Title: Honor: The Ties That Bind
Author: XArienX
Rating: T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.
Summary: Ten years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends find themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.
World on Fire: Introduction Part 1
It is said among those of a time long past and others in a far future, that every life leaves its imprint on the world; a single soul's choice may forever alter history's events. For those who still grace the physical world, their impact is often veiled or unseen. Only when all those who would have remembered are gone, shall a dusty book write of their triumph or failure. How insignificant their lives will someday seem, their contributions all but forgotten. There will be some who shine through countless eras and others who quietly disappear into obscurity. Luckily that time has not yet come and for those whose lives will become haplessly entangled, their moments of history are slowly unfurling.
A breeze from the East scattered pale clouds against a brightening horizon whose edges were still swabbed in morning's pallet of magnificent color. The distinct regional lines seemed to blend together, the first staunched colors fusing to one as the light traveled up its steppe. It was said that if one took the time and found the right moment, their eyes would behold the birth of the sun and the slumber of the moon as a simultaneous movement across the heavens. Ever fated to their eternal dance around the Earth, the sun and the moon shared each other's presence for but an instant every morn and night before one partner faded away. The color-streaked clouds caught in between represented the only connection between day and night, Earth and Heaven.
Few people had time to tarry and notice such a common triviality. It happened everyday, thus there would perpetually be a tomorrow or another time. As life so commonly happened to be, the brief and fleeting moment of beauty was taken for granted. The sun and moon, the earth and sky, they would always be there as the gods of the universe commanded. Time remained the only enemy, flowing ever on and sometimes failing to bring that tomorrow to every soul.
This had constantly been and would constantly be, even in the times that had risen. It was a new era among a people who had shaken off the shackles of war but had to pull the yokes of reform that came with peace. It was a time comparable to few occurrences of early centuries. A revolution in freedom and liberties had transpired; a world-wide experiment put into place, the outcome of which was still shadowed from even the most far seeing minds. New and fresh, it sparkled to the war-torn people like a shiny coin at the bottom of a fountain; now that they had retrieved it, new riches would appear in their pocket.
To truly understand why war, famine, and disease no longer plague people who had previously fought for their next meal or whose eyes had brimmed with the tears over countless dead children, a mere twenty year trip into the past will share the secret.
The youthful Avatar Aang met the Fire Lord Ozai in battle as the armies each had raised washed themselves red in the blood of an enemy whose faces held no difference when pigmented in each other's violent scarlet. When it came down to the truth, each man knew that his contribution mattered little in the grand scheme of things, in history. It was the Avatar after all who would defeat or die at the hands of the Fire Lord. To the victor's army went the spoils and due to such odds, those who had come to fight were merely present to extract revenge; noble hearts tainted and wearied by war's discrimination.
Utter chaos had erupted within the Fire Nation capital while the two powerful men clashed in a manner that seemed quiet when compared to their counterparts outside. Ozai retained an infallible over-confidence and Aang an overbearing, premature weight of responsibility. With all their talents and training neither person retained a clear advantage and because of this, the war raged for days. Until exhaustion claimed the life of one fighter the fate of the world would have to hold its breath.
An ashen-faced Aang gasped for air as his eyes remained fixed on Ozai, who was in a similar position with the exception that the older man would not allow himself to double over even if the urge to do so was overbearing. Their faces glistened in sweat which only deprived their dehydrated bodies more. Lord Ozai was ambitious but not stupid and thus their battle commenced in an iron room which held no water. Aang may have learned all the elements but without the needed tools he had only his natural knowledge of air bending and the acceptable amount of fire bending he had acquired to fight Ozai.
The walls of the room were scorched such a charcoal black that in the air floated a thin veil of soot, hampering both benders. Each coughed from time to time, an instant where the other used the opportunity to strike. Aang's left leg was badly burned at the thigh, a combination of cuts scourged his head and a blister festered on one of his hands. He sported a black eye and his body already ached with promising bruises. Ozai was in no better shape, his head still seeping with a bloody gash above his eye, a likely broken wrist and what was developing into a minor concussion. He had donned armor so most of his body was spared from any serious injuries.
