A/N: So, I've decided to throw my hat into the ring of Tahnorra. And since no one knows very much about Tahno, I definitely had a lot of fun in creating a little more backstory for him, so let me know what you think. I know there will be at least another chapter, with much more Tahnorra angst and possibly smut. If I do go the smut route, I'll up the rating. I think I went a very different route than most in constructing a history for Tahno so I'd really like to know if you think it's totally crazy or what. Enjoy!


People only see what they want to – the trappings of a rich man, a powerful bender and an undefeated champion. He's only twenty-three and already a widower, though it's not as if he hadn't seen that coming. Marrying at nineteen is not unheard of, but marrying a woman nearly forty years older – that is strange. He thinks the fact that she was a wealthy heiress mollified people at first, then riled them up again. How dare he take advantage of a lonely old woman, they thought. But if only they knew the truth; if only they knew exactly who was taking advantage of whom, their thoughts might change.

But maybe not.

Fifteen is far too young to run away to the city, nineteen is far too young to get married and twenty-three is far too young to lose everything that made you feel something other than shame and regret.

He enters the estate from a side gate; it's the only gate his key will open. The entire mansion, all fifty thousand square feet of it, is dark. He likes it that way, a reminder of all that empty space that doesn't really belong to him. He feels like a squatter, lives like one, even though the law says it's his. But this place isn't home; it never was. He figures if his dear late wife hadn't died so suddenly, she would've tired of him eventually and sent him on his way with an appropriate amount of money. But her death occurred before that could happen, and so the estate fell to him. The closest relative.

He enters the west wing and flips on a light. This huge mansion is entirely his, and yet he sleeps, eats and lives in only one room. It's a mess, clothes and newspaper everywhere. His hotplate is in the corner, but it's mostly unused. One wall holds his entire life – all his accomplishments – plated and framed, and hung in an orderly pattern. They unfold chronologically, right to left, like a picture book of his life. First are his amateur wins with a firebender named Kumi and an earthbender named Yin. They're only in the first few pictures, then Shaozu and Ming show up. They go pro as the White Falls Wolfbats, and win… and win… and win. They won tonight too. But Tahno never wants to see another picture of the Wolfbats again.

He lunges for the wall, tearing down each and every picture frame. The glass shatters at his feet and rip the newspaper clippings within. It all happens so fast – his life erased in seconds. He stares at the broken glass and splintered wood, at all the paper that outlined everything good about his life, the only evidence he could point to and say, "Look what I did; look what I am. I'm worth something and everyone knows it."

He can't stop the tears as they fall, and what does it matter? There's no one else here to see them. He tries so hard that night; he tries everything he can think of. But the water he keeps in the jugs in the corner of his room won't come to him. He can't even produce one ripple in the glassy surface. It remains stagnant, staid, dead.

He tries to sleep, but he only sees images of Amon towering over him when he closes his eyes.

As soon as dawn breaks he leaves the estate. He goes straight to his healer. And then another, and another, and another. It hurts more each time they say sorry, but there's nothing they can do.

He's summoned to the police station; he goes because he has nothing else to do. He sees Ming and Shaozu as they're leaving. They acknowledge each other with a nod, but nothing more. What's the point? They look as awful as he feels, and judging by the way they look at him he guesses he must look even worse. His hair, his eyes, his clothes – they haven't been this unkempt since he was living on the streets of Republic City all those years ago. He remembers those days, how he would've given anything to be rich, famous, or at least off the streets with food in his stomach. And now, he thinks, he would give anything to be back there – fifteen years old and scared stupid, but still a waterbender.

He waits on a bench to be called in for questioning. People pass him by, some giving him a double take, whispering behind their hands, but none stop to talk to him. He sneers even in his self-pity. If it wasn't clear before, then it's definitely clear now. People only wanted him for one thing, and he doesn't have it anymore. Is there even a person in this city who cares about him? Not the pro-bender, not the playboy and not the wealthy widower, but Tahno. Just Tahno of the – well, it doesn't matter where. People never want to look too deep into their fantasies anyway. They shouldn't, unless they want to suffer the heartbreaking disillusionment that comes with discovering your hero, savior, sexual fantasy is nothing more than a pack of lies and empty promises. Tahno tries desperately to tamp down all those hated memories of his late wife and her demands and her promises and her temper. He was put down for so long that he learned how to effectively put down others – in the ring, and off. It worked so well that he had people (like that half-wit Bolin) running scared, and the other half willingly falling in behind him. But he was secretly thrilled that night at the noodle shop when the Avatar had done neither; it was so refreshing. After that night he had wanted to see her again outside the ring, and without the ferret brothers. He had every intention of conducting some private lessons with her, but now…

It's pointless.

