Equal Measure

by McEh

Korra and Tarrlok are captured and lose their bending. Amon and his Equalists take Republic City. At the moment of the Equalist Revolution's greatest triumph everything comes apart when a single, angry missive ends up in the wrong hands. Now Amon, Tarrlok, and Korra must flee across the Earth Kingdom in an insane bid to save the Revolution and Republic City from destruction...

1. Loss

Full Summary: Korra and Tarrlok are captured and lose their bending. Amon and his Equalists take Republic City. At the moment of the Equalist Revolution's greatest triumph everything comes apart when a single, angry missive ends up in the wrong hands. Now Amon, Tarrlok, and Korra must flee across the Earth Kingdom in an insane bid to save the Revolution and Republic City from destruction at the hands of the enraged Chief of the Northern Water Tribe. The journey is long, there is no turning back, and as the blood bending brothers battle for the fate of the Avatar, Korra awakens to her fullest spiritual potential.

The Disclaimers, Warnings, and Explanations:

1. I would like to begin by saying that I own nothing, except maybe some original characters and concepts I've been mulling over that made their way in here. Everything else belongs to the entities known as Bryke (that is Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino) and Nickelodeon. I'm not making any money off this. I'm just doing this as a stress-relief project/psychological release/writing practice exercise. This is fanfiction. People do it for fun, not personal gain… unless you're E.L. James. I'm not E.L. James.

2. This fic will make reference to/make mention of/involve the following romantic pairings in the course of its run: Makorra, Lieumon, Linzin, Masami, Borra, Boeska, Lieulin, Unarra, Danrra, and others not listed here because I haven't thought of them yet or they include OCs. The core ships will remain as follows: Lieuko, Tonna, Pemzin, Amorra/Noarra, Korrlok, Amlok/Noalok, Amorralok, Korami, Kylin, and Bopal, with shades of Lieuwuko… and maybe some others.

3. This fic is not for the lighthearted. It's not brutal, bloody, or excessive, but it does deal with heavy topics. As such, I am providing a warning for the following triggers: psychological trauma, child abuse, public humiliation, traditional marriage (or abduction-based forced marriage), emotional/psychological abuse, physical abuse, blood bending, general violence and brutality, discussion of menstruation, attempted rape, attempted murder, discussion of miscarriage, death, torture, discussion of eastern philosophy, religion, spirituality, PTSD… and other horrible things I can't think of right now.
Every post I put out will get a tag for whatever trigger warning I think is in there. If I'm missing something, please let me know and I'll add a tag.

4. This is not a non-con fic, so all sex-scenes will be consensual. Once again: rape = attempted. Sex = consensual. (But maybe a little dub-con considering the situation the characters are in…? It's complicated. [Character C forces characters A and B into a complicated sexual dynamic with each other? And then you have character D joining in?!])

5. Will there be sex-scenes? Oh yes. But I will warn you, I take this stuff seriously—or as seriously as anyone can take an AU poly-crack-pairing fanfic (that might not be very seriously...), so when I say there will be sex I mean that almost everyone who gets some gets some in-fic. As in you read about it. In detail. I do not favor the leads on this front. Also… if I did, it would take a really, really, really, really long time to get to the sex scenes. So, you'll be getting some of the other pairings listed above before you get to the Amorrlok. Once again, this isn't a one-shot. I make characters earn it.

6. I have been writing this thing for a year already, so I can make no promises that I will not burn out. But I will do my damnedest to avoid it. Just be aware that updates might be infrequent at times… Life can suck.

7. I might be writing this because I am a massive troll… maybe…

-STORY START-

Part 1: Intrigue
Act 1: Triumph of Equality
Chapter 1: Loss

Trigger Warning: Mention/Discussion of Child Abuse and PTSD

A/N: What if…

Korra's wide, blue eyes snapped open. "Aang," she gasped. Korra lowered her trembling hands into her lap as she drew a steadying breath. "This whole time you were trying to warn me about Tarrlok." She reached up and ran her fingers down her face, as if pulling away the exhaustion and tension that had developed there. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, feeling drained from effort it had taken to concentrate on meditating.

Tenzin always made it look easy, she thought sullenly as she looked around the metal box she'd been imprisoned in. She kind of had to pee—kind of, she didn't have to go badly, but it was a nagging feeling. However, she refused to do her business in the small, enclosed space. She wasn't going to sit in her own piss.

A door opened somewhere outside the box, and she looked up in the direction of sound. She pulled herself to her feet at the sound of the creaking stairs. Someone was descending toward her prison. "My life is a disaster now, thanks to you!" Tarrlok growled, and she could hear the frustration and roughness in his usually smooth voice.

Korra smirked. What she wouldn't give to see the look on his face. She was certain that smug smirk of his was gone for good! "So, your little blood bending secret's out?"

Korra grinned in the general direction of the sound of his footsteps. His angry growl was all she needed to confirm her suspicions. She didn't bother trying to keep the smug smirk out of her voice. She wanted him to hear it. She'd won. He was in for it. Her friends and family were coming for her and then he'd pay! She leaned up against the side of her cramped cell and taunted him with the knowledge she'd pieced together, "And I know how you blood bent me without a full moon! You're Yakone's son!"

He didn't reply at first. His silence put her on edge and she half expected him to attack her. She could feel the tension and anger radiating from him.

When he spoke, his voice was so soft she almost didn't hear his words. "I was his son. But in order to win Republic City, I had to become someone else," his voice grew stronger as he continued his story. "My father failed because he tried to rule the city from its rotten underbelly. My plan was perfect! I was to be the city's savior! But you…" His voice was rough with anger. "You ruined everything!"

Korra grit her teeth and glared at where she imagined he stood in the room outside of the metal box. "Tarrlok, the jig is up and you have nowhere to go," she said.

After all, what else could he do?

This was a done deal! He was finished!

"Oh, no," she heard him sneer. He turned and began to walk away. "No. I'll escape and start a new life." She heard his heavy foot fall on the stairs again. He paused on the steps only a short way up and growled, "and you're coming as my hostage."

All her confidence drained away in an instant. Korra slammed her fists against the side of the metal box with every bit of strength she had in her. "You'll never get away with this!" She howled.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she began to panic. Her efforts to punch her way out of the metal box were fruitless, the sturdy walls wouldn't give way under her hands. Memories of terrible tales about young girls taken and never seen again echoed in her head. She knew that if he managed to take her out of Republic City he would get away with this. Her friends wouldn't know where to begin looking for her. It wouldn't take long for her trail to go cold.

If he succeeded, he would win. She'd never see anyone she cared about ever again.

Korra pressed her forehead against the cold metal walls of her prison. She felt the dewy drops of tears settle on her small, fine lower lashes, threatening to spill over and down her cheeks. She clenched her fists and gnashed her teeth and tried to metal bend with all her might, but she hardly knew where to begin.

Tarrlok's heavy steps on the stairs fell on her ears like a death sentence. Intellectually, she knew he wouldn't kill her. She was his hostage. She knew she was only useful as long as she was alive, but this felt like an execution.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth, and grimaced—trying to force her mind to stop spinning and think of something useful! But she couldn't gather her thoughts. She promised herself that as soon as he opened the box she would throw everything she had at him, even if it killed her. She would make him regret his decision.

She could hear his footsteps slow as he reached the top of the steps. The high-pitched groaning of the old boards lengthened as he lingered on the upper stairs. Then suddenly the sounds stopped.

"Amon!" Tarrlok's voice was filled with fear.

Korra gasped and recoiled from the cold, metal wall of her prison. Her eyes immediately turned in the direction of his voice. Even though she couldn't see anything through the thick metal walls that encased her. She couldn't bring herself to make another effort toward an escape. She could only listen, eyes wide with mounting terror at the knowledge that the Equalist Leader had found Tarrlok's hideout.

"It is time for you to be equalized."

Korra's mouth fell open. Her lips quivered as terror gripped her. She wrapped her arms around her body to try and stop herself from shuddering. Amon sounded as cold and cruel as ever.

Spirits! How had he found them?!

The rasping groans of old floorboards signaled that someone was taking a stance. "You fool! You've never faced bending like mine!" Korra felt a surge of wild, desperate home blossom in her chest. Tarrlok sounded confident and he was probably right. Amon had probably never encountered a blood bender before, and certainly not one as skilled as Tarrlok!

She turned her gaze to the door and she closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds above her. She just hoped that Tarrlok could successfully fend off Amon. If he failed, they were both going to lose everything.

