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Notes: y'all are 127% the best. Please keep doing what you're doing! I live for this stuff.
Chapter 9
Kiwea wakes up to screaming each night.
He doesn't know who it is, at least not until a guard gets so fed up with it that he hears him stomp past his cell to one a few doors down. The steel barrier clangs open and the guard shrills, "Would you shut up, you crippled freak!"
When the screams continue, he hears more guards wrestle the prisoner down—he hears the thrashing and the muffled shrieks and something that sounds like roaring fire; Kiwea briefly thanks the spirits that he isn't losing his mind like some people here in the prison.
The screaming happens every night. The mornings are filled with sitting in a dark, warm, musty room, waiting for something interesting to happen other than "Where is the chief of the Southern Water Tribe?" because La, he doesn't know, stop asking—and it isn't like he'll tell them, anyway.
The afternoons are dull. They are let out for only a half hour each day. Kiwea knows better than to show off his strength in front of the guards. He pretends to be weak, as though the prison life is slowly encroaching on his mind like it does to the prisoner who screams each night.
The nights are repetitive. That is, until Kiwea falls asleep and is woken up again by screaming.
But about a week and a half since his arrival at the prison—he's been counting, of course he has—he takes the time to observe the prisoners around him when they're let out for a brief amount of time. He isn't let out at long as the others. He assumes it's something to do with his "status"—he's a little more important.
A guard walks and mutters the words "cripple" and "deformed" rather bitterly, glancing back behind her back to narrow her eyes at someone masked by certain shadows. Kiwea frowns slightly and watches her disappear before his eyes turn on the person in the corner.
It's the teenager with only one arm.
He looks worse than before, Kiwea notices, and that's saying something. The boy barely has any meat on his bones and though he's fairly tall for his age, he looks as though he'll break if anyone lands even a finger on him. Several bruises show on his tan skin and his light brown hair is caked with grime. But his eyes—eyes that are shaped to house fire—are blank and soulless, and his cheekbones stand sharply against his face, pulling his skin taut around his eyes. He looks years older.
He also looks a little like Sokka, Chief Hakoda's son, who stayed behind to watch after the tribe after the warriors left. But Sokka is full and healthy and made of life—at least, when Kiwea last saw him. This boy is dead.
Kiwea stands and walks over to him, taking care not to attract too much attention. The boy's eyes don't move as Kiwea comes to a stop directly in front of him.
"Hey," says Kiwea, noting the twitching of the boy's fingers on his one arm. "You doing alright?"
The boy's fingers twitch. Otherwise, there's no reply.
Let's try this again, thinks Kiwea. He sighs and plops to his bottom, sitting directly in front of the boy with his legs crossed tribal style. In their faded brown getups, worn at the edges, they can pass as siblings, though the boy's hair is far too light to be Water Tribe. His eyes match his tan skin, however, only a few shades lighter than Kiwea's complexion. "What can I do for you, Brother?"
The boy's eyes slowly lock onto his.
Something like dread fills Kiwea's stomach. This boy is far too old for his age, has seen far too much, has been through hell and back. Even the chief doesn't have these eyes. La, even the chief's wife doesn't have these eyes, and the life disappeared from her world years ago, when her daughter was taken.
"You're new," says the boy in a dry whisper. "Aren't you?"
"A week and a half," says Kiwea. "I won't let the days get the best of me."
"You're smart," says the boy. "I should have done that." His eyes look past Kiwea now, into something unseen.
Kiwea twiddles his thumbs. "What's your name, Brother?"
"Brother…" The word sounds foreign to Kiwea's ears from the boy's tongue. "My name? I think it's Rei."
He thinks it's Rei, Kiwea wonders to himself. A Fire Nation name. "It's nice to meet you, Brother Rei," says Kiwea. The best way to make friends is to call them Brother. They are, in spirit, brothers. Any prisoner here—any enemy of the Fire Nation—is his brother. "My name's Kiwea. You might've seen me before, on my second day here."
"I don't remember," says Rei. He blinks and twists his wrist slowly before letting it go slack against his knee. Something rattles—his legs are chained. That's weird. He doesn't seem like much of a threat.
"Do you mind if I ask a few questions, Brother?" says Kiwea, opting to get as much out of the conversation as he can. Out of all the prisoners here, this boy—Rei—seems like the only other one subject to interrogation. Maybe he can get some answers.
Rei nods once.
"How did you lose your arm?" Immediately, Kiwea curses at himself. That isn't a question he should be asking, not yet. It very well may be a touchy subject.
But Rei only stares forward, as though the question went through one ear and soared out the other. "War," he says. "Siege. Infection." The words are short and clipped. It's a simple explanation, but they give the boy more attitude than anything he's said in the last three minutes.
