She knew it had come. She had known for a long, long time that it would come. She had known since she was set upon the ship with a smirk and a too-gentle kiss.

Four years she'd waited. Four years for the day to come. And come it had. They had been waiting when her ship—if she could call it that—had docked at the harbor for its two weeks' stay, and had immediately escorted her away from it, telling her only that it was the Fire Lord's wish that she return to the capital. They had put her on another ship and left as soon as everything was secured. She had, as befitted her status, been given the most sumptuous suite available, but it only twisted the knife deeper.

She had waited until she was alone to cry. It was a deep, bone-wracking cry, but she kept it quiet. Years of practice had ingrained it within her; and no amount of time—let alone four years—would break it. At the end of it, she merely lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling listlessly. Was there anything left to live for? Had not everything been taken away?

And yet, she could not will herself to die. It was not in her. It had never been in her. It had not been a lamentable trait, at least not until now. Now, she wished to die. She wanted everything to be over. The years of brutalization, of dehumanization, the years of being Azula's toy. How was living the answer? Surely, it was better to die.

These last four years had been a relief, to be sure, to be free from Azula and that smirk and her piercing glare. But she knew why Azula had sent her away, had exiled her on that ship. It was to cause her more pain, to take away the only thing that really mattered in her life. The only thing that made your life even slightly bearable.

Kya. Kya, her beautiful daughter. The daughter Yue gave you, to save her life, to let her live. Kya, who was worthless to Azula because of her blue eyes. But even Azula could not truly risk killing her own child, and so Kya lived. And became the sunlight of her world, a world that was drenched in darkness no matter the fact that she was in the city of firebenders. Kya, who was probably as hurt by the separation as she was.

And now, she's been called to return to the capital, to Azula's capital. Most likely to either watch her daughter's execution or to attend her funeral. Azula could explain away a lot of things, but she couldn't explain away Katara's absence at either of those events.

The thought of Kya's death made her eyes mist over with tears, but she resisted them. She was going to give Azula a strong face when she arrived at the capital. She was not going to allow Azula the pleasure of seeing her distressed. At least not in public. In private was a different matter altogether. She was going to have to breakdown sometime, and in private would be the best. Azula would sneer and laugh and torment her, but at least she would be able to present a strong face in public. As was expected of her.

To breakdown in public was to draw not just Azula's ire, but also her wrath. And her hand. Katara had scars from Azula and her rough treatment, she wasn't foolish. Some things would never fade, be they physical, emotional, or mental.

Even now, four years since the last time she saw Azula, she woke in the night crying, being absolutely certain that Azula was in the room with her, feeling Azula's hands on her skin. She would almost immediately clap her hands over her mouth, to make sure that Azula didn't hear her cries, but would then relax when she felt the rocking of the ship. The only thing that ruined these moments was knowing that Kya was still within Azula's reach. Katara had long ago given up hope on Azula's conscience or even her knowing basic morals, so there was no telling what Azula might have done to Kya in the last four years.

That was if Azula had even paid any attention to Kya at all. She had never bothered to before Katara's exile, and why should that have changed? Some small, hopeful part of Katara almost hoped her daughter had died of starvation, from Azula's lack of attention. An even smaller part of Katara hoped that Kya was still alive. But that part of her had been almost completely silenced by Azula, with Katara learning how to ignore it to make up the deficit. And so, now, Katara knew her daughter was dead. Her daughter was dead, and she was going back to Azula.

