Trapped in a Metaphor
"Just innocent kids in a victimless crime, trapped in a metaphor, hoping for something more."
-Andrew Belle, "All Those Pretty Lights"
"We're not hurting anyone," came his hushed whisper as he took the elegant hand of a dark-haired girl and led her away from their camp. Behind they left an airbender, an earthbender, a swordsman, and a warrior, all tucked in a simple haven for the night. The next day they would wake to another agonizing day of travel in which Toph would toss some rocks around with her edgy words and Sokka would complain of his ceaseless hunger. Katara and Zuko would ignore each other, pointedly traveling on different sides of the group or sitting on opposite ends of Appa's saddle. And Aang would banter innocently, a poor kid with the weight of the world on his slim shoulders.
"Yet," bit back her voice, disguised by the chirping that rang through the stuffy night air. Summer was on its way, no doubt, and the bender marveled at how long she had been venturing out in the middle of the night and not getting caught.
He slowed down ahead of her, and she reached out to touch his shoulder, coming up behind him as he stopped. They had reached a clearing, seemingly as far as they were going to get tonight. Slowly, she brushed the hair from the side of his cheek that bore his blistering scar.
"I've hurt enough people to last a lifetime," he admitted sourly in response to her pessimistic comment, placing his own hand over hers. Together, they traced his scar, the soft hands of the waterbender underneath the calloused hands of the firebender. Sinking to the ground underneath a tree, she moved herself to sit between his legs, his arms sliding under hers. Her head dipped back to rest in the hollow of his neck, the toasted breath meeting her neck in feathery kisses.
"You're making up for it," the girl told him confidently, knowing it would only be a lie on her part to deny what was a fact. "And you'll continue to make up for it."
He didn't say anything else; it was one of those nights where he didn't feel like doing much of the talking. But some nights he did. Some nights he seemed like a different person. She remembered the first night he encountered her underneath the full moon.
Up slowly, focus, feel the water, now circle together, almost – focus! the young bender instructed herself mindfully as the water swirled at the tips of her fingers held high over her head. It was the beginning of spring, on the cusp of her favorite season when everything began to thaw back home. Not completely thaw, of course, but to the point where the water was much easier to bend.
Thawing here was not a problem. While the water was still chilled, it had probably only had a thin layer of ice in the coldest days of the winter. As the stream of water she had been bending collapsed on her, she instead brought up only a palm-sized orb of water to her eye level. She carefully moved the translucent liquid, savoring how pure and untainted it was.
As she let that too go and stepped out of the water, she was caught in a state of shock. Staring at her was none other than the banished prince, leaning against a tree and watching her with his penetrating golden eyes. If he would have crossed his arms and slouched a bit more, and if he would have added a weed to his mouth, she may have mistaken him as Jet. But the thought of him even disgusted her, and she realized that no matter how annoyed she could get at the prince, he would never be like Jet.
"Are you going to tell me what you're doing?" she asked, exasperated. But he shrugged, and of course that annoyed her, causing her hands to come to the point on her hips where her skin met cloth. "How long have you been there?"
"Not long," he confessed, standing up from where he leaned against the tree. "I was just watching."
He said it innocently enough, as if he hadn't been standing there watching her while she practiced. Ignoring him now, she bended the water from her body and hair, careful to pull it back in a braid before it embarrassed her to no end. Only then did she dress, and even so it was what she slept in, a pale blue dress that she wouldn't refer to as a nightgown because now didn't that sound like she lived in somewhere like the Fire Nation where she was pampered and primped. Of all places, it would be the home of the prince standing before her that she referenced.
It wasn't that she had anything completely against him anymore; it was just the way that he was watching her. He never looked at her like that in front of the others. He hardly even looked at her for that matter!
"How long do you practice?"
Surprise again colored her features as she was not the one asking the questions. Turning to face him, she narrowed her eyes and contemplated her answer, thinking to herself.
"Until I feel accomplished," she finally answered, truthfully. She could have made up a range, but the truth seemed easier. When he kept looking at her, she exclaimed, "What? Why do you keep watching me like that?"
He shook his head and for the first time gave her a complete answer to her questions. "I was just thinking about how different we are. Both dedicated; the same in that matter." He paused, as if hesitating. "Except I rise early to meditate, when the sun is just on the bridge between the horizon and below; you come forth when the moon is in that same position."
