Prompt: Matriarch


At the end of the union there was a silence that crackled like (far too familiar) lighting. Stares with the weight of the nation lay on the two rulers standing at the dais.

Never once had the fire lady worn blue at her wedding.

Never once had the fire lady possessed skin tinted away from creamy alabaster into something darker, something foreign.

Never once had the fire lady raised her face, blue eyes dark with thunderclouds, oceans, and the burden of the entire world she had labored under when she was only fourteen to meet the gazes directed at her.

She titled her chin and braided brown hair swayed as she gripped the hand of her husband. And she smiled.


The people whispered in market places, homes, and restaurants. Their voices hushed with discretion stemming from the old, nationalist part of them while they eyed their companion and the floor or table or wherever they could look to hide their eyes.

She's a heathen. I hear she wears blue every day. I hear she water bends in public. I hear she spars with the fire lord. I hear she makes her own food. I hear that she can bend blood.

They whispered and the whispers spread like the slow crackle of flame throughout the country, eating away at foundations. When the fire lord and fire lady announced a tour of the nation to introduce the people to the new matriarch of the royal family, they felt a fierce discomfort.

It's bad enough that she stays in the palace. Must he bring her out here for us to look at?

They didn't know what they were expecting when she came. But it certainly wasn't what they saw.

They saw long, thick intricate braids done in styles they'd never seen before. They saw sleek blue robes with fine contours that seemed to blend rather than define the way fire nation fashions did. They saw silvery moons embroidered into sashes and hems. They saw high cheekbones and hands that moved with a kind of fluidity and rise rather than remain stationary and clasped behind her back.

But what shocked them all- what really made them stare- it was the tenderness.

Tender eyes, washing over their faces making contact, searching them out so she could smile down at them from the lacquered wood of her seat. They stared, suddenly drawn towards this soft figure so different and strange from the rigidity expected of their culture. It gave them a sudden desire for something they had never expected much of from a vicious heathen they'd all been told stories of- attention.


It was mid October when the people realized their fire lady was a woman to be feared as well as loved.

She sat by her husband's side at the crowded garden party. Pandalilies were woven in her hair and her lips had been carefully painted red as tribute to the nation she presided over. She smiled benevolently at the clusters of people in both threadbare (but cleaned till pristine) tunics and the people in fine coats of rich colors that seemed to flicker in the pale but steady light of the fall sun.

She glanced over at her husband, his golden eyes meeting hers and hand slowly rubbing a small circle on the back of her hand. She'd opened her mouth to say something with a wry grin but then-

She heard the fire before she saw it or felt it. She had been surrounded by fire for the last five years of her life. It had been a constant pressure at the back of her mind, a warm heat spread over her skin and yes, it was comforting. Her husband's fire was invigorating, awing, and precious.

And yet part of her mind had never forgotten the time where the crackle and sizzle while it soaked up air to fuel itself meant danger.

This was foreign fire. Foreign to her and her people and she could feel it in the racing blood in her veins.

She leapt up, arm making an arc and the tug of the pond water rising up to follow it. The pond scum was left in the muddy rut and the water gleamed as her body swayed, feeing the threat in the air rather than seeing it. There was a sharp explosion of sound as water and fire made contact in the air with a hiss that made teeth rattle.

She quickly whipped arms through the air, shaping water in sharp decisive motions. The vapor and water wound together in a lance and shot out to latch around a body. More fire spurted out feebly trying to resist the pressure of cold water and contrasting steam snaking over his limbs in a crushing grip. He cried out as he was slammed into one of the nearby trees, still draped in gold cloth for the festivities.

More fire flashed behind her and she drew one arm away from her prisoner, drawing water with a flick of her wrist from the grass to come up in a thin membrane just in time.

But it wasn't protecting her.

It was protecting her people.

They stood cowering while the benders crouched with palms extended behind the wavering outline of her shield. Fire distorted the view with bright tongues of flame that lapped against the red tinted dome. Katara felt protective fury that sent her fingers motioning daggers of ice towards the dark form channeling the flames.

Another flare and one more impatient slam of the first attacker into a tree freed a grip so that she could whip sheaves of ice with long windmill motions with one arm.

By that time, the other threats had been contained and the guards told her that she could release the web wrapped over the party guests. Zuko had a hand resting over her upper arm in his hot but gentle grip, raspy voice in her ear it's ok, Katara. They're safe now. You saved them. You can let go.

But the tension in her limbs didn't seem to fade and it was painful for her to leave the pale faces she had hated all those years ago unprotected, staring at her in a mixture of gratefulness, awe, and fear. She slowly let the sheet of water drift down and back into the pond, though she left some coiled up and down her arms like silvery snakes ready to strike if necessary.

Her eyes were drawn to where she had sent the ice and opaque red pools lay on the ground. She stopped her gaze from going any further, because she already had a good idea of what she would find. The disgust running through her at what she had wrought was nothing compared to the crashing relief- we are safe.


"Who were they?"

Zuko looked up at her, warm eyes gentle as he fitted his hand over hers, brushing fingers up and down knuckles. "They were paid off by rebel factions in the Earth Kingdom that are still bitter. The world hasn't been as quick to forgive the Fire Nation as you."

She leaned against his chest, nose muffled in his fire lord garb that smelled like parchment, spice, and sweet but sharp smoke. "I was scared for them, Zuko."

He rested his pointed chin on her head. "They saw that. It's already spreading all over how the fire lady went wild and single handedly took down about three terrorists." He paused. "They forgot mothers bite back when their wards are threatened."

Katara groaned. "I had enough of a time mothering three kids when I was younger. How am I going to handle this?"

He chuckled. "You're doing just fine."

Her eyes flashed up to meet his. "I know."