Our beloved leader has no scars. I should know. The mask and story were all my idea. We've built this revolution together since we were young men, and our cause transcends truth. It doesn't matter if he personally has no scars, we've both seen too many who have been abused and ruined by benders. What those poor men and women don't have is his power to equalize. Perhaps the spirits could have blessed them as they blessed him, but I believe they chose the one man with the ability to truly change the world. There are other things too, a thousand small details that could either carry us to victory or to destruction. I've never met another person with the determination, the force of personality to become a god among men.
This role is only a part he plays, but I doubt that many realize that. Everything he does and says has been planned by us together. We've shared quarters together for many years, and the one concession we demand for our rank is absolute privacy. I don't know if the others think I am his most devoted servant or a simple soldier who found favor, but behind those doors we are absolute equals. With the door bolted, he slips his mask off, and we can smile and laugh together as more than just the leaders of the revolution. I've spun tales for my closest friends of how ravaged his face is, how long it took him to trust me enough to remove his mask. They offer me their words of sympathy and pat me on the shoulder, but here in our haven I can kiss his unblemished cheeks and tease him that his scars have healed remarkably well.
Even shut away from the world, our lives are still devoted to the cause. In the early days we thought that the mask would be enough to hide our lies, but we can no longer trust that it will in the future. I've learned to paint his face as convincingly as cosmetics will allow, even using plaster to twist his mouth so he looks truly malformed. The results are stunning. Anyone who gets a glimpse should be horrified enough to not examine more closely. As the revolution grows, I paint his face any morning where he will be making a public appearance. Once or twice he's suggested actually burning his face to back up our story, but I can't bear the thought of him inflicting that much pain on himself with such permanent results. Together we plan his speeches, his demonstrations. I doubt that any know how carefully the revolution has been orchestrated. We devote hours of discussion every day to planning for every potential setback, any unexpected change that might arise.
We've both sacrificed a great deal for this cause. I keep the name 'Noatak' locked safely away in my heart, as he keeps mine. Even in our private rooms we address each other as 'Amon' and 'Lieutenant.' It was an early decision that the leader of the revolution could not just be a man, he had to be every man and more than a man. The nameless one with gifts granted by the spirits, the one with powers to bring the Avatar to their knees. That is who we follow, but without a name he can be said to possess less than the least fortunate among us. Likewise, the leader of the army goes by his rank instead of by a name. He is a soldier, one of the masses, placing himself above no other man.
There is a second side to these decisions, one that we only whisper at night when we lie awake wrapped in each other's arms. There is a future somewhere out there. Bending cannot die as new benders are born to non-bending parents, but when the corrupt current generation has been equalized there will be no need for a god, for an army. We've whispered about finding a small house in a small town, somewhere for a fresh start with new lives and old names. Every kiss we share makes that reality seem that much closer. As we drift asleep with our hands clasped I can almost see us sleeping in that house in the new world that we created together. Someday, Noatak and I might live a peaceful life in a land of equality.