no idea. I cannot imagine it is much greater than a man. Is anything?"

At this, Oretas smiled. "Such notions. To answer your question, yes, many things live longer than a man does, including us. Old age will not claim a Son of Minos, nor infirmity of limb or mind afflict us. Our spirits age, however, and each year is counted like a ring on my soul. I, for example, am old, even for one of my kind, and my soul is heavy. There are, to my knowing, none older than I, and I wish very badly to rest.

"But before I submit to this, I wanted to see all my kith were well before I did. Tarvos is the last, having found none before you to chain his heart to."

"Chain his heart?"

Oretas smiled patiently. "A minotaur... craves love and affection. It was denied to the first of us, and stains his sons each generation. A minotaur that goes too long without it falls to depression or madness. In our close communities, most find another loving companion, but for the few that don't, they go off chasing death out in the world. Silly things, like fighting in the little wars of men, for example."

My eyes widened. "He... he..."

"Craves an end to things. He has lived long without that which would sustain his soul. But you, John, fill him. I did not remember his happiness, until I saw him next to you. Unknowing, you have saved him. But because you are a man, and mortal, you have chained him also to an hourglass that is losing its sand. He will care for you until you pass into whatever comes after this life, never aging, appearing to you as strong and virile as the day you met. And when that day comes, as it will, as it must for all men of this age... he will go with you."

My mind spun. "W-what must I do? I would not have him condemned for my love. He does not deserve a death for love, however... romantic and noble."

"Ever noble, ever romantic Tarvos. Death must claim us all eventually, but his comes too soon." And then Oretas looked at me directly again, and I could not look away. His great hand reached across the table and grasped mine. "But I can forestall your death, at the expense of mine. This is what he cannot bear, and feels immense guild towards both you and I for the cost we could bear for his happiness. He could not ask you. Do not judge him harshly for this, for he thinks that by avoiding this, he can save us both."

I sat in silence, feeling the strength in that one great hand, and I wondered if, too, I could feel the years beneath, as a tree would gird its trunk in rings. "All of us will die. You will... you will kill yourself, and soon, yes?" I offered, eventually.

"Something like that. I crave rest, John. Here, I have known happiness, and here I would lay my bones to rest."

I nodded. "And I will go to age. And Tarvos... probably to battle, if he doesn't stay with me."

Oretas nodded. "Or I can offer my life for yours, and you can tame his heart in exchange."

"I will do this. Whatever it--"

"Before you offer yourself up, know that you sacrifice much for your gain. I feel it is worth it, but I have never had the perspective of a man, who lives like a book, each page written on until his end." He sighed. "It is a ritual. With us, it is always a ritual. The taurobolium. It is... it is a rebirth, John. When it is done, you will not be a man. You will remember the world you came from, but ever after you will be one of us, a Son of Minos, and all that goes with that in a world of men. Your lineage will be stricken from your body, and what family you have will be quit of you, as you forsake their blood for mine. It is a trauma, a wound that you will bear forever. As for me, knowing that a life was given in this way for you, you may temper those thoughts with my best wishes for both of you, for your happiness. But for what you lose... only you can reckon with that, your ancestors, your kin. That burden will be yours and yours alone, for eternity, and neither the living nor the dead forgive this easily."

I thought carefully on how to phrase my answer before speaking, even the mountain waiting in silence for me to speak.

"I accept the consequences of my actions, and whatever burdens may come. I do this for you, for Tarvos, and for myself. I accept, wholeheartedly, without reservation. In all things, you are now my kith, and I forsake the inheritance of a man for that of a minotaur. I choose to wear the bull's body, to keep my heart beating, as I live to hear his."

At this Oretas began to weep openly, and he stumbled around the table to pick me up and embrace me to his chest. "John, at this I declare you my son in name, and soon in blood. You are my son," he wept. "You are my son, my good, good son."

"John..."

As we embraced, Tarvos had entered. I looked to him, concerned, and Oretas released me. "What did you hear?"

"Enough." He looked tired, and his tone was clipped. "I'm... I'm sorry I didn't talk to you, but... John, do not do this. You do not need to change for me."

"But I love you, and--"

"And I love you. Nothing has changed. Not for you, not for me, not for him," he said, gesturing at Oretas. "I... I accept that Oretas wants to die. I have come to terms with it. I will respect it, though it pains me, because we all must die, every one of us, and our ends, if they are written, are rarely written by our hands. The Sons of Minos must write their own ends. Oretas writes his. I must write mine. But yours, John, mortal, precious John... will come as fate allows, and fate is a fickle, wonderful thing. It means that the time I have with you is precious, for I know not when it will end, and every day is a gift. I felt that way when I met you."

