Rising Ch. 08

Ahma felt her face growing hot, but her heart was melting. Methaniel was too kind to her, she thought.
"The green will be fine," she smiled softly.

They wandered about the market for a short while longer. Methaniel took note of the wares and quietly worked out their needs against their funds. After spending a few more moments wandering about, they walked back to the inn, arriving back just before sunset. The heavy-set man at the desk directed them to the communal bathing chambers.

A small group was gathered there, lounging in the heated, steaming pools. Most of them were elderly men trying to soak their sore, weary bones. A large sign at the door read, 'Mastermustaccompany attendants!'

Methaniel stripped to the waist. Ahma gathered his discarded garb and folded it neatly, then clutched it tightly to her generous chest. The Master looked at her curiously as he fiddled with the bindings of his trousers.

"Aren't you going to bathe?" the Nobleman asked. "I imagine you're eager to wash the toils and burdens of the roads away. Not to mention the muck."

"I...I am Master Merie," Ahma stuttered. She glanced about the bathing chamber nervously. With the exception of the old men, more intent on soothing away sore joints, every male's eyes were trained intently upon her. Their eyes were hungry and greedy. She did not like them at all.

"I'm not very comfortable...with these conditions."

"I understand," he replied, catching her meaning immediately.

Methaniel glanced around the room briefly, then nodded, motioning to a second door set in the wall to their left. "There's a side chamber," he indicated. "I will go speak with the bath keeper. It is probably for wives and mistresses of nobility, but they will make an exception for you." His eyes glinted and he smiled at her.

Ahma wasn't so sure, but stayed where she was as the Master walked away to speak with the attendant. She felt nervous and awkward there, but couldn't really offer any alternatives. Shehadto have a bath. Even with what scrubbings she had tried to manage along the road, she felt filthy and caked in dirt, and her skin was slick with oil. She hadn't realized just how bad she had felt until just now.

Apparently she was the only one who noticed her unkempt state. Or at least the only one who cared, in any case.

"How much?" A gruff voice to her left growled.

The Wingling girl flinched at the hard, husky tone, a low grating that promised nothing but trouble. She turned to see a short, stocky man, his head shaved and a thick layer of dark stubble smearing his flat and unfriendly face. His eyes slid unabashed over her body, and his gaze made her feel sick and somehow ashamed, though she had certainly not asked for such attention. The man made her uncomfortable with the way he devoured her with those eyes. The man had a towel wrapped about his waist.

"What?" Ahma squeaked timidly. She hoped the leering man would just go away.

Her luck seemed to be failing her at that moment.

"How much?" The man repeated. "For a full night of whatever I want. I'm willin' to pay top dollar. Yer havin' enough bed-charms all about ya to earn a high price, that's fer sure," the lewd man laughed at his own words, and broke into a wide, broken toothed grin. Ahma recoiled, disgusted by him.

"I am not for sale," she said firmly. Her stomach turned as the man's grin faded and his stubby brows drew together in a hard scowl.

"Fine," he growled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His squat hand reached out for her, grabbing at her. Ahma gasped and jumped back. The man matched her, leaping forward, his hands shooting out to grab her. "For free then!"

Before his dirty fingers could reach her a massive hand shot out and wrapped around the man's hand, tightening into a fist. The man glared up at Methaniel and took a swing at him. Methaniel stepped back, avoiding the blow and yanking the man forward, unbalancing him. The big Nobleman bent the man's wrist back. He twisted and pushed, manipulating the arm and working it into an odd and unnatural angle. He pushed back harder, and the man cried out in pain.

Methaniel's hand tightened, his gazer boring into the pathetic man, his face blank as he brought the man to his knees. His hand tightened further and the man howled, two of his knuckles popping under the frightening strength of the Master's grip.

"I don't take well to men harassing my servants," he said, his voice soft and deathly calm. Ahma shivered at the sound of it. She had forgotten how imposing and powerful, how absolutely intimidating he could be when he was forced to show that side of himself.

"I didn't know, honest!" The man replied, gritting his teeth to block the pain from his mind, determined not to lose face further. Methaniel's grip loosened and he promptly yanked his hand away and stood up, casting a dangerous glare at the tall warrior before him. He took a deep breath and massaged his hand, trying to sooth his swollen knuckles.

