I DO NOT OWN AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER, OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH IT, AND IT'S MOST DEFINITELY BETTER THAT WAY.
IMPRISONED
It was late afternoon when a cry from above deck wrenched Zuko from his meditation. The candles he had been tending with his breath flickered, a few going out, while others flared up. He opened his eyes, squinting at first against the bright flame. He took moment to adjust to the contrast. Slowly, the reds and blacks of his cabin, dimly lit, filled his peripheral vision. Unmoving, he waited. A few moments passed, with nothing but the sounds of the ship's machinery rumbling and clanking in the background. Then, heavy steps cut through the ambience; metal boots on metal floor, walking quickly, growing louder. Just outside his chamber, they came to a stop. There was a pause, then a knock on his door. Clang clang.
Zuko rose to his feet, letting the candles go out. He was bathed in darkness.
"What do you want?"
"Sir, the prison…" The soldier's voice muffled by the thick metal of the door, faltered and trailed off. There was something in that voice that Zuko couldn't place.
"Sir," It came again, "you'll want to see this."
Zuko raised his eyebrow. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he lit the candles again.
He had been wearing his armor already, so as not to be caught unawares if they did spot the Avatar again. Preparedness was essential. It was his new mantra, his guiding philosophy. This Airbender, this… child, was full of surprises. He could not afford another setback like the disaster at the South Pole.
Zuko smirked, remembering the confrontation that the damage to his vessel had brought on. Who ever said this tiresome life was without some pleasures?
"…we first spotted the wreckage about an hour ago. Your uncle ordered us to close in, sir."
Wreckage? The soldier's voice pulled him from his thoughts. He sped up, striding rapidly through the darkened corridor.
"Wreckage? What are you babbling about?"
The soldier cringed before his irritation, quickly opening the portal before him before falling behind. Zuko took a few quick steps onto the deck, just enough to see the ocean, and stopped dead in his tracks.
For miles off the starboard side, the waves were strewn with the detritus of battle. As far as Zuko could see, metal beams, plating, and shards of hull cluttered the water, clanking against each other as they slowly sank. There were shreds of fabric, rugs and clothing and banners, all red and black. Then he saw the corpses.
Hundreds of men floated amongst the wreckage, many facedown, bloated beyond recognition by the seawater, seabirds already swooping in to pick away at them. Though many had died by drowning, there were those whose broken limbs were beginning to fall away from the softening of the water, and those who had been charred and blackened, whose flesh was split and oozing. A few clung to floating wreckage, even in death. Zuko felt a chill as he looked into their lifeless faces. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes met Iroh's, betraying his sudden distress, if only for a moment. Then his gaze was back on the water, scanning the carnage.
"Who were they fighting? Only a huge battle could have done this…"
No one responded to his musings.
"Where are the other banners? I only see Fire Nation standards!"
"Prince Zuko!" A call came from above. The lookout was leaned far over the rail, spyglass in hand, pointing off into the orange horizon. Zuko looked, but saw only faint, dark shapes, surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke. After a moment squinting, he called back.
"Take us in closer!"
"Aye aye, sir!"
Several minutes later, aboard the bridge of the ship, it was Zuko who held the spyglass. Iroh stood at his side, the aging man's normal contented demeanor sobered by the carnage surrounding them.
It took some careful maneuvering on the part of the helmsman to avoid the larger pockets of destruction, a process made no easier by Zuko's constant pressuring. Slowly, the warship wove it's way to the epicenter of the wreckage.
The prince and his uncle made their way onto the balcony.
Several hundred yards beyond the ship's prow was the prison barge- or what was left of it. It's hulking frame had been completely warped and bent out of shape, torn apart. Large sections of the hull had burst open, letting in the sea, which must have filled everything below deck. The side of the hull that had not sunk into the ocean was covered in massive scars, left by Fireblasts the likes of which Zuko could only imagine, and bubbles where the sea had pushed out against the lower air pressure, warping the metal into what looked like boils in it's iron flesh. There were even blast holes, where it seemed Fire Nation ships had opened fire on the barge. It's high walls had been blown down by fire and water, and entire sections barely hung on only by their structural supports, gutted. Massive mounds of coal flamed on deck, seemingly ignited in the battle. In the water were more casualties: Fire Nation soldiers, mixed with their Earthbender prisoners.
The ravaged barge was flanked by several warships, each more damaged than the last. Two of them were well on their way to being devoured by the waves, only their prows still showing. One was listing heavily to it's side, a massive hole revealing it's flooded innards. Everything was on fire.
"Prince Zuko," Iroh intoned, voice gravelly, "we should search for survivors. It will help us to discover what happened here."
