Harsh breaths tore themselves up from her chest, escaping into the burning air.
In. Out. In. Out.
The sky above was nothing but a black swirl of smoke and crimson that flickered in and out of focus. Is this how she would die? Here, on her back in the mud? One unlucky second was all it had taken. Her teeth were chattering, and her ribs were pressing up against the layer of skin above them that pulsed angrily. Blood slammed through her veins and slid over her bones, hissing with frustration as her heartbeat slowed. Her skin was paper thin and brittle with a sting like nothing else she'd felt before.
In. Out. In. Out.
Screaming in her head, screaming in her skin, screaming in the air, marching feet that slammed closer and closer, chanting voices slapping, sticking, squirming into her eyes, her ears, her mouth- he prince is dead. The prince is dead. THE PRINCE IS DEAD.
"NO!"
She shot up out of her blankets, her breath sounding miles away and her ears roaring. Her neck swiveled side to side, taking in the bare and empty tent. Demons faded back into the deceptively harmless shadows, hissing as they went. She felt freezing and all too warm at the same time, her shaking hands sweeping the clammy sweat off her arms and face.
"No," she whispered again into the muggy darkness. She stood quickly, her hands running nervous paths through her tangled hair and pulling crumpled clothes on. Her ankles and feet protested at their confinement to their boots till she gave up, slinking out of the tent with blistered feet kissing the earth.
The moon bathed the camp with pale light, casting watery shadows as she hurried on. Her feet made quiet thumps and her ears filled with the quiet sound of crickets, rusting fabric, and sleepy groans from inside the tents. She reached the barricaded perimeter of the camp, her eyes scanning the wooden barriers. Sentries posted farther down were murmuring voices, carried to her by the night breeze.
Her rough hands found the crevices in the wood, sinking in with aching fingers and clinging nails. She hoisted herself up, pressing hard to the wood praying to the moon, to the sun, to anyone who would listen. She climbed up, her limbs aching, splinters creeping into her calluses till she was laying flush with the top of the wooden wall. She took in a ragged breath, her cheek pressed against the grainy wood till she was lowering herself down the other side.
Her feet touched the ground, silent and warm on the icy ground. Then she was running, her legs pumping up and down, her feet slapping and springing off the earth. Her hair streamed behind her and she breathed in the ice and water in the air that made her feel unstoppable.
She reached their camp soon, the black sentry towers protruding into the sky like columns decorating a tomb. The wooden wall surrounding their camp was sloppier with uneven logs and gaps, built with more confidence. It was built more for show than it was protection.
Her palms pulsed at the crackling energy before her. Half of her wanted to hiss and slink off into the night, cowed by the presence of all the ashes and flames in the camp. The other part of her wanted to call rivers and oceans to her fingertips, let the salt coat her lips, and let the power form lakes and waterfalls over this place.
She did neither and dropped down, pressing herself against cracked earth and dust. She inched forward, every sense tingling, waiting for the horns to sound and the fire to form walls and lick, tear, burn, steal-
She was at the wall, her hands clutching at the wood and pulling herself up. Her instincts screaming in her ears, run, this is madness. Run, this is pointless. Run, you are giving too much and receiving too little. She found herself at the top of the wall quickly and dropped herself down, rolling into the fall with her heart pounding. The ground was hard and solid as her shoulders rolled across it, the remnants of frost tangling in her hair. She pulled herself to her feet and padded slowly with liquid fire and ice in her veins.
The tents were more organized and foreign. She heard no snores or rustling within them. It was as if she were a ghost wandering an abandoned camp. She kept to the shadows, letting herself be lost in their inky folds. She focused on her breath, trying to slow the roaring in her mind.
She soon found the tent she was looking for. The soldiers in front of it stood tall with stiff spines, their soot black armor almost melding into the night. Here, the moon's light seemed weaker, paler, and less comforting. Its power didn't invigorate her as it did outside these walls. She felt like she'd travelled to the belly of hell.
She stood in the shadows of a nearby tent, her fingers twitching with the desire to pull water from the ground, the weeds, or the air. No, she must not. It would be suicide.