Kiwea wants to leave the subject alone, but he also needs some more insight—the boy is a firebender. He remembers this fact well. So if he attained the injury in war, then he must have been a part of the Fire Nation army. Maybe he can tell me more.
"So you were at the Siege of Ba Sing Se?" says Kiwea. He's only heard stories of it. Chief Hakoda always spoke of the siege with clenched teeth and hard fists.
Rei doesn't move. Kiwea tries to hold back some frustration—working with the boy was like working with a rock. Lifeless, almost useless. You can't judge a brother like that, Kiwea reminds himself. What did the chief teach you? A brother is not defined by his appearance. He is defined by his intentions.
"Do you mind if I ask you why you were imprisoned, Brother?" asks Kiwea finally.
Something shifts on the boy's face. Before Kiwea can understand what's happening, sparks fly from Rei's mouth and then the boy is breathing fire in a fit of rage.
This is the screaming boy. This is the cripple.
"IT'S HER FAULT," he screams as guards are suddenly all around them. The chains around his legs rattle and fire spurts from the palm of his left hand. Kiwea has a sudden vision of being back in the water, fire surrounding him as he suffocates, a furious firebender at his throat with breath as hot as the sun. "IT'S HER FAULT! WHY CAN'T SHE LEAVE ME ALONE? I HATE HER—SHE TOOK JAO RA FROM ME, SHE TOOK MY LIFE FROM ME, ALL I SEE AT NIGHT ARE THE BODIES—I HATE HER! I CAN'T FIGHT BECAUSE OF HER, I LOST MY ARM BECAUSE OF HER—I HATE HER—I HATE HER—IT'S HER FAULT—"
The guards clamp metal around his left fist and force his mouth open, shoving a rag into his mouth that begins to burn as soon as they do. They hoist him by his shoulder and legs as Rei screams fire into his cloth and the embers fly from his mouth as the rag sits on his tongue in flames. They drag him away and the boy continues to scream.
"Sir, there are Fire Nation ships on the horizon."
"Give me that." Zuko snatches the scope from his soldier's hand and stares at the small specks of black in the distance, barely visible through the clouds. A second later, Katara hears him curse. She's never heard him curse so violently before. A consequence of life at sea, she thinks. "It's him," says Zuko. "Hot on our trail, too."
She's learned enough about Zhao to know that Zuko hates him like Zuko hates the bandage on his own face, if not worse. "Will he be following us like this the entire time?"
"I'll bet everything he will," says Zuko. "Either to find the avatar first or to come up with an accident that'll make it impossible for me to find him."
He doesn't expand on the "accident". Katara chooses not to respond.
"Where should we go, your highness?" says the soldier.
Zuko frowns. He turns to Iroh, who is standing patiently at his side as always. Iroh only smiles. "Your call, Nephew."
"Continue to the Northern Air Temple, then," says Zuko. "For now, we just have to focus on searching the temples. Although…" A peculiar look crosses his face. If Katara has to guess, he looks almost… thoughtful. "Head for the temple," he says again. "But I'll be back with more instructions later. Uncle, come with me." He pauses for a minute, and then says, "You too, waterbender."
She follows him below deck with no complaints.
"If he's going to follow us like this," says Zuko hotly, "then we're going to leave fake clues behind us."
The command comes as soon as Iroh places a steaming mug of tea in front of the prince. Surprised, Iroh looks at Zuko, as does Katara, and Zuko only says, "What? It's the smartest thing to do."
"It's sabotage, Prince Zuko," says Iroh, picking up another mug and pouring fresh tea into it.
"How in the four nations is it sabotage?"
Katara frowns as she accepts a mug of tea from Iroh. With the cold seeping into the ship day after day and night after night, the tea is more welcome than during the summer. "Thanks. But I'm also confused. I think leaving a trail of clues to mislead Zhao would be a good idea."
Zuko looks almost pleased.
"You must win the chase fair and square," says Iroh, shaking his head. "Manipulation is not the way to find your honor."
"But it's what my father would do," says Zuko, frowning.
Something in Katara snaps. Somehow, she's forgotten that Zuko is doing this for his father's good graces. His father, Fire Lord Ozai. His father, the Fire Lord. His father, the one who was going to throw her back in the prisons. His father, the bane of all evil. "Oh," she says, higher pitched with that realization, "That's why you're going to do it."
"Why else?" says Zuko, sensing her sudden shift in tone. His golden eye narrows and his nose wrinkles. "Don't get nasty with me, waterbender!"
"Or what? You'll send me off to your dad with a little ribbon? It's what he'd like, right?"
"Sure," says Zuko, folding his arms over his chest indignantly. "If that means he'll take me back, then yeah, I'd do it! But what he wants with a peasant like you is beyond me!"
Katara stands suddenly and the tea in her mug instantly freezes. Out of the corner of her eye, Iroh is covering his face with his hand. Shame washes through her.
