Disclaimer: I do not own ATLA.
You might recognize this once you read it, and you'd be right because I am rewriting Frostbitten, my story from Zutara week 2015. I want to make it longer and a thousand times better. I am using the original chapters as outlines so, like this chapter, some chapters may be very similar (but better), but as the chapters go on there will be many differences and hopefully less inconsistencies.
"Arrgg!" Zuko screams out of frustration and loneliness; it's heard by no one. His voice quickly fades into the white expanse of the Southern Pole.
His feet drag through the snow as flakes fall lightly onto his face; they tickle when they land on his nose, but as soon as they melt, the water crystallizes on his face, creating intranet swirl patterns across his cheeks and chin. He tightens the worn cloth wrap around his shoulders, shuddering from the prickling cold. It's patched all over; the original color of the garment is now a muted and unrecognizable red. Broadswords are strapped to Zuko's back, though right now they are about as useless as swimwear would be in wintertime. The hilts often whack the back of his head as he carelessly turns his head when he hears the howl of the wind, fearing arctic wolves.
His eyelids struggle to stay open as the wind picks up, starting to berate his face and sting his skin again. Zuko can sense the frostbite creeping up his toes and fingers, slowly like a disease eating away at his body. He pulls the edge of the wrap over his nose, breathing in the musty smell of the material that has a not surprising hidden scent of dried tea leaves.
He holds out an ungloved hand to inspect. The skin underneath his fingernails has turned a ghoulish purple and blue; his pale skin is freckled with crumbling crystalline structures. Desperately, Zuko tries to ignite a flame in his palm to melt off some of the ice that has started to accumulate in his hair and skin. But all that he is rewarded with is a puff of smoke. He searches the gray sky in hopes of a ray of sun, something to give him a boost of power.
There is nothing.
Tension leaves Zuko's body as his feet suddenly lose traction on a hidden ice slick, and he lands hard on his back. The snow seeps through his clothes, but the numbness is welcomed as it calms the burning pain fire whips have left behind. Zuko bites his severely chapped lips; his teeth chatter from the bitter cold of the storm. But he still lays there, staring lazily at the colorless sky. Everything is quiet, except for the roar of the storm that has no faded to a distant hum in his blocked ears and his heavy breaths.
Dizziness and sleepiness try to take him, and his heavy, frozen eyelashes carry down the lid that shrouds him in a harsh darkness. But he forces them open with a sudden, apparently hidden, spark of determination. From within, Zuko tries to call up his breath of fire, but all that comes out is a another pitiful puff of wispy smoke. His lips, now almost to a shade of purple, turn down in a frown.
Instead, Zuko begins to chant encouragements in his mind, forcing himself to a wobbly stand. He yells at his feet to move; his voice echoes throughout the vast landscape but is soon swept up in the storm. His feet obey and all that is left to do is to keep plodding on.
Would Uncle have a proverb for this situation? Doubtful, Zuko thinks while shaking his head, but proverbs won't find him shelter.
A song might though.
The thought forces him to stop; the snow piles against his feet; water soaks into his boots. A song? His mind, frozen like the rest of his body, is slow to catch up to what his ears have been subconsciously listening to all along. A sweet lullaby sung by what must be a voice of a spirit. The woman's voice casts a blanket over him as the melody warms up his body when his own fire couldn't.
Past anymore sane thoughts, Zuko's feet start pounding the snow underneath him, no longer able to sense the cold that has numbed his whole body. He wants to, needs to, find the source of this noise, of this beauty. Snow is flung behind him, and his sheathed Dao blades rattle along with the wind.
He can hear lyrics now, not just the beautiful smynophy. The bliss from her voice overtakes him; he doesn't realize he has closed his eyes. Zuko notices the sudden darkness too late. When he reluctantly opens his eyes, he is already stumbling into a ravine he can not see the bottom of. Just a pit of pure blackness and nightmares.
The song cuts off the moment his feet leave the ground, treading nothing but air and falling snow. Is she a Siren spirit, her song leading him to death? It is the only thought Zuko has as he starts to flail his arms aimlessly. His back and head hit against the icy side of the ravine; his swords clink against his back, digging into the old open wounds. The wall of the ravine is sharp with chipped ice and his now exposed arm is laced with tiny cuts.
