Rising Ch. 08

"It will take time," Methaniel explained, rubbing softly at her hands with his and slowly massaging in a thin balm that she had never noticed he had brought with him. Whether he had brought it from the Manor or bought it at Ertil she did not know, and she didn't bother to ask. The balm felt cool and fresh, and it soothed the ache in her skin and the joints of her fingers

"You see my hands. You feel them. Their callousness, the thick ridges of roughness. Yours may not become so roughened; I've had years for them to become this way, and I would hazard to say I've drilled more religiously and strenuously with blade and fist than most. I also handle a heavier and rougher weapon than you likely will. But still, in time your hands will have some toughness, and weapon work will no longer make them tender or sore."

Thus did Ahma begin her journey into the world of combat; unable to do any overall body movement, instead beginning on the finesse and more subtle skills of dagger work. It suited her, the Master commented a week later, and he smiled down at her and told her she was doing well and that her progress was pleasing and quick. It was the highest praise he had given her, and probably the highest he would give her for some time, but she knew that such words were sincere, and she understood that for him, at least in the realm of battle craft, such praise was rare and precious.

Her blood warmed with pride at his words.

Nearly four months had passed after their initial departure from Durinum by the time they came down from the mountainous passes and into the flatlands of Rojinla. Their old life seemed worlds away. To Ahma, it seemed unreal, those days of seemingly long ago and the hard yet infinitely pleasant days they marched through now. She had grown more accustomed to the road, and to the outdoors, and her body no longer felt such sore stiffness from the hours on Lanions back, nor were her feet raw and swollen from walking at Methaniel's side.

The day was crisp and moderate, and the sky clearer and bluer than it had been in months. It was a lovely and peaceful day by all accounts, and not nearly as cold as it had been a week ago, or a week before that. While it was still frigid and biting this far north, with winters grasp far from weakened, they had left the higher and colder walks of the mountains behind and had worked their way several miles southeast through the flatlands.

Ahma beamed brightly with joy as she shifted through the sky, her wings beating powerfully and carrying her a touch higher. It was cold this high, but she didn't care; it was the first time she'd truly, fully taken flight since the Steward had ordered her wings bound almost a year ago. The wind whistled in her ears, caressing her face and shifting through her hair as she reveled in the flight. Her body felt light and her wings stronger than they ever had, extended outward to glide through the licking breeze. Her feathers felt wonderful, and for a time, everything seemed right with the world.

The land below was still painted white, the drifts of snow breaking into each other without a hint of green. While they were enjoying the let up in the cold and snow, greenery would still be extremely sparse and thin in the northern reaches of Rojinla. Methaniel had promised her that once they made their way into the south most reaches of the city-states that green and life and vital trees and plants would surround them. Ahma, who had only seen the greens of the brief thaw season in Durinum and never the sprawling rich forests and grasslands of the south, could hardly conceive the tales he told her.

Her hair swished at her neck, bound up on the back of her head to prevent it from getting further dirtied and tangled. She still had only had short bathes or scrubbings, always in cold and frigid waters, always without soap, and always without wetting her hair fully for fear that it would freeze in the chill air. She had not re-braided her hair since she had taken it down, vowing she would only do so once she had had a proper chance to cleanse her hair.

She gazed once more at the ground spread beneath her and spied Methaniel astride Lanion, the horse gleefully leaping in and out of a canter whenever the snow was thin enough to allow. The flatlands rolled along under his hooves. She smiled fondly down at them, then glanced back to the horizon. While they were in the mountains the sky had been always overcast or clouded. Now it was a beautiful blue, wide and open around her and dotted with soft, cottony clouds that were slowly dissolving into trails of hazy white. Ahma was happy, truly happy. She hadn't realized just how badly she'd missed flying until she'd finally been able to fully take to the skies again. It was as if a part of her very being had been taken and then returned.

