Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own it yet.
AN: 100 reviews! I am so happy! You guys have just made my lifetime, you know that? I'm used to single digit review counts on my story, so wow. And thanks to all of you who took the time to write those long reviews:I remember them, and they help me write better. Thanks also to Incessant Escapist, my wonderful Beta. Andhere'sthe next chappie! WE HAVE NOTYET REACHED THE END!There is at least one more chapter, though I'm planning on a lot more.
Chapter 8: The Fine Line
The fires at the ends of the candles rose and fell with Prince Zuko's breathing. He deepened his inhalation, sending the candles into powerful flares until they licked the ceiling, leaving soft black stains on the steel before he exhaled. He released all his breath, reducing the once magnificent flames to humble cinders, just before he returned them to their former glory. He smiled despite himself as he continued the exercise.
It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
As he continued the meditation, he began to play with the fires, flaring one side while he smothered the other, than reversing it, and having it work in a few other subtle patterns. His uncle urgently opened the door.
"Prince Zuko!" he cried. "We've found him! We've caught sight of the Avatar!" Prince Zuko thoughtfully opened his good eye to study his uncle. If his red face and labored breath were any indication, he had run here from wherever he had been. His dining room, most likely. He flared and dimmed the candles three more times before he got to his feet.
"We've found him!" Uncle Iroh repeated as though his nephew had gone deaf.
"I heard you," Prince Zuko said calmly.
"Well?"
"We're following him, aren't we?" he asked.
"Yes..."
"Then there's no problem." He quickly walked from the room, barking orders at the crew as they passed him. By the time he reached the top deck, the catapult was already being put into place and loaded with pitch.
"Take aim!" he commanded, and the weapon was shifted to face the flying bison. Prince Zuko thrust out his hand and ignited the pitch with a long, elegant flare.
"FIRE!" Chains rattled and wind roared as the flaming projectile took to the air. The flying bison twisted in flight, trying to evade the weapon, though a few flecks still managed to imbed themselves in its fur. Two figures dressed in blue-- Katara and Sokka, as the Prince's spyglass revealed--hurriedly extinguished the small fires. Prince Zuko smiled in satisfaction.
The catapult was reloaded and aimed, the soldiers waited only for his signal.
"Move the target to the left," he ordered. The soldiers looked puzzled, but they obeyed nonetheless. He issued another impressive flare and ignited the tar, and a moment later the missile was launched. The bison turned sharply to the right to avoid being hit, and raced to the east in a straight line. Prince Zuko's smirk only widened.
The men were beginning to set the catapult up for another round, but he lowered his hand to halt them.
"...Sir?" one of the soldiers said, his puzzlement growing.
"Follow them, but keep the catapult ready," Prince Zuko said, before turning and walking confidently away.
"This is unusual," Uncle Iroh noted from just next to the hatch. In his hand was a fan, which was vigorously blowing the foul smelling smoke away from the retired general's face. Prince Zuko raised an eyebrow.
"What is?" he asked quietly.
"You," Uncle Iroh said simply. "You deliberately abstain from firing at the Avatar. You are leaving the deck while he is within sight. And you haven't lost your temper yet. In fact, you're smiling," he mused. "Are you feeling well?"
"Very well, Uncle," Prince Zuko said. "Things are going exactly as I planned." He entered the hatch.
"Would you care to elaborate?" his uncle asked, following him into the steel hallway.
"Trying to shoot that oversized furball out of the sky is close to impossible," Prince Zuko explained. "And most likely the Avatar would flee to the nearest island and hide there until his bison can recover. But that animal needs to rest sometime. If we can keep it herded away from any islands long enough, we can drive it into exhaustion. And then the Avatar will have no way to escape."
"There was an island to the west of us," Uncle Iroh acknowledged, recalling the map his nephew had consulted on the way to the deck. "What do you intend to do until the bison exhausts itself?"
"Train, Uncle. I intend to train."
Prince Zuko was true to his word. When he reached the training hall he began the exercises that a dozen tutors had taught him. Uncle Iroh watched in interest, adding comments and criticisms as he deemed appropriate.
