Narcissus Fulfilled

By Any Unborn Child

Soon after Amon's swift defeat, dissent grew again.

Like weeds near a swamp, unanswered questions unfurled across Republic City, tangling consequence in its path and risking truth to the elements. This time, however, it grew in a more subtle manner. Rumors ebbed around the disappearance of councilman Tarrlok, and wild conclusions were made, albeit to no avail. It was not until six months had passed when any effort towards finding out what really happened bore any fruition.

The wreckage of a small boat was found near the seaside, small remnants charred beyond recognition.

To rational people, his behavior made little sense.

Tarrlok did not need to disappear.

He did not need to kill both himself and his brother.

There is only so much that could be said. He was never in control of his life as a child. To change this, he became commanding as an adult that no one could touch him, get close to him. To protect himself, he placed a charming veneer on full display, in the guise of diplomacy and dogmatic words.

This veneer was strung together like threads of tattered tapestry, tattered history. This veneer, coated layers of apathy and insincerity, was the reflection that he wanted others to see.

It was the visage of who he wanted to be, who he loved himself as, who he ended up becoming. The love he held for this other being, this other Tarrlok, grew genuine, but not long-lasting.

Only a few people saw through his facade – Amon. Noatak. Korra.

No longer would the façade of a composed, calculating councilman work in their eyes.

Oh no.

For them, he had no choice but to unveil the truer sense of himself, the real Tarrlok.

The savage, twisted net inside his mind unfurled as he let his blood-bending powers overwhelm Korra, as he recognized his older brother in Amon's grasp, as he hovered his gloved right hand over the gas panel in the speeding motorboat.

The charade could only continue for so long.

Yes.

Gazing into the water's reflective surface, as it unveiled the true him – Tarrlok accepted this.

He accepted himself.

Finally.

It would be just like the good old days, indeed.