Disclaimer: I do not own ATLA
Thanks to Ravynne Queene Of The Lily, Guest, LovinZuko, and csnow28 for reviewing:)
When Katara collapses under the dead weight of the mysterious man, the women of her tribe rush out to meet them. They're hair is tied in various styles of braids and beaded with different colors of the sea. Katara has known these women all her life and their blue shaded eyes blink questionably at Katara's fallen body. She sighs and pushes the arm of the stranger off of her; she lays on her back as she opens her mouth to answer her tribe.
"The healer's hut. Help me bring him to the healer's hut," she says calmly as if she didn't just look like a lunatic who was crying a dead body. One of her mom's old friends, Nakka, laughs at Katara's ridiculousness and starts to give orders to the rest of the tribe.
Nakka comes to help Katara off of the frozen ground with a huff. "You always get into the craziest situations, Little Polar Dog." Her graying brown hair is only visible when the light from the torches hits it.
It is past sunset now as the gray clouds of the afternoon have darkened to a pitch black. The snow plays shadow puppets on the ground. A crescent moon is out, though Katara can not see its illuminating shape.
Katara drapes one of the man's arms over her shoulder, and Nakka takes the other one, not complaining about the weight. The healer's tent is much too far away for Katara, and soon she is panting short puffs of white air. The man's feet make two tracks in the freshly fallen snow as his feet drag behind them. Nakka's cheeks are red from the effort. But soon Katara's brother comes out of their home tent as they pass by and grabs the feet of the stranger. Their pace quickens.
Her grandmother is already waiting by the bigger hut, opening up the flap just as Katara, Nakka, and her brother reach it. Katara's mouth is set into a thin line of determination. Blood from the man's back has already colored her blue clothes in a sticky red. She will not let this man die.
"I have a bowl of water set up and fresh bandages if need be," says her Gran Gran.
Katara nods as her brother and Nakka gently lays the man down on a pile of white and speckled furs next to the roaring fire. The hut is already basking in heat, giving Katara a sense of comfort from the snowy wasteland she had just come from.
"He will need food, water, and new clothes," Nakka voices, breaking Katara out of her mesmerizing hold the flames held her in.
Gran Gran nods. "I'll see what I can scrounge up."
As her grandmother leaves the tent, Katara kneels down next to the stranger. Nakka begins to discard her gloves and over coat, not wanting them to get ruined anymore than they've already have. Katara bites her lips, looking cautiously at the bowl of water to Nakka's back. Now it is time to make excuses, thinks Katara.
"Oh, Nakka?" Katara starts.
"Yes?"
"I don't need anymore help. I-I can handle it from here. You should go home and take care of Nori," Katara says, speaking of Nakka's adopted child.
"Hmmm, I guess you're right." Nakka turns around, her blue steel eyes flicker towards the stranger. "Are you sure you can take care of him?"
"I am more than capable," Katara smiles. "You've taught me all that I know."
Nakka gives Katara a quick kiss on her forehead, "Good night, dear. Call me if you need any help."
Nakka exits the hut, and the polar dog skins flap behind her. Now Katara is alone with the unconscious- possibly dying -man, and Sokka. "You have to be more careful, sis," Sokka scolds, folding his arms and tapping his sharp boomerang against his bicep. "She could have refused to leave."
"I know, I know. Stop nagging and help or leave before you faint." At that, Sokka hands her the bowl of water with a slight queasy look and scampers away. Katara throws her gloves to the other side of the hut. She unstraps the man's sword from his back, wondering why he has it in the first place. From inspecting the hilt, her eyes widen as she realizes the sword is actually two swords. They're finally crafted and seem to be well looked after. She places them aside for further inspection later.
She pulls off his scuffed boots next, breathing out a sigh of relief when Katara sees that his toes aren't ruined by frostbite but are only a mild shade of the wrong color. She massages his feet trying to get the circulation flowing back into them. His fingers are in the worse shape; she had noticed this out in the blizzard.
Katara bends a glob of water out of the bowl and covers his hands with it. The water glows a bright blue and she prays no one from her tribe walks in on her. As the brilliant light dims, his fingers return to a peach red and lose their unhealthy purplish blue color.