Perhaps it was a little fickle of her to change her opinion of her captor and of her dire situation so quickly, but if she had to choose between her two adversaries, she'd take Tarrlok over Amon any day. Tarrlok was just a corrupt politician. He was nowhere near as terrifying or evil as Amon. Besides, after a big fight, an injured Tarrlok would give her better odds for a successful escape.

She heard the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the floor upstairs. She counted four, maybe five Equalists including Amon. It sounded as though Tarrlok had made short work of the entire group…

… and then she heard footsteps. The heavy, steady sound of someone approaching the top of the stairs where she knew her kidnapper stood. The councilman had taken down the foot soldiers and maybe the electric-stick wielding lieutenant, but Amon was still up. And he was coming for Tarrlok.

The footsteps faltered, and for a brief moment desperate hope blossomed in Korra's chest. But then the sound of a slow, steady approach continued. The blood drained from the young Avatar's face, her eyes widened, she felt a tremor begin in her arms and legs, as her heart thundered in her ears.

Tarrlok's blood bending wasn't working on Amon.

Korra's breathing picked up. She ducked her head, unconsciously cowering in the metal box.

She could hear the creak of the floorboards as Tarrlok backed away. His steps sounded uncertain and even her unpracticed ear told her that his stance was no longer as strong as it had been in the beginning of the confrontation. She thought that she heard him gasp or say something, but she couldn't make out the words from where she stood. Her heart was thundering in her ears. All she could do was stand in the box and wonder:

Oh, spirits, what was he?

Amon's dispassionate, solemn voice gave the answer: "I am the solution."

She heard the rustle of fabric, quick footsteps. She could almost see Amon's quick, precise movements as he took hold of Tarrlok. She heard the councilman's loud gasp of pain as the Equalist leader ruthlessly subdued him.

Tarrlok's cry of agony tore through the small, wooden house. She jerked, her head immediately and instinctively tilted upward at the noise. Her eyes were wide with shock and she felt a heavy weight settle in to the pit of her stomach as she heard the councilman's body hit the floor with a loud thud.

Amon had defeated the blood bender easily.

Cold, rational clarity abruptly cut through Korra's panic. There was no reason to wonder or question the situation anymore. The Equalist Leader had defeated Tarrlok and he'd probably come to collect her shortly. This was not the time to vent her fear and rage. If she wanted to survive, she had to come up with a plan right now.

So she stopped and listened.

She heard Amon speak again, "I'll take care of him."

There was something different about his voice. She couldn't tell if he sounded pleased or simply relieved, but there was a new, lighter quality to his voice that she hadn't heard before.

"You four retrieve the Avatar. Do not underestimate her. Electrocute the box to knock her out before you open it."

Korra's eyes widened sharply as she heard his order. She gritted her teeth. She had to act fast.

"My pleasure." Amon's Lieutenant sounded quite pleased at the opportunity to cause her harm. Maybe she'd done something offensive in one of their previous scuffles, or maybe he was just honored to have his commander hand off the Avatar to him.

Korra also wondered if Amon knew that she could hear him. Did he want her to know what he'd just sent his lieutenant to do to her? She felt a new wave of fear wash over her, but it was a cold fear that served to further clear her mind. When she glanced around, she thought that she could see everything more vividly than ever before.

He was going to try and capture her. Then he would take her bending. Then everything would just… go to pieces. She had to stop him. The first step was saving herself.

She cast a quick look around her prison, searching for something to prevent her impending electrocution. There was nothing she could use. The entire box was made of metal.

She turned her keen eyes on her person for something that might protect her. She ran a hand over the thick, insulating, rubbery-leather of her forearm guard. She wasn't sure it could hold off the charge, but she'd give it a try.

She heard the Equalists descend. She quickly tugged the guard off her arm, lightly tossed the fabric over the small bars at the top of the box, and quietly lifted herself off the floor of the box so that she wasn't touching any of the metal. She needed to survive, but she needed to be quiet, if they believed that she'd been electrocuted then maybe she could escape when they opened the door. After all, it wouldn't be any good at all if they heard her and figured out her desperate plan.

The lieutenant's batons whooshed through the air outside her cell. Her biceps clenched as she pulled her legs up and further away from the floor in preparation for what was about to happen.

"It's payback time."

Electricity coursed through the metal. Korra curled into herself more tightly, closing her eyes and ducking her head instinctually to try and protect herself. She gritted her teeth and let out a long, strangled cry as the currents licked up and down the sides of the box, heating the cold metal walls.

Overhead, the single light danced and jerked as the electricity continued to pulse through the metal box. The bulb, overheated, shattered and she felt small shards of hot glass land in her hair and on her shoulders. The room darkened somewhat, but electric pulse of energy kept the space around her strangely illuminated. Light and heat danced around her, she could see the dangerous flashes, even with her eyes closed.

He kept the electric current flowing through the box for ten solid minutes before finally stopping. The walls of the metal box had grown warm from the charge. As soon as he was done, Korra let herself drop to the floor of the box. She lay perfectly still on the heated floor, doing her best to appear unconscious.

"Open the box." The lieutenant growled.

The door creaked and moaned as it opened. She heard the sound of breathing and footsteps. Korra could feel their eyes on her, studying her and assessing her condition without ever approaching her prone form.

"Tie her up."

She didn't bother to estimate how many there were, braced her hands on the floor and struck.

All it took was a bright blast of fire from the heel of her foot to send the group of Equalists reeling. Clearly they couldn't take the heat, but fire had never bothered Korra. She was on her feet in an instant. Like a well-trained fire bender, she followed the force of the blast, pushing through the fire and following its momentum to find the quickest path.

A few of her adversaries regrouped. A bola sailed over her head, she dropped, rolled and slammed her fist into the ground, sending the earth rolling under their feet. The Equalists went flying. She ran past her shocked adversaries, sprinted up the stairs, and threw herself at the wooden front door.

The door shattered into splinters at the force of her body slamming into it. She burst out of the dark cabin into a wall of freezing wind, and white atmosphere. For a passing moment, she couldn't see anything aside from the heavy graying clouds that seemed to hang around the peaks and snow-laden flurries that embraced her. She blinked once, twice, as her eyes adjusted to the new environment and tiny snowflakes came to cling to her lashes…

… and found herself hurtling into the arms of a thoroughly shocked Equalist Leader.

Momentum was not her friend.

When she'd body-slammed the door, she hadn't counted on the top step being icy. Even her moccasins, designed for the snow-covered tundra of the South, hadn't been able to find purchase. She was half-sliding, half-sailing over the slick, frozen wood.

She could not stop. She could not change direction. She could only watch in horror as Amon drew closer. She saw his masked face tilt upwards. His eyes—which were blue, she hadn't noticed that before—widened behind the knife-shaped eye-holes of his mask as he realized she was on a collision course with him. His entire body tensed and then….

For a passing moment, Korra thought that she moved more slowly through the air than she should have… But Amon moved with surprising speed as he slid backward, his body dropping into a fighting stance. Then he reached for her.

Korra knew what was going to happen.

He was going to catch her.

And then he'd take her bending away.

Her eyes narrowed and she pulled back her left fist. She reached for the water and ice that surrounded her. She swore he wouldn't take her bending without a fight… but the element wasn't responding right… like something was blocking her ability…

Amon reached across and with his right hand and caught her right arm. Korra felt herself being turned—no, forcibly positioned to have her bending removed… She pulled at the water around her as hard as she could and it answered. As her back slammed hard against Amon's chest, she changed hands, passing control to her right hand, as she struck with her left.

First, her left elbow slammed into his ribs and there was a satisfying crack. She heard Amon gasp in pain, but she wasn't done yet. The blow had caused him to release her right arm and permitted her to continue the spin he'd started her on. So the back of her fist found his side again, striking him just below his ribs. He let out a satisfying yelp at her successful blow to his kidney.

As she faced him, she brought her right hand overhead and then down sharply, and the ice-blade followed her arm's trajectory. Amon moved to the right, twisting as he did so to parry her downward strike with his right hand. He was quick enough to stop her fist from connecting with the meaty part of his shoulder, but he didn't think to try and stop the blade. As the frozen tendril stabbed into his shoulder muscle—just barely missing his major arteries—he let out a sharp cry of pain…

But instead of going through his shoulder and incapacitating him—pinning him to the ground like an icy piece of rebar—the blade stopped dead. Korra moved to punch him again with a solid left to his other side, but he caught her wrist and spun her again. This time, his leg shot out, neatly catching her ankle, and bringing her to her knees.

