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The Price of Gratitude	By : Mayamahal Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 6057 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Blizzard or World of Warcraft. I make no profit or money for writing this.

Chapter List
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A roar of irritated welcome greeted her ears as she hauled herself over her unattended wall. Sun-Iron was mantling at her from one of the large pine trees overlooking her house, clutching at the living wood with claws that made the bark splinter and gouge. With a wrench of movement, the proto-drake launched herself to the ground and dug up the earth in her effort to get at Maia.

Knocked over with a well-intended nuzzle, the woman laughed and hugged the creature's large, angular, pointy-toothed head. A quick once-over relieved Maia; the drake's harness was in place but bare of any baggage. This meant her ore was smelted and accounted for in the many vaults of the great Dwarven city and no longer burdening her large, winged friend.

"I missed you too," she mumbled, dusting over her dress as she struggled to her feet. Surveying her home, things looked about the same. It shouldn't have surprised her; no one knew where she lived, save her sister. Still, with the events of the last few days, it did shock her that things were as she'd left them.

In her bedroom, she dug out her larger traveling pack and filled it with enough supplies and clothes to last her at least a month. She knew this was no easy trek she went on, a journey through cities, lives, and legal systems that may very well end up in her banishment. Or worse.

Within an hour of her return home, she was mounted up and ready to leave. Looking over her yard, her walls, her little cove, she felt a pang of regret; she'd wanted to be here, to live and love her work, to savor the air and the ache of her fingers. Now that she was home, though, she knew it was imperative that she get going right away. This was serious business to attend to.

The City of Stormwind was different than last she'd seen.

She thought it best to wing in at night, cloaked, face-hidden, and land on the aerie platform. She shoo'd away her drake for her own sake, and, hoisting her pack, wandered into the city.

She was not prepared for the walls that glowed with hell-fire and giant gouge-marks, nor the toppled buildings or sagging statues. Trembling, her feet still found their way unerringly to a building off and hidden out of the way, down a street and through an alley.

Red light, warm and lush, spilled out across the cobble-stones. Several stories high, the narrow building, wedged between two greater buildings but the only one facing the street, was full of light and laughter. Its several balconies boasted scarlet lanterns, happy patrons, and the many employees who sought to entertain them all.

The light, throbbing crimson and unmistakeable, was a welcome, and a warning: there weren't many who didn't know what it meant.

Passing through the front door, still hidden, Maia gazed around the large, laviciously decorated front room, couches, divans, and large cushions scattered about, occupied by a variety of humans, Elves, Draenai, Dwarves, and even a few gnomes. Some were so ornately decorated that it was difficult to seperate patron from courtesan.

Smirking, she wondered what Kodakai would make of this place. Or Arin, for that matter. No one knew that Maia had a sister, let alone what said sister did for a living.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand touched her elbow.

Understanding the etiquette of this place, she did not whirl about or make a sound. Instead, she simply waited, tense.

"Your sister is through the archway," came a soft, androgynous voice near her ear. "Up the stairs at the end of the hall, there's a door set into a wall of glass-less windows. Go through the door and press back past the five layers of curtains. She is seated there, waiting for you."

Maia didn't nod; instead, she murmured her thanks and followed the instructions.

Up the spiral stairs, the landing spread out into an expanse of floor that made it one great room. Sections were shielded by dividers of wood and cloth, as well as curtains. Shapes could be seen within, but the suggestion of privacy guarded the occupants from piercing eyes. Across the room, discreetly tucked into a corner, was another set of stairs that led up to the guarded, private rooms of the courtesans themselves, to sleep or entertain, or both.

The wall of windows, as her guide put it, was set in the back of the room, giving it the ability to see and peer and just about everything that went on in this particular area, and especially who went with what when a client would climb the stairs to the cloisters above.

She knew better than to knock.

The door swung open and she walked through, living it to close soundlessly behind her. Sheer silk in deep crimsons and soft pinks hung to the floor, layers upon layers of curtains that obscured and befuddled.

