Disclaimer: I hold no ties with Avatar: The Last Airbender. This work of fiction was created for, and only for, the sole purpose of entertainment. No profits were obtained from the makings of this story. Credits go out to Nickelodeon, Michael DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko respectively.
. . .
. . .
Summary: AU Z/K With the world all but under the Fire Empire's control, Katara, along with her fellow agents, are sent on a deadly operation. Bent on retribution, Zuko scours the land for answers. What they discover, is a conspiracy bigger than they ever imagined.
. . .
. . .
Author's Note: Again, I apologize for the long delay in-between chapters. Hopefully, these 10 pages of goodness –I hope– make up for it! Thanks again for those continuing with this newly sprouting story. It has been a pleasure writing so far. Anyways: Read, Review, etc. It really does help inspire me to have people comment on my work –be it praising or criticizing– and it makes me want to write more. But seriously . . . Time to move on to the story!
. . .
. . .
"Better a diamond with a flaw, than a pebble without."
~Confucius
Of War and Subterfuge
"Ugh! Let me out of here!" The pounding of fists against beaten wood ensued.
Things couldn't get much worse, Katara had decided, when she felt the barge lurch once more. Her stomach rolled around sideways and downwards with the movement, as her cramped storage box –that now doubled as a very uncomfortable cell– banged into the side of the hull brusquely. This had been occurring for many long, dark and painful hours.
The corsairs who nabbed her had done a thorough job of restraining the teen. Alongside being shoved into a stingy storage box, the river-pirates had taken the liberty of knotting both her wrists together with thick ropes made of worn leather. Similar cords were lashed tightly around the water bender's ankles as well. Her water skins and knives had been removed from her person on the spot, even before they had dragged her onto the ship. In her mind, Katara had no doubts that these men were professional raiders and pillagers. To be able to take a master water bender hostage was no small feat, especially when one such bender was near her natural element. Even if I wasn't prepared for this to happen, Katara thought bitterly, It's still no excuse.
"Let me out of here!" She yelled loudly once more, thumping her hands against the top of the box in an effort to gain some sort of attention.
To both her chagrin and relief, the top abruptly opened upwards after her last outburst.
"Well, it's about time!" She huffed indignantly from her cramped position, trying to put on a steady front. "I thought you'd never-"
A mammoth sized hand suddenly descended into the makeshift prison, and fisted roughly around Katara's bound wrists. With a yelp, the water bender was forced to stand up unsteadily to her feet, unable to finish her spiting comment. The owner of the giant hand then dragged Katara forcefully out of the box, before tossing the semi-shocked bender's upper body over onto an equally large shoulder. It took but a moment for her to realize she was being carried like a sack of rice; a very fiery, unhappy and pissed off sack of rice.
As the colossal creature carrying her began to lumber forward, Katara launched viciously into a rant about chivalrous-lacking bastards, reiterating her beliefs with the pounding of her fists upon a broad and thickly muscled back. Her only reply was a small grunt of indifference and an uncomfortable bound up the barge's rickety ladder. Before she could even begin her tirade about freakishly large and dumb pirates, Katara was plopped unceremoniously on her back onto the main deck. Her cerulean eyes glaring scathingly, the water bender finally caught a front-view of the giant. He was enormously solid, sporting a missing right hand and foot; in their places, highly advanced metal prosthetics gleamed slightly in the slowly brightening reflection of the sunlight. A large tattoo of an eye along the center of his forehead stared back at her menacingly, almost daring her to make a move.
Katara licked her lips, trying not to swallow too noticeably. Her incensed remarks stifled instantly.
With her defiance seemingly tempered by his physical appearance alone, the behemoth turned his back towards her and stalked powerfully away, pacified that his charge would trouble him no more. It was in this gesture that set Katara's irritation from its smoldering and steeped embers-like-state back up to a full scale inferno. Patriarchs in a society run by even more egotistical and arrogant men. He doesn't consider you a threat! Katara's inner voice screamed. Make him pay for it.
Blessed with an innate ability to manipulate liquid, the water bender, from her place upon the floor, aimed a well-placed shot of saliva at the back of the giant man's head. She watched with satisfaction as her target's back stiffened and his hulking gait came to a standstill.
"Maybe you shouldn't have turned your back," she chastised in a venomous tone.
The enormous man turned to face his prisoner with barely suppressed anger. Black and beady eyes locked with smug, glinting orbs of sapphire. He took a dangerous step forwards. Come on, come and get it. Attack!
