AN: Hey, sorry for the late update, I was incredibly busy for a while. A warning before you get started: This story is going to be getting much darker before it gets better. It's necessary to flesh out the character development and backgrounds that were not really made clear in the show. Specifically, this chapter features the chaos of interregnum after the Queen's death, dead and dying people, including one/two children. It is not overly graphic, but it is absolutely heartbreaking, be warned.


Chapter Two

Imprisoned, Two Months, Three Days.

Days passed by, weeks replaced weeks and nothing changed for the weary prisoner in her solitary hut. Meals were delivered on time, White Lotus guards remained disinterested and unapproachable; cycle of slightly different lighting in the underground cavern to signify day and night and the platinum cage – the ever persistent view out the window of her wooden cabin.

The time seemed to stand still for the former soldier. She supposed it will be like that for the rest of her days. The same dull routine. Get up, go take a shower under surveillance of a female guard, receive her morning meal, eat it barely noticing the bland taste. Start her morning work out routine. Read a bit. Repeat the bending forms ad nauseam even though she'd never actually would or could use her bending in here. Eat another meal, do the stretching and breathing conditioning exercises. Read some more while eating dinner. The same dull activities from waking to falling asleep. Perhaps, one day she might even loose her mind from the endless repetition of fruitless futility. Perhaps, but not any time soon. Kuvira did not really know why she bothered, but she kept track of days carving a tiny mark on the far wooden wall with the end of her just as wooden spoon.

Three days out of seven she would dance instead of keeping up with her bending. How bitterly ironic it had turned out to be. During the last two years she rarely danced for herself outside of necessary practice that had long since became like a second nature to Kuvira. She used to think there was no time for dancing. The people of the Earth Kingdom depended on her, there was always so much to do. Looking back dancing was one of the first things she had discarded in her blind rush for safety and security. At least now Kuvira had all the time in the world, ain't that right? Another pinch of bitterness.

The Avatar kept coming every week. That somehow, out of some inscrutable reason, became routine as well. Korra would show up every Saturday like clockwork with that same kettle and her tea. They did not talk much. Honestly, the former soldier did not really know what they could talk about. Korra did not seem to be all that interested in scrutinizing her decisions or even her past. She was never judgmental or pushy for... well, anything, really. The best attempt at holding a conversation the short haired girl had offered was small talk about how the weather had been warm and the reconstruction was going really well. Predominately they just sat there sipping hot tea in an oddly companionable silence.

It was rather pleasant, unnervingly so. As if to reaffirm her fears Kuvira caught herself looking forward to those visits. At least, that was one person she could be in a company of aside from the pointedly indifferent guards. It was strange, unsettling. Wanting more and despising herself for it. Deep down she dreaded what this logic-defying connection the Avatar was insisting on perpetuating would bring to the both of them in the end.

They were sipping Jasmine tea from the wooden cups, the heat of the liquid radiating easily through the pliable material. Unlike usually the silence was less that comfortable. The water tribe girl had been slightly fidgeting in her seat ever since she sat down. Korra kept looking into her tea and likely thought the woman opposite was oblivious to her less than cheery mood.

"What is it, Avatar? You don't seem to be in high spirits today. Finally decided I'm not worth the effort, huh?"

Korra's cerulean eyes snapped to her face in a second. Somehow Kuvira just knew right away that those bright, intense eyes could see right through her nonchalance in that moment. She averted her eyes concentrating on her teacup. The battle raging withing her was confusing and contradicting. She wanted Korra to keep coming and she wanted her to stop; she wanted her to be done with the hated, tyrannical Great Uniter and she wanted the Avatar to stay, sit opposite and drink that stupid tea. The older brunette wanted to be left to carry on her punishment on her own, as it should be, and yet... if Korra stopped coming... that would be... she would be...

Before the frantic thought could finally come together behind the detached exterior of Kuvra's features, the Avatar spoke. Korra's voice was soft and hesitant, almost apologetic.

"I... I'm going to be out of town for a while. Wu has started his initiative of transitioning the Earth Kingdom from monarchy to a coalition of independent states. It will require a mediator and, um, that would be me. I have to make sure everything is alright. And it will take a lot to sort everything out. So..." she gave her a sheepish smile. "I won't be able to visit you for some time, sorry."

Kuvira's pupils widened and eyes narrowed in bewilderment. "Why are you... humm... Nevermind."

"Why am I apologizing?" prompted the tanned girl her smile growing slightly. "I promised I would continue coming here. I hate breaking my word."

"It's fine. You are the Avatar, you belong to the world. I'm not... I don't..." the metalbender sighed annoyed at herself with that sudden inability to articulate properly. "The people of the Earth Emp... Citizens of the Earth Kingdom will have the protection and the wisdom of the Avatar. That is more than I could have ever given them."

