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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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She hadn't heard anything in weeks.

Maia came back to her home with a list of orders, half from Arin that he considered 'debts' for her antics in the city. Her monthly trip to the roads to meet the goblins landed her several more orders, as well as payment for the ones she'd completed already. So while she was quite busy, she was terribly preoccupied.

I expected an angry letter, she thought, irony coloring her mental voice. Or maybe even an impromptu visit.

She blushed as she attempted to solder a stray wire on to an intricate gold brooch, hopeful that she could fret and work at the same time. It'd always been fairly easy to let her mind wander while her hands were busy, but Koda was a topic her brain liked to distract her hands with.

She replayed the events in the Underbelly, over and over, trying to analyze every little detail and understand what had truly happened. Why had he done it? It wasn't just the case of some passerby noticing a person who needed help and coming to her aid. It was... it seemed more than that, like he was defending what was ... well, what was his.

And the way he held me afterward... Like he couldn't help it, like it was his right, and he needed to do it.

She turned off her torch and leaned back, her brow furrowing.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she muttered to herself, dropping the hot metal into the vinegar solution with a pair of tweezers. With a frustrated noise, she stood up from her work bench and left her studio. She needed to get out of there before she let her mind get the better of her hands and she ruined ten hours of work.

Braiding her hair as she went, still frowning, she stalked into her house. Mumbling, she pulled on a comfortable pair of boots and her cloak, collected her gathering basket and her mining pick.

Going for a walk was about all she could think to do to clear her head, and she wouldn't waste a good trek without bringing her mining gear, just in case. It was a beautiful, misty day, the rain sparse but the sky cloudy. The air smelled of wet earth and pine trees, and it was hard to stay irritated for too long. Instead, as she had hoped it would, the walk allowed her thoughts to line up, and she tried to deal with them one at a time.

It was just sex. Granted, it was very, very, very good sex, but it was still just sex. ...right? There had been no rhyme or reason, it had just happened. She would never be able to explain it to anyone, because if she tried to, it might just as well be that she'd get called out as a brazen whore and a traitor, nevermind that she didn't understand how it had all started to begin with.

Alright, she conceded, so maybe it wasn't just sex. But how can it be more than that with a stranger? A stranger and ... and...

And here she got lost again. While her feet were sure footed through the paths of the woods that led to granite hills that exposed the most ore, her mind wound circles around itself.

He could have hurt me, she thought. He could have hurt me, he could have killed me and taken everything I owned and burned it all to the ground, and no one would have known because I'm here on my own in the middle of no where. She kicked an innocent rock, ignoring the fact that it soared high and through the trees. Because that's how I prefer it, and I always knew that the isolation was a potential problem.

Which was why most of her funds were stored in a bank, with a note that sent all of it to her sister if Maia hadn't made either an inquiry, a deposit, or a withdrawal in six months. Tharrah knew the password, and if she were notified, she would know how to access all of it, and no one knew that. Common sense would lead someone to think that yes, Maia's money would go to her closest kin, but hardly anyone knew that she even had kin, let alone a sister. The other safeguard, of course, was that Maia and Tharrah looked nothing alike; they were half sisters and only shared the same mother.

She kicked another bit of rock, moving deeper into the forest. Her mind was going off track. With a mental wrench, she put it back on the right path again.

All the he-could-haves are besides the point, she thought stubbornly. The point is that he didn't do any of those things when he had the chance. And besides that, as vulnerable as I was...

She ducked a branch, pulling up her hood as it began to rain in earnest. Before long, she came to a shallow creek, her boots splashing in the water as she walked through it. Out of habit, she searched the pebbles for the tell-tale stray sparkle, and was rewarded with a flash of metallic sunny yellow. Her brain didn't stop grinding as she fished in her basket for her tin pan.

Soon, she was squatting in the water, sifting through sand and silt for the precious bits of metal. As she found the little flecks and nuggets, she tossed them into a leather pouch she kept with her for the more scarce nubs of ore.

And on and on, her mind also sifted, an echo to her physical actions, trying to find the real source of her frustration.

...as vulnerable as I was, so was he, she mused. She tossed a nugget the size of her thumb into the pouch, dropping her pan back into the water and moving the plate in a circular motion.

Completely at ease, relaxed to the point of carelessness, she thought, remembering his bared throat, his sprawled form. His snoring.

She chuckled softly, rinsing out the plate and tossing it back into her basket, drawing the strings on her pouch and tying it at her belt. A few birds twittered at her, their sleepy, wet afternoon interrupted by her commotion.

He was so ... kind to me. And by kindness, she also meant orgasms.

A lot of orgasms.