There were surprisingly few of the latter.
Prince Zuko was unusually focused, his blows were perfectly controlled, yet unrestrained. The flames that issued from the attacks were drawn expertly drawn from his breath, rather than from muscle, as his old habit would have dictated. He corrected the few errors as soon as they were mentioned, until his every movement seemed flawless.
Uncle Iroh smiled. "An impressive improvement, Prince Zuko," he said. "I thought the girl would have a good effect on you, but I didn't realize it would be so great."
Prince Zuko froze in the middle of a punch, the flame that spiraled from his fist dissipated into a stunted ember.
"What?" he asked, too shocked to sound angry.
"The girl...what was her name?...Oh, yes. Katara, wasn't it? The Waterbender girl."
"What?" Prince Zuko repeated.
"Come now! You didn't think I wouldn't notice you sneaking away every night, did you?"
"How...how did you know her name?" The young Prince's voice was between a breath and a hiss.
"I followed you," Uncle Iroh said as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "A clever trick. I recall doing the same when I was young." He chuckled good-naturedly and left the room before his nephew could react.
A trick.
Yes. A truly ingenious trick.
Prince Zuko had lived a hard life in the last two years. His exile had shown him the very meaning of pain, of disgrace, of failure. But as a prince, as what and who he was, he was forbidden to react. He could not sink into despair. He could not show fear. He could do nothing. The only emotion allowed him was the only one acknowledged as the forbearer of true power. Anger. He embraced that anger, if only because that was all that remained in his control. But he could not undo what was steadily happening to him.
Zuko's mind was constantly spinning with memory and shame. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father's face as he delivered that scarring blow. Every night was plagued by hellish nightmares of agony and failure. Whenever he meditated, whenever there was silence, he could hear their voices, the generals plotting the deaths of a thousand innocents, his father's outraged command. And Zhou's words: if he wanted you back, he would have called for you long ago. Avatar or no Avatar. Every time he tried to spar or fight he found himself once more on the floor of an arena, begging for his father's forgiveness.
Zuko feared that he was losing his mind.
But he kept that to himself.
After all, who would listen to him? His uncle? Iroh, who had shown him mercy when nobody else would? Who sheltered him when his own father had abandoned him? Who still offered him meager praise, in hopes of softening the crushing blows of failure? Would the little respect Uncle Iroh still had for the young prince survive the threat of insanity? Or would he turn his back at last, and leave his nephew completely alone.
Prince Zuko hadn't doubted it. And so he kept it to himself, allowing every cruel thought, every fear and doubt, to fester within him until he was nearly consumed by it. It almost destroyed him completely.
His salvation had come in the form of a necklace. A simple object, yet strangely elegant, made from silk and stone. He had recognized it as belonging to Katara. The girl, as he had known her at the time.
Originally his plan had been the obvious: trade the necklace for information about the Avatar. But the girl had proved to be mulishly stubborn, and twice denied him. She had made it glaringly obvious that she had no interest in the trade. With that realization, the necklace became nearly worthless in his hands.
Nearly.
Prince Zuko had almost turned to threatening the girl when a new thought had occurred to him. Between his scar, his exile, and his brutal temper, he had become less than popular with the gentler sex. Not that he had time for flirting anyway, but he couldn't change the fact that, despite his responsibilities and burdens, he was still only a sixteen-year-old boy. And he couldn't help but overhear members of the crew as they lounged around during peaceful times. He had no use for girls. But that fact did not soften the occasional edge of...what was it? Remorse?...remorse that he had never kissed one, that he had never felt a real connection to another being?
Something that was quickly amended.
And why not? It was, after all, a substantial bargain: he had gathered experience in exchange for an otherwise worthless piece of cloth and rock. The act would have been severely less appealing if there had been anything else he could have gained from it. It was, in hindsight, an act committed solely out of curiosity. And he wasn't disappointed: the kiss had felt good. Very good.
When he had discovered her sleeping on a beach soon after, a new plan was forged. A cunning plan, subliminal enough to unfold on its own.
