A short one-shot from Tenzin's point of view, and one of the first pieces of fanfiction I've written in a while. This fic explores the burden of responsibility that rests on Tenzin's shoulders as Republic City's councilman and one of the last airbenders. It might take place after episode 6 or 8, not really sure.

Tenzin meditates on his balcony. Or he tries. He has the posture, and the peace, and his muscles are lax. But his mind is not at ease.

His eyes are open, and he watches the sea.

It is more than the sea, though. It is the shore, and the sky, and the sun and the waves. It is the horizon and the reflection, the orange of the dying day and the blue of the coming night. It is everything divided and everything all at once. It is the four, and it is the one. It is the dichotomy that man has created, with words and labels. It is the cycle of the world, it is evaporation and condensation and absorption perpetual. It is what man thinks it has mastered, and it is what the heavens only grant out of compassion.

These things Tenzin knows, but now it is difficult to accept them for what they are. He finds meditation impossible today. Meditation, beyond the reach of the airbending master. What would his fellows say? What would his children think? Might Korra question his authority? How would the world react, if only it knew?

The city is falling apart, and I with it.

He is a councilman, he is a leader. He is a representative of this great ideal his father forged from the ashes of endless war. He is the embodiment of a new age, of a grand new promise. Of this republic. A notion so impossible to realize a century ago, and yet here it is.

Here it was.

He is one of five, but he feels like one of one. Tarrlok is bleeding this city. Part of Tenzin wishes to believe his counterpart is simply doing what he feels is right. But Tarrlok is too forceful, too ambitious. He must be curtailed.

He is corrupt. He must be removed.

The other three, they are misguided. This great experiment, this republic, is blinded by the fog of inexperience. They do not yet know how to lead in the name of their citizens. They do not yet understand what it means to act in the interests of others. Tenzin feels he must be the example.

They are fools, and they shackle this council with their ignorance.

Amon…

There are no reconciling words for Amon.

He is a madman.

Tenzin is the last. He is the last bulwark. He is the last hope. He must save the council, he must tutor the Avatar, he must defend the city, he must fix its wounds, he must safeguard his family, he must bring down Amon, he must meet and exceed the expectations of his people, his father, himself. He must, he must…

Father…

He presses his lips together. He feels his face flush, and his jaw tremble.

How did you do it, father? How did you save all of creation, when I cannot save a grain of sand?

He grinds his teeth. He is angry. Not at the world, or at his father, but at himself. He is the son of the savior. Korra is the Avatar, but Tenzin is half of Aang's legacy and yet only a fraction of him all at once. He is an airbender, and no more. But he is also the last of his people, the progenitor of their future, and everything to their culture. And he is bound to this city as much as he is bound to his wife and children. He would do anything for them, and he would do anything for the republic.

But I am not the man my father was.

Tenzin exhales and his shoulders sag. It is not a posture familiar to his bones. Never before has he felt so lost, so unsure. He glances to his rear to make certain no one sees him. Korra especially. He dare not even fathom the consequences if his own student, the Avatar herself, were to lose faith in her tutor. But no one is there. The island is calm.

The trees sway, and waves crash on the shore. The sun sinks over the world's edge.

Tenzin cranes his neck and palms his knotted throat. He squeezes his eyes shut. He wishes, so desperately, he could speak with his father. It is not the first time he has wished this, but this time the desire is choking. His mind is clouded. His heart is not at ease. He needs guidance, but there is no one he can turn to. He is the teacher. He is the only one.

Communication with the past is the province of the Avatar, and the Avatar alone. It is irrational to expect this privilege.

But he was my father.

There is a frustrated roar, and wind rips through the pavilion. Something cracks. Tenzin blinks and finds himself standing. His robes are in disarray and his breath whistles through his nose. A handful of trees next to the pavilion tilt toward the sea, branches blown westward, roots torn and exposed from the earth. It takes him a moment to realize he did this.

A minute passes. He is breathing hard. He lost control. The realization shocks him. He is not supposed to lose control. He is the one who is always calm and composed, whose anger remains under the surface, just visible enough for others to notice. His anger is a tool, nothing more. He is supposed to master it, not let it master him.

The city is crumbling…

…and I with it…

And then a breeze floats by, coming from the sea. It kisses Tenzin's face. It is so tender, so unlike the force he himself summoned, and he turns around and watches the trees ripple with the wind. It flows over the leaves and grass like a wave: gentle, a line of invisible power that brushes the land, just like…

Just like a hand strokes a head of hair, or graces the fingers of a loved one.

The sight brings to mind his beloved children. He imagines patting their heads. He imagines putting them to bed, as he does every night. He imagines a book on Jinora's nightstand, and Meelo's little fingers clutching a blanket, and Ikki asleep with a smile on her lovely face…

"Tenzin?"

His mind rushes back to the world. Again he blinks. Pema is standing on the pavilion stairs, head tilted. She is smiling.

"Are you alright?"

Tenzin realizes he, too, is still standing, rather awkwardly, his robes ruffled. He looks again at the bent trees. Pema follows his gaze and the corners of her mouth turn down. "Is everything okay?" she asks again.

Tenzin inhales, exhales. He nods. "Yes. I think so." He looks at his wife again, and her momentary frown returns to a smile. It is a beautiful sight. She is beautiful. For a moment, there is nothing wrong with the world.

And when the problems come rushing back, they are somehow more distant. They are not so encompassing. They seem workable. There is a way.

There is always a way.

"Yes," Tenzin repeats. "Everything is fine. Thank you, Pema." He steps to his wife and embraces her. She does the same. He holds her for a long time. How long he does not know. Eventually she looks into his eyes and takes his hand and begins walking to the living quarters.

"Come. Dinner is ready. I think Meelo already started."

And Tenzin laughs.