Korra yelped in pain as his hand slammed into the back of her neck. She felt her body arch sharply, but it felt wrong—her body didn't want to move that way, this was unnatural—but she didn't have time to think about that. Amon gripped the back of her neck like she was a misbehaving kitten pup.

She stared up into the dark eye holes of his mask. She could only just make out the pale edges of his blue irises. The angle of his face made it appear as though that demonic, wooden guise were smiling down on her. She opened her mouth to scream in terror and tried to force her body to move—to do something to stop him from taking her bending away…

But she couldn't move. She could barely breathe. Everything hurt so much. It was like ten thousand hands had reached inside of her body and taken hold of her insides.

His hand came down.

His fingers pressed against her forehead.

Something deep within her skull moved. It was a horrible, unnatural feeling—not unlike a bone being dislocated, but this was softer, uglier—and it was excruciatingly painful. The young Avatar screamed out her agony. She thought the shrill peel of her cry would fill her ears and drown out some of the hurt, but her voice sounded far away. Somehow, the suffering and the emptiness that seemed to fill up every part of her felt louder.

And then it was over.

Korra's frightened, wide eyes rolled back in her head. She half expected him to let her fall forward into the snow, but he kept his painfully firm grip on the back of her neck and held her there. He was the only thing holding her up. The world was swimming and tilting strangely around her. She could feel herself shaking as she knelt there, but not from the cold.

She heard footsteps and then voices. Someone asked if Amon was alright. Another rushed forward.

Distantly she heard Amon snarl, "I told you not to underestimate her!" The hand on the back of her neck tightened sharply. "I had to take away her bending prematurely due to your incompetence!"

Korra felt her eyes soften and slip closed. Her ears and head felt like they were stuffed full of cotton. She couldn't hear or even think anymore. Her world went black for a moment.

The world swam in and out of focus. She was on the ground, staring across powdery snow at booted feet. She blinked, or she thought she blinked, but perhaps more time had passed. She was no longer on the ground, but she was moving toward dark shapes behind a veil of snow. Thick, soft snowflakes stuck to her lashes and brows, making her face feel tight and heavy. She couldn't hear anything except the sound of her shaky, labored breathing and the throbbing rush of blood in her veins.

She blinked and looked around. She could see the world moving up and down slowly, as though someone was carrying her. She didn't have the strength move and if she focused she could just make sense of a strong grip holding her body tightly. She was being cradled in powerful arms like some sort of princess. She could feel tension in the formidable grip of the person who was carrying her. The left arm, which supported her upper body was shaky; but they held her in such a way as to prevent any attempt at struggle.

Their efforts were unnecessary. As soon as Korra realized that she was being carried, she'd struggled to force her body to move, but found that she simply could not. Even the effort of trying to move her hand to brush the snow off her face was impossible.

The man—she was certain it was a man, the build was wrong for a woman—came to a slow stop near a large, hulking dark shape that radiated warmth. There was the sound of metal grinding against metal; not unlike the grating sounds that the door of Tarrlok's metal box had made when it opened and closed. Korra's captor gently set her down on the warm, hard floor of a dark space. As she was lowered into the gloom, her body was turned and she could see the person who'd carried her.

Korra stared blurrily at Amon's emotionless mask. She realized that she'd just been loaded into an Equalist vehicle. She couldn't muster the strength to be afraid of him, but his presence and proximity sickened her.

His skin crawled as he leaned over her and she closed her eyes tightly to block out the sight of him. She wanted to be as far away from Amon as possible, but she couldn't even lift a finger to try and pull her prone body away. Her face flushed with humiliation and her eyes felt damp with unshed tears.

As she lay cringing in his presence, Amon reached across her body to carefully position her arms and legs so that she rested comfortably. She didn't want him to touch her, when he touched her she noticed things about him. Right now, she couldn't help but notice his hands.

He had human hands.

She hated the thought, but she could hardly ignore them as he moved over her methodically, arranging her like a limp doll.

They were warm, strong, and calloused like her father's hands.

Korra's eyes opened wide at the thought that Amon might have anything in common with her father. Her father had always sought to protect and guide her, even though she was the Avatar. The Equalist Leader wanted nothing more than to subdue and destroy her.

She didn't want to admit that Amon was in any way like her father. She didn't want to imagine that he was just as human as the man who'd loved her, comforted her, and raised her in a little house in the South Pole. The thought that Amon might have married a woman like her mother and had a daughter like her…

It horrified her.

But she didn't know why.

She forced herself to look at him as he continued to carefully move her limbs until they sat, 'just so.'

Looking at him made everything worse. With every passing moment she found herself cataloguing details and things reminded her of her father. Amon's height, the broadness of his shoulders, his pale blue eyes, his ability to subdue an opponent and his capacity to be gentle when it suited him… in all these ways, he was like her father.

She hated herself for thinking it. To compare Tonraq to Amon felt like a betrayal. Her father was a good, kind man, who genuinely cared about her, and worried about her wellbeing. Amon was a monster. But her mind could not let go of the thought, it kept cycling through her head, tormenting her.

They should have nothing in common at all.

As her eyes drifted over Amon's form, she found her gaze drawn to the red stain on his shoulder. There was something wrong with what she saw. Her brow furrowed a little, but she didn't have the strength to really glare at the wound as she would have liked.

She'd been aiming to do significant damage with that blade of ice. Even though she hadn't succeeded in skewering him, she knew that she'd injured him quite badly. Even though she'd missed the vital arteries, there should have been much more blood on his uniform. He shouldn't have been able to carry her to the truck.

How was that even possible!?

She felt a thrill of fear, but also a great relief.

He wasn't just as human as her father after all.

Amon noticed her steady gaze. He stopped arranging her and returned her stare. Then he leaned his massive form over her body, throwing his shadow over her smaller form as he reached up toward her face. She flinched and closed her eyes as she felt his warm pads of his fingers trace along her forehead down the side of her face and gently brush along the underside of her jaw.

His hand came to rest on her neck. Something pressed and clenched near the base of neck on her right side—it was like she'd been struck on a chi-point, hard, but his hands never moved to strike. She yelped in pain, her body bucked. As her vision faded to black, she could see Amon's mask leering down at her.

"Rest, Avatar. I'm not done with you yet."

[] [] []

Tarrlok opened his eyes to an unknown darkness and sat up slowly. His hands searched around for a bit of wall he could lean against. He didn't think he could hold himself upright at the moment. His head was spinning and he felt nauseous and unbalanced—it was like he had a terrible hangover.

This wasn't a bad hangover.

He didn't know where he was and he wasn't exactly certain of what had happened to him, but he knew that he still wore the same clothing he'd been wearing when he'd fallen asleep. There was a musky, human scent and softness that clothing took on after being slept in. It brought him back to his years serving in the Northern Army—a miserable time when training was brutal and under-supplied, scouting missions kept him out on the frigid wastes for far longer than he would have liked.

The brutal conditions had incentivized his rapid ascent through the ranks. Especially since those late, freezing nights out on the ice fields brought him back to his childhood. On those freezing nights in the arctic he'd wake late in the night, feeling cold and anxious. His father's rages always seemed more real in the darkest hours and the fear of failure kept him awake until he could do nothing, but practice his bending again and again.

On those cold nights he had to practice or allow himself relive his one father's rages. Unless he was physically incapacitated, he always got up and ran through forms. Surrendering to the anxiety ended the episodes far more quickly.

Of course, recalling those horrible nights of endless practice from his years in the Northern Army took him back to his childhood. The darkness that engulfed him served to sharpen his memory and made the recollections all too vivid. He was back in his childhood room, sitting up in the bed he'd shared with his older brother throughout their childhood.

Of course, when his murky memories took him back to those troubled times, his childhood room was never the bright, cheerfully decorated space where he could find some measure of pleasure and privacy during the daylight ours. Whenever he woke in the night, he was always transported back to that suffocating, quiet, dark room that smelled of tanned hides, musty clothes, and human perspiration.

He could not quite understand why he best remembered that sanctum best as shadowy space full of heavy scents. He couldn't fathom why his nightmares took him back to those countless infrequent nights when he'd wake to stare into the darkness and agonize about 'tomorrow.' In those nightmares, 'tomorrow' was always the next hunting trip and it was always going to be the hunting trip he dreaded most—the one where his father decided that he was done with him. As a child, he'd wake up the night before the hunting trip and wonder if it would be his last.

Maybe this time his father would leave him out in the snowy wilderness to die?