"Thank you for the tea, Iroh," she says, bowing to him. "But unfortunately, I can't be in a room with your high and mighty nephew at the moment. As for you," she says, turning cold eyes on Zuko, "why don't you just leave me at the Northern Air Temple with all the other clues you're going to write up? I'm sure Zhao would love to deliver me to your dad."
Zuko pales right before she turns to leave. As soon as she swivels on her heel, he says, "Wait! Wait. Agni. Wait. Fine."
Her feet stop moving. She should leave anyway, just to prove a point, but she knows Iroh is sitting there wishing for a peaceful agreement.
"Can you turn around?" comes Zuko's voice from behind her. "I can't talk to you if you don't bother listening."
"I'm listening," she says grudgingly. She turns back to face him before mimicking his position at the small table like she'd been doing before. It's for the best, anyway, reasoning with him. If she's going to be stuck with him on this ship for La-knows-how-long, they need to be able to get through a discussion without breaking out in a fight. Especially since someone's feelings get hurt, she thinks nastily about Zuko before grimacing and forcing the thought out of her head.
"Say I won't go through with my fake clue plan," says Zuko. "Say I need to come up with something else to get Zhao off my trail. What would you suggest, waterbender?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You're a waterbender, right?" His visible eye rolls. Beside them, Iroh chuckles and pours himself another mug of tea. Katara sneaks a glance at him and finds she was right about Iroh wanting a peaceful agreement—he is smiling, apparently happy that the problem has been resolved.
"I would just… keep straight," says Katara. "Like Iroh said."
"But you were with me in the beginning."
"That was before I knew why you suggested it."
Zuko exhales steam. "So that's your only other suggestion?" he asks tersely, clearly doing his best to avoid the previous subject.
"Well, for now, yeah," says Katara. "The only other thing I can think of is you actually fighting him, but I don't know how bad this guy is for you to win. Not that I'm saying you're bad," she adds quickly, seeing Zuko turn red, "but that since he's a commander, he's probably really good."
"You know, Prince Zuko," says Iroh thoughtfully. Zuko's head turns to his uncle in anticipation. "I wonder what would happen if you picked up a nonbending fighting technique."
"You mean like swordplay?" says Zuko. "I used to. Back home." He frowns. "I was pretty good—but I was supposed to be better at bending."
Somehow, the mention of swordplay interests her. "I never saw your sword practices."
"Master Piandao taught me, but my father didn't like it," says Zuko, flushing. "So he kept it kind of a secret. Except Azula knew, as always, as did my mother. But no one else did. Maybe if my father liked it, I—"
"Prince Zuko, please do not dwell on the past," says Iroh. "Dwell on the present. For instance, think about continuing your swordplay. If no one knows about your practices, you will have an advantage against the enemies. Many benders are weak once they are not in a position where they can bend. You can use this to your advantage, perhaps one day against Commander Zhao."
Zuko taps his finger on the table. "You think so?"
"I do," says Iroh. He smiles. Suddenly, it's as though Lu Ten is sitting right beside him, giving both Zuko and Katara the advice of a lifetime. Do not dwell on the past, thinks Katara. Dwell on the present. That must be what Iroh's doing. He's letting Lu Ten go for Zuko.
"But I can't get a teacher!" exclaims Zuko, frustrated. He blows air out of his mouth loudly and groans. "What a pain."
"I'm sure there are quite a few soldiers on your ship who know how to work with swords," says Iroh. "Do you have your own sword?"
A weird look appears on Zuko's face. "Yeah, I brought…" But then he stops, as though pained.
Both Iroh and Katara wait, the former more patient than the latter, and then Katara says, "So you have a sword?"
"Y-yes," says Zuko. "I brought… I brought my mother's."
Nonplussed, Iroh says, "Where did you find Lady Ursa's sword? I didn't know she was even trained."
"Swords," corrects Zuko, resigned. Now that he's gotten this far, it's clear he has to explain everything. "Master Piandao taught me with dao swords. And after mom left—" He pauses, shutting his eye, before inhaling. "Well, I went to her room and after a little while, found her swords. I guess she was trained."
Katara doesn't ask who "Master Piandao" is, mostly because it doesn't appear important, but she gathers from all the talk that he is a famed swordsman. Sokka would like that, she thinks to herself.
"It makes sense," says Iroh, pondering aloud. "She is not a bender and she has had her toil and trouble in the past. As Fire Lady, she must have always been on guard."
"So you have your mother's swords with you?" asks Katara. Lucky, she thinks. All I have is my necklace.
"Yeah," says Zuko. "But I hid them. Should I start practicing with them again?"
"Do you feel as though you need more guidance?" says Iroh.
"No," says Zuko. "I have it all down. I just need more time practicing, especially in the open where I won't be afraid of someone seeing me."