"M' offer still stands, though obviously it won't be her gettin' payment," the little man said, once more showing his crooked and gape-toothed grin. Methaniel's eyes narrowed at him.

"She's not for sale," he said firmly.

" 'course not!" the man laughed. "If I owned such a supple and delicious lass I'd never sell her neither! I ain't askin' for that. A rental, s'all. One night."

The muscles of Methaniel's torso tightened dangerously, and his heated gaze bore into the man. A flicker of a dangerous, raging inferno showed behind their silver gaze. The stupid man seemed not to notice.

"I told you, she's not for sale. Inanycapacity."

It was the harassing man's turn to narrow his eyes. "She's for sale," he growled. "You can either take a nice little profit from the wench's body or ye can let it be passed about for free. Yer choice. Either way, her flesh be for me tonight."

Ahma shuddered in revulsion and slid behind her Master, keeping a few feet away from him so as to not trip him up should the situation escalate into violence.

Which, of course, it did.

"I said no. Now leave us in peace, before I make you leave," Methaniel replied.

Without another word spoken the treacherous man reached into his towel -drawing a sickened look from Methaniel- and yanked out a dagger. He pulled the blade free of its sheath then leapt forward wildly, screaming like a madman, his dagger plunging in a vicious thrust at the Master's belly.

Methaniel sidestepped easily and struck out, his long arms extending as he drove the back of his fist into the man's face. The ragged man stumbled back, blinking several times. His vision was blurred and marred in the red tones of the blood that leaked into one of his eyes from an abrasion on his forehead.

"Last chance, friend," Methaniel growled.

"For you maybe, arrogant horses arse!" the man bellowed and leapt forward again, this time slashing. The wicked edge of the dagger gleamed as he arced the blade back and forth in wild, aggressive slashes and cuts.

Methaniel dodged and weaved, backstepping and keeping just out of reach of every swipe, much to his attackers frustration. The man suddenly grinned as he saw his opportunity. Methaniel lifted his foot to backstep again, right into the dip of a step leading into the communal pool behind him. With a wild cry of abandon, the man dove forward, thrusting viciously with his dagger, sure that his opponent would be unbalanced and unable to avoid the blow.

But Methaniel was a skilled and seasoned warrior and had known the step was behind long before they reached it. He had maneuvered the man into making another careless mistake. As the man came in, he reached a hand out to grip the thrusting forearm of the man's armed hand. Swiftly, Methaniel struck out with his palm turned upward, and slammed his hand into the man's crotch. The wind left his attackers body as he locked up. Methaniel heaved, using the man's already wild momentum and pushing off of his groin, lifting him over his head and through the air.

The man smacked roughly into the far wall, a huge explosion of air leaving his lungs as he toppled from the impact with the wall and into the pool.

"Someone fish him out," Methaniel said casually, reaching down to grab the dagger the man had dropped. He walked to the bath keeper, who's eyes had flown ridiculously wide and who's jaw hung uselessly open.

"Unless I'm mistaken, these aren't supposed to be allowed in your establishment," Methaniel said mildly, the corner of his mouth quirked up. The keeper gathered his wits and nodded heartily. "Indeed! Thank you sir, we apologize deeply for this incident. We thought the rules were being complied with," the bath keeper gushed. "Please, as a measure of our thanks, tell us anything, anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable."

Methaniel nodded, indicating the side door. "My servant," he said, and Ahma, still troubled over the unwanted attention and deeply grateful and relieved at her Master's intervention, swallowed and smiled softly. "Is in need of a bath. A real bath. I do not wish any more attention like that upon her, so I would ask that you let her bathe in the ladies chamber.

"Alone," he added. The keeper, by now flustered and red, glanced back and forth between Ahma and Methaniel, struck dumb.

"M'lord...I...I do not know..." he stuttered. Methaniel's eyes grew hard and sharp, and he folded his enormous arms across his broad, powerful chest. His face was blank as he gazed down at the man before him save the slight, questioning arch of one brow. The keeper quickly nodded his agreement to the situation.

"Go get nice and clean, and dye your wings," Methaniel instructed as he turned and stepped closer to Ahma, who by this point was so stunned at what he had done for her that she hardly comprehended his words.

"Take your time," he continued, smiling at her and chuckling softly. "I know I am."