His late night contemplation continued long after his father passed away. And now things were no different. He'd awoken to a similar darkness as he had on those long, cold nights on the tundra with the soldiers. He'd been pulled out of dreamless sleep again and again even after his father's death by the familiar feeling of sleep-worn clothes and tanned hide. No matter how he changed his room, whenever he opened his eyes in the dark, it always looked and smelled the same.

When he'd secured a political career in Republic City, he'd made a point of ensuring his surroundings were as different from his childhood room as possible. But it did nothing. He still woke in the darkness to darkness and the scent of musty clothes, tanned hides, and perspiration. He still stared into the pitch black and swore that his tormentor, his father, was in the room with him. Standing by and staring down at him from some distant corner, beyond the edge of the darkness.

When morning came, they would go hunting. His father would put him to the test. He would inevitably fail to measure up. Then the berating would start. First came the insults and the cold, resentful looks. Then came the comments about how ashamed Yakone was to have fathered such a weakling, how Tarrlok was pathetic and should have done them all a favor and died before he was old enough to be this much of a disappointment… Finally, there would be the threat that if he dared to disappoint him again, Yakone would leave him on the tundra to die.

The fear and self-loathing that gripped him in the small hours of the morning drove him to drink, to fuck, to do anything to make himself too tired to wake up and relive the nightmare. But his efforts were for naught. Drinking in excess made the night visions more real and brought vivid nightmares. Lovers meant witnesses to his moments of intense vulnerability, he risked exposure and shame with every tryst, and he quickly found that he wanted neither comfort or sympathy…

Other exertions and efforts fell by the wayside. No matter how tired he was, no matter what medicine he swallowed to plunge him into a dreamless sleep, he would still wake in the night and find himself transported back to his childhood room. He would still swear that his father stood there, just beyond the darkness waiting for morning. He still rose in the night to run through forms until he felt too tired to move…

Now, sitting in this oppressive darkness in this unknown room it was no different. The memory of his childhood night terrors were just as fresh and real as they'd been over twenty-three years ago. So, he sat there in the dark, feeling small and frail and alone and looked around as he always did. He took in the dim shape of the curved wooden walls. The smell of musty clothing, tanned hides, and human perspiration filled his nose and mouth. He could feel eyes staring at him from somewhere just beyond the blackness. His father's words echoed in his head.

He knew it was all in his head. He knew that it was a trick of the mind. A horrible, abhorrent habit that he could not drive back, but it felt so real…

But then it was real, wasn't it?

True, he wasn't a child. He wasn't in his childhood room. His clothes were musty and sleep-worn, true. But there was no tanned hide. The sweat he smelt was his own. His father wasn't standing beyond the edge of the darkness, looking down on him.

But he was in a dark room and his tormentor was out there, beyond the edge of the darkness. When morning came, his tormentor would come and the violence would start again. Things would be just as they'd been all those years ago. This time, however, his tormentor was not his father—it was his brother.

When his brother came, he would learn a new kind of suffering.

He grimaced in disgust. His head dropped forward and his chin rest against his chest as his fingers dragged across the floor of the unknown room. It was cold and he could feel the grit gathering underneath his fingernails.

He should have known that his brother would be the cause of all his problems.

While nothing could quite replace the dark recollections of his childhood, he knew that his current situation was far worse. He was alone, in a dark, unknown room—probably a cell—in an undetermined location. His blood bending prodigy of a brother was out there somewhere, planning the fall of Republic City, and, probably, his very public and violent demise.

But did it really matter if he died? He'd lost everything.

Everything he'd worked for over the years, a lifetime of effort and struggle had been demolished. He'd been so close. He'd had the city in the palm of his hand. He'd been so close to proving his father wrong. He'd been so close to proving everyone wrong—showing all those people who'd looked down on him and called him a back-woods hick that they knew nothing!

Yes, he'd been a hick. He'd been a hick from a nowhere village, tucked away in the distant and desolate reaches of the north. But he'd won a position of power and respect in the military and then he'd worked his way up in the world with ruthless efficiency. He'd charmed, bullied, bribed, coerced, seduced, and backstabbed his way into the Northern Courts. And he hadn't been subtle about it—he hadn't needed to be subtle about it.

Now it was all gone.

Years of work had unraveled so quickly.

His struggles to distinguish himself in the military and earn the respect of his betters: gone.

His efforts to win Unalaq's favor by any means necessary: gone.

His work to carefully and strategically move himself into a position of absolute power: gone.

It was all coming apart.

He'd had the entire Republic City Council under his thumb and he'd lost it all because…

Because…

His first instinct was to blame the Avatar. She'd come in like a lion-bull in a ceramics shop and torn everything up, but really, who was to blame for his fall? Right now he didn't think it was the force of nature that had swept into the City to overturn his efforts.

His nightmares had come to life beneath the streets of Republic City. If he'd known, he would have fled to another Nation and claimed his power there. Maybe he would have taken up a post in the South Pole—Unalaq had wanted him in that seat—closer to the Northern throne and closer to the seat of Water Tribe Power.

His nightmares…

His own brother had lurked on the edge of his conscious for decades like some dark, vile spirit—like face stealer Koh. His brother had become a faceless, terrible, being that was too powerful; an adversary that no one could beat. He was a quiet horror that Tarrlok didn't dare speak of, for fear that even mentioning his name would summon him back from the blizzard that had swallowed him years ago. And now, as he sat in an unknown cell in an unknown place, he had to admit for all his planning and effort, he'd never really achieved his true goal at all. He'd never managed to become better than his brother.

As he looked back at the events that led him to this juncture, he could see clearly how all his plans were destined to unravel. From the very start Noatak had controlled the situation. His brother had played every card he'd been dealt perfectly to achieve the ultimate end of absolute control of Republic City. While Noatak plotted and planned in the shadows, Tarrlok had believed that the Equalists were playing into his hands. The joke was on him. He'd been playing into their hands.

He should have hesitated when he'd learned that Sato was an Equalist. The man was always goading him about what the Council was doing to make the city safer, always subtly mocking him. Noatak had clearly taught the industrialist what to say to get under his skin.

When the Avatar arrived, Tarrlok had seen it as a boon. But he should have seen it for what it truly was—a sign that the situation was far more dangerous than he'd ever realized. Looking back, her unwelcome upheaval of his plans would have saved him from this predicament. Her seemingly foolish, desperate warnings, and accusations about going too far now rang in his ears.

Even still, even with the Avatar bearing down on him, he should have been able to control the situation. He knew what he was capable of and how far he'd go to achieve his end. He knew what he'd done to achieve power and he'd do worse if he thought it would get him into a better position. But he'd been arrogant and foolish.

Thinking back on it, he could see everything so clearly. The Avatar was not a force to be feared, but a pawn that could be managed. If he'd just taken a moment to stop and think, if he'd just stopped acting on the orders and expectations of the Northern powers and the Council, he could have managed her far better. After all, they were the ones who held the young Avatar in contempt. They didn't want to be beholden to her power and they hated the thought of one of their own acting beholden.

But, behaving as if beholden to your adversary was often the best way into a better position of control.

He should have thought about that before he'd sloppily engaged with her. But he'd been eager to please and eager to drive her into a position that favored not only his endgame, but also the endgame of his superiors. He'd been so eager and willing to please.

He'd sought to please everyone and in the end pleased no one, least of all himself.

But powerful individuals had surrounded him, each one pushing him in a different direction. Unalaq had urged him to win the Avatar's trust and bring her into his confidence. The Northern nobles had urged him to keep himself away from the Avatar, they feared that a close association would make him seem weak and that would reflect badly on the North. The council pushed him to act apart from the Avatar, to show the authority and might of Republic City while keeping her close at the same time—he should lead the young Avatar. Tenzin had wanted her kept as far away as possible and the Avatar had sought to pursue childish games and trivial pastimes—seemingly disinterested in the turmoil that surrounded her.

And through all this the people of Republic City were looking for a hero. And he'd worked to meet their demands. When they feared the Equalists, he assembled a task force. When they felt abandoned by their Avatar, he'd taken control. When they lost faith in leaders, he removed them and replaced them with competent people who would assist him in his endeavors. And then…

He had gone too far and, in crossing those lines, fed Noatak's revolution.

He should have known that his actions would only help his brother's agenda. He should have considered how bad things really were in the city. He should have realized that the Avatar would overact when he pushed her and took her friends away from her.

