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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.

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Maia tightened the straps of Sun-Iron's harness, checking to make sure the saddle-bags were buckled shut and secure. Filled with ore, they were an afterthought for the large, rust-colored proto-drake, but she made sure they were evenly weighted on both sides. .

"Ironforge has all kinds of knooks and crannies for you to perch in, and the place is bloody warm enough for you," she murmured to the drake. "Once you get there, if you arrive before me, just find a place to settle in for a while." She rubbed a shoulder affectionately. "If the straps get itchy or you eat too many of the goats, the Great Forge is in the center of the city; they'll know who I am." She tapped the identification plate at the front of Sun-Iron's chest, the polished mithril gleaming. "They'll unload you and smelt the metal and charge me when I come to pick it up."

The drake grunted, butted her nose against Maia's hand, and, after recieving a good scratch or three, shifted on her legs, backed up a few yards, then launched herself into the air. Maia watched the creature claw for height, sunlight flashing across scaled flanks, before Sun-Iron dissappeared into low clouds.

The portal to Stormwind shimmered in the air behind her, and she and Jensen made their last preparations and traded their final words; once they stepped through (at delayed intervals), they would no longer acknowledge each other. Jensen wanted to minimize her association with Maia as much as possible, to keep the mage's risk to a minimum.

"Ready?" Maia asked in a subdued yet cheery tone, looking to her companion.

Jensen handed her a familiar, leatherbound book.

"Here," Jensen said, her altered voice sounding strange to Maia's ears. "All the notes from the past two weeks. Just in case." Her smile, even on this face, was so very sad.

Maia had done her best to convince the Forsaken that her new life may not be so bad, but the sanity in Jensen's eyes would wear thin in those moments, and Maia had stopped. The mage didn't blame her; if she were stuck in a dead body, forced to work with the creatures they'd been taught all their life to hate...

Jensen had thrown herself into the task Maia set for her, ignoring everything else. She spent as much time around the mage as Maia could stand, and given her own drive, that was fairly often. They both bent all of themselves into what needed to be done. And despite the stressful circumstances, in the time they'd been made to dwell together they'd almost become friends. It was hard for Maia to not feel sympathetic to Jensen, and it was impossible for Jensen to not feel some sort of relief and gratitude towards Maia.

The bracelet Maia made was simple in its appearance, the metal a blue-gray, the sigils of the spell that carried the illusion carved on the inside, pressing against Jensen's skin. It glimmered mutely on her wrist as she offered the slim tome to the mage.

"Not that you'll need it," Jensen added, pulling her hood up around her head. "You were right; you are a very, very fast learner."

Maia flipped through a few pages, taking in the neat writing, the wonderful organization. Despite Jensen's faith, the mage was still worried she hadn't learned enough in the two weeks she'd had. She was thankful that her hands knew what to do while her mind took in Jensen's lessons, soaking up knowledge like a sponge while she smelted, cast, and forged.

Jensen paused before the portal, letting Maia give the illusion one last look-over. The Forsaken looked nothing like the wretched creature that Maia had first met; the enchantment on the bracelet worked better than either of them had hoped. Instead of the near-white pallor and the lank blue hair, Jensen's skin was now a bronzed cream, her brown hair neatly plaited to swing to her waist. Her eyes were a soft gray, her build softer, rounder than her starved-looking, angular lines.

In short, she looked completely different from her living, and now Undead form.

The effect was perfect; she was pretty but unremarkable, normal and harmless-looking to the casual eye.

Jensen shouldered her large knapsack; what was in it, she hadn't told Maia, and Maia decided she didn't want to know. The Forsaken woman had a plan as far as how she wanted to 'end things', and if she didn't share this information, Maia would never have to pretend... Just in case Jensen and Maia were ever linked together.

It was a little awkward, the final farewell. Eventually, Maia gave in and gave the other woman a quick embrace.

"I hope you find your daughter ... and that you find your peace," she said softly. Jensen didn't respond at first, simply nodding.

"Thank you, Maia," she said at last. "I hope you find what you're looking for, too."

By the time Maia stepped through into the mage tower of Stormwind, Jensen was gone. The idea was for Maia to linger long enough to make sure the guise held true, and then after that she could go where she pleased. She had every intention on checking in on her sister before turning heel and departing for Ironforge.

It was raining here; she heard the tell-tale patter against the roof of the tower, and paused at the large, green, glowing exit-portal to pull the hood of her cloak over her hair. As she did so, she caught a waft of conversation from the portal-trainer nearby.

That's odd, Maia thought. She sounds almost hysterical... Anxiety twinged at her; did they already see through Jensen's disguise? Discreetly, she fussed with the fold of her robes, eyes downcast, her head tilting to catch the words.

