[a/n]:

Sorry for the delay! Life, as usual, gets in the way.

A quick thank you to all of my reviewers and also, please remember to be logged into your when you review. I'm not sure else how to get the free spoiler to anybody not logged in to their account. Thank you so much!

[a/n]


[Part Seven]: Defiance


Katara has never been particularly naïve, but as Zuko paces across the cabin with a scowl on his face many things become clear to her.

One thing stands out: sex does not have the ability to fix all of life's problems.

Zuko is dressed in his finest armor, his hair pulled into a neat topknot. The effect, coupled with his scar, makes him handsome, intimidating, and dashing. But he is still the man who kidnapped her and stuffed her in a tank for three weeks. It is hard—almost impossible—to reconcile this frowning man with the one who carried her away from the nightmarish room where she was almost raped—where she killed a man—and held her so gently until the shivering had passed.

It is almost as if there are two men inside of Zuko; the one who tore her from the sea and the one who took her virginity, kissing her so sweetly even when all of the burning desires and instincts had been satisfied.

And now they're bonded together for the rest of their lives. Zuko's mark, the one at the junction between her neck and shoulder that throbs with the strangest satisfaction, will be remain on her skin until the day she dies. A similar mark rests on her mate's body, covered by silk and armor. They will always belong to each other. It is strange to Katara that they are little more than strangers themselves.

Not for much longer.

Now his emotions are as familiar to her as her own. They are muted, as if she is listening to a conversation across the room, but nonetheless, as clear as her own. This is how she knows he is not happy. There is only a mild frown on his face, but she can feel the panic and fear that doesn't show. At least Zuko feels something. Katara still isn't sure how to feel. She is equal parts relieved, terrified, but almost overwhelmingly numb. She wonders if this is but a strange dream—if she blinks hard enough will she wake up in her own bed at home?

It hasn't happened yet. So she watches Zuko and tries to think.

There is so much she doesn't know about her own kind—so much that was wiped out during the war that ended before either of them were born, so much that Zuko knows and struggles with as he paces across the cabin. Gran gran had done her best to teach her the old ways, but there was only so much that a human women about a secret that was dying when she was a girl. When it came to mating, Katara knew that the very existence of a compatible mate was a gift from the spirits. The binding was supposed to be painful—it was, but in an exquisite wonderful sort of way—and the end result was supposed to be bliss, happiness, and healthy children. Perhaps some parts were true—old mother moon thrummed with almost dizzying satisfaction and maybe there was already a child growing in her womb. But Katara is anything but happy. The human part of her is frightened and angry. She'd hoped that giving into her instincts and becoming Zuko's mate would mean protection from his father. But the look on his face and the potency of his emotions suggests otherwise.

Katara tries to turn her attention elsewhere, picking at her ill-fitting dress. The red and pink silk gown was meant to be a gift from one of Zuko's men to his wife. Instead, it is what she will wear when she is presented to the Fire Lord. The hem is a good five inches too short and her breasts strain against the chest area. It is the last thing she wants to meet her destiny in.

She tries to hate Zuko, but old mother moon wants something entirely different. It makes Katara uncomfortable; old mother moon doesn't feel quiet as old as she's been lead to believe. And perhaps, worse, is the way Zuko glances at her. He can feel everything she feels—her confusion, her anger, and the humiliating desire coiling in her belly. He flushes red and looks away—he is both parts embarrassed and secretly pleased. She scowls at him. "What are you going to do?" she asks.

It is the first sentence she has spoken all morning.

All of Zuko's emotions cloud over with red hot anger. It takes a second for it to show on his face, the tension in his limbs twisting more tightly than she imagined they could. Zuko is intense and every emotion and action, both positive and negative, seems to be equally affected.

"I don't know." He says from behind clenched teeth.

She's tired of confusion and fear—her own anger erupts. It's about time she knew what sort of fate she'd be walking into. "Why don't you know?" she snaps, "You either give me to your father or you don't."

Zuko's fear darkens, a thread of desperation lacing his voice. He's afraid of his father and Katara almost doesn't blame him. Stories about Fire Lord Ozai have reached even the isolated Southern Water Tribe; the entire world is afraid of the unscrupulous man with the power to reignite the hundred year war.

"You don't understand," he says quietly, "It's not that simple."

"Well then, your highness, you'd be explain it to this uncivilized peasant," she says with saccharine sweetness, "Shouldn't I know whether I'm going to thank you or your father for my untimely demise?"

The candles flare, Zuko's fists clench. He whirls around to face her. "Don't you dare say that again," he growls, "I haven't hurt you and I won't let anybody else do it either."

