:: on moonlit nights ::
by thisflyingmachine
When the old warrior closed his eyes for the last time, he felt himself moving, passing, crossing some unseen threshold to another place. With any luck, he thought vaguely, it was the same place to where most of his friends and family had already crossed, so he could join them. With even more luck—all the luck in the world—he would arrive somewhere he could join the person he had spent most of his life missing.
Suddenly, he was standing at one end of an ice bridge. Above him, the night sky and dotted with stars like a scattering of diamonds. Below him, dark water flowed slowly beneath the bridge. The warrior knew this place, though it had a certain dreamlike quality. He had not been here, in this place, on such a night, in many years. He was suddenly aware of his body: It was young and strong again, he realized, as if the years had melted away, as if he had suddenly been transformed into the man he felt like inside.
The moon crept out from behind the clouds, lighting up the snow and ice, dancing on the water of the canal. The winter air was cold and bracing, but he breathed in deeply, reveling in the strength of his lungs, of the rush of blood through his veins.
The warrior raised his gaze, and felt his heart contract.
At the other end of the bridge stood the most beautiful girl in the world, her moon-colored hair shining softly, her ocean-bright eyes glowing, her expression warm and loving. She was just as he'd remembered her.
"I've been waiting," she smiled, her musical voice carrying in the crisp air. "For a very long time."
"Me, too."
"I watched you. I was always watching you. I was never far."
"I know." He'd sensed her presence always, especially on moonlit nights. At times, it had been torturous, never being able to touch and hold her. She was as visible as moonlight, but as distant as the moon itself. "I had a good life."
"Just as I'd hoped you would." Her smile turned sad. "Your family is beautiful. So was your wife."
"Not as beautiful as you."
"You were happy with her?"
"Yes. We were happy together. We loved each other."
"I'm glad."
He tried to smile, but it was hard, just as being happy had been hard. All his life, his thoughts had strayed to her, his beautiful princess. He dreamed of her even as he lay in bed beside his wife, then woke with pangs of loneliness and guilt.
Sometimes, on particularly beautiful nights, he would go on a stroll alone and speak to the moon—to her. He did this more and more as he grew older, as if she would forget him if he did not. Somewhere in his heart, he always feared that she had stopped loving him as age stole the man she had known.
Now, though, she extended her hand, and he crossed the bridge, his footsteps crunching softly in the fresh snow. Only when he took her hand and squeezed it was he able to convince himself that this—that she—was real. His fears slipped away like water. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.
Then she raised her face and kissed him. Like her beauty, her kiss was just like he remembered it. He felt as if his heart would burst from joy. The kiss ended, and he knew that they were finally together. No betrothal necklace hung at her throat. No distance separated them. No obstacles remained to keep them apart. He would never leave her side.
"I missed you, Yue," he murmured, touching her hair. "Every day of my life."
"Oh, Sokka. I missed you, too. More than you know. It's lonely in the Spirit World."
"It's lonely on earth, too. Anywhere is lonely without you."
She sighed happily. "That's over now," she said, leaning her forehead against his. All around them, the air seemed to hum with happiness. "Because now . . ."
"Now," he finished softly, losing himself in the oceans behind her eyes, "we have forever."
finis.