The triptych featured a weeping willow over a lazy stream, fine lacy openwork with amazing detail down to the veins on each leaf and the texture of the bark. Gabriel frowned at the piece in his hand, realizing he would need to reheat it and adjust the angle. His mind was already moving on to the details of the next piece even as he held this one in the fire, making the corrections needed automatically and only snapping from his near trance-like state to stoke the forge.

After several hours of working on the screen Gabriel reluctantly turned to his paying work, some farm implements that needed mending and a fireplace hook for the local school teacher. Not that I'm ungrateful, he thought, but it certainly would be refreshing to have something a bit more challenging to work on. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and quickly finished the work at hand before tidying the forge and banking the fire for the night.

Gabriel stretched, feeling the bones of his spine ripple as he worked out the knots that were inevitable after a long day at the forge. He pressed his hands to the small of his back, kneading the tight muscles as he climbed the stairs to his small apartment. It wasn't grand, but he was saving a lot by living over his shop. Another reason not to get involved with one of the local ladies, he wryly thought, any one of them would certainly insist on a separate house.

He lit the lanterns and set water on the stove to heat, impatiently beginning to fill the large soaking tub before the chill was barely off. Once the basin was full he gratefully sank in to his chin, dunking and rinsing his hair before vigorously scrubbing the soot off his skin. He hummed as he washed, content, as always, to enjoy simple pleasures . . . a bath, a simple meal, and a warm bed were all it took to make his life a good one.

After a meal of bread, cheese and fruit Gabriel remained at the table, pulling out some sketches and making notes of modifications he'd made before turning to a blank page and quickly outlining a large celtic cross, adding details of the various embellishments along the edge of the sheet. Another piece no one will appreciate but me, he thought mournfully, wondering yet again if he might have been happier working in a city where there might be more call for the decorative work he enjoyed.

Frustration bubbled up inside the normally placid man and he shoved the pages away angrily. Enough of this, he told himself crossly, let it go and get some sleep. He stood and stretched, pulling off his shirt and tossing it haphazardly across the room before consigning his pants to a similar fate and sliding into bed.

Gabriel tossed and turned, unable to just relax and let sleep come. Eventually he sat up, rubbing his hands through his hair until it stood out around his face in a inky cloud. What's wrong with me, he thought crossly, I'm exhausted, why can't I sleep? As the clock ticked down the hours he only grew more agitated, knowing that without rest he would not be able to do his best work.

Finally he decided sleep was going to continue to elude him unless he could turn off his mind. Just how am I supposed to do that, he snarled internally . . . when suddenly it hit him. He threw back the covers and shut his eyes, sliding a calloused hand across his chest to play with his nipple as the other reached lower to gently fondle his length, sighing when it began to stiffen under his ministrations. Images of the local ladies flashed behind his eyelids as he sped up the motions, rubbing a thumb over his leaking slit as he pinched his nipple hard. Gabriel continued his strokes, adding a corkscrew motion that had him gasping and arching his hips to thrust harder into his hand. He was shocked, to say the least, when the picture in his mind morphed into a man, and even more surprised when his arousal surged at the change and he came with a strangled howl, eyes snapping open as his seed spilled over his hand.

What the hell was that, he thought even as sleep finally, blessedly, overtook him and he slipped into the land of dreams.

Morning dawned cool and grey, and Gabriel's internal clock had his eyes snapping open with the sunrise, despite the disturbed nature of his sleep. Another day, he groaned as he clambered out of bed and stretched gracefully before pulling on his pants and heading out for his morning run.

The fresh air revived him somewhat, as did the peaceful, still slumbering countryside he passed through, and by the time he pulled to a panting halt on his stoop he was feeling much more like his usual self. He stoked the fire in the forge as he passed through before heading upstairs for breakfast. Moments later he was cracking eggs into a pan where bacon sizzled merrily. The blacksmith lifted the cup in his hands and took a sip of the bitter brew, too strong, he decided, need to use less coffee, but he drank it just the same, thankful for the way it finished lifting his brain fog.

Course decided he banked the fire and headed outside, pressing his hands to the small of his back and stretching before striding across the yard to perch on a large boulder. As he sat he yanked the tie out of his hair and shook it free, reveling in the feeling as he turned his face towards the sun. He reluctantly abandoned his sun worship to get down to the business at hand, unwrapping the sandwiches he had made that morning and digging in ravenously.

Tristan Gallavan reined in his horse. Great, just great, he thought in despair, I'm already late and now this. He got down and lifted the beast's right rear leg . . . sure enough the shoe was missing and the tender hoof was in danger of being split. Nothing I can do about it, he decided, taking the reins in hand and slowly leading the horse along the road that led into the village, Father will just have to wait.