She quirks a sarcastic smile. "Just your father?"

He snaps. Zuko's face darkens dangerously and he marches to the bed, grabbing her by the collar of her dress. He hauls her up against his chest—both their bodies react and their mutual anger is suddenly laced with desire. "I won't let anyone touch you." Zuko growls, his mouth far too close to hers.

Old mother moon forces herself to the surface—Katara lifts her eyes and stares him down. "Are you sure?" she asks.

Zuko looks away. He tries to release her, but she grabs his hands and hold them tight. "Will you defy your father for me?"

Anguish floods their connection—Zuko looks as though her demand is literally tearing him in two. His eyes meet hers for a moment before darting away. "Katara—

Old mother moon takes charge. "Are you sure?" she demands.

Whatever entity lays beyond Zuko's eyes responds in kind. "Your life is mine," his dragon swears, "and mine is yours."

Then he presses a burning kiss to her mouth.


They are still lying together in bed when the ship is pulled into the harbor. Katara's warm body is flush against his and she feels more exquisite than any woman he has ever been with. She smells like him and beneath that, her scent reminds him of the ocean. Her eyes are closed, but she slowly strokes his hair again and again. Her free hand is intertwined with his, brown against pale white, graceful tapered fingers against calloused digits. Zuko remembers the way she gasped his name when they'd made love again, the way her hair spread around her like a dark halo. But nothing is as pleasing as the way Katara rests against him, limp and boneless; the only emotion clouding their connection is mutual satisfaction.

Zuko would be lying if he'd said he didn't want an entire lifetime of this. Even if his father kills him today it was worth the taste of this perfection.

He finds it strange that a girl can flip the entire world on its head.

Katara shifts slightly and turns her gaze on him. After making love—if that's what the angry animalistic thing they did together can be called—she is all soft edges and smiles. He watches as her gaze grows more serious, her emotions returning to worry and concern. His dragon mourns the way the moment passes so quickly. "Zuko," Katara asks softly, "Why do you have to bring me to your father?"

He leans his forehead against hers. The last thing he wants to do is explain why. "I think I deserve to know why this has happened to me." She adds, just as softly.

This has a greater effect on him than a dozen shouting matches ever could. He sighs, tracing the length of her hip. Katara shivers, but says nothing. Zuko tries, as best he can, to relate the story of a banished prince who reached his manhood while sailing the seas in desperate search of something that no longer existed. It is easier to speak when her eyes are soft and blue, when she listens without judgement. She cries when he describes the agonizing pain he went through to receive his mark of shame and tries to tell him that he hadn't deserved it—how could a boy deserve such a punishment? His mate is wrong, but it warms a spot in Zuko that has been cold for a very long time. But in the end, as they redress themselves, he must admit that he has no idea why anyone would want a mermaid.

They lose themselves in the mundane routine of clothing; Katara helps him with his armor, straightening seams and tying belts. He brushes her hair until it shine-grooming his mate pleases his antsy inner dragon and the way she braids her hair effortlessly is fascinating and distracting to the human part of him. She seems to think the same about tying his topknot. He helps her into her dress and they eat a quick breakfast of tea and breadrolls. Neither of them have much of an appetite.

Then the moment finally arrives and they stand in the belly of the ship, waiting for the bridge to drop.

It isn't clear whose grip is tighter. Zuko clutches her hand and in turn, she squeezes his fingers so tightly he think his bones will pop. Her face is clear of emotion, but he feels her terror. Even with his promise, they both knows that Zuko will be welcomed home so long as there is a mermaid in his possession. At least until his father declares whatever her purpose will be. Neither of them imagine is can be anything positive and Zuko swears to himself that he will do everything in his power to protect her.

Then the bridge drops away, sunlight chasing the darkness away. The humidity surrounds them and it's like a welcoming hug. Zuko inhales and some part of him that has been tight for years simply relaxes. He's home; just the sight of it will be worthy dying for. He squeezes her hand and offers a stilted smile. She bites her lip and looks away. Together, they step out of the belly of the ship and into the humid Fire Nation morning. Zuko blinks against the sunlight and stops short.

The entire harbor is wreathed in while and pale gold banners. The soldiers that stand to greet them are dressed in ceremonial white—the people themselves wear sashes and hats and fans of mourning white and pale gold.

The insignia is a rampant phoenix. There is only one person in his family with that personal crest and it means something equally horrifying and reliving.

His father, the Fire Lord, is dead.


Review for a spoiler ;)