She giggled to herself as she continued on her way, smiling brightly. Even with the sheer eroticism inherent in the situation they had found themselves in, there are some things you can't help but pick up on when you sleep with someone. For one thing, he was very generous. He was also possessive, a little arrogant, and very proud...

Suddenly, it dawned on her. Unable to help it, she threw her head back, her laughter echoing clear and loud through the woods. Her thoughts had finally led her to the crux of the matter.

I want to get to know him better.

And that was it. She wanted to know him, truly know him, besides the fact that he was a hunter, a Zandalari Troll, had a very large ... presence, and a phenomenal lover, she knew next to nothing about him.

He has amazing self control,she mused. And that isn't just with the bedroom antics, either. The man practically ripples when he breathes, but he can be as gentle as a child when it comes to his hands-

She almost tripped over her feet, blushing yet again, laughing at herself. "Gods, Maia, pay attention," she grumbled, grinning.

After a few moments of foolish joy, her smile faded and seriousness settled in.

And where would this all go, if I chase after it? Her expression turned a little grim; her feet found a deer path, and she followed it eastward. This could be just a ... a Troll thing for him, a courtship that's more about physical pleasure than anything else.

Again, she took her darker mood and aimed it at a stray rock. It ricocheted off a nearby tree, scaring a rabbit from the low bushes at its base.

Anything else... What are you thinking, Maia? Her lip curled, and she felt a tinge of bitterness. You think you're falling in love with him? You think he could do the same?

Her thoughts went silent for several long minutes.

It was her heart that answered, speaking up at last:

You won't know, it said, until you find him again and discover who he really is.

Her mind quaked. And what if it doesn't... What if... He's a Troll. Why should I bother?

Her intellect had nothing to offer her.

And then again, her heart did.

Because if you don't, it replied, You, Maia Morwyn, will go completely bonkers trying to figure this out on your own.

She winced. And now, finally there was the decision.

Maia had always been impulsive by nature, but a collection of broken hearts and complicated friendships had taught her to rein it in and sit on something before running after it. So that's what she did then; she mused over the idea and argued with herself, weighed the pros and the cons, considered scenarios, options, and potential outcomes, but delibrately avoided deciding on anything at all.

Several hours later, a basket half full of mithril on her back, she made the trek home with no surprises. Her bounty put away to smelt in the morning, she went about her usual evening, still lost in thought.

As the moon rose and it got closer to midnight, Maia left her studio for the second time that day, having made the final touches on the gold brooch she'd been working on earlier. Thankfully, she had thought her way through enough of her mental tangle to work without mishap, and she was happy with what she'd accomplished that night.

Weary to the shoulders, she almost missed the pale figure perched on her wall as she made for the side door to her living quarters.

Wait a-

As it was, she backed herself up, looked over, and in an instant her hands spat fire as she made ready to cast any number of spells. She sighted along her arm like she was drawing a bow, her voice steady as she declared,

"State your business or leave. I do not know you."

"Please..." a soft voice cracked. The figure shifted, white face frightened, her large, dark eyes pleading. It amazed Maia that a dead woman could exude so much emotion.

The Forsaken, squatting on the wall, was leaning over, hands pressed to the stone next to her feet. Even from here, the mage could see that she was shaking violently, angular shoulders quaking under thin fabric. The dirt that marred her cheeks had lines of white traced through them, tracks of moisture from actual tears, the skin peering ghostly underneath.

The Undead cleared her throat, her voice trembling. "Please... I ... I was told by a person we both know that y...you can be trusted, that you see no lines and you ask no questions..." she whispered.

Maia relaxed a hair. My pass phrase... But the stranger had missed part of it.

"How do you know this?" she asked in a clear, ringing tone, lifting her arm again, fire crackling from her fingertips.

"Oh," the figure gasped. "I know this because... because you've proven your honorable word with your actions, as both a craftswoman and a pacifist." The woman's expression became hopeful.

Maia dropped her arm, extinguishing the magic with a thought. "Alright," she answered. "And who really sent you?"

The woman clambered down, her movements awkward and very clumsy. "Nikolas Laroo," came the muffled answer, before she turned and stepped into the torchlight.

Her face was pale, too pale for any living creature, no longer flushed with blood moving beneath the skin. Instead, it shown like alabaster submerged, lips and cheeks robbed of color, her eyes lit within by an eery, unnatural glow; one of the many traits of the reanimated Forsaken, truly Undead but bound to no one but their own will. Her hair, once black, was now lank and tinged with blue, her clothing tattered by hard wear. Dirt smeared her cheeks and neck, and upon closer inspection, Maia saw that it was also on her hands and under the fingernails, and across knuckles who's bones broke the surface of the skin.