"-gone! And it isn't just Dalaran, word has it that Shattrath is also effected by the flux of energy," the woman exclaimed excitedly. "I've made more money in the last two months than I have in over a year! I'm telling you, as inconvenient as it is for the rest of the world, the failing portal-hubs have us mages reaping the benefits! And even today," she continued, the man she spoke to looking dumbfounded at the news. "Thirty-nine portals. Thirty-nine! And it isn't even noon yet-!"

Maia blinked. The portals in the other cities weren't working? Dalaran or Shattrath? But that would mean-

Her eyes went wide with sudden realization.

That was why I haven't heard anything from- I mean, at the very least, he would have come back to chew me out for shoving him into the Outlands!

And then she did what she tried so hard not to; she made a rash decision, and damned all the consequences.

Without looking (she hoped) like she was in a sudden hurry, Maia left the tower and headed towards the bank. She withdrew a small fortune from her account and the various items she'd need to travel; this included her better mage-robes, her weapons, and several stacks of magical reagents for her more practical spells.

The portal-trainer had been right; the busy square of the great human city was awash with people, and she was asked no less than twelve times if she could open a portal for gold. Each time she did it, she marveled at how handy it was to be a mage; she never had to worry about the weeks of travel that everyone else had to now.

If only my teachers could see me now, she thought ruefully, tracing a portal to Exodar in the air. My illustrious education is now serving my faction as a form of public transportation.

After the last portal, she ducked into the inn across from the bank and rented a room, paying in advance; it wouldn't matter if she didn't check out, so long as she was gone by tomorrow afternoon. Alone, finally, she intoned the words of Teleportation, her mind focused on the Outlands, to the city of Shattrath, where she had unknowingly stranded her unlikely saviour.

Gracious gods, but I fucking hate this place.

A week ago, Maia had arrived at Shattrath to a cold trail and a mountain of anxiety. Inquiries had told her that yes, a hunter matching Koda's description had been here, and no, he hadn't left by portal. Apparently, mages weren't too keen on the Outlands at the moment, and he was unable to find one the several days he'd been there. The Draenai had noted his outstanding height and foul temper; Koda had sworn all over this city, looking for a way back that didn't include the days and days of travel it would take to get to the enormous portal clear across the Hellfire Penninsula.

According to the flight master, a very tall, lanky, grumpy blue-skinned Troll with white hair had purchased a mount and flown Northward to Ancestors-know-where.

It was at that point that the momentum Maia had built up faltered a little bit. While everyone here remembered the hunter with the bad attitude, no one knew what had gotten his leather pants in a wad. But she knew why, and she knew that it also meant he hadn't understood what she was trying to do.

He was battle-blazed and furious to boot, she thought. I'm starting to think Trolls don't soak up much intellectually in those beserker moments of theirs.

So she decided she needed to follow him. Probably another rash decision. No, most assuredly a rash decision. But I have to fix this.

And then, like before, her heart spoke up:

I have to find him.

Now she was here, in this land of red soil, endless stars and crazed orcs. The Hellfire Penninsula was nobody's favorite place, least of all Maia's. She missed her ocean, she missed her Worgen-infested woods, and she missed her cozy little home at the far end of no where and beyond all complications.

She'd left the Temple of Telhamat that morning, and while it was almost impossible to tell day from night in this wretched hell, her stomach was telling her it'd been a while since last she'd eaten. So it was, staring out across the cracked, jagged landscape, mounted on a cerulean hippogryph that pecked into the dirt like a giant chicken, Maia saw the tell-tale sign of red-tented roofs and crude, sturdy structures.

That has to be Thrallmar, she thought, shading her eyes against the sudden blaze of errant energy that skipped through the atmosphere overhead.

It looks like they're in about as good a shape as Honor Hold, scrounging through wreckage and waste for enough material to build decent fortifications. Idly, she tallied the buildings and examined the walls, wondering if this outpost was where Koda had gone, and, possibly, might still be.

As she had traveled, she'd heard at village and outpost alike that things had changed, that the universe itself had seemed to have shifted. The portals, the magics, talk of raging elementals and a sundered Azeroth... Honor Hold had sent messengers back to every Alliance friendly waystation she'd been through, conscripting soldiers and citizens alike to join the defenses on the penninsula. It seemed to Maia that the last Alliance outpost was running out of resources, and not because they were sending them back home.

Maia often felt too ashamed to ask questions, scrounging up the little she knew by accident and plain old eavesdropping, almost completely in denial at just how far she'd stuck her head into the metaphorical sand. It scared her too, deep within, that so much had happened without her knowing about any of it. Slowly, she began to wonder if maybe it wasn't so wise to be a bystander in the goings-on of the world, especially when it was the world that seemed to be falling apart and rending asunder.