Katara's battle-trained instincts and superb perceptivity already had the entire scenario played out. He's going to try to grab my throat and throttle me. Let him pick me up so that I'm eye level. Deliver a head-butt to the bridge of his nose and force him to let go. He's fought before, so he'll attack instantly out of nature. The major injuries on his right side will cause him to compromise and make his blind hook slant angularly. Flip over backwards and let him cut off my binds from my legs. Feet are more important than arms right now. Duck his left hook. Dodge his right uppercut, then deliver a straight kick to his solar plexus. The fight will engage again after he recovers and he'll come in at long range with a reckless charge. When he charges; sweep his base out from the left-side ankle; hitting a metal foot will result in nothing but a broken shin. Avoid any flailing shots and scissor around his neck before he hits the ground. Try to strangle with the scissor lock for as long as necessary. When he attempts to roll off his back and use brute strength, twist sharply to his weak side and flip him again. Cut off arm-cuffs using his prosthetic foot while rotating. Gain distance and water bend as soon as possible. Medical Prognosis: One broken nose, three cracked ribs, punctured lung, a fractured left ankle and a partially collapsed trachea. Estimated physical recovery time: One month. Estimated mental stability: Undetermined. Situation of male superiority and patriarchy: Neutralized.
The plan set itself into motion when the brutish pirate's meaty digits locked around Katara's lithe neck. Her legs thrashed weakly as she felt her body being lifted into and suspended within thin air. Their eyes locked once more for but a split second . . . and a feral grin broke across the water bender's pretty face.
Head-butt. Cartilage mashed unforgivingly.
A breath of La-given air, then a back handspring: the full use of her legs gained.
Duck. Dodge. Straight kick directly into that weak expanse of muscle. Bones cracked and a gasp of forcefully imploded oxygen escaped.
One split second of analyzing the new distance between her and her opponent, then: leg sweep to the left ankle. Katara's ears thrummed with adrenaline, drowning out the tell-tale snap of a fracturing appendage.
A scramble for position and a scissoring headlock around her adversary's neck; had it been anyone else without such a heavily set collar, her controlled and precise attack would have broken their spinal cord. As it was, the breath whooshed out potently from her enemy.
Twist and cut: freedom of her arms once more and enough time to rally a water bending attack. Her posture resumed itself into a familiar position, summoning her element from the nearby river and preparing for a water whip. Just as her consciousness was reaching out to feel and grab a hold of her natural constituent and turn it into a lethal bludgeon of pain, a commanding voice barked out from somewhere up above.
"ENOUGH!"
Katara's rhythm faltered and her concentration shattered. She looked skywards to try and locate the source of sound. Situated on a ledge about forty feet away from her, a stern looking pirate holding an elongated metal shaft in his right hand pointed it in her direction and growled distastefully at the water bender.
"Aye lass, stop right there or I'll be damned! We'll blow yer face right off this fuckin' vessel!"
Her chest heaving, Katara finally took in her environment not pertaining to her groaning adversary rolling on the deck. A score of cutthroats had gathered around and all stood at attention, each wielding some sort of deadly weapon in their hands. Many even had similar looking metallic rods like the pirate who had shouted, all of which were pointing in Katara's immediate direction. Though some had slightly stupefied expressions on their faces, Katara doubted that they wouldn't hesitate to follow their captain's orders.
"Git' down on yer knees, water witch." The leader –Katara assumed– spat out. "Put yer hands on yer head where I can see 'em and don't even think about fighting back."
Katara remained standing, wide eyed and frozen in place, her mind processing things a thousand miles an hour. When did they get here? How long have they been watching? What are those . . . things? Yet, it seemed, said mind did not process fast enough to the authoritarian's liking.
"Are you deaf, water wretch? I said git' down on yer fuckin' knees!" He clicked back a knob and pointed the short piece of steel at Katara's chest.
Her mind rushing itself back into place, Katara complied with the captain's wishes and conceded. She watched him make a flourishing wave with the object to his other comrades. Almost immediately two pairs of hands attached themselves harshly upon her person, wrenching her arms painfully behind her back. Through her peripherals, Katara noticed more pirates drag off the giant tattooed man she had beaten into unconsciousness. Her attention was brought back to the leader of the barge however, as he began to speak once more.
"Aye, now what made ya' think you could ever git' off this here schooner? Causin' trouble on me ship? Bah! I should have you whipped n' strung up for your insolence, heathen."
Katara remained silent, her eyes facing downwards towards the deck.
"Wot was that? I didn't 'ere you, girl." He paced up to the water bender, his poorly cured leather boots and equally dilapidated hygiene making Katara wrinkle her nose distastefully. Katara noticed quite distinctly how incredibly muddy the soles of his boots were.