He hears footsteps nearby and catches her blue clothes in the corner of his eye. Of course she would be here, being the Avatar and all. He doesn't know what to say to her; he doesn't even know if he wants to say anything to her, but –

"Hey Korra," the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Even to his ears, his voice sounds pathetic.

"Tahno?" She sits down next to him, and he looks away. He's not sure what he's feeling. Shame? Resentment? Regret? "Listen, I know we're not exactly best friends, but I'm sorry Amon took your bending."

He doesn't want to talk about it, but he can't help himself. "I've been to the best healers in the city. Whatever Amon did to me, it's permanent." He hates the way his voice cracks. And so, to save face he adds, "You gotta get him for me," with as much conviction as he can muster. It's the best he can do and he's glad at Tenzin and Chief Bei Fong's interruption. He finds it in himself to draw up the last dregs of nonchalant confidence and parts with a smarmy, "See you around, uhvatar."

He knows it doesn't sound like it, but it's the most sincere thing he's said in a very, very long time.


The interrogation is… painful. He goes through his day, from waking up with some floozy he picked up the night before, to training, to bribing the refs, then back to training, to messing around with some other floozy, to spying on the Fire Ferrets (particularly the Avatar) and finally to the championship match, every round, every cheap shot and obvious foul, every hit the Avatar landed on him, the final round, the win and the glory, and then…

He says all he remembers is Amon's thumb on his forehead, the pressure on his skull, the strange ensuing emptiness, and utter helplessness when the water he fell into refused to do what he told it.

When it's all said and done, he decides he needs a drink. And another, and another. He drinks fire whisky straight from the bottle, and he can't remember, but he's pretty sure it's his second. Or third. Although he's hidden himself in a corner of the bar, he can still catch people glancing at him and whispering. He sneers as he imagines what they're saying about him.

That's Tahno, the pro-bender. Look at him now, just a useless drunk. Maybe he can go back to what he used to do, before the Wolfbats, back when he was a whore.

Tahno slams his bottle onto the table. He's had enough of these people and their whispers, though his head is so hazy he can no longer tell if their conversations are real or imagined. It doesn't matter. He stands – barely maintaining his balance – takes his half-empty bottle and leaves. He gets about half a block away before he feels something churning in the pit of his stomach. He vomits in the alley, and takes another swig of whisky to wash the taste out. And he's so tired now, this alley seems a good a place as any to lie down, so he does. In a twisted way, this feels like home to him; it reminds him of those first months on the streets with cardboard mattresses and newspaper blankets. It's so familiar, and he curls up, ready for the streets to embrace him once again.

"Tahno?"

He doesn't think he'll ever be too drunk not to recognize that voice.

"Hello, uhvatar."

"Tahno what are you – are you okay?"

He scoffs. "I don't know, uhvatar, do I look okay?"

"Where do you live? I'll take you home," she says as she peers down at him with her bright blue eyes.

"I am home," he mumbles.

"You live in the alley?" The Avatar asks. For some reason it's the incredulity in her voice that sets him off.

"And what if I did?" he asks. "What would you do then?"

"Tahno, I – "

"Save it," he says, taking another drink from his bottle. "It doesn't matter." He staggers to his feet, and brushes past her. Forget the alley, and the Avatar. He'll make it back on his own accord. Only, she seems to be following him.

"Bolin told me you lived in a mansion," she admits sheepishly to his back.

"Is that why you're here?" he asks scornfully. "You want to see if it's true?"

"I just… I just didn't know pro-bending paid so well," she says.

"It doesn't." He stumbles over something in the street, definitely not his own foot, and he feels the Avatar's hands on his arm. He quickly shakes them off and keeps walking. They turn a corner and there it is – White Falls Estates. He can hear the Avatar gasp quietly behind him. He almost snickers, but doesn't want to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her presence. And he feels like if he opens his mouth again the result might be more vomit than words. He staggers to the side gate and takes out the key.

He manages to open it before the world goes black.