"Feet and eyes forward," came a familiar voice. Maia smiled a little, and did as she was told.

When she peeled back the tenth layer or so, she made out an alcove set into the back wall, big enough for a large couch and a very sturdy looking, over-stuffed chair. There was a figure seated in both.

Interesting, she thought.

The last curtain pulled aside, she opened her mouth to greet Tharrah-

Only to gape, soundless, at the pregnant woman smiling pleasantly at her.

Moments stretched to minutes.

Finally, Tharrah laughed.

"You're going to catch flies with that look," she chuckled, moving carefully to stand before her sister.

The two women were nothing alike, at least not in the conventional sense. Tharrah bore a smaller frame and was a few inches shorter, even though she was the older of the two. Her curves, as abundant as Maia's, were far more exaggerated by her much smaller waist,evident even in the early stages of her pregnancy.

Her coloring was different, too. Instead of Maia's brown skin and wild, black mane, Tharrah was the color of creamed honey, and her hair a sleek, straight, thick fall of platinum silk. The only thing the sisters had in common were their bistre eyes, a soothing brown that even then were edged in black on Maia, and soft, gold-blonde on Tharrah.

Their mouths were also the same, though Tharrah had a sultry, sensuous aura that she seemed ever cloaked in. This, and the many other tiny details, kept the pair forever seperated and guarded from the ties they shared.

Maia snapped her mouth shut, bringing her trembling hands to the low, obvious swell of Tharrah's belly.

"You...?" she choked out.

Tharrah wrapped her fingers in Maia's, entangling them both and giving them a firm squeeze. "Yes. I'll explain later, but I'm fine." Her eyes darted sideways to the other figure, before her soft cheeks blushed.

Maia glanced, just as discreetly, and almost burst out laughing; human he seemed, this fine gentleman, but his unkempt hair, savage eyes, and lean, almost lanky look... He radiated worgen so adamantly that she wondered if he was doing it on purpose. As it was, he seemed both relaxed and fiercely protective; his very posture reminded her of Koda, and her sudden longing for him burned her sharply.

She closed her eyes and nodded once, turning back to her kin. If Tharrah trusted this man enough to keep him so close and, she suspected, father a child with, he was obviously someone she could count on to keep her sister safe.

She looked again at the brothel-madam, pride swelling in her that her sister had found a place, and love, and seemed so at ease in her world.

"When did you call the guards?" Maia asked, motioning for Tharrah to sit as she sat down.

Tharrah settled herself, rearranging the folds of her gown as she tucked her ankle up beneath her. "The moment you stopped outside," she assured her. "We have five minutes, seven at the most."

Maia sighed. She expected nothing less from her sister. Still. Not enough time. "Alright. So you heard about-?"

"I did. I know better, but Arin wouldn't have used that bit about you and he if he wasn't desperate to find you. This whole thing stinks of intrigue and politics, and I think it's some big trap-"

"You're giving Arin too much credit, Tharrah," Maia chuckled weakly. "Remember: he's tall, strong, beautiful, righteous, and very well endowed, but he doesn't have enough brains to fill a tea-cup."

The wild-looking gentleman gave a snort of laughter.

More points from me, she thought in approval.

"I'm moving to Dalaran," blurted Tharrah, eyes flicking past Maia's left shoulder to signal someone unseen. "The climate here has become xenophobic, to the say the least, and I've clients that are tired of sneaking past enemy walls." She took something from the worgen, and offered it to Maia. "There's enough in here to get you past the... 'problems' that will no doubt open up before you," she murmured, gesturing for her to stand.

Maia stood, glancing over her shoulder. Were those shouts-?

"Arin is there in the floating city, in the Citadel, thinking he's guarded in his precious office," the pregnant woman spat. "It was so very hard not to use my resources to-"

Maia shook her head and pocketed the collection of letters. "Don't. No one must know, especially now."

