I won't bore you with a long author's note. Here's chapter four!

I want to thank everyone for reviewing! I have 15 reviews, 6 Favorites, and 11 alerts! Thank you! By the way, the next chapter will be dedicated to another special reviewer! :) Chew on that!

The songs for this chapter is: An Awful Lot of Running by Alex Day.

And to 3DG: Here's Zuko's POV just for you dear. Thanks for the advice!

Chapter five will be posted when I reach 21 reviews!

Enjoy!

Writingschizo101

EDITED September 28, 2010: Just a typo at the end. Silly me, I wrote 'bra'. :P


Zuko's POV

I knew going in I could show no mercy.

When I saw her— a beautiful, exotic creature perched serenely on my bed— that resolve nearly crumbled. Yet I forced myself onward, refusing to look again at that lovely face. She was my prisoner, and she knew something of the Avatar— this reason alone provided a drive, as well as any excuse I needed to make her scream.

Yet I proved too weak even for blind violence against my enemies. Bloodying my knife did not sway her, nor did sheer intimidation. So, I chose a different course of action used by many warriors when dealing with difficult female prisoners. I planned nothing, just moved to settle on top of her, concealing my knife in my sleeve, and almost enjoying the way she tensed.

She would tell me.

Touching her was torture; she was too soft, too fragile. Before I would let myself get lost in all that, or be distracted by how tight her bodice was, I pushed myself away, bracing myself on hands and knees before whispering what I knew to be true, what I'd kill for. "You are protecting him."

"No," she cried, a desperate edge to her voice.

Abruptly I pulled away, hoping to see if she would meet my eyes and say it . . . "What could you gain from this?" I asked her. "From helping him?" Was she swayed by how young he was? Or did he threaten her in some way? I almost chuckled at that. The Avatar— threatening someone. Stupid idea.

Sweat trickled down her temple, running into her silky black hair, and her breath came in raged gasps, making her soft breasts brush enticingly against me. It was good not to plan— I felt no surprise, no worry of losing control or failure when my cock hardened against the soft plane of her belly. She must have noticed, because suddenly she looked up at me and whispered, "Please?"

For a moment, in the light of the candles, I thought I caught a glimpse of gold in her irises . . . No. Wishful thinking. I'd found her in the Earth Kingdom territory, so I should not keep her. My enemy.

I could do it now, I realized. The threat became reality for both of us . . . and I loved the idea.

What an idea, indeed. Yet I could not do it, not if I had honor to restore. Not if I wanted Uncle to be able to look at me without contempt. So, I would be content with only the information I received.

Well, damn.


Areida's POV

"Of course I'm Fire Nation," I snapped, waving my hand in front of my face. "Could you not tell from the eyes?" I was being sardonic, yet he continued to stare at my pupils, trying to pull me closer even as I began to squirm further away. "Let me go," I pleaded fruitlessly. "I'm sick of your games, Prince. I want to go home." Despite how I no longer had a home, not for years, I wholly believed home was where this terrible boy could never reach me.

"Wait," Prince Zuko growled, forcing me to still by tightening his hold on the sides of my head. As he peered at my eyes, curiosity lighting his own, his thumbs stroked my cheeks bones, once, twice, three times, leaving burning trails of warmth. The action was unconscious, yet it contained all the assurance I needed to know he would not harm me again unless provoked. Not now. "Stop," came his rough whisper.

We stayed this way for a few moments longer . . . and then he released me, sort of pushing me back without force, and then looking away, starring hard at one corner of the bed with distantly thoughtful eyes. He opened his mouth, but shut it again without speaking. The anger was back, though milder this time, showing in the clenching of his fists, the muscles working in his jaw. He lifted his head suddenly and turned to look at the wall beside him where the Fire Nation emblem gleamed as gold as his eyes.

"Are you truthful, Miss . . .?" he asked tentatively in surprisingly tender voice, a voice which shook along with the hand on his thigh.

"Areida," I supplied. I grow weary of this frustration! I almost told him. "What are you asking me, Your Highness?" Honestly, I was being as irresolute as he was, if not more. Part of me just wanted out, while the other just begged for . . . what, sex? Money? No, both. It was both. Some base instinct, like a trapped animal, told me to stay on his good side as much as possible, while still letting him know I possessed, so to say, inner fire.

Though he still refused to look at me, Prince Zuko's voice was level once again. "The last you heard of the Avatar was Roku?"

The thin cut on my neck was no longer bleeding afresh, so I dabbed at the wetness gently with the hem of my disgusting dress while I gathered my thoughts.

