I'm a terrible person. I admit it. My updating skills suck.
In Which Fears Are Faced
Time was running out.
Zuko stared at the sand that almost filled the lower half of the hourglass, and which even now continued to fall like a trickle of blood oozing from an invisible wound. It wouldn't be long now before the last of the crimson drops fell. Then he and Katara would be trapped inside the maze forever.
His gaze shifted to the girl walking beside him. She was fingering one of the gold bangles on her wrist, spinning it round and round. A faint tinging sound echoed with each spin. He wondered what she was thinking about. Ever since they'd made that truce after the vision he'd seen of his mother, she'd become more subdued, like there was something troubling her mind. It made him uncomfortable. Mostly because he knew it had something to do with him. He still couldn't believe that he had broken down like that in front of her, as if he were a child.
Poor little Zuzu, still crying after his mummy.
Zuko clenched his hands into fists. Azula's taunts stung him deeper than he cared to admit. His sister would always be a knife digging into his heart: close enough to be part of him, but hurtful all the same. Still, Katara had not laughed at him. She had not called him a baby, as Azula would have done. She had comforted him. She had accepted him, because she understood his feelings.
Because it was something they had in common.
Katara's gaze met his, gold irises colliding with blue. Zuko was reminded of another time they had stood this close, back in the crystal caves of Ba Sing Se. That was when he had first felt their bond. She had offered to heal him then, but he had chosen to walk a different path. He had not wanted her friendship; he had wanted what had been taken from him: his home, his throne, his family, and he had got it all. So why did he still feel so empty? Why was it only when he was with this girl that he felt the stirrings of something more substantial, as if she might hold all the answers to the questions his conflicted heart sought?
Katara tilted her head to the side. "What is it? You keep staring at me weirdly."
Zuko flinched and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I—It's nothing. Let's just keep moving."
He marched ahead, keeping his head bowed. He heard her exhale loudly and follow. For a while they just walked in silence. Zuko noticed that the mist was getting thicker. It curled around them like white snakes, ruffling his hair and creeping along his bare skin. He could feel its clammy touch all over him.
"Not again," he muttered.
Katara stopped next to him. "What should we do? Every time the mist comes, something bad happens."
Zuko nodded. "I know."
First it had been walls and traps designed to confuse and mislead them. Then he had seen a vision of his mother, which had nearly ended with him plunging into an abyss. He couldn't believe that he would fall for the mist's tricks again, but still—
Katara's fingers intertwined with his, pressing their palms together. "Let's just stick together this time. Okay?"
"Right."
He took a step forward, still holding Katara's hand. The mist got thicker. She sucked in a shaky breath as their vision was entirely swallowed in white. The stone walls had gone. Everything was gone. All that existed was the thudding beat of his heart and the warmth of Katara's hand—the only surety he had that he was not stuck in this world of cold tendrils and lies alone.
"We can do this," she murmured.
Zuko squeezed her hand, saying through action what he could not express in words. Together, they walked deeper into the mist. He felt its invasive touch slither closer around him, almost as if it were sinking under his skin and entering his mind. Katara's grip tightened.
"Don't let g—"
Her voice cut off in a gasp. Suddenly, he was clutching nothing but air.
"Katara?" he spun around, faced on every side with a wall of white. "Katara!"
No response. Her touch, her warmth—it was gone. Zuko was alone. A split-second later the world began to reform within the mist, taking shape in colours of resplendent red and gold. A stone dais pieced itself together like a jigsaw, taking the centre stage. It was all too familiar. Zuko stumbled backwards, his face drained of colour. It was as if someone had punched him in the gut.
"No," he said in a choked voice.
A man knelt at the far end of the dais with his back turned to Zuko. Slowly, the man stood and turned, letting the red cape slip from his shoulders to bare his muscular chest. Sleek black hair framed a pale face, and on the top of his head a five-pronged crown glowed in the shape of a flame.
"No," Zuko repeated, taking an involuntary step back. "You're not real. This isn't real." He shook his head. "It's just an illusion."
Fire Lord Ozai walked closer, tall and emotionless just like he had been that day. Panic welled inside Zuko. He was a child again, bruising his knees on a cold platform. The towering figure of his father loomed over him, and he couldn't look up because then—because then—
"What are you so afraid of, Zuzu?"
Azula's voice echoed inside Zuko's mind, freezing him in waves of anxiety. That's right. He hadn't wanted to look up during the Agni Kai, because a part of him had known what he would see in those molten-gold eyes: the scorn of a father who believed his son was not worth sparing; that the child he had raised was weak and dispensable, like an ill-mannered servant that had no further use. It was a truth Zuko had never wanted to accept, yet in the last minute he had looked up. That was when fire had greeted him in all its burning savagery. He had not met his father's gaze since. Not once.