Tharrah nodded, her full lips pressed into a thin line.

"Besides," the mage continued, "I need to do this on my own. It's my responsibility."

Her sister looked sharply at her. "You mean... you did help the Forsaken woman visit her daughter?"

Maia inhaled, startled. "What exactly are they saying about that?" she asked slowly.

"The woman broke into the orphanage by the Cathedral," Tharrah said, looking over Maia's shoulder again, standing to pull her aside and behind the chair. The gentleman remained seated, one hand raised in warning as he peered past the curtains. "They say she had the child in her arms, and that she looked human, until a guard swears he saw her 'flicker' before his eyes." Maia glanced over her shoulder, too. She could definitely hear shouting now.

"I spoke to the children," Tharrah continued. "And the matron in charge at the time. Their stories match, but while the matron was terrified and had to practically be bribed to tell me the truth, the children all said the same thing."

She drew up Maia's hood, but left her face bare. "The woman had been crying, they said, and she was singing the little girl a lullaby, kissing her face and weeping against her. She'd put a necklace over her head, a locket I found out later, with a likeness of two people in it. A woman and a man, the former looking a lot like the Forsaken's body after they found her." She peered hard at Maia. "She let go of the girl and ran away when the guards came in. I'm the only one that knows about the locket, which is safe with the girl. I pulled a few favors in to play, and she has a nice home in a safe place."

Maia suspected 'safe place' was the same as 'under my thumb', to Tharrah. Blinking, she pulled them to a stop. "Wait," she interrupted. "Why do you know all this, Tharrah?" It was all rather... convenient.

The courtesan stared at her sister. "I was told it was your sigil on that bracelet, Mai. Not on the metal, but in the magics buried within it." She threw up her hands, exasperated. "That was enough! I know you, you'd never intentionally start a war, let alone assassinate the King!"

"Anyway," she continued, drawing them both back, further, beyond the alcove that the mage realized now was only a trick of the eye; the wall was in fact not just a wall, but a wall with a doorway cut in the corner, obscured by light and more fabric. It was in here that Tharrah drew her sister in deeper. "What pointed to a treasonous conspiracy was that the poor thing got lost. She took a wrong turn at the canals, I think, and headed towards the palace." Maia couldn't see it, but she could almost hear the wince in her sister's tone. "Everyone panicked, and they practically tore the poor creature apart before they-"

Maia covered her face with her hands. "Oh Jensen," she breathed, sorrow wracking her form.

Tharrah jerked. "So you did make that bracelet!" she hissed.

Maia nodded, then realized she probably couldn't see that. "Oh Tharrah, it's not what you think. I was trying to help her. She was fresh dead, she just wanted to say good bye..."

"I know that, Mai," her sister breathed, and she was gratified by the fierce, warm hug she gave her. "She got lost because she was exhausted," she explained quietly, sadness in her voice. "Her skirts were filled with river stones, sewn into the lining. If she'd made it to the harbor without mishap, no one would have found her."

There was a shout behind them.

Tharrah began to shove at her sister. "Go, back, put your finger tips to the wall and follow it to the sewers. Don't worry about hiding," she explained. "It's pitch black but completely safe." Maia felt a quick kiss, and another push. "Go, love. We will find each other again."

As the mage stumbled into the darkness, she heard Tharrah close a hidden door, and before long, hear her sister's over-dramatic screech, even muffled by plaster and stone:

"YOU IDIOTS! WHERE WERE YOU TWO MINUTES AGO? THAT CRIMINAL WAS HERE AND SHE DESTROYED MY VIEWING ROOM-!"

Stuffing her free hand in her mouth, Maia made it out of the tunnel before she burst out laughing with sheer hysteria.

Ah, gods! she thought, struggling to silence herself as her boots splashed along shallow puddles. The plot thickens, and it appears it seeps from Dalaran...
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The Price of Gratitude