A/N: Hi, everybody! Thanks for taking a look at my story. This is basically me exploring what happened between the North Pole and the Amon we see in the first episode of LOK. This is my first FF, so some advice would be cool. XD

Word of warning: I tend to draw out all of my plots, so that's why there might be a few chapters where it's like "when's such-and-such going to happen?". I divide things up how I think they should be, is all.

It was cold.

No, that was inaccurate. It wasn't cold. It was frigid. It was chilling. It was a biting cold that spiked through his double-layered parka to freeze his bones. It was arid and refreshing and painful at the same time, and, for the moment, the chill howled like the wolves he had dealt with only too many times to count in his young lifetime. Noatak burrowed his nose into the collar of his parka, the wolf fur tickling his nostrils and cheeks, and narrowed his eyes against the whistling winds and impatiently shook away the rogue strands of hair whipping at his face. He wasn't, however, desperate enough to clear his vision to the point where he would have to use his fingers. No, Noatak's fingers were going to be as warm as they could get, shoved under his armpits while he bowed over low against the storm and dragging his legs through the layers of unforgiving, powder white snow. He wasn't completely certain, but he was pretty sure he couldn't tell where his toes were anymore. They were probably numb. That wasn't good.

He had to admit, he really should've planned this better. Noatak had always been careful, and he'd always been the one to plan out his next step. But this was completely unanticipated. He was so pitifully prepared for this that it was almost laughable. He had no food, no shelter, and all he had were the clothes on his back that did nothing to dull the merciless winds. This was so unlike him. It was Tarrlok that was the impulsive one. Tarrlok was the one that lets his emotions get the better of him. Tarrlok—

Don't think about him, Noatak sternly snapped to himself, his eyebrows impulsively furrowing into a hard crease. Don't think about any of it.

It was easier said than done, however. Out here in the cold, at night, in the middle of a harsh blizzard, there were few things that Noatak could think about to keep himself occupied. He let out a slow breath to warm the tip of his nose, his chin still pressed hard against his chest, trying to focus on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other. Tarrlok, he knew, would be sure to search for him as soon as the kid was able, and Yakone would probably give some effort, as well. He wouldn't be able to bear losing his one perfect weapon to wreak his revenge on Republic City. Noatak felt his lip curl under the collar before shaking himself. He couldn't spend time dwelling on this. He had to find shelter, and he had to find it fast, or he was going to freeze out here. What he wouldn't have given to be a firebender, right about now.

But he wasn't. He was a waterbender. And he hated himself for it.

But it would be stupid not to take advantage of his assets. Maybe he could make himself an igloo out of the snow? That wouldn't make it much warmer, true, but it would be a vast improvement from the storm he was walking through, right now. He could hear Yakone now, telling him to stop being a fool and start acting like the great bender he is. Noatak impatiently pushed the stray thought away before he was imagining what Tarrlok would be doing in this situation. He'd be crying, no doubt, in fear, convinced that the two of them were going to die in this storm, and Noatak would end up doing all the work. As usual. He heard himself snort, but he felt oddly detached from himself. It was probably the fact that he was freezing, though, so Noatak pushed himself to hasten his pace.

Suddenly, impulsively, uncharacteristically, Noatak second guessed himself, wondering if he should've just dragged Tarrlok along with him. He had to wince a little when he recalled his last words to his younger brother. He called him a weakling. While a part of him had to agree that this was true, Noatak knew that he shouldn't have said something like that, especially after Yakone had said something so similar just before. His father had been a source of pain for him, and now Tarrlok's older brother had betrayed him as well.

For a moment, Noatak thought he heard Tarrlok's shrill cries begging him to return being carried by the wind, and he whirled, looking behind him. He felt his heart leap with something he couldn't place—whether it was fear or excitement or happiness or something else entirely—but after a quick scan, he saw that he was alone. The tundra stretched out for miles, the snowstorm already covering up his footprints and erasing any trace that he'd ever been here. He should've felt relieved that it would take Tarrlok and Yakone that much longer to track him down, but what Noatak really felt was bitterness. Who was he, really, except a son-turned-weapon by his own father?

Not father, Noatak reminded himself shortly, Yakone. A criminal. Someone weak. Pitiful and desperate.

But in his current predicament, Noatak couldn't say much more about himself. He felt a shudder wrack through him as he trudged forward. Wasn't this storm ever going to stop?