"Wisdom, huh? Riiiight. You have gone form underestimating me to overestimating me, Kuvira. I'm not infallible, far from it." Korra hummed under her breath for a while looking at the spot on the far wall. Then she put a hand on her neck appearing apprehensive. "Listen, the thing is, I'll be far away, but that doesn't mean I'll be gone gone, you know? Would it be okay if I write to you?"

"What?" The southern native had an amazing habit of taking the older woman by surprise.

"You see, when I was healing at the south pole, all those two and a half years, my friends have been writing me letters. It was nice to keep receiving them. I... I only answered once. I wrote a letter to Asami and it, I dunno, made everything better, more bearable. I thought I could write to you and you could write me back while I'm gone."

Kuvira chuckled darkly. "They will never let me have a pen."

"Nonsense. Will you try to escape using a pen? That even sounds crazy!"

"No. However, I highly doubt anyone would believe me, whatever I were to say."

"I believe you."

There was another minute of heavy yet comfortable silence. The metalbender, once powerful and feared leader, was suspiciously interested in the contents of her wooden cup. They did not say another word to each other during that visit, not that it was all that needed. The next day the Avatar was already on her way out of the City and later that evening a somber looking White Lotus elder delivered paper, envelops, inc and a Future Industries fountain pen to the utterly disbelieving prisoner in her wooden cell.

. . .

Imprisoned, Two Months, Eight Days.

The nightmares started a week into her third month. Kuvira had not had a single dream ever since the battle of the Republic City. Her sleep was dreamless, if a bit restless. However, that first night interrupted by unsettling visions was nothing short of excruciating.

It was all jumbled up, real memories, shadows of her deepest pain and fear, all smashed and tied up together in a slurry of searingly realistic scenes. She was there and she wasn't. Sometimes Kuvira knew she was just sleeping, sometimes it felt too much like the real thing, but even when she knew she could not shake it. She could not simply wake up.

Ba Sing Se was burning. The middle ring engulfed in uncontrollable madness of fire, explosions, screaming of trapped innocents who refused to leave their homes and insane roars of the looting, pillaging mob. By the time Metal Clan had arrived there was barely anything left of the lower ring, ash and smoke rising from it like a black tapestry of chaos. The Queen's military forces were all but extinct, most of them actually joined in the anarchy of the interregnum. Restoring order was not an easy task, certainly not for the faint of heart, but that was exactly why they had arrived. It had to start at Ba Sing Se, precisely where it began.

Days and nights spend fighting the crazed people, putting out fires and futile attempts to restore electricity, fresh water reserves and food deliveries. Kuvira had worked her men and women to the limit not separating herself in any way, on the contrary. She took the most shifts, stayed up the longest hours. Taking on patrol duty in the lower rings in hopes of finding survivors was the toughest task and one she took upon herself most of the time.

The previously relatively clean and well kept streets of the middle ring were more like a labyrinth of burned and collapsed buildings, trash and forgotten belongings littering the mud and ash covered stone pavings. In a small alley to the left of her there was a simple cart, once filled with fresh fruit and homemade juice, now what was left of its offerings was either burned to a crisp or rotting in a soggy, stinking mess. Even in her deluded dream-state Kuvira knew what she was about to find, she remembered that moment. The moment she knew she had to do whatever it takes to put the Earth Kingdom back together. Back three years ago she walked behind that very same cart and saw what she could not ever forget.

Behind a cart on the ground there were two bodies huddled together. A middle-aged man dressed in laborer's attire. He was most likely the owner of the cart. There was barely anything recognizable left about his face or upper torso. The fire had taken care of that. He lay there clinging to the wreck of what was likely to have been his livelihood, a charred hand clasped on the equally charred wheel. His other hand was clutching at the burned knife hilt, the blade still lodged deep in his abdomen. The brown and maroon covering his hips and legs painted the grim story of what had happened. The merchant was attacked by the looters, robbed, stabbed, his cart broken and left there in the street only to bleed to death.

Still, it was not this undeniably tragic picture that made the younger Kuvira of three years ago collapse to her knees and break down crying. It was the second little body coiled next to the man. A little girl, no more than ten, was curled close to the man's side. She did not look injured, but the ashen face was enough to know. The girl had soft blond locks, for some cruel reason untouched by the fire, light teal dress was probably one of her best ones and the little straw doll she had by her side would be her best friend. The small hands were clutching at the maroon smeared robe of the man with desperate strength. There were lines on the tender, scrunched up face, lines left from the tears and the soot and the ash. The traces on the ground around, footsteps made by the tiny sandals the girl wore. She had found her father here and after endless attempts at waking him up, after what must have felt like eternity of crying and screaming and tugging at the man, she gave up. Curled next to him, clutched her doll and the fabric of the man's robe. The girl had suffocated in the toxic fumes of the endlessly roaring fires.