The woman stood silent as Maia looked her over. The mage cocked her head.

"And what is your story?" she asked quietly, curiosity overcoming her professionalism.

The pale creature began to shake again. "Oh please," she begged, and to Maia's shock, the woman actually began to weep. "Please, you must help me-"

Her anguish was palpable, and Maia couldn't help it; she reached out of a sudden and brought the poor thing close, embracing her gently as the Undead sobbed into the mage's shoulder. At this close proximity, Maia didn't catch much in the way of decay, but the woman was frail under rags and skin, and she was indeed a Forsaken; no heart beat in that sobbing chest.

A few moments later, Maia had lit the bonfire before her house, in a firepit dug out in the center of her yard. Sitting on a low bench, wrapped in a blanket across from her, the woman told her that her name was Jensen Hollowell, and she hadn't been dead very long.

"...woke up in a crypt about a week ago," she said softly, eyes lost in memory and vague horror. "I thought it was a nightmare, and then maybe a mistake..." She looked down at her hands, at the dirt and cracked nails.

"I had to claw my way out," she whispered. "Through splinter and wood and dirt and turf... And when I finally broke free, I was helped up by a kind man who had a hole rotting through his cheek." A shudder rippled through her. "I apologized later for the screaming and weeping, but it was hard to a-a-accept... He said that I was safe, and I could have a new life now that I'd left the old one behind... But when he realized that I remembered everything from my past life..." Jensen shook her head. "He looked so sad, and so helpless. It's fairly unsual for a Forsaken to remember so much, he'd said, but when it does happen ..." Her voice trailed off.

Maia could only assume.

But Jensen continued, clearing her throat. "I remembered who I was. I knew my name, I knew where I lived, what I'd been." She held up a hand, a gold band glistening on her finger. "I was a widow and a new mother, for one ...and a scholar, for another." Her smile was sad, almost bitter.

"I practically lived in the library, among the books and the words of teachers and scholars before me. I was enchanted with the history of our world, of the cultures that make it what it was and is, what the people were and who they've become now. Stormwind has one of the best libraries for the research I wanted to do, and some of the greatest archeologists in the world live there and study on their own, with even more in Ironforge, made so easily accessible by the tram." Her expression grew pained. "Traveling there... I wanted to move closer to the books and the words and the great teachers, and Thomas... my husband ... he indulged me, and decided to move us from our little farm. It was ... and then on the way we ... he died and..."

Maia felt her own tears threaten her vision, but she remained quiet, simply listening.

The Forsaken woman went on, her voice faint. "Then it left just Adelle and I... She was still so small, but I'm smart, I did well, I wrote several articles and a whole book on the evolution of languages in the Dwarven territories within a year of moving to the city. They gave me a scholarship, and a stipend. I bought a house, I had a nanny for my girl..." Her voice trailed off as she seemed to remember the soft joy of stability.

"A few months after that," she continued, "I was picked to be a part of the expedition to the Hinterlands, to catalogue artifacts and do research for my thesis-"

Her eyes glazed over. "The last thing I remember was digging in the grass near Jintha'alor. I... I think there was a loud noise, or a crash... And then..." She choked, her arms wrapping around herself.

"And there's no one left!" she wailed, her control finally worn away. "My baby, my Adelle... she's alone! And she's so small, she's barely two... I don't know where they'll send her, where she'll be... And she'll grow up alone, and she won't know how much I wanted to be with her, to share the world, to tell her the true stories of this place, of how it all adds up to her and what she'll be and where we come from-" She covered her face with her hands, crying uncontrollably, her grief overwhelming her.

Maia put an arm around the wretched woman, tears streaming down her own face as she pressed her cheek to the limp sable hair. She crooned softly, closing her eyes and rocking gently.

Several long moments later, the poor thing had calmed to quiet trembling, her bony hands gripping Maia's warm, fleshy one. When at last she could control her voice, she made her plea.

"I need... I need your help."

The mage had suspected as much. She stayed silent, waiting.

Jensen took this as encouragement, and pressed on. "Illusions can be wound into objects like an enchantment," she whispered. "They can travel with the wearer and make them impervious to attempts at dispelling magic, so that they are all but what they seem... Even if the wearer cannot do magic or spells..."

Maia winced. "I'm sure someone knows you're dead," she argued gently. "If you go walking through those gates asking for your daughter-" She stopped when Jensen began to violently shake her head.

"Oh no, no I do not mean to take her, or to go in a visage of myself." She bit her bottom lip. "No, lady-mage... I want to be with her, to hold her again..."