"Th...Thank you Master Merie," she said, smiling wide as she gathered his shirt and placed it in the small leather sack they had put all their new clothes in. She nodded once more, and tried not to stare as her Master discarded his trousers. She felt herself flush brightly as her eyes shot unconsciously to his cock, taking it in with her eyes, imagining what it would be like erect, how it would look and feel, and even taste...

She diverted her eyes quickly. Methaniel hadn't seemed to notice, and already was wading into a deeper part of the pool. He sank into the steaming hot water, sighing slightly as he relaxed. Already he began to scrub and wash away the gunk and grime from the wilds with a small washrag.

The keeper came back from checking on the female sideroom, and nodded at her, unsure of what to make of her. His lips formed a thin line and he looked away. "The room is empty. Hurry up and finish with it; proper ladies may be in shortly."

Ahma, remembering her Masters words, decided that she rather preferred his orders to this small bath keeper's, and promptly ignored him.

"Master?" Ahma said softly.

Methaniel opened his eyes to find her sitting on the side of the bath, looking down at him. "Yes?"

"Before I go to my bath...may I bathe you?"

Methaniel watched her for several moments, studying her face. She smiled softly at him, her cheeks infused with a touch of color as she waited for his answer.

"If you wish," he said at last, sitting up more fully in the wide bathing pool.

"Thank you, Master."

Ahma spent a good deal of time washing her Master. She massaged soap into his hair, giving his scalp firm, soothing stimulation, working the dirt and grime of the road out of his long, thick copper hair. She marveled at the way it glinted and gleamed in the light of the bath house, as if it truly were made of that gleaming ore. She took great care to rub and massage at his tense, tight shoulders and chest. Methaniel opened his eyes as he relaxed. He couldn't help but notice the jealous stares several of the patrons shot his way. Ahma appeared not to notice, too occupied with bathing him, or too purposefully avoiding the men to pay attention to their staring.

By the time Ahma moved to massage and scrub his arms, his fingers were pruned. He grabbed up a hunk of soap and scrubbed at his torso and legs as she moved to his back. He rose a moment later and stepped from the tub. "I think I'm ready to finish. Thank you, Ahma."

"You're welcome, Master Merie," Ahma said softly. She lowered her eyes, trying to appear modest, though she snuck a peek at his naked form through her eyelashes.

Methaniel wrapped one of the bath house robes around his body and smiled down at her. "I imagine you're ready for your bath, aren't you?"

She nodded, though the look she gave him was nervous. He patted her shoulder and smiled gently.

"I'll stand outside the door, if that will help you fell better."

"Thank you, Master," Ahma smiled softly. "I promise I won't take long."

"Take as long as you wish," Methaniel smiled comfortingly. "I'll be fine. Please, take your time Ahma."

Ahma smiled and stepped into the side room. Methaniel sat down beside the door, smiling softly to himself. "Quite a woman," the bath keeper commented off-hand.

"Indeed," Methaniel replied absently, shutting his eyes and smiling the wider. Ahma's face danced behind his closed lids. Her flawless skin, sparkling eyes, her graceful wings. While he'd never seen her body, one couldn't miss the sensual curves and graceful figure she possessed. Her waist was slender and her hips wide and rounded.

The feel of her hands on his flesh lingered in his memory, the tiny fingers sliding across his tight muscle. He shivered slightly and told himself not to dwell on the pleasant thoughts she often invoked in him.

Methaniel looked up and smiled again. He wondered if she even had any clue as to her own body's charms. He doubted it, somehow. She didn't show it if she did. For such a sensual, voluptuous, and stunningly beautiful woman, Ahma carried herself with an air of innocent and purity. Perhaps it was such innocent and gentle traits behind her beautiful and alluring form that he found so attractive and desirable about her.

Ahma was most pleased to find the womans bath chamber filled with a collection of sweet smelling soaps and lotions. She stripped down to her skin within a few seconds and grabbed a bottle of flowery soap. She scrubbed her entire body over and over with a sponge near the bath's edge. No matter how often she scrubbed, something felt grimy.

Untangling the mass of her hair took forever. Ahma had to wash it several times. She rubbed lotion into it and soaked for a good while, then she washed her hair again, hoping to keep some of the lotions moisture but rid herself of the oil.