She crept till she was at the rear of the tent where no guards stood and dropped down again into the dusty earth worn by boots. She inched forward, feeling like a beacon till her fingers touched the thick tent material pulling and pushing it up.
She crawled through and was immediately met by the cloud of warmth and the scent of old and familiar spices. Jasmine, sage, heady perfume, and cinnamon filled her with memories of another time, another place-
"Katara."
Warm, hard, and gentle hands gathered her up, pulling her to her suddenly unsteady feet. She found soft, feathery hair and warm skin that was soft and rough under her fingers. He smelled like musk, cinnamon and the old blend of tea that tasted like summer.
She pulled back, her eyes searching the darkness. "Zuko" she whispered, the name that had been forbidden to her feeling so liberating on her lips.
"Katara, how did you get here? It's impossible, you couldn't have-"
She shushed him as he gripped her tighter. "Light a lamp, Zuko, I haven't seen you in years."
His fingers lingered on her arms for several moments before he began to prepare a lamp in the darkness. "It's been two years, hasn't it? That's when you and your dad and Sokka left the palace. Father said that there was no point in keeping an ambassador when war was stirring."
The match sparked and flared to life in the darkness, illuminating amber eyes and a pale face. Her fingers reached out nervously and touched the side of his jaw, tracing down to his chin where stubble pricked her fingers. "You've grown up, Zuko," she whispered. "Remember when we used to play questions and you told me you were scared of the dark?"
The match sizzled out and he muttered a curse. His fingers flared and fire lit up the darkness again, casting longer shadows. Unconsciously, Katara jumped , water from a glass on a table leaping to her fingertips and her muscles tensing.
"Katara! Katara, it's fine. It's ok." His startled voice was low and hushed as he held his lit hand away from her to light the lamp. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'd never hurt you." His eyes bored into her, pleading and begging for her trust.
The silence pressed down on them heavily as the fire flickered. Katara slowly let the water slip away from her fingers. "Why is your army here, then," She whispered, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice, trying not to melt into the familiar gold eyes and rough voice. "Why are we fighting?" Her voice broke and he pulled her into his chest.
"I know, Katara, I know," he murmured into her hair. They stood for a moment like that, her arms clenched around him, and his chin resting on her head. "It's almost like magic, you know? I was just thinking of you, wondering if you were here- I mean there. There in their camp. You used to bend so well at the palace. I knew you'd be fighting, but I was just hoping-"
"That I wouldn't be here," Katara finished, pulling back.
"No!" he whispered. "No, I'm glad you're here. Just not that your camp is over there."
They examined each other again and Katara took in his changed features. He'd grown into his stubborn chin and his nose was still upturned and aristocratic. His lips were thin and pale red and his cheekbones had only seemed to grow higher. He still had the pale white scar above his right eyebrow from when she'd lost her temper when she was ten and thrown her book at him. The red, mottled tissue of his scar was as stark of a contrast as ever, but it was also familiar on his face which was a relief.
She remembered how she'd received word of him getting it when her and her father were home for their half of the year in their native land. She'd cried herself to sleep that night and sent letters for weeks. She never received a reply. The next spring that they arrived, he greeted her with more reserve than before. He had new walls that he had put up and she'd yelled at him for being so distant. It took till they were sixteen for him to talk about his scar directly. That had been her last season at the fire nation palace.
"Katara, you've gotten so pretty." His fingers traced her cheeks and temples, leaving a tingling trail on her skin.
"I thought that I was an intolerable goose who would never make any sense at all, whatsoever," she said, waiting for his reaction with shallow breath. He cringed at the old insult, his cheeks turning pink while she grinned and cocked and eyebrow.
"You're still pretty intolerable," he muttered. "Now you're just almost pretty enough to make up for it." She made an affronted noise of disgust and he grinned roguishly. "I forgot how easy it was to make you angry. Uncle always said you had the temper of a fire bender."
They both grew still at the mention of bending and Katara sighed. "I'm a water bender, Zuko. And you're the fire bending prince leading your people into war against-"
"Not against you," he whispered fiercely, "never against you."