"Yes. I know Roku, if he existed at all, was able to bend his natural element Fire. He had past lives, and was able to learn Earth, Air, and Water like them. Then he died." Admittedly, my version was devoid of passion, and he, realizing this, turned to face me with surprise. "No," I told him firmly. "I do not truly believe it."

There was another pensive moment for both of us, and then I asked what I'd been thinking all along: "There's another Avatar, isn't there? A new one. You thought he was hiding in my village, in the tea shop."

He nodded. "I brought you here because I could see no other way for him to hide. I thought if I questioned you, we could return to catch him unawares. His friends were there . . . and I received reports . . ."

I'd never seen anyone so heartbroken in my short life. This may not have meant much considering most of the people I saw were aroused men . . . But I'd never meet a man who didn't look through me even at his worst; Prince Zuko, despite his stature, eyed me hopelessly, like a child asking me to fix a damaged toy. Those eyes— I'd only seen them on one other person besides myself, and they still haunted me. The eyes in my memory were flat and dull, only alighting with a spark of cruelty when I screamed . . . but, Spirits, I could drown in the sorrow I saw now in Prince Zuko, drown or swim until I located what caused such hopelessness.

Only, he blinked then, and the bitter mask was back. His lips formed a hard line, but he continued to look at me. What did he want, really? "Tell me, Areida," he urged me flatly, "did you happen to see a child with arrows tattooed on his bald head?"

"What are you talking about?" I groaned warily.

"Just answer the question, please."

I feared the violence would resurface if I didn't assure him. Therefore, I told the truth. "I have seen but men for the last five months, and for that long I have lived on Kyoshi Island without exiting that wretched tea shop."

Prince Zuko starred at me, raising his one eyebrow in question. "Men?"

I kept my face composed. "Yes, men."

Prince Zuko looked me over with what seemed appreciation, taking in my outfit with an unreadable expression. I wondered just what he thought of me now, even if he could not figure it out. Did he like what he saw? Would he do what I expected of a man, a Prince, and regard me with nothing less than contempt? His voice, too, gave nothing away; how much practice did he have with this? Perhaps he negotiated trade along with his search for the new Avatar. "And just what did you do for these men?"

I exhaled. He knew.

A thin smile spread across my lips. "What do you wish to know?"

"Areida, why were in that abandoned tea shop? Why did you hide when your world was burning?" The boy before me was serious now— Princely, in a twisted way. As if Princes would speak to girls they knew fucked for money . . . unless it was to tell them to suck harder. I noticed the way he continued to peer at me, at my face, in a manner I came to expect never to find. His eyes would meet mine as he spoke, as if assuring himself he was, at the very least, speaking with a Fire Nation girl.

It seemed stupid to ask why one wouldn't hide from enemies, but I figured I knew what he meant. Did he know I considered him an enemy?

A choked laugh erupted from my sore throat before I could stop it. "If only I could say that world belonged to me," I said bitterly to no one in particular. "If only I tell you I explored every crevice of that island, and in five months, I watched it and its people change and grow. I'd love to say I mourn for its destruction, or that I even befriended one woman." I locked gazes with him, two pairs of Fire Nation eyes, one marred, just starring. "Want to know what I was doing for so long? Fucking every man brought to me by my three male keepers, giving in to their every demand— for spare change! The sensation only lasts so long before they harm you, if pleasure exists at all that day. Sometimes it does not." My voice was rising, but he never looked away, thus compelling me forward in my speech. "Let me tell you something, Prince. That damned island could not belong to someone who only set foot on its soil once before they were hidden away. It cannot belong to someone who has traveled and stayed in too many places to count. It cannot belong to someone who does not even possess herself!" No matter who much I want it to, I added silently.

My hands shook with anger, from wanting to hit something. Prince Zuko was not helping much either. He watched me closely in the ensuing silence . . . and then shook his head, the rigid ponytail swinging back and forth. And suddenly he sprung lightly from the bed, landing on his feet, facing away from me. His voice dropped low when he gestured to me with one dismissive hand, not turning to look. "I'll get you a bandage for that cut," was all he said.

I watched him exit the room, looking down at myself when the door locked with a muted click. My wound was bleeding again, a thin trail of red liquid seeping into the material of my hideous outfit. I stripped quickly with my still-shaking hands, relieving myself of the cloying yellow fabric. With relief I sighed, and climbed back onto the bed, wrapping myself in the satin blanket. There I waited in only thin undergarments, vulnerable in every sense of the word to anybody who walked through the door.

I did not care.

I ached all over, from my healing and bandaged hand, to my burning throat, to the roots of my hair, my aching temples and eyes, every place the ghost of his too-hot touch remained . . . Exhausted, I curled up and let the tears escape.

The bedding was still warm.