Azula's laughter chimed in his mind like razor-sharp bells. "Is that really why you're afraid? Think harder, Zuzu."
Zuko clenched his hands into fists. It didn't matter! None of this was real! He could just walk away and it wouldn't make a difference.
"Coward. Stand and fight!"
Zuko froze under the weight of his father's commanding tone. His hands trembled. "You're not real," he muttered, keeping his back turned. "You're just an illusion."
"And yet you still can't face me," Ozai said. "Pathetic."
Something snapped inside Zuko. Years of rage and bitterness surged through him like a thousand screams tearing through his chest. He spun around with a hoarse cry and charged at the man he called father. His hand formed a fist, getting ready to connect with pale flesh. There would be no shadow of fire, but it didn't matter. It was the physical contact that would give relief.
"Shut up!" Zuko screamed. "Just shut up!"
His fist made a sweeping arc, knuckles passing through angular cheekbone as if his father's body was made of wisps of air. Ozai materialised next to him a split-second later. Zuko growled and attacked that image of his father as well, and the next, and the next. He kept on punching, ignoring the tears that blurred his vision, ignoring the sickening feeling that grew inside him. It was only when he heard his sister's mocking laughter that he slowed, collapsing to his knees and letting his hands drop to his sides.
"Look up, Zuzu," Azula taunted.
Zuko had no strength left. He raised his eyes and looked into his father's face. Except the man wearing the five-pronged crown was now branded with an ugly scar, contorting his expression into a permanent scowl. That whole time Zuko had been fighting himself.
"No," he whispered.
"Yes," Azula's voice said with cool satisfaction. "You finally see now, don't you?"
Ozai materialised next to the image of a long-haired Zuko crowned with the Fire Lord's headpiece. Father and son had never looked more alike.
"We are the same," the two images said in unison.
"No," Zuko repeated, shaking his head. "I'm not—I'm not like you."
Ozai smiled. "But you are. You betrayed those who helped you—even your loving uncle—to achieve what you wanted. You did whatever it took to get your way." His eyes warmed with acceptance. "Prince Zuko, you are indeed my son."
Zuko's body trembled.
"What are you so afraid of, Zuzu?"
Azula's words were a whisper in his mind, echoing over and over again. This time, he could not hide from the truth.
I'm afraid that my father will never accept me. Zuko admitted silently, bowing his head. But I'm more afraid that he will, because that would mean—that would mean—
That would mean that he was just like Ozai and Azula. Just as cruel. Just as quick to dismiss those who loved them for the sake of gaining power. It would mean that the boy he once was had grown to ignore his mother's final words, choosing to forget rather than remember his true identity.
But it would also mean that there would be no reason for him to feel such sickening guilt, such soul-battering conflict in his heart. Because if he really had become like his father, then all the selfish decisions that he had made during the past three years should not feel like they were tearing him apart. None of it should matter at all. Not the way he had betrayed his uncle, not turning his back on Katara when she had offered him friendship. None of it.
"No!" Zuko curled his hands into fists. "I don't care what you say. I am not my father!" He got to his feet, facing the two firebenders. "I know that none of this is real. You're just illusions created from my own fears, but either way it doesn't matter. You have no power over me." A faint smile touched his lips. "I'm not afraid anymore."
The images of the two firebenders rippled, as if they were reflections cast upon a watery surface. Then a breeze blew through the stadium and everything turned to mist, coiling and spinning upon itself in wispy tendrils. Zuko let out a breath as he found himself standing in the middle of a stone courtyard. Not far from him, Katara sat hunched on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest.
"Hey," he said, walking over to where she sat. "You alright?"
Her eyes were swollen and rimmed with red. She had been crying. Zuko waited for her to respond, but she just continued to stare at her knees in that lost way of hers. He had a mad urge to pull her into his arms, but instead he crouched next to her.
"Was it the illusions?" he asked.
For a long time she said nothing. Zuko let out a breath. Upset or not, they didn't have time to sit around like this. The sand was still falling. He started to stand.
"I saw the man who killed my mother."
He paused, whipping his head around to stare at her. She hadn't moved, though a fine tremor shivered through her body.
"It wasn't real," Zuko said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "You know that, right? Everything you saw was just an illusion."
"I know," she said, tightening her grip on her knees. "I knew it even as I saw him standing there in my house, just as he had that day. Logic told me that none of it was real, but I still—I just—"
Zuko made a humming sound of agreement. "I know. I think that was the point of that illusion. It shows us what we fear the most."
Katara raised her head to meet his gaze. He saw that her expression was not so much lost as it was brittle. It was as if she had hardened her core so much that she had simultaneously become fragile. "I'm not afraid of him." Her knuckles burned white. "I wanted to kill him."