For a brief moment, she considered Ozaila, but Ozaila was Azula's child through and through. As soon as Ozaila had been old enough to walk, she had toddled after Azula, detesting being left with Katara. Katara had watched her go with resignation, while Kya had merely smiled in some type of quiet amusement that Katara had never truly understood. Not that she ever would, now. There were so many things about her daughter that she would never know. So young, so young, and yet already gone. It did not matter to Katara that she had been younger when helping Aang with his quest, it mattered that it was her daughter who had not quite reached majority. Was this how her Gran-Gran had felt, all those years ago? Katara wondered, but there would never be an answer. Gran-Gran was most likely long-dead by this point. She would never know.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she was awoken by the ship docking. Immediately, she changed her clothes and refreshed herself, knowing that she was going to be met by Azula at the dock. One of the guards—her guards—knocked at the door to let her know that they were ready for disembarkation. Katara gathered herself up and was quietly led down to the dock—where there was absolutely nothing. Katara drew her brows together. It was not in Azula's nature to pass up such an opportunity to humiliate and break Katara, but apparently she had done so this time. But all that was waiting was a palanquin, oddly done in blues and silvers instead of reds and golds.

Instead of thinking too hard about and leaving herself vulnerable, Katara merely dismissed it and allowed herself to be escorted to and into the palanquin. The ride to the palace was spent mentally preparing herself to see Azula again, to deal with her biting words and unstoppable hands. That, and preparing herself to see the ruin that had once been her elder daughter.

Upon their arrival at the palace, Katara easily got out of the palanquin, long years of practice coming into play. After exiting the palanquin, she turned to the attendants, but they merely bowed and left her there. When they had at last faded into the distance, Katara noticed that she was not in the main courtyard, but rather one of the smaller gardens.

In fact, it was the garden that Azula had given to her after a particularly vicious and public moment of spite, to soothe away worries of her cruelty. It was a lie, and they had both known it. Kya had known it. But Kya had known many things.

Katara didn't even need to fit away tears, instead sighing in resignation before moving to the side of the pond, sitting down on the bench. She knew Azula was behind her, watching her just so carefully and—

"Mother."

She jerked upright. That was not Azula's voice. Azula probably couldn't even fake that voice. And Azula would never call her mother.

"Mother."

Katara let the tears fall, and then turned to look. It was true, she was there. She was alive. "Kya," Katara whispered, holding out her hand to her eldest child.

Kya approached, and then dropped to her knees in front of Katara, resting her head in Katara's lap. Katara almost reverently stroked her daughter's ink-black hair. "My mother," Kya answered, her eyes sliding close.

The idyll moment was shattered by Katara's remembrance of her status, and how she had arrived there. She abruptly stopped stroking Kya's hair, causing her daughter to look up at her with concern. "Kya," she said, her voice hesitant and rushed at the same time, "You have to leave. You must! Azula—the Fire Lord—she'll be furious! Kya, please—"

Her plea was cut off by Kya's smile and the light catching her daughter's odd colored eyes. "It's alright, Mother," Kya assured her, "She can't hurt you anymore."

"But she's Fire Lord!" Katara protested, tears beginning to cloud her eyes.

"No she isn't," Kya answered, laying her head back down in Katara's lap, "I am Fire Lord now, Mother."

Katara returned her hand to Kya's head, but felt too frozen to stroke Kya's hair. Kya said nothing, letting her mother get over her shock. But eventually, Katara couldn't help stroking that soft, silky hair.

Some part of her had known. Some part of her had known since she had noticed the gold rings in Kya's eyes. And they were gold, not yellow or amber, but pure, liquid gold. Kya had not fully escaped the legacy of being the daughter of two master benders. But Katara had said nothing, because she did not want Azula to know. She did not want to know herself. But now, with her daughter's head in her lap, she wondered if her silence had forced Kya to become more like Azula than she had ever thought possible. She wondered if her silence had saved Kya, and by extension, herself. So she had denied it, to herself, to Azula, to Kya, for years. Years of denials and silence that had perhaps changed the course of the world. Or perhaps not.

She decided it didn't matter as she continued to stroke Kya's hair. She had her daughter, she had her freedom, and no one could take that away. Not even the Avatar.

For the first time in years, Katara smiled fully, before leaning down to press a kiss to Kya's forehead. Kya frowned at the action and pulled away, obviously sensing something more to Katara's action than Toph would have. But Katara merely continued to smile, moving her hand to cup Kya's cheek. "My daughter," she said finally, "My Fire Lord. My bloodbender."