Avatar Korra's words rang in his head, "You're just like Amon!" He was, wasn't he? He was just like Amon. The fact that they were brothers, that they came from the same father and mother. They shared the same blood and the same abilities. They were both monsters.

Ah… Tarrlok sighed.

What was the point of it all, anyway? What was the point of going over everything that he should have done differently? It wasn't like there was going to be another chance. All of the 'would haves' and 'could haves' would never take back what had been done.

There wasn't really a point to any of it, was there?

He'd been beaten before he'd even started.

He couldn't compete with Noatak. Hell, if he' d known that Amon and his brother were one in the same, he would have played a different hand. He would have left Republic City—no, he would have destroyed it! After all, this was Yakone's city. This was where their corrupt bloodline started. This was the place that he and his brother came to after all these years. They were bound to this place.

He clenched his fists. He'd have started his path of destruction by hunting down every single Equalist and annihilating them. He'd have exposed their leader and shamed them and then he'd have turned on the benders and burnt down their homes and destroyed their work and left them with nothing but a memory of a City that was rotten to its very core.

This place had destroyed everything. Even the Avatar. He was now certain that the Avatar's little trip to Republic City had been a test of her mettle. She'd been drawn to the City by the imbalance caused by the Equalists. She'd been allowed to stay as a first trial. And, judging by the outcome of his current situation, she'd failed her trial rather miserably… or rather, she'd been soundly defeated by Noatak and his Revolution.

Noatak… Equalists… Fairness…

Spirits.

He felt like such a fool. He should have seen it, should have considered that maybe the leader was, at least, a man similar to his brother—there was no way that he would have ever suspected that Amon and Noatak were one in the same, but he should have considered the similarities! Now that he knew who Amon really was, he could see that the Equalist ideologies were clearly drawn from their childhood and Noatak's perceptions of fairness and equality.

He groaned in frustration.

Clearly, Noatak's obsession with making everything fair and equal had not faded over the years, but had grown into an insane obsession. An obsession that he was only too happy to impose on everyone in Republic City and—if his claims were to be believed—the entire world.

Not that Noatak knew anything about what fairness and equality actually looked like. It was so easy to be 'fair' when everything came easily….

Life had always been easier for Noatak than it had been for Tarrlok. That easiness, that free ride, meant that it was a simple matter for Noatak to be 'fair' to his little brother. After all, Noatak wasn't the one who bore the brunt of their father's ire and disdain. Oh, yes, he always thought that he defended Tarrlok from their father, but Noatak received praise. Tarrlok did not. Noatak received special gifts and tokens of kindness. Tarrlok did not. And no amount of sharing could change the fact that Tarrlok knew—had always known—that Noatak would always receive the better part of their parents' love.

Over the years, what had started off as small acts of kindness—attempts at defending Tarrlok from their father—had become a constant reminder of how pathetic and unwanted the younger son was in their father's eyes. It was patronizing and it always served to remind Tarrlok of who he was and where he stood. He wasn't allowed to stand up for himself. Noatak never considered him strong enough to make a stand against their father.

Blessed Noatak.

Good Noatak.

Perfect Noatak.

Noatak was praised and loved. Tarrlok was despised and viewed as a waste of space.

Tarrlok shuddered and curled into himself.

Noatak was alive. The knowledge had given Tarrlok a fleeting moment of joy, before plunging him back into the familiar pit of resentment and rage. And the Councilman found himself quickly wishing that his brother had died in that blizzard all those years ago. It was easier to think fondly on a dead Noatak than a living one.

Yes, Noatak had a lot of nerve showing up in Republic City now. After all these years… After years of quietly searching and hoping and waiting—after years of stifled anger and desperate hope—he showed up here and now, wearing the face of a fucking monster. What made him think that he had the right to come crawling back after leaving them all behind?

A bitter sense of triumph welled within Tarrlok. Didn't Noatak know that he was too late in returning? That he'd come to knock at the door of the wrong family member? There was no one here to cheer for him, to praise him for his good work. There was no one who wanted him here.

There was only Tarrlok.

Their mother might be more receptive to the return of her prodigal son, but he suspected that she was half-mad now or dead from grief at the loss of her precious Noatak. He hadn't spoken to her in years. When he received letters, he didn't bother opening them anymore, because he knew that she'd mention Noatak and he couldn't stand her continued adoration of her eldest. There was no point in trying to communicate with her. She had nothing to say to him. He wasn't sure she had anything to say to anyone anymore—she'd become withdrawn and deeply depressed after Noatak's 'death.'

And father? Father was dead, thank the spirits.

So there was no one of sane and reasonable mind left to love the precious, genius child anymore. There was only Noatak's pathetic, helpless, weak, and cowardly baby brother. And that brother wished that Noatak had stayed dead.

Tarrlok sighed.

Even after all this… After everything he'd done to escape his brother's shadow, he found himself once again in the dark.

It was as if Noatak had blocked out the sun.

He'd never get away, would he? He'd always be Noatak's little brother. He'd always come in second place, no matter what he did. He would always be in second place. Less loved, less wanted, lesser than the amazing and glorious Noatak.

He could still clearly remember every dismissal, every instance when his father paid just a little more attention to Noatak. Every time that Noatak was praised while a fist came down on his head for not showing the same talent as his older brother. All of Tarrlok's promise and talent for water bending meant nothing in the face of Noatak's genius. He was a prodigy, after all.

And then Noatak had left them. And Tarrlok had learned exactly where he stood in the family.

He'd refused to harm his brother—he'd stood up to their father and refused to blood bend his own brother. This was immediately after the same brother hadn't hesitated to blood bend him into submission. He'd been the better person; he'd stood up when Noatak, for all his defending, had only stood by.

In the end, his act of bravery hadn't mattered.

As soon as Noatak saw that their father could be confronted, he'd wasted no time in taking complete control over the situation. At the time, Tarrlok had been grateful, his brother had saved him from a furious beating; a beating that Tarrlok would not have defended himself against. That defense had been welcome. Noatak's spur of them moment decision to make an even bigger gesture—to over shadow his brother's act of bravery with the decision to leave them—was not.

Tarrlok had gone over the scenario again and again, tormented by his brother's final words to him; "He was right about you, you are a weakling." But was he really? Could a weakling have advanced so quickly through the ranks of the military? Could a weakling have cut down his political adversaries, destroyed their reputations and careers, and taken them for all they were worth to feed his own ambition?

No. Tarrlok was not weak. He knew that now. But Noatak was a coward. Noatak had always had the power to stand up to their father, but Tarrlok—the reviled, so-called weakling had been the one to take a stand. When Noatak had decided to leave, Tarrlok had chosen to stay behind with their mother and with the man who still haunted his nightmares. He'd bothered to consider the dear, sweet woman who had no idea what her husband was doing to her sons.

The spoilt and beloved prince had fled his home to find a new one, while the whipping boy, like a dog, stayed with his master in spite of the beatings and abuse.

He'd stayed behind for his mother. He'd feared what their father would do to her after the loss of Noatak. Besides, Tarrlok had always born the worst of it. He'd thought he could handle anything that his father might dish out. Someone had to bear the brunt of their father's wrath and with Noatak gone, who else was going to protect her. If he stayed, he could defend their mother and keep her safe. She'd never have to know the truth about their father.

Things hadn't gone the way he'd expected. His father never raised a hand against their mother. His father never raised a hand against him again. He didn't speak to him either, or acknowledge his existence. Tarrlok was lucky if his father so much as looked at the space he occupied.

After only a month, Tarrlok found himself missing the abuse. The abuse, after all, was a form of acknowledgement, some sign that his life was worth something. His father died only a few years later—he wasted away into nothing, unable to cope with the loss of his precious Noatak.

The worst part were the questions and requests that he started to make as he reached the end of his life: "Where's Noatak? I want to speak to Noatak. I need to see my son. Where is he?" He never once asked for Tarrlok. The younger son might as well have never existed.

He watched his mother desperately tend to their father, helping when he could, since their father did not seem to see him at all. But even being near her became difficult those occasions when he met her gaze he thought he could see the quiet, unspoken questions lurking there behind her eyes, 'Why did Noatak have to die? Why couldn't it have been Tarrlok?'

That quiet look still haunted his nightmares.

But in dreams she always asked the questions aloud. Somehow it made him feel better to hear her say the words. He could rail against them when they were spoken aloud.

But he couldn't blame her for wondering. He often wondered why he'd bothered to stay, or even why he bothered to live. He sometimes wondered what it would have been like to follow his brother into the blizzard. What would it have been like to suffer and die in the cold?