Ahma flew the skies more and more often the following days, scouting and searching, helping to guide them through the land and looking out for any settlements or villages they could make their way toward. Thus far the land was still bare and featureless, but their pace was slow and easy at the moment, and she was not altogether worried about it. In the evenings they halted and she came down to the land to spend the rest with the Master, continuing through whatever exercise, training, and knife practice they could with her unprepared state of dress. Though they could do no running or quick, athletic exercises, he began to take her through strength building training, and work with building her hand-eye coordination, reflexes, and awareness. She grew and progressed steadily. Her body ached badly from all the work, but she never complained, and Methaniel cared for her and helped her to adjust the best he could.

"You do well," Methaniel told her, and smiled down at her as he watched her manipulate the deadly edge of her dagger, twisting and turning it in her hands, switching hands and working it in an increasingly deadly, if somewhat untried, dance. Sincere admiration and approval danced in his eyes. "If you take to the sword or any other weapons as well as you do a dagger you might just begin to show up many of the men in my old unit."

He fell silent as the words passed his lips, old memories, some good, some bad, filtering through his mind.

Through it all, he never ceased to be impressed by her progress. At times it seemed she was a born fighter, and he watched as the blade became more and more comfortable in her hands and her confidence grew. The real test lay ahead, however. Whether she could hold up so well once the day came for her to apply her basic skills against him. He would hold back, of course, but never would he give her the delusion of being skilled beyond what she was. She would know there wasn't any level of ease in a real battle. To do otherwise, he felt, would only endanger her in the end, and make her feel security where none existed.

The Nobleman glanced up at her as she glided smoothly, small and high in the sky, and his mouth curved into a faint smile. She was lovely as ever, more so when she was aloft and circling about in the sky, her proud and lovely wings extended in joyous flight. Her grace and elegance was breathtaking. Her form and the curving sweeps her body took as her wings extended and tucked, dipped and thrust seemed to be that of a timeless and infinitely pleasing art. His blood coursed as he watched her.

She had come close, closer than he had ever allowed anyone to come before. He wondered at that. He saw much in her; her brothers, a touch of his father, and her own brilliant and shining beauty, both inner and surface. It had ingrained itself keenly upon him. She was ever in his thoughts, he admitted to himself. Never had anyone occupied so much space within him, not even his father. He felt good when she was near, and in a way, that disquieted him, for it was something he had never considered before.

A military man did not waste time on attachments.

He mulled over an absent thought for a moment before putting it aside for another time and reaching down with a grin to roughly pat Lanion's neck. The horse shook his head, snorting softly and tossing his mane in feigned indignance. Methaniel laughed.

"Run, my friend! The girl is starting to escape us!"

The horse needed no further encouragement, and with a wild neigh, plunged forward, cantering through the thin film of snow and clipping along rapidly, the land blurring into white field around them.

***

Ahma woke with a start, nearly sitting up. She let out a deep breath and sank back, letting the tension melt from her body as she stared up into the stars above.

She had that dream again.

Methaniel shifted slightly under their shared pile of blankets, his arm grazing her shoulder. He was so warm, his body radiating its usual comforting, soothing heat.

She sighed and shifted slightly, rolling her hips to the left and moving her wings into a more comfortable position. How many times had she had this dream? At least four or five...likely more. Not that it was always identical, but the dream always resulted in more-less the same thing.

It always began the same, with Methaniel in the tub gleaming silver tub in his room at the Manor. Ahma would kneel at his side and wash him, running a rag along his chest or washing his hair with water and scented oils. She wore a short, simple serving dress that never seemed to have any particularly noteworthy color or features.

Then suddenly Methaniel would reach down, putting his enormous, muscled arms around her and lifting her from the floor. Her dress would be gone, somehow, without explanation, and she would be revealed naked before him. He put her in the tub with him, laying her body along his. Somehow he always felt warm, even warmer than the hot bath water.

His arms encircled her waist, pulling her gently upward until her face was nearly even with his. His muscles rippled and bunched under her stomach and against her breasts. The generous, full orbs sparkled wetly with droplets of water, and her nipples were throbbingly erect, standing out from the curvature of her breast and pushing against his skin. She blushed at this, partly embarrassed, but mostly excited. She put her arms on his chest and propped her chin on her forearms.