Still, she did not answer.
"Answer me, bitch!" He roared. To better iterate his demand, one of such dirty boots kicked viciously into Katara's stomach.
She doubled over in pain, before the two corsairs restraining her pulled the water bender back up. The trained Dai Li agent only glared defiantly at the floor, ignoring the immense pain digging in her ribs. Begrudgingly, she was forced to look up when the brutish captain's pinching fingers clenched around her jaw. Still avoiding eye contact, Katara looked off somewhere to the side. In a final act of rebellion, she shunned his question and opted for a query of her own.
"Who are you?" she asked, trying to keep the pain out of her voice.
"Well, well, well. I s'pose a lil' wench like you hasn't been aquaint'd with us motley dogs, huh?" He mocked. His face hardened. "Trust me, water bending scum. You'll find out soon enough."
Another flick of his wrist, and the last thing Katara remembered was an ever so slight whoosh of movement from behind, before a painful feeling jabbed at the base of her skull. Her eyes rolled back up into her head and she fell into a torpid state of nothingness.
. . .
. . .
. . .
". . . Sokka?"
"Yeah Aang?"
"Do you think that-"
"No. We're on a mission, Aang; that means we can't compromise anything. Long Feng gave us our orders. We have to make sacrifices sometimes. If she's still out there, we'll meet back up at Omashu." His voice echoed flatly.
The air bender sighed. "Okay."
The silence of their campground held within it a sense of anxiety so thick that it could have been cut with a knife. Saddling up his ostrich-horse along with his remaining travelers, Avatar Aang took one last look at the smoldering embers of last night's fire before turning his back on the forlorn looking pit.
To him, it felt as if he had just turned his back on something, someone much more than just a simple fire pit.
Had he been watching more carefully, the young air bender would have noticed his other companion's electric blue eyes watering ever-so slightly, before the pupils distorted in a short, uneven cadence of pure blackness. Sokka's façade hardened.
"Let's ride."
Onwards rode the remaining Dai Li agents. Onwards, to the city of Omashu.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Dawn glistened vengefully near the strait of Serpent's Pass, cloaking the large mass of water in a basking sky of endless orange. The pale light shone through a window of the Black Dragon's Royal Keep, silhouetting the prince of fire preparing for battle. Nestled firmly within the glossy timber of his cabin, Zuko looked on outwards to the rising sun with a surge of suppressed adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Zuko stood with his arms outstretched while two servants laced up the sides of his padded jerkin they had fitted for him. When they had finished, one of them tugged on the hem of the jerkin, smoothing out its wrinkles, and said, "There, my prince. Is it too tight?"
He shook his head. "No."
The servants retrieved his greaves and bracers from an elegant oak closet housing the rest of his armor, and knelt before him in the dim lighting. Zuko remained vigilant in his watch through the window, not looking as his servitors buckled the greaves onto his lower legs. The calmness outside his chambers spoke of quietness, solace. Waves flowed silkily in the galleon's wake, like shimmering flakes of white.
Standing, his stewards made to put on the vambraces, tying the cords snugly around his forearms. The coolness of metal contrasted greatly with his skin. In reverence, the two men bowed, each hand upright within a fist: the symbol of fire.
Next from the wardrobe, they took out the pieces of his black cuirass. A golden flame glittered upon the dark steel's center, tapering up to the collar of Zuko's cuirass in a picturesque emblem of lavishness. The armor could serve both ceremonial and on-field requirements equally. With slow, deliberate motions, the servants buckled on his cuirass, making sure it fit perfectly on top of the leather jerkin and protected the prince's torso. Then, they attached equally black tassets onto the lower half of Zuko's cuirass. The plates of steel unfurled along the upper half of his legs, protecting them in an encasement of flexible metal.
On his shoulders, they set embossed spaulders; light enough to maximize arm movement yet sturdy and durable enough to protect from most weapons. When the servants made to put on his helmet, Zuko waved a hand at them dismissively. "Finish the top-knot, then leave me," he said.
The men did as they were told, being ones who did not argue with their prince. With another bow, they left Zuko's cabin, leaving him to stare at the final piece of equipment.
The "Y" shaped fortitude of his helmet stared back at him. Like the rest of his armor, Zuko's helm was coal-shaded and as dark as a moonless night, safe for the golden glyphs etched along the edges. Stretching out from the middle of it, a red plume of dyed ostrich-horse feathers ran vertically down the back of the helmet.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Zuko grasped the sides of the foreboding helm, before placing it over his head.
