The Price of Gratitude

It was dark again.

Again? she thought. And why does my head hurt-?

Maia tried to move, bringing her hands towards her face, only to find she couldn't, that iron weighed down her wrist, and the momentum of the world wouldn't stop rocking her from side to side.

Rocking-

She sat upright, only to slam her head against a low ceiling, explosions bursting behind her eyes as darkness swept her up again.

Memory was trying to come back to her, hand in hand with consciousness.

Standing a room. Arin! Arin is there, he's... afraid?

I'm yelling at him. No... no I'm talking to him, but I'm angry. I'm asking...

"Why did you do this?"

And he's not answering. He's pacing, he's worrying his hands and looking out the window. Dalaran is dark now, it's cold but it's also anxious.

Waiting.

Arin is nervous. He's waiting for something.

I'm trying to leave, to stand up and run. It's not right, there's something wrong. My letters got me here without so much as a ripple in the fabric of communication; no one was expecting me. Why is Arin so nervous?

And then.

That smell...

With a jerk, she was awake again, blinking in the darkness and still struggling to remember.

She'd been in Dalaran, she'd found Arin holed up in his little tower santucary. She'd surprised him, he hadn't been expecting her so soon, he'd said. But then why did he look so afraid?

Or so guilty?

Shifting her hands in the present, the tell-tale scrape of iron against wood told her what bound her in place. The panic of being in a box again tried to choke her. She pressed her face to the floor, swallowing dryly, her fingers finding the smooth edge of her gold bracelet.

She shut her eyes, willing Koda's face behind her lids. He was looking at her like he did when he was trying to figure out what she was thinking. Inquisitive. Loving. It made her feel warm, to know that he loved her, and it was that warmth she drew on now.

The panic subsided. Her heartbeat slowed.

She could hear again.

Gulls. Gulls and the waves of the ocean.

And it was humid; she could smell it through the floor of the box, between the rocking and the rushing-

"I'm on a boat," she muttered, eyes widening in surprise.

On a boat to where? She started to pull at her chains, the warmth of memory shattered before the frigid reality of her situation. She kicked against her walls, pushed at the ceiling, and heard the tortured warp of nails as she made progress in loosening a few boards.

So thirsy, she thought desperately. No energy, it's tapped dry and I don't know how long-

There was a wrench of wood; the roof was torn away. Tainted light burned her vision, and she curled up into a defensive ball as she whimpered in pain.

The world was loud here, crashing waves and shrieking gulls, and the heavy breathing of many bodies.

And that smell again...

What is that?

"I tol' ya I would get ya," came the drawl of a foul voice, the remnants of something nasty clinging to a voicebox that had no soul. A touch at her cheek, almost tender as it drew down her throat, gripped her collar and hauled her upward.

There, filling her sight, was the last thing she ever wanted to see; the fetid breath of a Troll, unkempt and greasy, leering smile... She hadn't seen it in months, but she'd remember it anywhere, from the sewers of the mage city or her foulest nightmares.

He was pressing against her then, too, like he was now, erection through his clothing, pressing against her robes like he sought entrance. He seemed content to simply terrorize her though, smiling as screams tore through the air.

Screams? she thought, before she realized it was her mouth that was open, her throat that was raw as the sounds tore through her. They ceased as soon as she understood that it was she that screamed, and using the energy of her fear to fight instead.

But this time, she was weak, starved and thirsty, not a bit of energy to dredge up to fight him off. He leered at her and gripped the back of her hair, turning about and presenting her to the crowd she hadn't seen.

Green-skinned, mold-clothed Trolls, hunched or standing on the shores of a great swamp. Her captor was shouting to them, holding her up until her toes barely touched the ground. It was in a dialect she couldn't understand, either by ignorance or sheer terror.

There were words that she caught, though, that made it worse, words like 'vessel' and 'holding', confusing her more with every moment. But then, he twisted her about, a knife to her throat, and he cackled maniacally as he pointed out into the jungle beyond them.

A temple rose from the trees, backed by a bloody sky and annointed with black lines of smoke and rippling, jagged lightening of angry power. There were cheers erupting behind her, savage sounds of delight that made her skin crawl.

"Tol' ya," came his voice at her ear. "Tol' ya, I knew what ya be worth..."