The young man heaved an unacknowledged sigh of relief, whether he was willing to admit it or not he really had no desire to see his sire. It was bad enough he'd been summoned back to this godforsaken place. Oh how he longed to be back in the city with his friends. But, apparently, his family felt it was time for him to return home, marry and settle into his responsibilities. Like I asked for any of it, he thought, feeling very put upon.

Tristan's mind was a million miles away, and he nearly passed right by the blacksmith's shop before he registered where he was and pulled to a halt. He banged on the forge door, calling out several times, but got no response. He was just about to leave when he spotted a tall man with long black hair lounging on a large boulder.

"Hey, you, smith," he called, "can I get some help here please?"

Gabriel snapped out of his daydream when he heard someone calling, looking up to spot a young man leading a lame horse. Oh goodie, he thought sarcastically as he took in the way the other man was dressed, I get to shoe a horse for some rich brat. He took his time standing and stretching, retying his hair in a high tail with a scrap of leather before heading across the yard.

Duh, Gabriel thought as he bent to lift the leg and inspect the damage. "No real damage, this won't take long.", he declared as he stood and headed inside to the forge, the other man following him automatically. "Make yourself comfortable.", he called over his shoulder as he stoked the fire and got to work.

"So," Tristan began as he watched the smith get down to the business at hand, "what's it like around here?"

"I haven't been in the village long.", Gabriel replied easily, "It's okay . . . but I haven't really gotten to know anyone, why do you ask?"

"Apparently I'm going to be stuck here.", was the bitter reply, "I just hoped it wouldn't be a complete loss." He watched in fascination as the much larger man's hammer danced across the hot metal and the muscles of his torso flexed. "How's the pub?"

"I've only been there once.", was the short reply, "I'm not much for drinking alone, but I guess it's alright. Personally, I'm steering clear for awhile, the local lasses are a bit too . . . marriage-minded for my taste." He lifted his head to scrutinize his inquisitor more carefully, slender, short red hair, about his age . . .perhaps this could be the friend he'd been hoping for. "I'm Gabriel, by the way, Gabriel Son."

"Tristan Gallavan, pleased to meet you.", the smaller man replied distractedly as he moved to inspect the various pieces displayed around the room. "Are all these yours?"

"Yeah, not much call for decorative work in a place like this though.", was the somewhat mournful reply, "Still, you never know when some rich lord will stumble in and buy up the lot.", he concluded, laughing heartily at the thought.

"Indeed.", Tristan replied thoughtfully, already trying to decide which ones he wanted.

"All done.", Gabriel called as he headed back outside and deftly prepared the injured hoof before nailing on the new shoe, "Good as new and you're back on your way."

"Maybe I'll see you around the village.", Tristan suggested, "We could go to the pub."

Tristan swung up into the saddle and smiled broadly, "Alright then, later.", he called before heading down the road, feeling much better about his future here in the village.

Twenty minutes later he was making his way up the drive to his family's estate, suddenly anxious to settle in and make the best of the situation. After leaving his mount at the stables he shuffled tiredly across the grounds before finally climbing the steps and banging on the elaborately carved doors. As soon as they swung open he lurched inside, dropping his pack to embrace his younger brother.

"Tristan, you're home.", the young boy bellowed excitedly, "I thought you'd never get here. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too Marcus," was the serious reply, "I can't believe how tall you've gotten."

"It's been three years brother . . . I thought you weren't ever coming back.", the boy continued, "Father will be so happy to see you."

"I seriously doubt that.", was the tight-lipped reply, "But I'm here." Tristan looked his brother over critically, "How are you . . . really?"

"It's been fine, a little boring, Father doesn't approve of my mingling with the villagers."

"Of course not.", Tristan replied with a snort, "That's what forced me to leave in the first place. I'll have a talk with him, it's not good to be by yourself all the time."

"But now you're here.", his brother replied excitedly, "We can go riding and hawking and . . ."

"I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence Tristan.", a deep commanding voice cut in.

"Father.", the red head responded, nodding briefly in acknowledgment, "I came as soon as you summoned me."

"Ah . . . not soon enough, it appears.", the elder Gallavan continued, "Word of your antics precedes you, drinking, gambling, and your choice of companions . . . let's just say we have some work to do on your image if we're ever going to make a decent match for you."

"I have no interest in marriage Father.", Tristan tried to explain, "I have no interest in any of this. In fact, I'd be more than happy to let Marcus take my place as your heir."

"I'm sure you would.", his father replied angrily, "You would do anything to worm your way out of your responsibilities and back to that disgusting lifestyle, wouldn't you?"