That was what Kuvira had found back then, that was what she had vowed not to let ever happen again. And that was what she expected to see even in the delirious state of her nightmare.

But it wasn't what she saw.

There were two bodies at the broken wheel of the cart, charred and clutching to one another. A man and a woman. Both unrecognizable, their bodies mangled and burned and horrifying. There was a girl sobbing next to the couple. Holding the straw doll close to her chest and tugging at the remains of the woman's dress. Her hair was not blond... It was dark black pulled neatly into two short braids. She was kneeling at the cart ruining her pretty green dress with the mud and rotting fruits. Her little hand tirelessly tugged at the fabric crumpling the crust of dried up brown blood that it had been soaked with through and through.

"Momma! Papa!" the breaking cry was muffled by another set of violent sobs sending shudders along the small body.

This was all wrong! The metalbender stepped closer her boots crunching on the gravel. The girl turned around and looked straight at Kuvira. Her little face was covered with tears and smudges of ash, there were a couple of small cuts the same as on her arms. She ran here, as fast as she could apparently falling more than once along the way. The child would be adorable if not for the look of absolute misery and unbearable trauma on her face. Thin lips curled, green eyes unfocused, red and full of tears, lavish eyebrows knotted together in desperation. The tears flowed freely down to her puffy cheeks... and over the small mole under one of her eyes.

"Oh, no... Spirits, no... This is not what happened!"

The girl bawled on and the woman opposite was frozen in horror unable to move or speak. All she could do was watch as the little girl, the tiny version of herself shuddered and sobbed like her whole world was shattered in front of her eyes. The tugs on the dress became slower, weaker, her breathing faltered, instead of unrestrained sobs the girl was desperately trying to take in a heaving breath and could not. The air around them was filled with smoke and swirling ash. The little girl was loosing her balance. She let out a smothered sigh and crawled closer to her parents. With one last effort she settled in-between their remains and hugged the doll closer to her chest. Two more tiny breaths and she stilled. The picture of a little girl lying next to unrecognizable bodies, smoke and ash in the air, burning wreckage of the fruit cart – the scene was a brutal hit on the senses in it's surreal, morbid beauty.

Kuvira straightened, whipped around on her heels and... ran. Ran through the smoke and bellowing flames of the suddenly alive with screaming city, through the angular, uneven streets with odd curves and sharp turns. The people in the windows were all dead, they had injuries, burns and did not breathe and yet they were screaming after her. Screaming for her to protect them, to save them. But all she did was run. Run until there was nowhere to run anymore.

The street was barricaded shut. Mob of snarling looters and anarchists was on the other side, bellowing and yelling their curses. She remembered this well. It was one of the attempts to throw the enormous city into chaos again. Those bandits brought benders with them, ammunition and fuel to set the upper ring ablaze. Although, last time she was not alone.

In answer to that reflective thought a group of metalbenders sprang out of the shadows and took positions at her sides. Her fellow guards from Zaofu! Now that was a different story altogether!

"We're with you, Captain!" the young cheery voice belonged to Maya, a good friend and a partner. In guard duties and dancing routines.

A smile was just about to erupt on her lips as the smell of something awful and the shadow cast from above pulled her at attention. Kuvira yelled for attention and jumped away, but it was too late. The tens of bottles filled up with flammable fuel were soaring through the air and landing near her comrades. Most were lucky to dodge, zip away with their metal lines. One was not.

Three full bottles hit Maya's metal armor shattering and soaking the bender in amber liquid. She spun her cables in the rush to get away, but the streaks of fire were already on their way from the firebenders. Explosion of roaring flames in the middle of the street was massive, the fireball bloomed even dismantling the barricade in its wake. Kuvira lunged herself at the spot the other metalbender stood only a moment ago, she was being held in place by two of her men.

"No! Not again! Stop it! Maya!"

Kuvira woke up from a scream, she could hear the younger woman screaming. Maya's death should have been instantaneous, there was no way she could howl like that, and still she heard her last, torturous scream! She bolted upright feeling the sheets damp with her sweat. Her trembling hands moved to her face and found her mouth agape. Cold sweat was trickling down the sides of her face. There was no one in her room, the guards only now moving to see what was going on. Kuvira could see the waving lights coming closer. The scream that woke her up was real, not a part of her nightmare; it could not have been made by Maya nor by anyone else in this room or outside of it. None of the guards could let out that icy, terrifying sound.

The one who was screaming was her.