She studied his face. He was calm, but obviously pleased. Desire danced in his eyes, changing his face to a softer expression as he smiled down at her.

For the last several cycles of this dream, he entered her. She wasn't entirely sure how this happened, but her legs would part and slide around his sides. Ahma didn't really know how a cock felt in such a place; the Steward had never made use of anything but her mouth. But in her dreams, it felt wonderful, an amazing sensation that drove her into ecstasy. Her body cried out with longing and joy when he filled her, and it was never long before she came awake, gasping and startled by the vividness of her dream.

Ahma sighed softly, annoyed at having woken up, like usual. It was such agooddream...

She closed her eyes and pressed her body to him, shivering as his arm instinctively pulled her closer to his muscled form.

It was going to be hard to get back to sleep.

***

Methaniel and Lanion stopped below for a brief rest. Lanion began to nose at the ground, searching for some food in the still snow covered soil. Ahma circled, fluttering through the cold afternoon air as she hummed softly to herself. Her wings danced along the breeze's edge, propelling her along at a slow, relaxed pace. She glanced down every now and then to watch Master Methaniel. He waved up at her at one point, and she waved back, smiling softly.

If Methaniel's impression of the area's geography was accurate, they should be coming upon a town soon. Ahma couldn't wait to have a proper bath. She'd recently bathed, as was her custom, during a brief, thin rain while the temperature had dipped low enough to keep her from freezing but it was hardly more than a drizzle. And while she preferred such bathing over the human's more thorough cleansings in a tub, the long weeks without regular bathing left her feeling the need for a meticulous scrubbing over with a good deal of soap. She could hardly stand the state her hair and wings were in.

And a real meal...with bread! And perhaps some stew. She'd been living on roasted meat and roots scavenged from the land that she hardly remembered what it was like to eat something other than what could be found on hand.

Despite how she looked forward to these things, part of her hoped they wandered through unending wilderness and never saw another person again. Once they reached a reasonable settlement, Methaniel planned to find her a place to work and live. She knew going with him on his path of vengeance wasn't wise; despite his instruction, she had few fighting skills. She required extra provisions, and she knew he wasn't able to travel as fast as he normally would while she was along. She was only going to slow him down.

Though she knew this to be the case she still did not like the notion of their eventual separation. Ahma had a deep fear that she would never see Methaniel again. He could be slain, or detained somehow, and she would never know if she was left to a new life. If he found those responsible and avenged those they'd hurt, he would probably come to see her...or at least, she prayed he would. But maybe by that point, she would be gone from his thoughts, and he wouldn't consider her.

He would probably marry someday, as was the Human way, for love or for power. He would never even consider her.

That thought gave her pause. Did she want to be with Master Merie? To 'wed' him? Winglings didn't 'marry' in the Human sense of the word, she knew. They mated for life, with obvious exceptions for early widows or widowers, and the rare case of violent and abusive partners. With an average life-span of three hundred years or more, Wingling couples spent centuries together. The bond was different from that of Human marriages, in many ways far deeper and more meaningful. Could a Human ever hope to understand such a bond? Or establish one, for that matter?

Not that it mattered. Beyond her Father and brothers, Ahma had never met a male of her kind. Hannah had spoken of a few that had lived in Durinum at once point or another, all either actively involved in the war or long dead by it. Ahma figured her chances of mating with another Wingling, especially an eligible one she would find agreeable, were rare.

Ahma hadn't given much thought to finding a mate...with her position as a servant and the constant work it involved, she hadn't had much time to dwell on such things. But now that she did think of it, a Human mate didn't seem such an unagreeable thing...true, her only experience at the hands of a Human male-or any male, for that matter- had been a horrid, revolting thing, but she was hardly prepared to judge all Human men by the actions of the Steward...especially when one such as Methaniel proved every day that not all Humans were so...abrasive.