There is a crunch of snow outside the tent; Katara's heart races, and the water surrounding his hands splashes onto the skins and her dress, soaking them. But it is only her Gran Gran coming back into the hut carrying all the necessary supplies. A sigh of relief passes through her lips.
Ignoring her grandmother neatly placing the supplies near the fire, Katara rips open his already fraying shirt, wanting to see the bleeding wounds. His chest- she can't help but blush at the sight of him. He really is a beautiful stranger -is sculpted with hard lines, achieved from what she must assume is years of sword practice. But his pale skin is marred with tiny silver scars, like someone purposefully cut into him. Each mark is the same length. Her mind wanders, but her fingers probe his side, feeling for bruised or broken ribs. But nothing is out of order, and she thinks the stranger should count himself lucky though he doesn't seem like a very lucky man.
"Can you help me flip him over?" Katara asks before her grandmother decides to leave.
Together, as gingerly as they can, they flip the man over and onto his stomach. Katara tears away the rest of his tattered shirt to reveal angry red lashes criss crossing across his back, marring every bit of visible flesh. Dried and fresh blood covers his pale skin, and in some places the lashes have become swollen with puss and possible infection. They hadn't been taken care of after they were given to the man. The wounds are angry and red and throbbing. Katara shakily gulps.
Her grandmother, seeing the desperate situation, quickly and wordlessly hands her extra cloth and bandages Katara needs to stop the bleeding. Katara, palms pressed flat on his back and on the deepest lash, puts as much of her weight to add pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding quickly; her grandmother presses against the few Katara has missed. The white cloth is quickly stained red. When the bleeding finally stops and her hands are painted with his warm blood, Katara coats his whole back in water; the bowl is now empty and the hut shines with the blue light.
She heals one lash at a time, taking extra care with the ones that seem to have an infection. Though his flesh starts to knit together, he will live the rest of his life with long, slightly puckered scars over his back- if he lives at all.
"Honey, where did you find this man?" Gran Gran questions quietly, not wanting to disturb Katara in her healing process.
Katara's teeth scrape against her chapped bottom lip before responding. "I few miles outside of our tribe where I was practicing the waterbe- the you know what. He was about to fall into a ravine."
His back is now a raw pink, and fatigue starts to set into her bones. The light dims slightly.
Her grandmother has moved to attend to the fire by the time she speaks again. "We must find out if he is a danger to this tribe. People may be looking for him." Her old eyes glance at the man's healed but scarred back. "No one inflicts that punishment on themselves."
"I know Gran Gran but let's save the interrogation for later- for when he is actually conscious."
He told me his eyesight hurts, Katara thinks. She weaves her fingers through his silky hair, running her nails across his scalp. She pulls away with fresh blood on the tips of her fingers and in the cracks of her chipped fingernails. With the last bit of her healing water that she saved from his back, she heals the back of his head, hoping the hit to his head won't cause blindness as she had seen in many cases before him.
"We can flip him over again," she tells her grandmother.
The hut is warm enough with the fire to leave him shirtless and to let his skin breath, but she does dress him in thicker pants, socks, and boots. The color is wrong on him. The light blues and pure whites contrast with his red lips and sharp facial features. The insulated clothes seem ridiculous on his muscled figure. She discards the shreds of his clothes near the door flaps and sticks her head out, allowing the cool air to settle the blush in her cheeks. But she has undressed many men before for medical purposes. Why is he any different?
Katara comes back to sit by the man; now all she can do is wait until he wakes up for a more thorough diagnosis.
"You're going to have to come up with an excuse to why he is fully healed," her grandmother finally speaks.
Katara waves off her grandmother's concerns with a flick of her wrist, watching the silent rise and fall of his bare chest. "Only Nakka saw the state he was in but not even by that much. There is nothing to be worried about."
"I wasn't talking about the tribe, Katara." Out of the corner of her blue eyes she sees her grandmother leave, and now she has something new to worry about.
Katara knows she should do the same- to get rest after this long night of constant heart pounding -but, even if she did, Katara would not be able to take her mind off this beautiful stranger, much less sleep under a pile of furs with her racing thoughts.
Her blue eyes glance up at his scar again. Her fingers trace the grooves and outline his crumpled ear. The scar is rough and intimidating, and surprisingly hot to her touch.