Zuko frowned. "Then—"
"Because I was helpless," she said flatly. "I couldn't do anything to stop him from killing my mother that day. This time, I was forced to watch that man kill my brother, my father, Aang, Toph, Suki—every single person I have loved and cherished." She closed her eyes, bowing her head so that her face was hidden against her knees. "That is my greatest fear: that all the bending I have mastered will mean nothing, because in the end I won't be able to protect the ones I love. I'll be left alone."
Zuko let out a breath. "I don't think you have to worry about that."
She peeped up at him through the curtain of her hair. "What makes you say that?"
"Because you're strong. Far stronger than you realise."
She shook her head. "No I'm not. I mean, I couldn't even stop you and your sister from hurting Aang in Ba Sing Se."
"But you did."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
Zuko pointed at her neck. "I know the Avatar is alive. That little bottle of healing water you always carry around with you is gone. You used it on him, right? After Azula struck him with lightning?"
Some of the colour drained from her face. "That's not—I didn't—"
"It's okay." He waved his hand dismissively. "I won't tell anyone. Honestly, I'm kind of relieved that arrow-headed idiot is still alive. It's one less weight on my conscience."
She blinked. "You're relieved? But—"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a terrible person." He gave a wry smile and got to his feet, stretching his arms over his head. "Look, just forget about what you experienced during the mist. The helplessness you felt? It wasn't real, Katara. You're a master waterbender and a healer as well. If anyone can protect the people they love, it's you."
Her jaw went slack. Zuko was very conscious of her wide-eyed stare. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he rubbed the base of his neck. Why did his attempts to be a good person always turn out to be so awkward? He'd only wanted to make her feel better—it was the least he could do since she had comforted him after his mini breakdown earlier—but she was staring at him as if he was a dung beetle-wasp that had just started singing a love ballad. It was all very uncomfortable.
"Uh, right," he muttered, averting his face. "I guess you don't really want to hear this stuff from me."
He stepped away, but then slender fingers closed around his wrist. Zuko paused, still with his back turned to her.
"Thank you," Katara said softly.
Zuko closed his eyes. He felt like something heavy had just been removed from his shoulders. He knew that he should say something—a "you're welcome" or maybe something smooth about how he was only speaking the truth. His uncle would have been able to pull it off. Instead, Zuko's blush darkened and he made a noncommittal noise that sounded more like a grunt. Yeah, real smooth.
Katara released his wrist and stood up. "Well, in any case, I'm glad we made it out of the mist. You said that illusion showed us what we fear the most, right?" She stepped in front of him, peering curiously up at his face. "What did you see?"
Zuko couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. "It doesn't matter now. Besides, I don't think we'll have to worry about that mist again."
A crease formed on her brow. "How do you know?"
"Something that dragon-moose Bill said when he introduced himself." Zuko scratched his head, ruffling his already messy hair. "I don't remember all of it, but it was something about him being mist and walls, and then he said 'I am what you wish to see and what you fear the most.'"
Katara's eyes widened. "The illusions have all been following a pattern!"
He nodded. "The deeper we've made it into the maze, the more difficult the illusions have been to overcome. First, we were tested on our ability to see through tricks and to overcome physical barriers. Then he played on our emotions by making us see the things we want to see above all else, as well as fear the most."
"That's why you thought you saw your mother," Katara said, catching on.
"Right."
Katara tapped a finger to her chin. "Now that I think about it, I think I might have seen an illusion like that when I was drunk on that caterpillar's tea. I vaguely recall following Aang to what I thought would be the exit, except I ended up falling down that trapdoor." She pursed her lips. "And here I thought I'd just been having drunken hallucinations."
"Take it up with Bill when you see him." The tiniest of smirks curved his mouth. "I have a feeling it won't be long."
She raised an eyebrow in question. Zuko pointed to the grand staircase that had unveiled itself at the end of the courtyard. They could not see where the spiralling stairs led because it was so high, but it was the first time the two of them had been given any option except left, right or forward. An answering grin tugged at her lips.
"Do you really think it leads to the exit?" she asked.
"Only one way to find out."
Katara laughed and dashed forward, practically bouncing on her feet as she started climbing the stairs. It seemed hard to believe that only minutes ago she had been hunched in a ball, crying because of the nightmarish visions she had been forced to watch. She really was so much stronger than she realised.
Zuko flexed his hand, still able to feel the imprint of her touch from when she thanked him. He didn't understand why the memory made him want to smile.
Woot! One chapter down, and now just the finale to go! It's time for some epic showdowns, dragon-moose style!
(Also, I told you that I'd update when I got home, Allison. I see that TCA is still sitting there all neglected, nyuk nyuk…)