Zuko nodded, half-present, eyes fixed on the sinking barge.
"I agree. Comb the wreckage for anyone living."
Immediately the crew sprung to action, their experience, years ahead of their Prince's own, taking over. Iroh looked back out at the cluttered sea, then turned his eye to his nephew once again.
"Zuko."
The Prince turned his head ever so slightly to in response. He said nothing.
"Perhaps you would like to return to your meditation? I can take care of things here."
"…no, I'm… I'll stay here, Uncle."
The old man turned away with a sigh.
It was hours before they found anyone. Zuko remained on the balcony for some time, attention fixed on the sinking ships and their crews. Below him, his own men wove back and forth, combing the wreckage for any signs of life. It was Iroh who commanded them, leaving his nephew in as much peace as was possible. Though he would have liked nothing more than to be at the boys side to help him comprehend the scene, it was much more urgent that any survivors be rescued- and that the crew was distracted from their own thoughts by action. Still, every so often he looked up at Zuko, checking that the young man was alright. As they made their third pass around the least submerged warship, the captain caught him looking.
"It's always a bit of a shock," he ventured, approaching cautiously, "the first time."
Iroh's head swiveled back to the water.
"Shame he had to see this much at once," the sailor said.
"These are trying times, Captain. It had to happen eventually."
"…I suppose you're right, Sir."
Iroh stole another glance at Zuko. That look on his face… so much like-
"General Iroh!"
"What is it?" he called back, taking long strides across the deck. At the port side, one of the sailors beckoned to him, peering back and forth over the side. "Have you found a survivor?"
Reaching the edge of the deck, he placed a hand on the cold metal of the rail, and leaned over. Sloshing around in the water below was their single rowboat, deployed hours ago. Three men sat in it, one securing ropes beneath it's tiny hull, the other two tending to a fourth. The survivor, drenched, shivering, and coughing, slowly sat up. One of the others breathed deep, and a fireball bloomed in his hand. The shivering man raised his own before it to absorb the heat.
A great deal of heaving and straining later, Iroh and the three rushed the survivor inside, maintaining a steady flame in front of him.
Zuko almost ran through the corridors and down the narrow stairs, until, turning a corner, he nearly collided with the first mate. He and Iroh were leading the survivor, who they had wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. They sat the man down on a cot in the nearest cabin. Zuko pulled up a stool and took a seat several feet away, examining their catch.
The survivor was Fire Nation, and a Firebender as well, for he started to breathe what little energy he had into a small flame between his palms - at this point Iroh stopped him, and with a polite "allow me" made one of his own. The soldier couldn't have been much older than Zuko; his face, pale and distraught, was unwrinkled. His topknot had come undone, and his hair, thick and black and soaked, was everywhere. He wore standard issue armor, which Iroh and the first mate quickly began to remove- the cold metal would only rob him of more warmth.
As they struggled with the soldier's chest piece, Zuko's impatience overflowed.
"What happened out there?" He demanded.
"Prince Zuko," came Iroh's voice, low and calm, pleading with him to wait.
"Prince-?" The survivor's eyes snapped from his inhibiting armor to Zuko, and fell on the infamous scar. With some trouble, he brought himself down on one knee, and his hands together in salute. "Sir!"
Zuko straightened up a bit.
Finally removing the last of the armor, Iroh pulled the man back onto the cot he had been seated on, and threw the blanket back over his shoulders. Eyes still dancing over the Prince's visage, he grabbed the blanket, and wrapping himself in it, started to dry his hair.
"What is your name, soldier?" Iroh asked, breathing more life into the flame in his hand.
"Li Kuai, Sir. I'm a- was a guard at the prison."
"Who attacked you?" Zuko demanded, yet again, his intensity returning.
"There was no attack, Sir. At least, no ships." He paused. "It was the Avatar."
Iroh seemed to deflate a little, the slightest slouch setting in. Zuko was suddenly unsure.
"All of this? How? What happened?"
Li Kuai took a deep, shivering breath.
"It was early in the morning, just a few minutes after I started my shift. I was making the rounds on the outer rig, just… looking at the ocean. Suddenly I hear shouting from the prison yard. Another guard runs up to me, tells me we've captured the Avatar. He says he must have snuck in sometime in the night. They were trying to… free the prisoners, somehow." He paused. "I left my post. I shouldn't have, but I had to get a look. We met up with some more guys, and they say the Avatar came with friends. Said one of them was a girl… and we hadn't had a woman on board in months. The guys were getting real excited. It sounded like the warden was gonna… ah, keep her onboard."
Zuko registered Iroh letting out a heavy sigh. The old man had looked away for a moment.
