A/N: The story begins. I do not own "Avatar: The Last Airbender", or any of its characters. They belong to Mike, Bryan, and Nickelodeon Studios. I make references and allusions also to other stories/classics here, but just references.
The Situation: Over and over again, they make the same mistakes. Will a new milieu be a little better for a certain duo? Yes, this is a modern day story. Main Pairings: Zutara, Taang, Sokka/Suki.
Prologue: Sent Back
In that hallowed space between the lines, the Muses gathered again, summoned by the Lord of Stories. The entire assembly soon trickled into the Coliseum, some of them mournful, others whispering eagerly, exchanging speculation.
"It's going to happen again," was the general consensus. Indeed, there was no reason to discontinue the punishment. For the last several thousand years, they had sent out the pair to different milieus, only to have the same painful results.
A young man stood in the middle of the hall, his hands wiping over his newly shaven face. His hair was dark, his skin pallid, and his eyes brimming with ancient defeat. He bowed before the entire throng. "Friends, it was not my fault this time," he said tiredly. "I had no way of saving her before it was too late."
"That's what you've been saying. It's always the worst timing, isn't it?" a woman wearing heavy bracelets said. "Always the same excuse each attempt."
"Enough," the Lord of Stories said. "I thought that by putting the two of you in a more civilized age other than medieval Paris, that you would get it right this time."
"You didn't count on the clergy," the young man said bitterly.
The Lord of Stories nodded. "The very thing that I counted on to foster you both into pure, beautiful beings was the one that destroyed you. Perhaps next time around, this will be dealt with very differently."
A young, bald attendant emerged. "She is ready to come out now."
The assembly murmured with sympathy as a whole, though some scorn came from a few onlookers. "Show her in, I beg you," the young man said.
A beautiful girl walked through the doorway, her hair disheveled and her eyes brimming with tears. "You again?" she murmured. "Dead?"
"Don't we always end up this way at the end of it all?" her lover retorted, reaching for her hand.
The sight of them together, wan yet oddly joyful, was enough to hush the assembly. The Lord of Stories nodded to the girl. "Your account, Lady."
"I was forced against my will to give him up. I should have fought harder, or been given the opportunity to do so," the lady said. "And I should have killed that priest you put in with me!"
"My objections!" a voice cried in a Castillan accent.
"I saw what you did," another voice, that of a pained child replied. "And you beat me up in the convent!"
The attendant clucked his tongue. "Every cycle, same thing happens."
The Lord of Stories nodded wearily. If only Oma and Shu had gotten it right the first time, they would never need these discussions. "Alright, what haven't we tried?"
"Having them as neighbors was disastrous," a young girl said from the gallery, cracking her knuckles to hide the gashes there. "Both times."
"You'd think that Verona would be more conducive than ancient Greece," the former priest snickered.
"Then there was the Marruceos adventure," the lady said. "It ended too soon."
"Ah yes, Aldefisin and Gulnara," the attendant said. "A halfway successful venture, at least for Orosman and Zafira."
"I would have preferred to be an insipid Prince than say, a hunchback while she was a beautiful gypsy," the man scowled. "That was an unfair hand."
"Which was why we gave you the advantage the last time," the Lord of Stories said. "You had everything you needed to win her." He looked at his roster. "My, it seems a lot of you are awaiting to join the next cycle in play." He pointed to different people across the room till a group was gathered in the middle. Among them were the child, the priest, the woman with bracelets, the young girl with the gashed hands, and the Lord's attendant. They had all seen this scene before: once one knew his or her part, he or she would have to leave the room to descend to the world. They always left in the order of them being born. Once there, they would have almost no memory of having been in the realm of Story, save for that slight stirring of destiny if ever they would chance to meet their comrades.
The Lord of Stories sighed. "Once again, we must provide the universe with heroes. The time is nearing when the balance will be threatened again. It will be up to all of you to play your parts in the crisis to come."
He read out different parts before finally arriving to the priest. "You, former oppressor, will learn how it is to fight for one's rights. You will be proud, it may be your downfall again, but you will be in the position to learn from your mistakes. You will learn how it is to pay for throwing askew the destinies of others."
He pointed to the child. "You will be strong. You will know how it is to have friends, and to be an older brother to a sister. You will love, deeply and painfully. This time around, you will live to manhood to become a leader, and the hero of the ordinary."
He pointed to the dark haired young man. "You will be born again to privilege, but you will bear your scars young. You will have a spirit of fire within you. You will learn the value of asking for forgiveness. You will have comrades who you must hold dear, if you want to live. You are also born to lead the path of the difficult yet honorable life. And yes, I want you to find the one you love—and not waste time in letting her know."
The young man bowed. "And how will I know?"
"She will be close to you, closer than you think," the Lord of Stories said. He smiled wanly as he watched the hero leave the room. It would be a difficult but hopefully a happier path beyond the doors.
He turned back to reading the scroll. He nodded to the girl with bracelets and a silent friend who stood near. "The two of you must know how it is to be a sister. One the younger, the other the older. Your destinies are tied with the one who just left, and another friend of yours. It will be given to you both to choose between power and glory for your home, or the love of your brothers and your friends."
To the beautiful girl, the Lord of Stories now turned. "You will be born in very different circumstances: a sister, a peasant, but you will be braver than ever. You will be given gifts you must learn to accept. It will be your part to train those under you, and to heal your family and friends. You are like water, life giving and yet terrible. You will be given pride and courage, but you must not let it destroy you or the one you love. "
"And how will I find him this time?" she asked.
"He will be the friend you must learn to see in another way," the Lord of Stories said. He knew she would shed tears again, but perhaps this time they would be fewer.
"And what about me?" the girl with gashed hands asked.
"You will be given a curse and a gift," the Lord of Stories declared. "You will be strong and a legend in your own right, but you must learn to depend on others. You will walk by faith, not by sight. You will find that family is much more than you think it is."
Now only the attendant was left. "Once again, the world needs an Avatar," the Lord of Stories said. "You will be the freest, the most vivacious of them all. You will learn some of the pains of life, but also how they will pass in the greater scheme of things. You must be patient in mastering your skills. And your guides will be close to you. You will not have to look far to find them. You must take care to cherish and respect them, even if sometimes your choices seem to diverge," the Lord of Stories said.
The attendant bowed respectfully. "And my element?"
"Air," the Lord of Stories said. "Good fate, Avatar Aang," he said. As the new Avatar left the room, the Lord of Stories held up the strung wheel, crisscrossed with myriad colorful threads. His eyes followed the Avatar's life string. To his amusement, it tangled and intertwined deeply with the strings of the others he had just sent out.
He picked out two strings, one red as fire and the other as blue as sapphire. To his relief, despite their starting out on other ends of the wheel, the two strings eventually ran close together, forming a distinct course through the tangle.
"Yes, maybe this time…"