The sight of the two men was much like some wondrously tragic tale told around campfires at night, when eager children begged to stay up past their bed time to learn how the story ends. Often the story teller is forced to alter the events for both the ears of his audience and to please their ingrained sense of right and wrong. Depending upon where the story is told, the true victor may be the fallen for eventually the event shall be so long past, that no one will remember fact from fiction.
The underlining score of this battle cannot be summed up lightly by the gentle tongue of a safety minded soul, however. The sheer magnitude of the outcome would forever shape the fortunes of generations to come. Aang needed to defeat the Fire Lord to restore peace and balance to the world; Ozai needed to kill the Avatar so that the Fire race could finally assert its superiority over all.
"If I die Avatar, I shall take you with me." The Fire Lord promised, his voice hoarse, the taste of blood at the corners of a mouth that was pulled into a malicious grin.
Ozai was not one who used his sheer strength alone to defeat foes, his acidic words could cut as much as a blade, which fortunately for Aang, Ozai hadn't cheated into some hidden pocket. In fact, if Ozai's other qualities of malevolent nature weren't so daunting, Aang could call him a honorable man. The fight tested bender against bender, fist against fist, and blood against blood. The last part of that ideal meant the most to Ozai. Within the perverted conception of racial supremacy the Fire Lord and many of his contemporizes had dreamt up, the master race shall rise above the inferior as its blood was truly favored by the gods and spirits. The Fire Nation was a driven people, determined to advance and control their world. They would not allow themselves to be the victims of nature, no, it was the aspiration of many citizens to one day lay domain over the very stars. Ambitiousness was indeed an understatement.
Fire benders were also known for more admirable traits, especially their emphasis on honor. Aang now knew that Ozai wished to boast a hard-earned victory, one that would make him a legend, and model to his people. Another man by the name of Zhao had envisioned for himself a similar fate. Ozai desired the honor so intensely that he no longer saw the distinction between himself living or dying; all that matter was the death of the Avatar. A successor had already arranged for the throne, a person would continue the Fire bender Empire with the same passion as their predecessor.
No, the Fire Lord hadn't simply sat and twiddle his thumbs waiting for the deadly child Avatar to knock on his door. As well as engaging in his ever bolder offensive against the other kingdoms of the world, a task which became more and more the job of his generals, Ozai began to meticulously train and plan out every scenario he and his court advisor could bring to mind. He bent every fiber of his will towards the boys downfall, to the point that many of his own devotees noticed an air of insanity around him. The Lord was taking to long hours alone, talking to an obviously absent Avatar in his dreams, and refusing his normal practice of engaging with the courtesans. When he finally laid eyes upon Aang, a rather diminutive and limber form, there was no surprise or uncertainty with in Ozai's eyes, for the powerful ruler had met the boy many times before.
"You will pay for all the lives you have taken Ozai, even if I have to deliver you to the Spirit World personally," Aang growled, face stern and filled with determination despite his body's utter protest.
The boy prodigy teetered just barely on the cusp of adolescences, his years now numbering in the teens. He still preferred a good game of air ball to leading an army, and he more willingly filled his stomach with custard pudding than his mind with battle tactics, but as the days wore on, his companions saw less and less of an un-dampened smile and more of a set jaw and distant eyes. He still spoke and sometimes acted like a boy of his age, still remained blissfully naïve about many mature topics, but there was no doubt that Aang was changing. No child was ever meant to bear such cares or duties at such a young age. Even though Aang was not alone in having to grow up too quickly, his alteration had been much too rapid and erratic. He was like one trapped between the troubles of an old man, and the boundless transformations of a young man, hailing the tradition of a lost time and pushing for conformity to a new system.
At first this final battle was nothing but a far off dread, easily pushed aside by the laughter of Katara or the opportunity to ride some unsuspecting wild animal. As the time grew closer and closer though, and his burden bigger and bigger, Aang did nothing but envy earlier times and more fortunate Avatars.
Why did he have to accomplish these things anyway? Who had decided that this misshapen Air bender should become Avatar? Aang often wondered what powerful entity had decided to bestow one person with such limitless power, and yet carry the world upon his back. With great power comes great responsibility and with great responsibility comes much peril. If Aang had not flown out into that ominous storm, perhaps some other Avatar would be in his place now, their conscious and well-being stressed instead. Aang knew he was being selfish, he knew answers to his questions, but somehow idea of some other road, some other path seemed so much better.