"Then there's this commotion. I can hear more shouting in the yard, and then the girl screaming above us. There was silence, then..."
Zuko had been leaning closer, now only inches from Li Kuai. His eyes scanned over man, anticipating.
"What?"
"Something must have happened, because everyone above deck went real quiet. Then there was one long, shrill scream. The woman. There was this loud grating noise inside the rig, all around us. Pipes started to burst, steam was everywhere… I could hear fighting…" Li Kuai's eyes widened for a moment in realization. "It was the coal. He bent the coal right up outta the ship! Then he brought the ocean in on us. Next thing I know we're all under water. Got tossed around like a rag doll, could feel everything shifting around me. I started to swim the way I thought was up."
Zuko was even closer, now.
"And the scorch marks? The hull is melted."
"I think… he musta started to Firebend. When I surfaced, everything had gone to hell. There was coal, and fire, and a storm. I think the patrol ships tried to do something. I don't know, it was chaos- I could barely stay afloat. I guess I'm just lucky I wasn't on the deck. That there were walls between me and-"
Iroh's took a firm grip on Li Kuai's shoulder.
"It is over now. You survived."
There was a pause. Zuko, pulling back, realized he had been holding his breath.
Iroh called to the soldiers stationed in the hall.
"Hey!" he shouted. A skull faceplate appeared in the doorway.
"Get me my teapot and cups. They are in my cabin."
The soldier clanked away. As his footsteps faded, Iroh patted Li Kuai on the back.
"You know, you have something of a knack for storytelling…"
A tiny spot of wet splashed against Aang's cheek, then another. As the rain picked up it's rhythm, he began to stir.
The first thing he noticed was the stiffness in his muscles, as if every part of him was heavier. Next there was a throbbing in his temple, like he had been struck. As he started to move, he noticed the pain around his wrists. He sat up, groaning. Looking down at his hands, he noticed a dark ring of bruised flesh encircling each wrist. Handcuffs.
Suddenly alert, he whipped his head around, taking stock of his surroundings. There was leather beneath him, and bundles of supplies, wrapped in seal skins … Appa! But then… Katara. Sokka. Where… Taking a knee, Aang spotted a mane of curly brown hair, blowing in the wind, just over the furry, white hump of the Bison's mighty shoulders. But Katara's own shoulders were bare. As he drew closer, he saw that her clothing was torn, her arms bruised. A wave of concern, of fear, began to wash over him.
"Katara…" She flinched when she heard her name, her hands tightening on Appa's reins, but she did not turn around.
"Katara," his voice came again, "are you alright?"
She felt his hand on her shoulder, but did not turn. His touch was light, gentle, fearful. Did he remember?
"I was wondering when you'd wake up," she laughed, but did not turn.
"How are you feeling? I hope you're well enough to go get food." Her voice was shaky, uneven. "It'll take my leg a while to heal, so…"
Aang eyes widened, his mouth opening silently, as a sob leaked from Katara's throat. She began to shake in his grip, still refusing to face him. He lowered himself down next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. As the sobs began to pick up, cutting through the rhythm of the rain, she collapsed into the boy's arms.
Confused, Aang lifted a hand from Katara's shoulder, letting it rest on her cheek for a moment before gently nudging her up to face him.
Aang gasped as their eyes met. Only one of her stunning blue orbs looked back at him, the other swollen shut. The beautiful curve of her face was heavily bruised, bulging alarmingly, the rich mocha of her skin warped by splotches of purple and black. A trickle of blood, now dried, ran from her nose down to her chin; her lips, usually so full and soft, were chapped and split, bleeding still. There was the slightest cut on the nape of her neck. Her beaten cheeks were wet with tears.
Looking her up and down, Aang realized her shirt was nearly torn away. The sleeves were gone, and it was ruffled- it had been pulled open. The bindings beneath ever so slightly ruffled, and scratched, as if by a knife, but intact.
"Katara… what…?"
Another sob wracked her beaten frame, and he felt his arms wrapping themselves back around her reflexively. He noticed that one of her legs was not under her, but stretched in front, as straight as it would go. She had wrapped it in spare bandages.
As Aang raised his own eyes, wet with tears, from Katara, his clarity returned. A sinking feeling, like a freezing wave, washed over him. He felt… sober.
"Katara, is Sokka…?"
She only sobbed.
REVIEWS: PLEASE GIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM. TRY TO MIX IN SOMETHING BAD WITH YOUR PRAISE, OR SOMETHING GOOD WITH YOUR CRITICISM.
REMEMBER THAT THE CORE CONCEPT HERE IS A PORTRAYAL OF THE WORLD AND EVENTS OF A:TLA FROM A DARKER AND MORE REALISTIC LENS.