Iroh pours another mug of tea for Zuko, who doesn't say anything else. He only brings a hand up and pulls at his bandage slightly, his mouth twitching as he does, and Katara asks, "Does it hurt?"
Zuko stiffens before he replies, "No. It's just—sensitive."
He doesn't say anything else and she doesn't extend an offer. Instead, Iroh says, "When will you take off your bandage?"
When Katara looks back at Zuko, the prince's face is frozen in a look of bewilderment. Almost as though he's never thought of taking it off.
"You are going to take it off, right?" says Katara.
"Of—of course I will!" says Zuko. "I just—" He fumbles at it, almost pulling it the bandage off completely; his mouth downturns and he holds it in place.
Katara almost tells him to just "drop it already" when Iroh stands and says, "Katara. Let's go see if I can find you a better room to sleep in now that we're back."
So she stands, picks up her newly refilled mug of tea, and follows Iroh out. When she glances at Zuko over her shoulder, he's readjusting the bandage on his face with a glare at the floor.
Her new room is, thankfully, not an empty closet. It's actually Gu's room, who tells her and Iroh that he's been sleeping in the actual infirmary and that he doesn't need this room, so she gladly takes it. It's still small. But then again, the soldiers sleep in bunked rooms, so she's lucky.
"Iroh," she says before he leaves. "Thank you."
"You are welcome, my dear," he says, smiling. "But why are you thanking me?"
"Well… because if it weren't for you, I'd still be locked up," she says. "You got me out and kept me out. Why did you?"
Iroh sighs. "Sometimes, my dear Katara, we cannot explain our actions. Only the spirits understand our destinies." He lets a beat of silence wave through his words before he adds, "Destiny is a funny thing, Katara. Perhaps you will understand that better than my nephew."
He bows then, shutting the door to Katara's new room—rather, Gu's old room—and leaves her to her own.
"So what does it say, sir?"
"It says to bring back the avatar," says Zhao. "Along with the petty waterbender that Prince Zuko picked up and took with him."
Beside him, the captain shifts. "What does the Fire Lord want with her?"
"Don't you know? She's the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe."
A frown creeps up against the captain's temples, moving his brows together. "The Northern Tribe is full of them. What's the big deal?"
"Captain," sighs Zhao, "tell me. If you had the chief's daughter in your possession, don't you think you would want her back?"
"What? Where did they find that out?"
"Prisoners break, Captain," murmurs Zhao. "Sooner or later, prisoners break. No matter what nation they're from. Even if they're from our own… they break."
The captain says nothing else; he only stands in place beside Zhao as Zhao brings the scope to his eyes, setting his sights on the speck in the distance. Prize one, he thinks to himself, staring at the prince's ship. And prize two will be coming shortly.
"I want orders to begin building prison holds on the colonies," says Zhao. "Wherever the avatar is, we will capture and hold him until we can send him back to the Fire Nation. I won't allow some thirteen year old failure of a prince get a hold of the avatar before me."
"Yes, sir," says the captain. "And where shall we search first?"
"Wherever his royal highness leads us."
"Of course, sir."
hmmmmmmmmm Zhao, you sneaky bastard.
Y'all are okay with Rei, right? A lot of people are pretty averse to OCs, and I tried to make him as far away as possible from a typical OC character (who kinda just shows up, helps out, and leaves/is praised). How about Kiwea? Kiwea is kind of like someone I imagine Sokka would have probably followed around a lot—he would have been attached to someone older than him other than just his dad, someone who was a warrior. At least, that's how I think.
Don't worry, I won't introduce any more OCs. Honestly, that's about it, with the exception of someone maybe in the far future of the fic.
Oh and by the way (this is kind of important): I'm completely disregarding the comics regarding Zuko's mother. To me, those comics did not happen. (I'm actually a pretty avid Urzai shipper too. Ja.) The only thing that's the same is how Azulon died (meaning Ursa gave Ozai poison and left), but otherwise, she never knew Ikem and she never had another kid and she never changed her face. Honestly, I'd think that a woman who loved her children so much would keep her memories about them. In a life full of shit with Ozai, you'd think she'd treasure something. So yes, those comics will be thoroughly ignored. (Ursa is, however, very important. Honestly I don't know why Zuko just took up swordplay. His dad doesn't appear to do it, neither do his forefathers, and Azula doesn't do it—it's a very unique trait that I think Zuko would have gotten from someone so I dragged Ursa into the whole thing.)
Review please! If you guys have questions, I'll be more than happy to do a little reply section at the end of each chapter. I can't promise how much plot I'll reveal but I will answer stuff like character traits, contemplations, etc. Also, how many of you are okay with this fic going M when the characters are older? This does not include full out sex scenes (although it can get pretty close). I don't think I could ever do a full lemon. But details may get a little more graphic and language more vulgar. Lemme know. Sorry for the long A/Ns lately!