She dyed her wings next, a tedious procedure when done alone. As a child, her mother always helped her, then Hannah afterwards. Her parents often dyed their wings together...they seemed to enjoy the experience, spending the night at the stream together and dying each others feathers. Fortunately, she was only dying the undersides of her wings; had she been dying the backs, she would never have been able to do them alone.

After she finished dying her wings, she groomed them meticulously, carefully arranging her feathers and inspecting them. She groomed the rest of her body, applying lotion to her skin and wiping away the excess moisture, checking to be sure she was free of dirt. She brushed out her long, luxurious hair, brushing and grooming it till it gleamed and fell down her back, smooth and tangle-free.

She realized she'd been in the bath for some time and hastily scrambled out. She pulled a robe on, struggling to get it to fit over her wings and attempting to lay them as flat along her back as possible.

She opened the door and blushed softly as she spotted Master Methaniel. "I'm sorry I took so long."

"No need to apologize. Feeling better?"

Methaniel stood, his legs already clad in a pair of his new trousers. His torso was bare and exposed, and slightly dotted with water droplets. His hair was brushed and untangled, and it looked like a bit had been cut off the length. It was gathered into a warriors tail, and the thick beard that had graced his face for the last two months had been shaved clean. Her heart pounded, studying his handsome, smooth face and unconsciously glancing over his muscled body.

"Very much so, thank you Master Merie," she said, returning his soft smile. She quickly lowered her eyes.

"Let's go to our room so we can dress, then we'll grab something to eat before we retire for the night."

Ahma's brow furrowed. To bed so soon? "How long was I in there?"

"Probably close to two hours," he replied, and chuckled softly as her eyes went wide.

"Don't worry about it!" he insisted. "Let's go get you changed. I'm famished."

Ahma stepped into their room while Methaniel waited outside and shed her robe. She used the comb on Methaniel's stand to once more comb out her hair, then fixed it into a tight, smooth braid, tying it off with a leather thong. She pulled on the ugly brown dress and carefully pulled her wings through the slits they'd made in the back.

She opened the door and Methaniel came in, nodding in her direction. "The dye is starting to look good."

Indeed, as her feathers dried the dye began to turn a soft, pleasant, vibrant emerald color. It matched well with her white wing backs and her pale skin. She smiled happily, extending her wings for him to see. "I hope you don't mind that they're not a house color...but I do like it."

"Good," Methaniel nodded and smiled. "Are you ready?"

"I have to get some of my feathers smoothed down," Ahma replied, reaching over her shoulder and picking at her wings.

"Let me help," Methaniel offered, and stepped forward.

The moment his fingertips grazed the side of her wing, Ahma jumped away, yelping softly. Her actions had been purely instinct driven, but she turned bright red the second she realized what she'd done. A confused look came over the Master's face.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently.

A terrible feeling came over Ahma. She hung her head. All the shame she'd ever felt couldn't match this; she'd been a horrible servant and acted quite out of line, she knew.

"I'm sorry, Master," she whispered, her voice quivering. "I didn't mean to."

Methaniel took her hand and squeezed it softly. "Did I scare you, Ahma?"

"No, Master, I'm sorry. I won't do it again," she said desperately, her eyes trained on the floor.

"Ahma," he said softly, cupping her chin and raising her eyes to his. "I think Ididdo something wrong. Am I not supposed to touch your wings?"

"No...I mean yes...Master, no," Ahma gasped. She tried to settle herself, taking a deep breath and continuing in a calmer tone. "You may if you wish."

"I'm not supposed to," Methaniel decided. He gave her a comforting smile. "Tell me why."

"You can," she insisted, "I'm not going to..."

He gave her a firm look. "Ahma. Tell me."

She gazed at him, then nodded slowly. "Yes, Master...for Winglings, only close family members are supposed to purposefully touch the wings and feathers with the hands...especially the feathers. Usually only a mother or father uses their hands to groom and clean their child's wings, and usually only a mate touches an adults wings. Because wings are so vital to flight, only the people you are closest to should touch them. If someone were to pluck out a handful of the right feathers, I wouldn't even be able to steer."

She hesitated then added, "I...I trust you, Master, I'm sorry. You can touch them...I won't flinch, I promise."

Methaniel could hear the agony in her voice. This was something very important to her, a part of her culture that she felt she was having to struggle against.

He smiled and crouched down, putting himself closer to her level. He took both her hands in his and squeezed them softly. The warmth and compassion in his eyes warmed her heart.