He was ready.
Leaving his cabin, Zuko strode out into the corridors of the ship and out onto the top of the main deck, into the pale light of dawn. Sailors, Soldiers, and deckhands streamed up from the lower decks, heading toward the main deck where he had announced earlier that everyone would assemble at.
The prince filled his lungs with cool morning air, breathing deeply as his warriors jousted for position. At his side, Iroh suddenly appeared. Together, they looked downwards at the ship's inhabitants, watching them file onwards.
"Uncle," he murmured quietly, "Did you send out our message to the White Lotus members like I asked?"
"Of course, Prince Zuko," Iroh whispered, "I am the Grand Lotus, after all. They should be gathering in Omashu within a few weeks. I'd give them two months for the entire society to be there. Perfectly scheduled, if I do say so myself."
"Thank you, Uncle."
"Anytime, my nephew, anytime."
Zuko glanced surreptitiously out of the corner of his right eye. His uncle stood silently, sipping tea, and watching the crew of the Black Dragon assemble. Dressed in battle regalia as well, Zuko's greatest general seemed pensive, as if wanting to ask something. An entire minute of silence held with bated breath, before –as he anticipated– Iroh spoke.
"I still do not believe in this reckless battle. You seem to have forgotten that there are still . . . links in our chain that are attached to a different fetter. This could all be a trick, Prince Zuko. It might very well expose your entire–"
"I shall accomplish my mission. I've made it this far against all odds, and I will not be stopped now. An opportunity like this doesn't show up very often, Uncle, and time is running out. I need the Avatar now."
Zuko's entire posture stiffened, resilient in abiding by the old goat's words. His uncle had tried to talk him out of the scheme ever since he had sent the message telling both Lt. Jee and Iroh when they would initiate contact.
Iroh eyed his nephew for a time, morose features set on his aged skin. "Very well . . ." the Dragon of the West acquiesced quietly, before clearing his throat in preparation to address the crew.
"Loyal Soldiers and men-in-arms!" Iroh vocalized, raising his voice for all to hear. His deep and rough timbre silenced the crewmen below, as all ears turned to listen with rapt attention. "It has been three years . . . three long years of searching, of pursing, the very essence of our duty. Time has worn down your spirits. That, I can see.
"In approximately twenty-five minutes from now, we –as decreed by Prince Zuko, shall pursue Earth Kingdom scouting ships with the intent to capture. The soldiers on said vessels shall be initiated quickly with hostile force, using our numbers against them; our movement must be conclusive and swift to avoid wringing in other potential enemies. Be warned, that these waters we sail in are protected by what remains of the Earth Kingdom's and Water Tribe's navy. As the Black Dragon is considered a rogue vessel herself, expect a . . . lukewarm welcoming from any imperial crafts patrolling the western front. I am sure many of you are aware of how Admiral Zhao conducts his business in these parts.
"Harsh times have passed over our heads, like an oppressive cloud. Perhaps even harsher times still await. But in this moment, we ride within the eye of the storm. Our mission: capture the Avatar. It was the imperial edict nigh on thrice winters ago. Oh, how those aristocrats must be twisting in their gold-lined silks now! The tables have turned, the epoch has shifted. Destiny is truly, an ironic and wretchedly perverse mistress.
"Now, the sun bears down upon you, the children of Agni! At times, it hinders us, mocking us with another day of unfulfillment. At times, like now, it guides us, glowing in its fiery spirit, pointing its way for you to follow! Today is the dawn of a new era! Today is the day we step closer to capturing the Avatar! Today is the day we reclaim the true lineage of Fire itself! Today, we partake in victory!"
The great Dragon of the West raised his arms skyward, fire sprouting from his outstretched hands at his last decree. Roaring, the ensemble drew swords out of their sheaths, pointing them into the air, proclaiming allegiance for their leader.
"ZUKO ZUKO ZUKO!"
Even as they shouted, Prince Zuko's impassive face hid silently behind a vengeful scar, golden eyes glimmering beneath an ebony helm.
The first act of finishing a century-old war had begun.
Author's Note: So… anyone like semi-twists? *shrugs*. Basically what's going down is Zuko –as I take from it– is a passionate, driven, vengeful person. And being as such, he's not gonna be someone who goes down without a fight . . . Yup . . . that pretty much sums up this chapter. Props to whoever can understand where I'm going with this. Ooh and Katara's fight scene was totally inspired by watching Sherlock Holmes. Yeah. So R&R folks!
~Eizechial