The letter is yellowed, and he believes that it will not fare well if he picks it up. It was sent almost eighteen years ago, and Amon had pushed it out of his mind then. He had obligations. However, four years later, there was an ecstatic announcement on the radio that made the thoughts resurface.
Amon—well, Noatak—didn't get another letter then. Lives move on. Yet when he's in his musty, dank apartment and reads the morning newspaper, he must be seeing things. His eyes are bloodshot. He spent the entire night making arrangements. Being an invincible being who is always present in the shadows is quite harrowing when one is just a man who requires sleep. He'll perhaps scrape up four, five hours of rest. No matter how exhausted Amon is, there is always something intrusive on his mind. Soon, his age will catch up with him.
He gazes at the front page for his daily dose of irony. Moves toward peace through raiding establishments? A curfew? Curtailed rights? But no, no. Of course not. It couldn't be something so humorous.
Avatar Korra Accepts Councilman Tarrlok's Marriage Proposal, it reads.
Oh, how charming. For the longest time, marriage wasn't quite such a formal idea in the Water Tribes. The necklaces carved in the north were symbols for kindred spirits, for lifelong companionship. They never really had elaborate ceremonies. It wasn't a show for the spectators. No doubt the esteemed Councilman will create a lavish, inane spectacle of the ordeal.
When Noatak thought that any children he and Tarrlok could've had would be severely corrupted, this is not what he meant. The Avatar as a mother. Hopefully he will never see the day. When he sets the newspaper down with force, he pays no mind to his cup of tea falling off the edge of the table and shattering.
He doesn't go to the wedding, nor does he plan for the Equalists to crash it.
His lieutenant asks what he plans to do about the news the moment it crosses all of the headlines. The event passes; Amon does nothing. He receives perplexed looks. The ceremony is scattered throughout myriad newspapers. He hardly bothers to turn on the radio, not caring to hear drab commentary on the topic. The part that makes him queasy isn't that his brother is married to the person they were trained to destroy. It's something else Amon refuses to espouse.
And as a master of subterfuge, he sees it fit to spy on his brother—his political enemy—and his new wife. It's quite tacky to peer in someone's window in civilian garb; it's tackier when his brother pushes the Avatar onto the couch and disrobes her.
Not a very titillating performance, considering that Amon had to share a bed with his brother during the days Tarrlok would wet the bed. Hopefully he's grown out of that. It was already embarrassing enough to have a six-year-old child with incontinence and to have their father harp on about it. As if that helped.
Furthermore, Amon would like to inform the Avatar that crowing like a dying rooster-pig isn't very soothing on the nerves. When he saw her in the papers and during their brief encounters, he couldn't help but admire her, inwardly and outwardly. Yes, she's a petulant, ignorant, privileged brat of a girl, but she has this fervor, this unbreakable will.
Her skin grazing against his as he reached under her chin—Amon can't help himself. He has fantasies. Some are innocuous enough. Wiping the blood from her temple with a cloth. It goes further. Bathing the blood away from her exposed body. Then further. Drowning her in the mixture of water and blood. Screams and sobs and moaning at the base of the statue of her predecessor, their sweat and spit stewing together in a fetid swarm of hate and passion.
He dreams himself into loneliness and self-loathing until he's physically feeble. Tarrlok is surprisingly gentle to her.
It's a sad thing. Amon and the Avatar have so much in common.
In the company of nobody but the demons in his mind, of Noatak and Amon and the cacophonous group of monsters, he finds the letter. It doesn't crumble in his grip. Noatak had hoped that he'd burned it. He sits on the couch; it creaks under his weight as he settles himself and rereads the contents before expressionlessly setting it alight with a candle flame.
Noatak,
I'm sorry you haven't heard from me. I really enjoyed my time at the city. What I saw was so beautiful, and it's a shame that there's so much trouble there. I liked your company. It was overwhelming at first; like I said to you there, I've never ventured outside of the Southern Water Tribe before. I'm glad you were so hospitable during my visit and that we became close.
I went to my healing masters several months ago—one of them was Master Katara—and they told me that I was with child. I know we should've been more careful, but I don't regret anything we did.
It's not an easy thing to be a single mother, but the entire tribe is my family, and—I don't know how much I should say—I've met someone nice who loves Korra as much I do. He's a warrior, and he's started to court me.
Yes, her name is Korra. She's a healthy baby, and she's perfect. Katara was concerned; she told me that Korra means "blank." But I don't see that as a bad thing. I want her to grow up to be whoever she wants to be. I don't care whether she's a bender or not, as long as she's happy.
I hope you find whatever you want in life and fulfill your greatest dreams.
Best wishes,
Senna