She shook her head against the thought, rooting herself back in the here and now. She focused on the Horde outpost in the distance, chewing at her bottom lip.

I can't just walk in and knock, she thought, her brow furrowing. I mean, I don't even know if he's there.

She glanced overhead, pondering the clear skies. She thought a little longer, then dug her heels into the side of her mount. Launching upwards, teal-feathered wings beating hard and slow, she gained height quickly, guiding the hippogryph towards Thrallmar. Scouting from above might be a little futile, but it would give her an idea or two as far as how to enter unnoticed and then leave again. Her memory drug up the incantation for the invisibility spell, and she mentally recited the syllables as she began to nudge her mount into a wide, lazy circle high above the outpost.

With a shock like a kick to the spine, a javalin the width of her wrist impaled her bird through the chest, its steel tip erupting through the saddle and ripping into her thigh. A sharp scream burst from her and before she could comprehend what had just happened, she and her bleeding mount were dropping like stones to the penninsula floor.

Seconds before impact, Maia gripped empty air and gasped a single word, relief flooding through her as the Feather-fall spell caught her and held, letting her drift slowly downward. Her poor bird she could do nothing for, and she watched as it continued to plummet, landing far below in a cloud of feathers and dust.

Belatedly, she looked around as she descended slowly, searching for her attacker, pressing her hands against her bleeding leg as she did so. Despairing, she saw them: two large dire bats diving towards her, their orc-riders bearing down with more of those huge, wicked-looking spears. One of them, a green-skinned female, barked something, tossing a tangle of ropes to the male orc riding the other bat. A flash of laughter and he grinned, shaking out the ropes with a quick flick of his wrist: it was a net.

Wildly, Maia looked down, judging herself to be too high to cancel the spell without breaking something important, like her neck.

Stupid, stupid woman! she screamed at herself. Of course they'd have flying patrols! What the hell was I thinking?

She couldn't run, let alone stand, and if she Blinked away, she'd just be immobile a little further ahead of them.

And I can't fight two Horde-riders or stall them long enough to drag myself someplace defensible.

Caught by her own magic, drifting down as lazily as a leaf, she knew it was over. Blood was seeping between her fingers, and she wondered if they'd managed to clip the femoral artery.

Which means I'm dead anyway.

Resigning herself to whatever the future held, she lifted her chin to stare at her soon-to-be captors as she quickly wrapped her belt around her thigh, yanking it tight. As they swooped down, cackling, she forced her eyes to stay open, their grins burning into her vision as the butt of a large javalin knocked her unconscious.

Hands and ankles bound, Maia bit her lip and refused to give in to the desire to scream.

They hadn't killed her, thankfully, and they were in fact trying to heal her. But not by magics, oh no; apparently, it'd cost too much energy to heal one human female. No, they were doing it the old fashioned way, with needles, thread, poultices and bandages.

The least they can do is get me drunk first, she thought desperately. But again, she wouldn't be so lucky; deprived of food or water, Maia's resources were non-existent. She couldn't have Teleported herself out of a wooden crate at this point.

Finally, the Tauren surgeon finished his work, thick fingers binding her thigh in tight, well-made bandages. Maia closed her eyes when he tugged the dressing, feeling the blood leave her face as the world swam a moment. And then-

With a stream of curses, the Orc guarding the whole procedure jumped back, narrowly missing the stream of vomit that landed where he'd been standing a second before. The Tauren laughed as he stood up, and said something to the Orc. The Orc sneered, kicking red dirt into Maia's face, and spat at the iron walls of her cage.

Unknown to her at first, the Orc-riders tipped their javalins with poison, making their weapons an effective way to capture prisoners for interrogation and the like. She'd gathered from the nasty poultice that had been tucked against her wound that it was meant to draw out said poison, rather than being given an antidote outright.

They must be stalling for time, she thought weakly, rolling over to her side, cheek pressed against earth and stone. They don't know what to do with me. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes, watching a few figures converse not far away. Yet.

They'd taken all of her gear, stripped her dead mount and her person of anything useful. Despite her dire predicament, Maia was absurdly irritated at their possession of her sword; the blade was a sweet one, and had cost her dearly in blood, sweat, and time. The rational side of her brain understood this to be a sign that she was going into shock due to bloodloss and dehydration, but she was too tired to fight it all.

For the fifth time since she'd been stuffed in this coffin of a cage, she tested her bonds again, flexing her hands where they were tied behind her back. She suspected the moisture she was feeling came from all the wriggling she'd been doing; the rope was abrasive and edged with steel, making it impossible to cut or fray conventionally. Before she'd been too tired to focus, she had noticed that the cage was built a little like a kennel used for large pets, like felines or dogs. The front of the cage swung open like a door, with solid hinges (much to her frustration) and a massive lock.