Starvation had made her willing to listen to his pains and complaints. More than willing: she became curious, and personally sought the facts he was unsure of, she asked him questions, offered him sympathy. And surely enough, it worked. The haunting nightmares dwindled and left him. The mocking, murderous voices subsided into silence. And that horrifying image of his father, seared into his mind for all eternity, began to fade. Focus returned with his peace of mind: meditation became relaxing and calm, as it should have been. Fighting became easier, his blows fell stronger, faster, with more accuracy, and his control over flames advanced to an exhilarating degree.
When the girl told him she couldn't come again, he was only slightly annoyed. He could still improve, he hadn't reached perfection yet, but he was satisfied with his current results nonetheless.
But he didn't tell her that. Because if opportunity presented itself again in the future, she would need to be completely oblivious to her use. Instead he recalled her original purpose. The loss of her previous fear towards him had done no harm to the pleasure of her kiss: it had made it much sweeter.
Prince Zuko dreamed that night.
It wasn't an old nightmare.
It was no premonition of triumph or victory.
It was a simple vision.
In the dream, he saw Katara. She was at rest, sitting placidly against the trunk of a tree. A stream wound across the ground like a sleeping dragon, creeping just close enough to her side for her to dip her slender fingers in the sparkling water. Her eyes were half closed, as though she was listening to soft music. Her hair was disturbed by a faint caress of wind. A gentle smile danced on her lips.
Zuko knealt at her side and took her hand in his. Katara looked up, but she did nothing to hinder him.
He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Prince Zuko punched at the empty air, sending a blaze across the sparring room. He delivered a kick immediately after, repeating the motion again and again to lock the feeling into his muscles. The task was simple, and his mind began to wander. Before he could stop it, his thoughts settled on their own accord.
Katara.
He kicked harder, farther, faster, trying to drown out the thought with the sounds of roaring flames.
Her hair…it's so soft, so silky, so perfect…and rich with her smell…
He shook his head to clear it as he touched down from the series of attacks, and an instant later he erupted into a barrage of punches.
Her eyes, as deep as the sea, the color of a misty dawn. Always sparkling with laughter and innocence…
Focus. FOCUS! He commanded his mind. Train. You have to find the Avatar. You have to beat him. Nothing else matters. That was the key. He sent a dozen blows at practice dummy, mentally painting the Avatar's annoying face on the figure. That little kid wouldn't stand a chance. There would be no escape for him. That's all that mattered. Several minutes passed as his thoughts focused on his goal: get to the Avatar. Challenge him. Beat him. Beat him.
Her smile was so kind, so gentle. And so…
He kicked at the dummy, engulfing it in a sea of flame.
Katara…
STOP THINKING ABOUT HER! He commanded his rebellious thoughts. Forget her! Forget her! She is nothing. Nothing but a pawn. A tool. I used her and now I'm done with her and I never have to look at her again.
But the way she held me…
It doesn't matter! She's gone now! It doesn't matter anymore! Just forget about her!
Forget? Forget what? The softness of her touch? The taste of her mouth? I… The thought formed gradually, deliberately, and Prince Zuko felt his sweat-drenched body slow and finally halt as the realization dawned on him. She cared about me. She honestly cared about me. His body became rigid as the memory flooded his mind. His pulse quickened. And I…I care about her. His mind raced back to the night that Katara had left him for good.
Why had he not recognized what had happened? Had he not understood it? Had he not wanted to understand? He knew that he was using her, that he was taking advantage of her hunger and her curiosity and…her affection? Her genuine kindness?
He shook his head, trying to clear it, and backed away from the sparring dummy. Staggered, really, as the effect of his ruthless practice took hold. His back touched the wall and he slowly slid to the ground, his aching legs no longer willing to support his weight. Uncle Iroh entered the room and saw his nephew, completely exhausted, gasping for breath on the ground.
"You really shouldn't push yourself so hard, Prince Zuko," he said. "I know you're excited, but you still have limits. Go and clean up. And I'll make you a cup of tea, all right?" Prince Zuko glanced at his uncle and nodded before pulling himself to his feet.