She wanted to retort something to that (because they were both masters of the opposite elements, of course!), but she couldn't find it within her to ruin the moment. He was actually saying something relevant, to her no less.
"So you'll be practicing later, in the morning? When do you sleep?" she questioned, her brows knitting together as she counted the hours between then and when the sun would rise. It was hardly enough time to rest.
"I will," he answered with a nod. At the last part, he shrugged, casting his eyes away. "I… couldn't sleep tonight."
She wanted to ask the prince what was bothering him. The soft purple underneath his eyes became slightly visible in the moonlight; something was wrong. She would have asked him a month from then, but it was all too new to invade any further. Shifting her weight, she edged for the opening in the trees.
"Well you should come back and get some rest," she told him gently, tasting the foreign tone on her tongue. He nodded but didn't move, and she sighed. Moving back into the forest, she waited for a moment for him to follow, but he didn't pursue her.
I'll see you in a few hours, she thought, planning on rising with the sun to catch him in his training, if so just to show that she acknowledged what he had said that night.
"Remember when you caught me out that one night?" she questioned, voicing her thoughts. He shifted behind her, nodding into her hair. "About what you said… our differences, even our elements. Do you really think we're all that different?"
He waited to respond. When he did, it came out uncertain.
"Yes… and no. I think it's the fact that being with your opposite brings out the best and worst in both of you. Fire can burn you, but it also can serve as a source of light in the darkness. Water can heal you, but it also can drown you. But even in our differences, we're here together."
"And that counts as something," she added softly, nodding to his insightful words. Hearing him speak like that, voice his thoughts in response to her questions made her feel that much less alone in the word. She wasn't the only one who thought beyond reason into something differently. "But in today, I mean, if you do retake the throne…" He made a noise behind her, something she could not distinguish in her own words. She knew the answer before she even knew the question; it formed on her lips moments too late yet too soon. "…could we ever be together?"
He tensed behind her, uncertain again, mirroring their earlier conversation's tone.
"Fate doesn't take kindly to this," he admitted. "After all, we're important to our nations. Unless peace is achieved, until this war is over, we might have to bend our luck."
They were both silent after that. She turned to face him then, taking his face in her hands. As they stared, she realized that reflecting in his eyes were her own, tearful but determined.
"We have to do what's right for the world," she breathed, realizing that she could never be with him if he retook his rightful place as lord. He wouldn't say it, but she knew it was true. And she couldn't argue with it. They couldn't run away from what was already planned out for them. She watched as his own eyes filled, and when he finally looked away, she let herself blink. Her tears ran freely, and she removed her hands.
Immediately his hands reached to catch hers. It was the first time this topic was brought up, and he knew it would end like this. He didn't want to see her cry; she was much too beautiful for that, especially wasting her tears on him.
"You'll find someone else," he lied, making her sob even harder. He didn't try to fix that mistake because she needed to hear it. He placed his hands this time on his face, forcing her to look at him.
And then he kissed her, taking care not to be gentle. This wasn't goodbye; the end of the summer would determine their fates for sure. She kissed him back, eagerly among the tears, falling backwards with him onto the forest floor. And when she moved her lips away, she buried her face in his neck, knowing that when the time came, they wouldn't be able to be together.
It scared her a lot. But even so, she would accept it. Because fate didn't have to be kind to her or him or anyone. It wasn't even something to describe; fate was not kind or evil or unfair – fate just was.
For she was the moon, and he was the sun. And as they stood that night, hand in hand, beneath the falling moon and rising sun, they would soon rival the two orbs in the sky as their chase began. For they wouldn't be together; it simply wasn't so, and it never would be. And no matter how many times the moon rose into the sky and the sun followed, they would never stay together for more than an eclipse.
There might possibly be a follow up one shot on this, taking place during an eclipse when Zuko is Fire Lord and Katara is visiting from the South Pole.
If you didn't catch the metaphor, it was the first sentence of the last paragraph, and it goes on to explain the symbolism involved in that. I thought it was a somewhat cliché topic, but I hope I did it justice all the same. That's where the title lends a hand in the theme, also, "Trapped in a Metaphor".