I felt as if my heart had dropped from within my chest. "But--"

"I haven't changed my mind. I love you John. I will love you when you are sick, I will love you when you can no longer walk, I will love you when you are grey and your skin turns to paper and your bones are brittle... and I will carry your love with me until my end. It is not death I seek, but life. To go on forever, to forsake the fate that brought us together, just to exist without end, until the years weight upon us... this is not the life I seek. To live each moment we have together, knowing that it will end, is. For all my years, for Oretas', even for yours, at the end, we are the same.

"Life is defined by boundaries. Love is not."

And then he leaned over and kissed me, and I held his head to mine, lips pressed together. He wept as we kissed, tongues tasting, exploring, remembering our passion, knowing that one day it would end. One glorious autumn before the rain came, then the snow, then the darkness, our seasons ending in turn as the world turned to spring again without us.

Oretas sighed, and looked at us sadly. "I don't understand, but then, perhaps that is not so bad. It is true, all things end. But I would not see yours, Tarvos, it would drive me mad with grief. If you are resolute--"

"I am."

"And John, you have been swayed by his argument?"

I paused. "Eternal life is something that is attractive on the hearing of it, in the abstract, but perhaps I did not fully think of the consequences. Perhaps the fruit is best enjoyed in the fullness of the season, and not so long after its time has come, when the colours have washed away and the taste is dull."

Oretas sighed again. "After a time, the spark does dim. You both still have it, I can see, but all I can do is remember what once was, and not so much what is to come. Tarvos is wiser than us both, perhaps. He has lived long enough to earn it, I suppose. And the taurobolium is somewhat gruesome."

"What was it to be?" I asked innocently.

"I would be slaughtered above you, my blood and entrails to cover you, my flesh you would eat... on the whole, as I said, gruesome, but with the ritual comes power."

I blanched. "Well. What will you do now?"

Oretas clapped me on the shoulder. "Only the best I can. I will live to see you wed, at least. That, I can look forward to. And it is still my honour, if you would be my son. Not in blood, perhaps, but until the end of my days, if you would do this, it would make my heart glad."

I nodded.

He smiled broadly, though still a sadness remained. "Then we must prepare! Leave me to my work, I would make the ritual perfect for you..."

"Always a ritual," I said, and Tarvos smiled thinly as we left Oretas to his work. "But he will do this? He will..."

Tarvos nodded sadly. "Speak not of it now. There will be time enough, and I crave some time with you."

Tarvos' hand never left my back as we walked back to his room. "If you had asked, I would still have done it."

"I know," he said, and rubbed my shoulders. "I would not have you change for me, though I love you all the more that you would. I meant what I said."

"I know," I said. "Though one of these days I would like to fit you. Properly. And the idea of filling you but once did appeal to a certain side of me."

He grinned broadly. "We will have to make do as best we can." He collapsed upon his mats, and I fell atop him, my hands immediately moving to his large member, rubbing it, feeling its warmth and girth, and I began to lick the glistening head, my mouth occasionally taking it in as I worked.

"H-have you had nothing to eat this morning?" he asked. I grunted, mouth full, and continued my work, stroking his maleness in two hands while I worked on the head with my mouth. I could smell him as be began to sweat, as I brought him closer and closer to release.

I slowed down a bit, leaning on his chest as I played with his member, head slick with both my attention and his own eagerness, watching it throb in time with his beating heart. "Do... do not... make me finish, John..." With one finger, I began to rub the place where is foreskin connected to the head of his member, slow, small circles, and I kissed him gently as I went, feeling his hot breath on my face. He moaned, and I smiled, relenting, grasping him firmly with both hands as I rolled back over and continued where my finger had left off, licking, feeling the firmness of his hot flesh.

"J-John..." I increased my speed slightly, and he began to arch his back slightly, his breathing becoming ragged. I moved my head slightly back as he released, a fountain issuing forth from him, cascading across his chest, down my hands, almost without end. His breathing began to slow, but I kept my grip, and began to clean him, savouring the taste of him. He moaned again with the attention, and I felt him start to relax.

I moved up to his chest, my wet fingers finding his nipples and rubbing them as I continued to clean him, his semen still warm, not caring how much of it ended up on me. He brought one great hand gently upon my back, rubbing it errantly while the other rested above his head, and he sighed and smiled. "Do you feel better?"

"Much," he replied, still smiling. "Very much."

"You know," I said thoughtfully, "after this, I think I should need to be clean."

Tarvos nodded. "The baths?"

I pretended to think about this. "Yes... unless you think the oil might be better?"

Tarvos became erect again.