"K-ka... tara?" he mumbles.
A small smile graces her lips. "You're awake. Would you like something to eat?"
"Yes," he croaks, "please."
Katara reaches back to grab the cup of broth. It is not as hot as it could have been even with having been set close to the fire, but it would do for now. She brings the wooden cup to his lips, tilting it back slowly. The stranger slurps it down eagerly until the cup is emptied.
"When was the last time you ate?" she asks while wiping a dribble of broth off of his chin.
"I don't quite remember."
She frowns when she notices he continues to keep his eyes closed. "Do they still hurt?"
"My eyes or my back?"
"Both. But more importantly your eyes." Her fingers gently brush through his hair, as if expecting to another bleeding gash underneath.
"I- I don't think so?" The man is not very convincing; Katara sends him a disapproving frown that he can not see. He starts to sit up, only to have her place a hand on his chest and press him back down to lay in the pile of furs.
"You should rest," Katara says; he will feel better in the morning, she thinks, and then I can get a look at his eyes.
It is well past midnight and Katara wonders if she can finally see the stars or if the storm clouds are still covering the twinkling lights. She stands to leave the hut, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt, when a hand latches onto her wrist. Her wrist is on fire, but the grip is gentle.
"Was there a Siren out in the snow with you?"
"A Siren?" A worried frown mars her face again. He must have hit his head harder than she previously thought. Katara never thought that he would end up being a delusional stranger.
"Yes, she had the most beautiful voice."
Had he heard her singing over the icy wind? Had he heard her mother's lullaby and the silent sobs that came during it? "There are no Sirens out here. Rest, I will stay with you."
He curls on his side, and his mouth releases a gasp. Startled, Katara's blue eyes grow wide, believing he found a hidden injury. "What happened to my wounds?" He winces as his hand comes to brush over the unexpectedly smooth skin of his back. "They're healed."
"You'll still have the scars. There was nothing I could do about that. I-"
"You are a waterbender then, yes?"
Katara's hand clenches into a fist at her side as her mouth gaps and as her mind tries to come up with a perfectly good excuse to why he is not dead but whole again. "I'm a good healer?"
"Okay. I totally buy that," the man deadpans, his back still turned away from her. He snuggles deeper into the furs. "You're a waterbender. There is no shame in hiding that fact."
If only you knew, she thinks. "Go to sleep, Lost One, and I will stay the night." The man's breathing soon slows into another sleep, leaving Katara to ponder her thoughts. Throughout the night she watches him, drawing her eyes across the angles of his back and the curves of his legs. She falls into a light sleep once or twice while leaning against the sturdy and comforting wall of the hut.
When dawn breaks through the parting gray clouds and the first glimpse of sun since the start of the southern winter streams through the door, the stranger stirs in his bed; one of the longer furs that had been placed over him slips off of his shoulder. He rolls onto his back with no sound and begins to stand, both of his hands flat on the ground before he leaps up.
Katara watches him through half lidded eyes; she is too tired from the previous night's events to scold him for being ridiculous and how 'he really shouldn't be exerting himself considering that he could have died last night.' The man has still not opened his eyes but is able to move flawlessly to open the flaps of the hut, only stumbling for a second as his legs reawaken.
Katara cautiously stand behind the stranger as snow is crushed under his new boots. No one in the tribe is up- as it is too early in the dawn -to witness this unexplainable display. His arms stretch out in front of him as if he is trying to absorb every ray of sun that shines through the fractured clouds. The man's posture straightens; his visible shaking- that Katara missed when her eyes were slowly peeling themselves open -has subsided. The wobble that Katara had seen in his steps vanishes.
Snow crunches under her fur boots; his head turns slightly, enough for her to finally see his eyes. Strangely, they are not directly fixated on her, but she is too captivated by their color for her to question the oddity as a healer.
His eyes are gold, like the sun and like all Fire Nation citizens she hates with a burning passion. This man is the enemy and her fingers curl into a tight fist.
I am so happy everyone is liking this story so far! It was really just a split second decision to rewrite it. There is going to be a major change to the plot from the orginal story in the next chapter; can you guess what it is? I probably made it too obvious...
I am going to try to keep updating this every Friday (if I can).
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