Why had he dared to dream that maybe his mother had wanted at least one of them to come home?

Why had he imagined that his return might have some meaning?

Tarrlok. Second son, second place, second best.

Unwanted.

Now, after all these years, after letting his little brother make a stand when he never could, after running away from his problems like a damn coward, after leaving his little brother to try and hold their family together, he'd come back. And he'd hardly changed. He was still a lying, desperate coward who set himself up as a defender to make himself feel better about his 'tragic past.'

A choked, broken laugh tore from his shuddering chest as he sat there on the floor of the dark room, staring into the pitch-black void.

The Equalist Movement.

The Equalist Revolution.

Really?

Really?

This from the favorite child?

This from mother and father's most precious one?

How dare he…?

How dare he?!

How dare he speak of equality after they life he'd lived?

Tarrlok's jaw clenched and his teeth ground together.

After years of proving himself again and again to everyone he ever encountered, after endlessly justifying his right to dignity and recognition, his brother had the nerve to show up now? He had the nerve to show up, whole and healthy, leading a Revolution? Insult was heaped upon injury without a thought!

His brother should have died in that damn blizzard.

His chest shuddered again as he gasped for breath. He hadn't noticed the tensing, clenching muscles or the ache in his chest as long buried emotions washed over him. He ran a hand over his face and found it wet.

"How long have I been crying?"

He swallowed back a sob that caught in his throat. He didn't want anyone to know about the pain he was in. He didn't want to deal with that new humiliation, not with the old wounds open and raw.

There was soft sound in the darkness, disturbingly close by. Tarrlok flinched and pulled himself straighter, his hands reached for the wall. He pulled himself to his feet and began adjusting his clothes; he didn't want anyone to see him in such a state of complete disrepair. After only a moment he realized that his efforts were in vain. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unkempt, and he'd been crying for some time. There was no way he could make himself presentable and there was nowhere to hide.

He'd just have to deal with it.

He blinked and realized that the darkness had abated somewhat. He could actually make out his surroundings. He was currently leaning against one wall of the cell. To his left he could see a wall of open bars, which gave him no privacy in the event that someone came to pay him a visit. The large, wooden door to the entire prison block was in clear view of his cell. To his right, he could just make out a small, narrow window that showed a small stretch of snowy pavement.

He thought back to the conditions that Amon had kept Lin's soldiers in. He snorted and chuckled. Noatak was giving him nice accommodations. He was one of the prisoners who had a room with a window and a cell that was placed away from the walkways, so he wouldn't be taunted by passing Equalists. Indeed, he was in the penthouse of the prison quarters.

A soft moan echoed in his cell.

He staggered over to the bars on unsteady feet and looked as far as he could up and down the row. There were only four cells. He thought the moaning came from the cell next to his own, the one on the other side of the wall he'd been resting against for some time.

He looked at the wall he'd been leaning against and froze.

There, at just about eye-level, was a small hole in the thick, stone wall. The hole looked just big enough for him to be able to peer through into the other cell. He made his way over to the hole, leaning heavily on the wall, and peered through.

In the dim light of what he presumed was the early morning he could make out the shadow of a curvaceous female form, sprawled out on the floor.

Could it be?

"Korra?" His voice crackled strangely. He sounded tired and broken even to his own ear.

He coughed and tried again, louder this time, "Korra?"

There was no response.

He tried once more. "Avatar Korra?"

[] [] []

Korra shifted and rolled over. She blinked; or rather she thought she'd blinked it was possible that she'd only imagined blinking. The darkness that engulfed her made it almost impossible to tell if she'd opened her eyes or not and something told her that it was early. She hated mornings. She hated mornings so much…

She groaned and rolled over slowly. The ground under her was hard and cold and so much worse than the simple, flat beds at the air temple. It was going to be impossible to get comfortable and go back to sleep.

Wait…

Why was she sleeping on the ground?

The events of the past few days came back to her in a wave of horrible, vivid memories. She groaned loudly and covered her face with her hands.

Oh spirits.

Oh spirits!

Oh… spirits!

Tarrlok was a blood bender, he was Yakone's son, and Amon had captured them both. Her bending was gone. Tarrlok's bending was gone. Everything had gone straight to-! To-!

She mentally ran down the list of every single swearword that she'd ever heard her father utter, but she wasn't allowed to say, because she was the Avatar.

Yes. All of that. ALL of it. The situation had gone to ALL the swears. ALL of them.

They were in so, so much trouble! She'd screwed up so badly!

A voice broke through the darkness and interrupted her spiraling thoughts. "Korra?" She thought she recognized it. "Avatar Korra?"

Korra rolled upright and turned in the direction the voice was coming from. She knew who it was. "Tarrlok." By the spirits, if they'd put him in the same cell with her she'd give him such a whooping. This was entirely his fault! If he hadn't captured her, she wouldn't have been captured by Amon and… and…

Oh no. She couldn't bend anymore.

The fight went out of her and she slumped forward, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I can't…" The tears came, so hot it felt like they burned as they slipped from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks.

No.

No. I can't cry now! I can't let them see!

She rubbed the tears away with a few clumsy swipes of her arm over her face.

His voice broke through her thoughts again, which was a relief because if she focused on his voice she didn't have to focus on the horrible, heart-rending feelings of helplessness and fear that were coursing through her. "I am sorry. I am so, so sorry." He sounded pretty pathetic right now and that made her feel better. At least she wasn't alone in her abject, pathetic misery. "I should have stopped to listen to you, but I was afraid and angry and I just…" She stared resentfully at the wall that his voice was coming out of. "I thought I could be the hero."

Korra flinched. She hadn't been expecting an apology, especially one that sounded so heartfelt. She wasn't sure what to say to him at first, but she was the Avatar. She had to say something. So she took a deep breath and came up with something that was manageable. "You made a mistake." It was all she could say. She couldn't forgive him. Not yet.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep, steadying breaths. Okay. She was on her own—sure, Tarrlok was there, but he didn't count, so yeah, she was virtually on her own—and she needed to get out. Without her bending, because she couldn't bend anymore.

She nearly lay back down to curl up and cry, but now was not the time for tears. She had to pee very badly right now and crying would probably make it uncomfortable. So, she took another couple of deep, steadying breaths to keep herself from bursting into tears and pulled herself to her feet.

Tarrlok spoke up again, "Listen, Korra, I-!"

Korra cut him off. "Tarrlok."

"Yes?" he asked hesitantly.

She frowned, blushed, and said very loudly and very unhappily, "I have to pee."

"Oh."

Korra huffed and fretted with herself as she shuffled over to the filthy hold in the ground in the corner and unfastened her pants to do her business. She crouched down and struggled to contain her embarrassment. She could hear Tarrlok moving around in the other cell and if she could hear him, he could probably hear her going to the bathroom.

And that was really, really gross and embarrassing.

Nevertheless, she was rather pleased with herself. It was pretty surprising that she'd been able to hold her water during that run-in with Amon. Of course, she'd been rather determined not to ruin her only pair of pants and usually when she was determined that something would happen, it did.

When she was finished and buttoned up, she looked around her cell. Stone walls on three sides, a hole in the floor for a toilet, and a cot with blankets and pillows against one wall. Simple, utilitarian, and devoid of anything that looked like it might help her escape.

Escape was at the forefront of Korra's mind. She had to get herself out of this place before Amon did something really horrible. But she couldn't use her bending and Tarrlok of all people was in the next cell.

Tarrlok, the jerk who was responsible for all her pain and suffering and fear, was right over there and she couldn't pound her way through the wall to get to him and beat all of her frustration into him. She bet he thought he was safe. She bet he thought that he'd still find a way to get away with this, maybe he'd go turncoat and try and crawl into Amon's lap. That'd be something. He probably thought he was a clever bastard.

Tarrlok was a clever bastard.

Now that she'd had time to wake up and go to the bathroom, she'd remembered that even though she was angry with him, he'd been right about at least one thing—they did make a good team. Maybe she could win him over before he tried to turn the tables and join Amon's forces? They could both escape and save the city and then somehow… Korra would get her bending back. Maybe Katara could heal her?

Maybe Katarra could heal her!

She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. So she spoke up again to ask him a simple question: "Do you still believe that what Amon is doing is wrong?"

She heard Tarrlok shift against the wall that divided their cells. "With all my heart." He said the words with such conviction that he sounded like some sort of dramatic romantic hero from a radio program.

