Title: Melt My Icy Heart
Author: AishiteSubete
Rating: T+
Summary: Once upon a time, I was a good person, until I learned how to control the bodies of others. Can one of my prisoners save me? [ZuTara][Giftfic for KaoruWashio.]
Warnings: This oneshot is rated T+ for mentions of graphic violence. These acts of violence are not described in detail, but are mentioned with enough description to paint a clear mental picture. If you're squeamish, and don't like the mention of blood, please click the little *back* button. Flames will be used to make Zuko hotter.
My name is Katara, and I am a ruthless dictator.
I can only guess at how I got here, but it probably started when I mastered bloodbending.
Okay, there IS a legitimate reason why I picked up the bending form after three peaceful years of keeping those abilities repressed. I wanted to protect my tribe. After Sokka went to the northern tribe to assist Arnook in ruling, I was left to lead the Southern tribe myself. I took it very seriously. When a large fleet of pirates attacked my tribe, I had to get rid of them myself; still, after those few years, I was the only waterbender in the whole South Pole. I used bloodbending then to turn the pirates against each other, just to make the battle easier. After I saved my tribe that way, I decided to master it for good measure.
Now here I am.
In all reality, the action that brought me from simple bloodbending master to Water Tribe tyrant has escaped me; in the end, I doubt it matters. The Southern Tribe is cut off from the rest of the world; I have used threats and clever convincing to prevent my tribespeople from rebellion. They guard the walls of the nation at all hours of the day. I kill or imprison all who dare oppose me. I am hopelessly addicted to the power and to the thrill of being able to control a life with the flick of a wrist.
He tells me it's wrong, and that I need to stop. I don't know if I can.
I visit him-Zuko, the imprisoned Fire Lord-every night in his lowly cell. My ice prisons are colder than any cooler at the Boiling Rock, and the Lord can only muster enough firebending strength to keep his own body heat up. Could he attack me? Never in a million years-I doubt he could in this situation, even with help from Sozin's Comet. But he never tries to attack me-just looks at me with sad, woeful, amber eyes and says, "Oh Katara, I'm sorry." I don't understand what he means. He needn't apologize for something which is the product of my own design. So I smile dryly and say, "Hiya, Zuko." He offhandedly comments that I sound like my old self-the Katara he knew during the war, the Katara he knew before the pirates ambushed the southern tribe. I don't respond to that; there would be no purpose, seeing as how I know he's so right. "You need to stop," he says again; he says it every day. "Killing people, I mean."
"You just want to leave," I say sadly, my words punctuated by an unabashed look to the side. "You don't really care about me, what I do with my tribe; you just want to get the hell away." Zuko shakes his head, and I suppress a snort. I know that's what he's thinking, I know that's his intent.
"No, Katara," he responds, a hint of urgency in his voice, almost as though he's desperate for me to believe him. "I want you to stop killing people; I don't like to see my beautiful waterbender stooping as low as my father."
I flinch at the comment. I know it's said without much thought, but being compared to the man who wanted to burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground hurt. A lot. "I'm nothing like Ozai," I say feebly, trying to convince myself that it's true. I've probably killed as many people and broken as many lives has he had. Zuko rises to his feet and reaches from between the icy bars of his cell, his fingertips gently tracing the tattoo around my neck; it was like flickering fire, inked into my neck as a way to remember the day we helped the Avatar save the world. Zuko had a similar one on his left bicep; Aang had them outlining his arrow; Toph had one on her left wrist; Sokka had them in a sleeve on his right arm; Suki had one around her waist. I hadn't spoken to many of them since-well, except for Zuko. He was the only one who cared enough to break through the barriers of the tribe to try to talk to me; his Blue Spirit mask hung somewhere in my bedroom, long lost but not entirely forgotten.
"I know you're not, Katara." Zuko leaned closer to the bars, and I instinctively did the same. "You never have been, nor will you ever will be." His words of reassurance were almost enough motivation to help me revoke my twisted ways. I chuckled at the thought; could I ever be Katara, the Princess of the South instead of Katara, the Tyrant of the Southern Tribe? This Fire Lord gave me hope someday that I could be.
"Oh Zuko," I said, leaning in close enough to feel the ice of the bars and the heat of Zuko's lips radiating against mine in total opposition, "melt my icy heart and give me the opportunity to try again."
Zuko's response was in his kiss.