Zuko's first instinct is to look down. Chunks of ice from his impact with the wall fall from their original place and into the darkness below him. Zuko can't hear them hit the ground. Gulping, Zuko looks up to see what had stopped his fall.
Who had stopped his fall, he mentally corrects. Zuko is pleasantly surprised to see a pair of blue clothed hands clutching onto his own. Zuko's eyesight is too fuzzy and dark to see his savior's face. He swings his body around so his front is flush with the wall; his feet begin to find purchase on the ice in the form of tiny crevices. His free hand grips any jutting out piece of the wall. The sharp corners slice into his palm and he leave a faint trail of blood as he starts to climb under the trembling grasp of his savior.
He eats snow when his body is finally parallel to the lovely, frozen ground he has come to miss in the seconds of hanging in dead air. Zuko hears the panting of another human being, causing him to swallow the snow and flip himself over with a groan. The entirety of his body aches and the wound on his back are pulsing, probably bleeding again.
Pressure is building up behind his eyes and the sky is to painful and bright to look at, so he closes his eyes before he feels the movement of another figure rest beside him.
"You better not have died. Not after I saved you." His savior is female, and her voice is soft but stern. She's aggravated and Zuko wants to laugh. He stays silent, and his eyes remain closed as he tries to sort out all the throbbing pains combined with a frozen numbness.
His breaths are shallow and uneven. She thinks he must be crazy; this man doesn't even have enough clothes to survive a pleasant day in the South Pole much less one of the worse storms they have had this year. But he looks in pain or, at least, in need of help. The corners of his mouth crinkle in what must be a wince. She bends the falling snow away from him not wanting him to go into a cold sickness that is common in her tribe. And like a curious child, she studies the foreign object in front of her.
His lips are a curious shade of purple. One of his cheeks is a rosy red from the temperature; the other... the other... She gasps; her lips part, letting her taste the frosty air on her tongue. She forcefully pulls off one of her gloves, not caring of the dangers of frostbite. Her dark caramel fingers hover over a scar that mars half of his appearance. She leans her ear down to his chest, only satisfied when she hears a faint, but steady, heart beat. He's warm enough to melt some of the snow beneath his body. He must have fever, and he has to be unconscious, which isn't good, but at least he won't be in pain.
Her blue eyes flicker back up to his face. His hair is a shaggy black mess that is littered white with unmelted snow flakes. She flicks some of his long locks away from his face. The man's scar goes into his hairline and wraps around his ear, crumpling it. This stranger must have been victim of a cruel and ruthless Fire Nation attack. How else could he have gained a burn scar? She stares at his face; he couldn't have been older than nineteen, maybe twenty. He was no older than her brother and possibly only two years older than herself.
"Who are you?" she whispers to the wind and to herself.
"Who are you?" The voice of the young man startles her. His voice is deep and raspy, like he hasn't had water in weeks. Then again, maybe he hasn't.
"My name is Katara, Lost One," she tells him kindly, brushing away his hair that has fallen back onto his closed eyelids. She has yet to see the color of his eyes. "My tribe will help you. But we are still a few lengths away. Can you stand?" Her warm breath passes over his face and he sighs.
"I-I think so. But it hurts to open my eyes."
She nods, having already assumed that fact. "I'll help you stand." She wraps an arm under his torso after he sits up halfway and helps the man onto his feet. He leans heavily on her, and she notices his breathing is erratic. She has to get him to her tribe soon.
"I-I d-don't think I-I can-n wa-alk," he tries to whisper as his teeth chatter when a sudden gust of wind comes through, ripping through both of their clothes.
She bites her lips and finally allows the snow to fall back on them. "We won't have to."
With a wave of her hand, they are both standing on a flat, ice harden board. Katara pushes off with her left foot, sending them sliding them away from the ravine and towards her tribe. His head lollies onto her shoulder in what she must assume is a sign of his unconsciousness.
He doesn't know what his savior is doing, or how she is doing it. The only thing Zuko is conscious of is the feeling of wind nipping at his skin and himself flying off to what he hopes is safety and a warm bed.
Zuko soon falls into a dreamless sleep in his savior's arms.
I hope you all like the new version of the chapter:) If you haven't, I suggest you DO NOT read Frostbitten; it is honestly so badly written now that I am rereading some of the chapters. This is going to be a side project while I work on Falling to Pieces.
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