Korra swallowed her scorn even as she sneered into the darkness and thought, 'some hero.' She needed him on her side. She'd hide her contempt for now, she'd give him hell for the blood bending once this was over… and then maybe she'd forgive him like Aang had forgiven Lord Zuko, but that would come later.

Much later.

She drew a heavy breath and let out a long, calming sigh. Tarrlok wasn't much, but he'd do in a pinch. She stood and approached the wall. She supposed she out to at least give a bit of an apology as well. "I'm sorry that I tore your office apart, I overreacted." Yeah, she'd overreacted. But he had overreacted as well… jerk-face blood bender. She put her hands on her hips and did her best to sound confident and in-control. "I think, if we put our differences aside, we can come up with a solid escape plan. Once we're out we can work together to take down Amon and the Equalists for good." She was certain that he'd go along with her idea and they'd be able to set to work immediately.

Tarrlok let out a loud, harsh laugh. "Do you think it would do any good?" His laughter started to sound weird, like gasping sobs. But he couldn't be crying. This was Tarrlok, he didn't cry for anyone. "Spirits." He gulped and choked. "He's more powerful than you know, Korra."

Korra edged closer to the opening in the wall. "What do you mean?"

Tarrlok gave a sickly chuckle. "I know who Amon is."

There was something in the way Tarrlok said the words that sent a cold chill down Korra's spine. Her eyes widened and she drew closer to the wall, until she was pressed up against it. All her attention was focused on Tarrlok. "You mean…" She began uncertainly, but she could feel the thrill of excitement coursing through her. "You know who's under that mask?!" She spoke with a kind of hushed reverence.

"Yes."

Korra stared at the stones in the wall, she almost imagined that she could see through them to where Tarrlok stood, pressed just as closely to the wall as she. She waited with baited breath for his answer. A part of her wasn't sure what she was so worked up about. Chances were that she couldn't even know the guy, so the revelation really wouldn't have much impact…

But, she reasoned, knowing something about her opponent was better than knowing nothing at all. And she knew absolutely nothing about Amon beyond his claims. If Tarrlok could offer her insight, she'd take it.

Tarrlok didn't say anything for a while. She could hear him breathing slowly, but shakily on the other side of the wall. She started to wonder if he would say anything at all and she was just so frustrated with everything that she almost didn't hear him say: "My brother."

Korra felt like ice had settled under her skin at the whispered words. She could neither think nor breathe as the words sunk in.

"He's my brother."

With a gasp, Korra jerked back and looked at the wall with wide eyes. She didn't even stop to think about what she was saying as she asked, "You have a brother?"

She heard Tarrlok's shuddering breath and then he sobbed. "I though he was dead." She'd never heard anyone in so much pain before.

"I'm sorry." She said it softly, sincerely, this time. "Can I… Can I ask how you know it's him? Did you see his face?"

Tarrlok choked a little. She realized he was trying to get a handle on his emotions. "It's the way he fights. He uses the same blood bending stance as my brother… he is my brother."

Korra's eyes widened and mouth dropped open in complete and utter shock. It took her a moment to find her voice. "Amon…?" She stumbled back a little in her cell, staring at the wall, dumbfounded. "Amon is a blood bender?" The idea was insane, surreal, entirely outlandish and impossible. "How can that be?"

And then Tarrlok told her everything. He spoke of Yakone, his father, and of the family that Yakone started in the north. He explained what life was like and how things had become unbearable after the brothers had shown a talent for bending.

Korra slowly dropped to the floor, but listened with rapt attention as he described the process of learning blood bending. She learned what Yakone had subjected his sons to and what horrible ideas he'd filled their heads with. She nearly stopped breathing when Tarrlok told her of how things had ended between the brothers—Noatak had disappeared into the blizzard, leaving Tarrlok alone with their parents.

When he was finished, the two sat in silence.

Light crept in from a small, narrow window in her cell illuminated her surroundings and Korra watched the shadows creep a short distance across the floor as she thought about everything she'd learned. The cell was bright when Korra spoke again. "So…" She gasped the word, her mouth felt dry. "Amon is Yakone's son." She swallowed the hard lump of fear stuck in her throat. It settled like lead in her stomach. "Your brother. A blood bender." She choked on the word.

"Yes."

She looked at the wall. He sounded so calm, but she could hear his anxiety and pain hidden just below the surface. He'd always been so calm, so cool, so collected and in control of everything. But she supposed that learning that his brother was Amon…

Come to think of it, it was only when she'd compared him to Amon that he'd become violent during their confrontation. Learning that he really was like Amon, that he really was related to that monster, must have been such a shock.

Unfortunately, she was all he had and he was all she had for the moment. And she had no idea what they were going to do to get out of here. He was the smart, cunning, ruthless one, and Amon was his brother. Surely he'd be able to figure this out. She scooted until she was cuddled against the wall. "What now?"

Tarrlok heaved a tired sigh. "I don't know."

Korra closed her eyes and let out a huff of frustration. Tarrlok was useless. Why was he being so useless? He knew Amon. Amon was his jerk, blood bending brother. He could actually provide legitimate guidance in getting them out of this prison and help her shut down the entire Equalist Movement! Why hadn't he realized he was so useful and could be the stupid hero he wanted to be? All he had to do was pull himself together and come up with a big dumb plan. He was just sitting on his ass, waiting for Amon to come and finish them!

Korra drew another calming breath and realized that she suddenly knew why Tenzin seemed to be sighing all the time. But really, she wasn't that bad, was she? She was certainly better than the air bender kids and definitely better than Tarrlok.

Alright. This was on her. She had to steel her resolve and take initiative. If they didn't get out of here soon… well, who knew what Amon would do to them? She stood again and folded her arms, trying to look tough—not that anyone could see her, but it made her feel better.

"We have to get out of here." She glanced around the prison, looking for something she could use to fight Amon or any Equalist who came in to check on them.

The contents of the room had not changed since she'd last looked around. There was nothing that she could use.

Huh.

These jerks were pretty smart.

Tarrlok laughed a little again. It was another ugly, broken, humorless sound that was more a fluttering of the lungs in a desperate attempt at laughter than a real laugh. "You need to get out of here. You're the Avatar. He's sworn to destroy you."

Korra glared through the wall in the general direction of his voice. "What about you?"

She heard the sound of fabric rustling as he shifted a little. "I think he still has sentimental feelings for me." His discomfort was audible.

Korra turned away and looked at the floor. "You're his brother." But, she reminded herself, sometimes siblings weren't meant to get along—like her dad and uncle Unalaq. She knew Amon's policies were the polar opposite of Tarrlok's and she could use that to her advantage. She marched into the center of the room and puffed herself up. Then she spun and stared at the wall like a military commander preparing to rally her troops. "Do you want to stay here?" Her voice snapped like a whip.

Tarrlok's reply was immediate, but hardly strong. "No."

She'd have to work on that, but she couldn't bother building him up right now. She needed determination and resolve. "Do you believe in what your brother is doing?"

"Never." The answer was stronger this time. She could almost feel him uncoiling from his position against the wall.

She put her hands on her hips and gave the biggest, toughest smile she could manage under the circumstances. She knew he couldn't see it, but she hoped to the spirits that he could hear it. "You once said we make a good team. Get it together Tarrlok and we can work together to get out of here and take down the Equalists once and for all." She was trying to be inspiring. She wasn't sure if it was working…

"What's your plan?" He sounded a little more confident.

Korra gave a self-conscious laugh as she wandered closer to the wall. "I've got nothing. You?"

Tarrlok was silent for a moment. "I think this movement is everything to him. We could expose and discredit him…"

"I guess." Korra leaned back against the wall. "But how?"

"We'll come up with something." He paused for a moment as if in thought and then he said, "We'll have to act quickly. Who knows how long we have before they try to separate us. We'll know more when they bring food."

Korra blinked ins surprise. "Oh. You're right." She hadn't considered that their enemies would be coming by with food on occasion…

"They won't let us starve. That's not a public enough death for either of us." She ignored the comment about death and focused on the sound of Tarrlok's footfalls as he began to pace in his cell. It seemed as though her lame efforts had given him the hope and courage he needed to start thinking like a master strategist again… Good. One of them needed to do the thinking and Korra knew that her strength was in her limbs, not her head. Her teachers had drummed that fact into her ages ago.

"And there's your political significance." He continued. "You could play up the fact that you are being held against your will, abused by a madman. It would garner support and force the hands of the four nations."