Jensen took a long, slow moment, closing her eyes. "But I understand," she whispered. "I know what I am, and for her to have a future... No. I mean only to kiss her and s-say g-...good-bye..."

The grief washed over Maia like a damp blanket, and she closed her heart against it, just a little, enough to think through what this woman was requesting of her.

Like puzzle pieces falling into place, she thought of what she needed and what she needed to accomplish to make what this woman wanted her to. She thought of materials, of time, and lastly, of cost.

But still...

"You know it's suicide, don't you," Maia murmured softly, patting Jensen's worn knuckles. "Even though my little trinket is resistant to the reveal-enchantments worn by the guards, it's not completely fool-proof, and if your child is where I think she is, that's practically the heart of the city." Sadness crept into her voice. "You won't make it out alive."

A change swept over her companion. The frail shoulders lowered, spine going straight and rigid, and Jensen lifted her chin. Her gaze fierce and blazing, she said nothing and simply met Maia's eyes with her own.

A moment passed. Then Maia nodded.

"Alright then." She cleared her throat. "Now, the sordid topic of cost..."

Jensen grimaced, her posture sagging again. "Oh, lady... I don't have much to offer by way of coin, but if it's within my ability, I will do anything you ask..." she pleaded softly.

Maia had suspected as much, and knew it was likely the case before she'd even brought it up. It didn't matter; the cost of the item wouldn't be in money, but in time. A fortnight at least, to mine and smelt and refine and cast...

Chewing on her lip, she leaned back and gazed into the fire, contemplating the task before her. She honestly didn't mind doing it for free; the craft and practice itself was worth it, and with the reason behind it as well... It was dangerous, if she was caught, there would be no way to explain it away, but her heart went out to this woman, and she wanted to give her the ability to see her baby one last time.

And I doubt she's lying, she thought. She's fresh up from the soil and as frail as a dead leaf. If she's up to something, there's power aplenty in Stormwind to stop ... She looked at the Forsaken again. Maia was fairly good at judging character, and most mages had the ability to sense truth or lies. This woman's emotions rang true, and her words and memories blazed painfully behind her eyes.

Maia made her decision, and opened her mouth give her assent.

But then, like lightning, a thought struck her. She blinked, going over the woman's story again.

...Maybe this isn't what it seems to be...

Jensen, watching Maia's eyes go very wide with some kind of excitement, got suddenly quite nervous.

"What, my la-?" she began, but the mage cut her off.

"Jensen," she said, struggling to control herself. "I am going to offer you a trade, but first..." She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving the Undead's face. "I need to ask you a question, and depending on the question, I will tell you what I want in payment. Will you listen to me, and tell me honestly if it can be done?"

Jensen, her turn to widen her eyes, nodded mutely.

Maia inhaled slowly, chosing her next words very, very carefully. "This... is not some simple enchanted ring or a spell bound to metal," she said slowly. "I have none of the material required, I don't keep it around because it tends to muck the energy of other pieces have around, if it's too close. It could take me two weeks to find everything and get it ready, and then a day or two after that to complete it.

"But." Her eyes never left Jensen's face. "As soon as it's complete, I will open a portal to Stormwind myself, and take you there with me, your guise in place." Maia paused. "Can you wait that long?"

Raw, unfettered joy contorted Jensen's face, making it a near-frightening thing to behold. "Yes," she hissed. "Oh yes."

Maia searched the woman's expression, then nodded. "Then this is what I need from you."

And so she asked her question, very carefully, slowly, and with deliberate meaning. After, she simply wait, letting her words sink in.

The real issue, Maia thought, watching Jensen consider this offer, is the matter of having enough time.

For nearly two minutes of solid silence, Jensen made a decision of her own.

"You understand," she said, "That what I know is very, very old. It won't be exa-"

"But will it work?" Maia interrupted.

Jensen's look hardened with a little bit of pride. "It will work, and, of course, make it easier for you in the long run, should you wish to follow through into the current inflections."

"And the time...? Will it be enough?"

Jensen's smile was almost rueful. "That, my lady," she said, "Is entirely up to you."

Maia didn't hesitate; she offered her hand. "Then you are my guest," she said. "If the terms are agreeable, of course."

Jensen paused for only a fraction of a second, before clasping Maia's hand with her own.

"Very well," she said, relief in her voice. "A fortnight from now, I will have what I need?"

Maia nodded and squeezed. "Yes, give or take a day. And until then..."

Now it was Jensen's turn to nod. "Until then, my lady," she gave a small bow over their clasped hands. "I am your humble servant."
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The Price of Gratitude