But the back of the cage was a different matter altogether, and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end when she realized what it could mean.

Instead of hinges or pins, the back wall of the cage wasn't a wall at all, but another kind of door. From above, a person could unlock and pull upward, effectively opening the kennel without getting in the way or standing behind it. They could, for example, press the open door of another cage to the back of Maia's, lift the divider and let whatever was out, in, all without endangering anyone outside of the container or giving the mage much of a chance to either wedge the gate shut or escape.

It helped nothing that bits of bloody tissue, dried flesh and various bodily chunks were left clinging to the iron bars that made up her cage. She tried not to look at the large dire Worgs the soldiers in Thrallmar used as mounts, or the more savage, feral looking pets of the few hunters she'd seen.

With a stifled whimper, she curled up into a ball, pressing her face to her knees; of all the things Maia had faced, out of every fear she'd seen and conquered, she did not think she had it in her to meet her end with dignity if it meant being eaten alive. She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of anything else. Maybe if she just rested for a moment...

"Human."

A voice like gravel, angry and disgusted, intruded on her little mental breakdown. She did her best to open her eyes and shift into a semi-upright position, looking up.

It was hard not to stare; the Orc was as huge and powerful as his brethren often were, a fierce expression of distaste on his face. His regalia, crowned with a large cloak made of an entire wolf's skin complete with a lupine head, teeth and upper mouth framing his angry scowl, marked him as a person of authority and importance. After a few moments of simply gaping, a sharp clang heralded a kick to her bars, and she flinched backwards.

"You will answer me when I address you, human," the Orc growled. He made the last word sound like something obscene.

Licking lips that had gone dry, tasting blood and feeling grit, Maia cleared her throat. "Y..yes...?" she managed weakly.

His eyes narrowed. "I am the commander and guardian of Thrallmar." He lifted a familiar object to Maia's gaze, and snarled. "You will tell me what this is."

It was Jensen's notebook. Fear settled into the pit of Maia's throat, and she knew she was doomed.

They are never going to understand why a human has a book full of notes on archaic Troll, specifically a dialect of Zandali that's the closest to the modern dialect...At least, not for anything as innocent as peaceful communication.

Maia closed her eyes, convinced of this, wondering what to do. She was beginning to regret the deal she made with Jensen after all. Despair soon followed, and she cursed herself for ever thinking this was a smart idea.

Jensen had written the book as a primer, with both Common and ancient Zandali, translated and explained in the most organized, simplest why she could construct in so little time. It had helped, writing the book while she taught Maia, it helped her recall what she'd forgotten and lay out all her lessons in proper order, easy enough for the mage to access for mental refreshment.

Weighing her options, Maia opened her eyes, staring up at the waiting Orc.

She licked her lips again, and replied, "I don't know. I found it in the Dwarven lands several weeks ago." She shrugged a litte. "I thought it was interesting. Please... let me go? I didn't mean to trespass, I swear-"

Let him think me vapid and dumb, she thought. Maybe his prejudice runs deep enough to dismiss worse suspicions.

He said nothing for a long while, simply contemplating her answer. Eventually, he pocketed the primer, saying simply, "I do not believe you." Then he turned and walked away.

Maia pressed her brow to the rough iron grate, perversely relieved he hadn't questioned her further.

Travelers came and went, and with her cage near the stable at the main gate she saw most of them at first. But as the hours wore on and the days blended together, all she wanted to do was sleep. She was still given no food and little more than a trickle of water, bound in place with only her wounds tended to, exhaustion the only thing to temper the ache in her belly and the throbbing gash in her thigh. Otherwise, they did not mistreat her, and she was mostly left alone.

The Orc commander gave her a chance to repent every morning. He would ask her what the book was for, and she would stick with her lie, though she was tempted to start making up a different story for every time he asked. She had no intention of telling the truth, as it would probably be taken with just as much credibility as her lie at best, and at worse they'd believe her and insist on Koda's name. That alone was enough to keep the truth to herself.

She thought at first that her irrational protection of Koda was what summoned his face across the distance of Thrallmar's fortifications, attached to the body of a large Troll clothed in dark red leathers, a monstrous yet elegant black bird perched on his shoulder, its beak high above his head. The effect made him look mythical, like a diety to an ancient culture that worshiped lean, blue-skinned hunters who bore ebony avians as tools of their will. The thought made her smile, and the memory of his lithe body swam behind her eyes, with his sensual mouth and cunning eyes.

But when she looked again, just to prove to herself that she was a fool, his face was still there.

Even more, he was looking right at her with an expression of complete disbelief.
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The Price of Gratitude