Korra perked up a little at his words. "That could work." She could do that. She just had to start getting messages out of her cell to people who mattered. "Maybe dad could say something to my uncle? I'm sure that if they worked together then things would…" She trailed off and slapped her palm to her forehead and groaned. "But they hate each other!" And the end result of that effort would be horrible and miserable. She'd never leave the South Pole ever again. At least captured by Amon meant that she wasn't in a boring, icy compound in the middle of nowhere where she never saw or met anyone interesting at all, ever.

Even with all the stressful stuff that had happened—encountering the terrifying Amon, the rush of fighting a revolution, her horrific encounter with Councilman Tarrlok—at least she hadn't locked up. Now, that wasn't to say that she didn't want to rush back to the South Pole and hide under her bed until the demons went away—she'd wanted to do that pretty frequently—but she also didn't want to spend the rest of her life locked away from the world. And getting her father involved practically guaranteed that she'd never see the outside world ever again.

She nearly fell into another pit of despair at the thought. She'd be trading one prison for another. There was no way out, was there?

Tarrlok's voice broke her out of her spiral. "So your uncle has political pull?" He sounded quite surprised—as though she'd said something of interest.

Korra wondered why he sounded so interested. She was Avatar Korra, daughter of Tonraq, niece to Chief Unalaq. Didn't everyone already know about that?

Maybe he'd just forgotten or he hadn't read whatever stupid newspaper had published her entire life's story? Or maybe no one in the Northern Courts had bothered to mention it?

… Or maybe it wasn't a big deal?

She was the Avatar, after all, and it wasn't like many people were particularly impressed by her. And when they said they were impressed, it was only because they were trying to flatter her. If no one was impressed about her being the Avatar, then being related to a chief probably wouldn't impact anyone or anything. Who cared about her relatives?

But maybe she'd tease him a little bit anyway…

She couldn't stop herself from chuckling as she said, "I guess you could say that my uncle has some political pull." She leaned back against the wall and put her hands behind her head. "I wonder what they're doing up North…"

"North?" Tarrlok sounded confused and curious. "I thought you were born in the Southern Water Tribe?"

"Well, yes, I was born in the South." She couldn't hide her pleasure at teasing him. She was starting to feel really smug about knowing something Tarrlok didn't. "But my uncle lives up North. I mean, he'd have to live up north, because-!"

She was interrupted by the sound of a large, heavy metal door swinging open. She was on her feet in an instant and ready to fight.

Amon strode in with a cadre of Equalists. "I see that you've been getting to know each other." His words were low and smooth, as always. "I'm afraid that social hour is over." He focused on Korra. She could just see the glint of those icy blue eyes in the shadow of his mask. "Collect the Avatar. She will be the centerpiece in our rally today." He took a step toward her cell as the Equalists rushed forward to open the cell and collect her.

Korra tried to put up a fight, but was quickly chi-blocked into submission. The Equalist soldiers then set to work trussing her up. Her hands were tied behind her back and her arms were bound tightly to her torso. Seven ropes were used in the binding, but six of the ropes that bound her only partially utilized, so that there were lengths of rope that extended off her bound form. Each of the six ends was taken up by an Equalist.

As soon as Korra could stand she began struggling, but every time she tried to pull one way or another, one or more of the Equalists would sharply yank her back into the center of the circle. There was nothing she could do. She was being wrangled like a dangerous animal.

Amon made a small gesture with his hand. Two Equalists stepped up to her, took her by the shoulders and brought her before Amon. She felt their hands pressing down on her, but she kept her legs strong. She wouldn't kneel before him again, not willingly.

Her efforts were futile. A few quick jabs along her back and she was on her knees before the Equalist leader. She glared up at him. He stared down at her, his mask hiding his face, as always.

"You'll be pleased to know, Avatar, that we've put together a little parade to celebrate our victory and to welcome you to our new world." His voice was so smooth, but it dripped with venom.

Korra snarled and struggled against the equalists who held her. "Let me go!"

Amon reached out a powerful hand and grabbed her ponytail, yanking it back hard. Korra yelped in pain as the Eqaulist leader twisted her hair sharply so that she was forced to look up at him. Korra closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. It hurt.

"Open your eyes Avatar."

She opened her eyes and glared balefully at him. She struggled against her restraints violently. "Let me go!" she snarled again.

Amon tilted his head to one side, as though thoughtfully studying her. Then he said, "No." And with that he released her and turned to lead the way out of her cell.

The equalists who had been given charge of Korra, forced her to her feet. They pulled at her, leading her like an enraged bull boar who'd been readied for slaughter. Korra struggled against them, unwilling to let herself go along with any of Amon's plans without a fight.

As she was led from her cell, she twisted sharply and saw Tarrlok staring at her through the bars. He looked awful. But there was a look of knowing fear in his eyes that tied her stomach in knots.

He knew what Amon was going to do with her. And he knew it wasn't going to be good.

Her eyes widened in animalistic fear and her breathing quickened. "Please!" she shouted.

It was enough to spur Tarrlok into action, "Amon!" he shouted. "Don't do this!"

Amon turned and looked at Tarrlok from where he stood by the door to the cell block. "Ah, Councilman Tarrlok. What a surprise, coming to the defense of the young woman you intended to take as a hostage…" He approached the ex-politician's cell. "Amazing how quickly your alliance changes."

Tarrlok flinched at Amon's none-too-subtle call out to the councilman's hypocrisy, but he didn't back down. Tarrlok cast a quick glance at Korra. It was as though he were checking to make sure that she was listening.

Korra saw the politician's eyes narrow in contempt, before she was yanked back around the other way. But she did hear what he said to Amon:

"I guess being a liar and a coward is just in my blood."

Korra's breath hitched sharply at his words. She'd nearly forgotten everything Tarrlok had just told her. The dig was subtle and particularly cruel, but it was an important reminder that she had something on Amon and she could use it to her advantage.

She only barely heard the soft slide of Amon's booted heel over the floor and the creak of leather as clenched his fist. She felt the change in the atmosphere. Tarrlok had gotten under Amon's skin. And the equalist leader was furious, but he said nothing in reply to his brother's cruel words.

"Enough." Amon's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "We have preparations to make."

During the exchange Korra had stopped struggling and stood still and silent. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Amon walked passed her to take the lead again. She shied away from him as he strode by.

The equalist in front of her yanked hard on its rope. Korra planted her feet and leaned back hard, she knew she'd have to go with them, but she wasn't going to make it easy. She waited a moment and then twisted sharply to the left and then sharply to the right. The equalists stumbled. She turned back to look at Tarrlok.

"I'll get us out of here, I promise!" she shouted. It was more for her benefit than his. After all, she was the one the equalists were leading off to who knows where for who knows what. Tarrlok was going to stay right here, where he'd be safe and sound…

Some jerks had all the luck.

One of the equalists holding onto the ropes gave a hard, sharp tug. Korra wasn't ready for it and she tumbled to the ground. Her head lightly bumped against the concrete. She winced.

The equalists who held the ropes began tugging on her harshly, trying to force her to get up without touching her. She shifted on the ground trying to push herself up from floor without the use of her bound arms. And she had to do it while her torso was being pulled in six different directions by a bunch of chi-blockers.

As she rolled and carefully moved to get up one of the equalists stepped over to her and kicked her soundly in the side, sending her sprawling again. "Up." He said harshly.

Korra twisted around and snapped at him, "I'm trying, alright! I can't get up if you're all pulling me in every other direction and kicking me!"

"Let the Avatar get up without assistance."

At Amon's words the incessant pulling stopped. Korra rose to her feet slowly, just to spite them. Once she was on her feet they starting yanking on the ropes again, pulling her along like an ornery beast.

Well, if they were going to treat her like an animal, she was going to act like one!

Korra struggled and fought every step of the way, unwilling to give her captors an easy time of this. She was going to make them fight. Her efforts, however, didn't change the fact that she was being slowly dragged from the room.

As she stumbled through the threshold, Tarrlok shouted, "Avatar Korra!"

Korra twisted sharply to cast one last look over her shoulder to look at the broken man in the cell. Amon's brother, Tarrlok, stared at her with an expression of pained resignation.

He gave her a weak, shaky smile. "Stay strong."

She returned his uncertain smile with a broad grin of her own. She knew that her smile reflected far more confidence than she actually felt, but it was the least she could do.

The equalists in front of her pulled on their ropes. The ones behind, came up to push her. She was dragged through the door and Tarrlok vanished from sight.

[] [] [] END CHAPTER 1 [] [] []

And One More Thing: AMON A WINNING STREAK.