A.N.: This one's a bit darker than the light, fun fluff I've been writing...so my apologies in advance. It's loosely based off (or anyway, the idea came from) Carrie Underwood's "Just a Dream". I'm not really a country music kinda gal, but this song (so sad!) gave me a rather morose plot bunny.
DISCLAIMER: I disclaim. Characters belong to their creators, and the lyrics at the very end belong to Carrie Underwood.
"Remember this, young Avatar," Amon's voice was rasping, his body at the edge of death. "I will die, today. You will die too, eventually. But there will always be an Avatar, and there will always be an 'Amon'-they may not fight for equality, they might not have bending and benders as their enemy-but there will always be one who has a vision of how the world should be. And there will not always be someone to stop them."
And then Amon fell limp, his mask falling on the ground with a sharp, clanging sound. Behind it lay an unfamiliar face, untouched by the burns he'd claimed to suffer.
Empty, just like the Avatar herself.
The city was quietly celebrating, amid the funerals and negotiations.
The 'final battle', as the newsmen were calling it, had been short but devastating. Hundreds of soldiers and even more numerous civilians had been killed in Amon's final, desperate move to achieve equality. Once they'd managed to foil one of his ploys (and prove that he never meant for everyone to be equal, but that he and a select few of his followers would 'oppress' the population more than the benders ever had), his followers had started to defect, and Amon had moved swiftly and cruelly, deciding to teach the citizens of Republic City a lesson for betraying him.
The lesson was bloodier than anyone could've imagined. In the end, so many people had died that mass graves were being dug outside of the city limits for those who hadn't been or couldn't be identified. The graveyards were slowly filling up as funerals-state and private-were held every day-every hour-every minute. The people of the City were sad-devastated-by these losses, but were grateful for the end of the short, bloody Revolution and held the Avatar up as a war hero-the sole reason they'd survived Amon's attack, they proclaimed, was Avatar Korra's gigantic assault while in what was called the 'Avatar State' by Councilman Tenzin. Those that were left (almost 3/5 of the city) flocked to Air Temple Island, dropping off little tokens of their thanks to the house that the Avatar lived in. The Avatar was never there to receive them.
She was sometimes in town, helping rebuild roads and buildings with her bending. She was sometimes in the council room, helping decide how to punish each Equalist they'd captured, depending on how brainwashed or violent they were.
Most of the time, Avatar Korra sat on a little grassy island, about two hours by ferry (though much less by waterbending) off of the mainland, staring at a makeshift stone grave marker that looked like it had been eroded into the shape of a flame eons ago, though it had only been two days. The Avatar never cried, just sat on the grass, a gently folded scrap of tattered and burned red fabric in her hands. Staring at the smoothly carved rock, her face unreadable.
Sometimes a boy, dressed in all black, his green eyes standing out in contrast, would join her, sitting down next to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. He would cry, occasionally, and when he did, she would hold him, her gaze still locked on the tiny grey rock.
After almost a week of this, the Avatar spoke softly to the boy sitting next to her, her voice almost as empty and lost as her face.
"People come up to me everyday, thanking me for saving them. They tell me about how their brother, their dad, their sister, their mom, was fighting on the street where Amon's forces were the strongest, and how they're sure that their loved one wouldn't have survived without me, how they're so grateful I ended the 'nightmare'."
The boy simply waited for the Avatar to go on, turning his body slightly to face her.
"I don't know the name of their relative. I don't know their name. I couldn't pull them out of a crowd. I didn't know these people existed a minute before they came up to me. So why..."
And the Avatar, two weeks after the battle had finished, seven days since the grave in front of her had been dug by the four hands closest to it, no bending involved, five days since her painstaking water-carving of the smoothest stone she could find had been finished and set on the freshly-turned grass, let her eyes well up, let her vision blur, and let the built up tears finally dam over and fall, sliding down her cheeks and landing softly on the ground.
"Why, in this city of anonymous, unknown people that I supposedly saved could I not save one of my only friends? When so many other people-Equalists-are living, either out on the streets or in hiding, why is he under the ground? Why couldn't I save..."
The boy simply held her, stoking her hair as she sobbed, like she'd done so many times for him. His cheeks were wet as he rocked the Avatar back and forth, letting her scream in grief into his shoulder as her body shook with pent-up sorrow.
When the Avatar could speak again, she refixed her gaze back to the sad little grave.
"All the huge state funerals are for the 'important people' who died-Lin, Tarrlok, even brave, headstrong little Ikki. Why don't they get that everyone was important to someone?"
The Avatar looked at the green-eyed boy face-to-face for the first time in nearly two weeks.
"He-" she gestured at the grave "-took down an entire squad of Equalist chi-blockers, and was the one who burned Amon's hands so he couldn't take away bending! Why is Tarrlok, who was an Equalist and only re-joined our side because we were winning, being buried in the memorial tomb while a real hero is buried here? Out with the grass and the weeds? If the battle was such a nightmare, then why can't I wake up?"
The Avatar was crying again and the boy was holding her again. They stayed like that until the sun disappeared below the horizon and the lights of the city were the only source of light for miles, their twinkling brightness reflecting off the inky waters of the bay.
"I can't even breathe.
It's like I'm looking from a distance, staring from the background,
Everybody's saying, "He's not coming home, now."
This can't be happening to me...
This is just a dream."
A.N: Wow...I feel kinda depressed now, but there it is! I meant to put this up yesterday but...bed was calling. Comment and tell me what you think, and thanks again to everybody who's read, reviewed, favorited or alerted one of my stories. I love you all. I should have another up before Friday, hopefully, and it'll be a semi-sequel to "Checkmate", involving one of the 'therapy sessions' Bolin mentioned, so it should be light, fluffy, and hopefully funny. Wow, this was a long author's note. :)