Methaniel motioned toward her as he mounted back up and Lanion cantered forward along the flatlands. She followed slowly, drifting along the thermals as her thoughts wildly spun in circles...she knew she had feelings for him, but what did that mean? Whatcouldit mean, in the end? She didn't want to dwell on it overmuch...she was unsure about how he felt, for one thing. At times, he seemed so kind, so gentle and warm...but she wondered if that was simply his way, or if he behaved in such a manner because of some specific affection for her? And what would it matter, anyway? Affection or not, could there ever be something between two people as different and separated as they were?

In the end, she thought, it would come down to whether or not he would ever come back to her. That would decide it. If he returned after his mission of vengeance was through, then perhaps there could be something between them.

And if not...

Ahma snapped from her daze as she spotted the shape of small huts and buildings coming into view over the lip of the horizon. Her deep thoughts faded and for a moment, at least, the twinge of sadness from the thought of their parting was gone.

"Master Merie!" she called as she swooped down into hearing range. She laughed melodically in excitement.

Methaniel glanced up at her and smiled as he saw her excitedly motioning toward the horizon.

"A village! I see buildings ahead!" she exclaimed. She smiled widely and her wings gave an extra hard flap as she launched upward again.

Methaniel grinned and squeezed Lanion's flanks with his legs. "Let's go, Lanion! Finally, we'll be able to sleep under a roof for a night."

The horse seemed less than enthused at the notion of leaving the sweeping, open plains and being stuck into a pen again.

"Oats, Lanion," Methaniel whispered slyly into his mount's ear. "Fresh, crisp oats."

Ahma watched curiously as the war-horse went speeding past below her, kicking up a huge cloud of dust and soil in his wake.

It was evening by the time they reached the village, and the sun had began to dip toward the rim of the world. The settlement was a medium size, too large to be called a village, too settled and well built, but only large enough to be considered the very smallest of towns.

It was a simple place with wooden huts and mortar buildings. Homes were scattered on small plots of land on the outskirts. The buildings grew larger and higher quality closer to the center of the settlement, some sporting windows of crisp glass and fresh coats of paint in white and blues, and darkly stained wooden panels. Portions of the road had even been cobbled, though they appeared somewhat old and out of regular repair.

The town square functioned as a small, lively market. Even in the evening hours the market remained open. As the day waned, candles, lanterns, and small torches replaced the dwindling sunlight. Several small shops and public establishments were scattered about the edges of the square, ranging from a bakery, a grocer, a cobbler and tailor shop, a blacksmith, a furnishing goods store, a tavern that was being slowly filled by the townfolk, and even a small inn. Though Methaniel couldn't recall which town this was, he knew it lay along one of Rojinla's busy main roads, which explained the thriving trade and shops, especially considering the relatively small size of the town.

The people were a short, busy folk. Many were occupied fully with their day to day lives, pursuing their own affairs and interests. Most appeared to be a rougher sort, and looked upon them coldly as they passed through. The majority of the people out walking the settlement were obviously travelers, and they looked around with sour faces. Methaniel kept one hand resting near the hilt of his sword; he didn't think there would be much trouble in a small settlement such as this, but he knew well Rojinla's reputation for lawlessness and unpleasant situations. The population seemed to mostly consist of humans, though an occasional Hobbit could be seen, as well as a Dwarf.

"Let me speak if anyone approaches us," Methaniel whispered to Ahma as they walked slowly into the center of town. They were drawing stares, some of them centered on Ahma, but most were gazing at Lanion's impressive form and the large variety of furs piled on top of him. Whispers of admiration for both followed them down the wide street.

"Take Lanion to the inn's stables. If they ask about payment, tell them your Master will pay at the counter when he pays for the rooms," Methaniel instructed, then he lifted the thick pile of furs and skins into his arms.

"The trade post still seems to be open...I'll get some funds for our travels. After you get Lanion put up in the stables, wait for me in the inn. They should have a tavern or a dining room; wait for me there."