Suddenly, Noatak's foot gave away from under him with an audible crack! Gasping and his heart leaping up his throat, Noatak threw out his arms to try and slow himself down or maybe waterbend the snow and break his fall. Before he could gather his wits, however, Noatak crashed through the hole and onto very hard and very solid ice. Groaning, Noatak lied there for a moment, trying to assess the damage without making anything worse. So far, from what he could tell, his entire face was stinging and his nose was screaming, and his body in general was aching, but it didn't seem like anything was broken.

Gritting his teeth, Noatak forced himself to shift, to move, to give even a twitch, and almost immediately cried out in pain. It seemed that he was more injured than he thought. Not about to try his luck, he settled back into his lopsided, splayed out position, half on his arm and his legs crossed over each other awkwardly behind. Taking a few, bracing breaths, Noatak experimentally wiggled his fingers and his toes. He was relieved to feel his fingers moving underneath him, but with a short throb he realized that he couldn't tell whether his toes were moving or not. They must've been number than he realized.

Panting a little, Noatak shifted so his cheek was resting on the ice instead of his nose. The sharp shivers that rippled through him were much more pronounced now, but at least he wasn't in danger of breaking his nose. He blinked hard, his brow crinkling in concentration, as he tried to figure out how to get out of this situation. Clearly, moving around too much wasn't the best option. But he couldn't stay here forever.

You'll wait, then, Noatak told himself. You'll wait a little while and then see how you feel.

That seemed as good a plan as any, so Noatak tried to settle down and relax. He focused on relaxing each of his muscles one at a time, rehearsing his waterbending breathing exercises in a measured beat. In through the nose, out of the mouth. In, out. In, out. He closed his eyes to shut out all the other distractions, feeling his blood pounding through his veins and his heart's every twitch and palpitation. Every wet sounding rush was magnified to Noatak's trained ear. With another exhale, he could feel the air chill and crystallize a little in front of him.

Slowly, Noatak mentally worked through every waterbending move that he had learned, envisioning the movements he would have to do and feeling the familiar rush of energy prickling through his body. It was an ephemeral, fleeting sensation, but it was in those moments that Noatak knew that the Spirits hadn't abandoned him. They would be constant in his life, even when everyone else wouldn't.

Tarrlok watched with awe and adoration, his clear blue eyes like the sky wide open. Noatak smiled faintly, twisting his fingers and waving around the small pool of water with almost childish ease. He had never shown anyone that he could do this before, but there was no way that he couldn't show Tarrlok.

"How do you do that?" Tarrlok asked breathlessly, his eyes following the water, completely mesmerized.

"I don't know," Noatak replied honestly. "I just can."

"I want to try!" Tarrlok declared, taking off his gloves and carefully placed them next to his legs. Noatak paused for a moment, staring contemplatively at the blue fabric. Their mother had just finished that pair the night before, and Tarrlok treated the gloves like they were Tui and La. Noatak couldn't help but glance at the gloves haphazardly strewn in his lap, ratty and thinning with age.

For a moment, Tarrlok frowned in concentration, his face overshadowed by rare focus. His fingers were curled and suspended in the air, his eyes glaring expectantly at the snow beneath him. The pair of them paused for a few moments, holding their breaths for who-knows-what.

"Nothing's happening!" Tarrlok whined, and his arms flopped back to the ground, his shoulders slumping and his lips pouting, defeated. Noatak felt a flash of triumph before stifling the feeling guiltily, assuring Tarrlok that he'll get it eventually and secretly hoping he wouldn't. He switched the water from his right to his left hand, using his now free right hand to pat Tarrlok's shoulder awkwardly.

"What's going on?" a familiar voice rumbled, and Tarrlok and Noatak jumped in place, the water suspended in the air now abruptly bursting and splashing onto the ice.

"Nothing," Noatak replied quickly, staring evenly into his father's eyes. He looked somewhat amused, sure that his two sons were doing what all boys did, roughhousing in the snow and acting worse than a pair of polerbeardogs. Then Noatak thought he spotted his father's glance flicker to the foreign puddle of water that was most decidedly unfrozen.

"I see," Noatak's father replied, his smile seeming to freeze in place. There was a moment of tense silence before he continued, "I'll just leave you two to it, then."

And he left them there, like he said he would, and Noatak and Tarrlok looked at each other in mutual bemusement before returning to playing with the magic water.

That night, Noatak's father asked over his sharkeel soup, "How would you two boys like to go hunting next week?"