With such worries, Aang was no long a child. He might appear to be in body but that too was changing as the mind of an adult had already flowered in his bald head, stunted as it was. He had to defeat Fire Lord Ozai, it was his mission, his destiny. There were other things that would need his help, but all their turns would inevitably lead him to the reaking room he stood in now. Perhaps this was his only true goal in life and after he would have no further affect on the world. If that was indeed the case, then everything in his young life should have to be able to prepare him to fight and beat Ozai.
Katara was still the only one able to pull him out of this stupor. With her sing-song voice and impeccable morals, she drove him on everyday, making sure he had the will to confront each new obstacle.
It occurred to him now as he watched Ozai move to a slow stance once again, that in all this confusion he had forgotten about the plight of his friends. It had been days and even though the time he had spent combating Ozai was somewhat obscured, Aang had no idea how the outside world faired, nor if Katara or Sokka were still alive. This above all else now consumed the young boy's mind, his anxiety over their security bringing about a near physical change in the young monks aura.
As if some force allowed him to see it and latch on, Ozai made another characteristic jab at Aang's mental stability while thrusting an arc of flame forward at the Avatar.
"And you shall see your friends in the spirit world as well Avatar for there is no chance they are still alive."
Aang barely dodged the fire before sending back a retaliatory blast of wind. Ozai was hit but did not stop his tirade.
"You put them in terrible danger all this time. What man turns his back on his friends and lets them die? Avatars are supposed to be powerful and honorable, but you can't even defeat me or save your friends…pathetic." Ozai spat, and this time there was blood in it but the message clear.
"Shut up!" yelled Aang finding the strength to rush the Fire Lord, meeting him in a hand-to-hand block. "My friends are alive and kicking your army's butt."
"But you don't know that do you? You have been here fighting me this entire time." Ozai leaned in close, knowing the potency of words. "What about that little Water bender girl? She's a pretty one. I am sure my men will have fun with her before she joins her brother among the dead."
Ozai had finally found the right button; he saw it in the avatar's eyes. The anger there was raw and unrestrained, it was beautiful, powerful, and it was a weakness. Emotions controlled bending but too much caused a person to lose that control. Ozai wanted Aang to lose control. He wanted to take advantage of that one moment of clumsiness or hesitation, to kill the Avatar.
Aang's eyes began to glow opaque, the arrow on his head and limbs reacting the same and causing his body to stiffen for a brief second. Ozai was already prepared, twisting his leg around and un-footing the Avatar's root. Aang came down hard on the bloody floor with a crash that echoed against the walls; his Avatar spirit flickered as he began to bleed.
Within an instant the previously cumbersome Ozai was on top of him, first with an axe kick to the stomach and then with two steel-like hands choking his throat.
This was it, Aang thought, the excruciating pain radiating throughout his entire body. He struggled against the man atop him but his already failing strength was being sapped away. All Aang could see now was a growing bright light, the form nor face of his attacker visible any longer. He could feel the Avatar spirit slipping away as he lost consciousness. The end was coming, he could feel it all over, as death's fickle hand was already choking him.
Often a person sees their life's memories right before death, spinning past like a stage where the audience remains invisible to the actor's toils. Aang watched as a younger Gyatso showed a baby boy a line of toys, telling him to pick out four. He saw a familiar bender staring out of his window dejectedly, sulking as the other boys play air ball. He winced as an angered self flew off into a storm only to be woken by the shinning blue eyes of a girl one hundred years later. There was Zuko's ship chasing a flying bison, and an aged Bumi grinning out of a feathered purple hat. All of his friend and adventures flashed before his eyes. So much had happened to him in such a short time and yet compared even to the hum-drum life of some elderly man, it was nothing but a blink of an eye.
Aang was dying at thirteen. The Avatar, destined to save the world was going to fail. He had been given one sole purpose, one achievement, one goal and one hundred and thirteen years to do it. It had been too much for him; he had wasted all that time and now everything and everyone he cared for would pay the price.