"Against my people, then," she shot back. "This doesn't change the fact that, like it or not, we're both fighting tomorrow and it's in neither of our natures to hold back."
He groaned, running his fingers through his already messy hair. "You think I don't know that? I've been having nightmares, Katara, terrible nightmares. I see all this fire all over you, and you're screaming and begging me to help but I just can't move and-"
"Shhh," she said, pressing a finger to his dry lips. "I know, I know."
His eyes bored into hers, frustration, fear, and anguish swirling around in them. "Katara…" he whispered. "This is really happening, isn't it?"
Her throat hitched and she nodded, squeezing his forearms gently. "Yes, Zuko," she murmured. "It is."
"I can't fight you," he said. "I can't, and I won't."
She shook her head. "I know, Zuko. I know." They both knew these were empty promises- something to try and ease the pain. They were too loyal, too furious, and too alike to hold back. She leaned her head back on his chest, breathing in the old smell of the fire nation palace. It had been a kind of second home to her, and the cinnamon and spice pulled back old memories she'd tried to get rid of when the war started.
"I do remember," Zuko said, his chest vibrating under her cheek. "I remember telling you I was scared of the dark. You laughed so hard I thought you'd explode."
"A fire bender, scared of the dark," Katara said with a smile, turning her face up to look at him. "You didn't talk to me for two whole days."
"You kept pushing these drawings of white blobs under my door-"
"They were polar bear dogs!"
He chuckled, his eyes glittering in the low light. "How was I supposed to know?"
They stood quietly a little longer, soaking up the comfortable silence. "You're not scared of the dark anymore, are you, Zuko?"
He shook his head at her pensive voice, pulling one hand through her tangled hair. "No. No, I'm not."
"Neither am I," she whispered back, meeting his eyes.
His eyes seemed to glow brighter and he slowly leaned down and she counted her heart beats. His forehead touched hers and she sighed. She could feel a smile tugging at his lips and she glared at the amber eyes that were soclose to hers.
"Taking your time, are you," she murmured, so quietly that she could hardly hear herself.
"You always were impatient."
His lips tasted like smoke and fire, but for some reason it didn't make her want to recoil. He was warm and exhilarating like a solid flame and she tangled her fingers in his hair. It had been years since she imagined this moment, a fourteen year old girl developing her first crush after he'd clumsily kissed her cheek as required at one of the fire nation ceremonies. No imagination or day dream compared to the solid feeling of leaning into him and how his chapped lips were feeling on hers-
Armor clanked outside and they sprung apart in an instant. The water she'd dropped to floor earlier was pulled back out of the thick carpets and swirling around her wrists like a silvery pet snake, waiting and ready. He was crouched down, palms out, flames licking out from his fingertips and all the muscles in his body taut.
They waited with shallow breathing as the sound of shifting armor faded away. "The guards were just changing shifts," he whispered, relaxing and turning back to her with a new tightness in his shoulders. She shifted reluctantly out of her own crouch, her heart hammering like a war drum.
"Zuko, I have to go." The words tasted stale on her lips and emotion flitted through his eyes too fast for her to identify. He reached out slowly and the water tumbled from her fingers for a second time that night. He engulfed her in one last hug, squeezing her so hard that she thought he'd never let go until he did. Now she could see his eyes more clearly. There was regret, anguish, fear, anger, and other things she couldn't identify. She stroked the side of his temple and his eyes flickered closed and opened again, drinking her face in hungrily.
"You better survive, Katara," he rasped. "You better survive, because I'm coming to find you when this is all over."
She nodded silently, her eyes beginning to prick and her throat tightening. She wrapped her hands around his larger ones and squeezing tightly. "You too, Zuko. You too. "
He nodded and she seared the imprint of his face into her mind, the cheekbones, the nose, the eye brows, the amber eyes, the thin lips- everything. She'd never forget him, even if she'd never see him again.
She turned away, feeling like she was leaving a part of her behind. A gaping hole began to ache inside her, fierce and relentless. She dropped down to the cushy carpets and slid out into the darkness, leaving the warmth and familiar smells and presence behind.
"Bye, Zuko," she whispered into the darkness, slinking back off into the night.