Disclaimer: I don't own ATLA or any of its characters.

Notes: chapter 14 has been edited due to slight OOC-ness (august 9, 2015). thanks SO much for the warm reception of that last chapter. Some of you PMed me with a question about Ming. yup, you guys guessed it. Ming is the guard from the series who treated Iroh nicely while he was in prison—we see her in the day of black sun episode (part 1).

One more thing: in a few chapters, this fic will most likely change to a mature rating. Again, not because of smut (although sexual situations can be strong), but because of language and other material. Now, onward!

Chapter 14

三年後

(Three Years Later)

A few twists and the screw is lying in her hand along with the other two; she shoves them under the mattress and straightens, making sure the door is still in place despite the hinges being unscrewed. Satisfied, she ushers the cold seawater out the tiny hole in the corner of her small window before inhaling deeply.

Every time she does this, she risks being found by one of the guards. But the rush of adrenaline only fuels her. She's good at it, this sneaking around business. No one can tell her otherwise.

They're all asleep, being from the Fire Nation. They can't stay up too late or they'll be weak with fatigue. But her—she revels in the strength that pours into her at night. So she carefully pulls the door away from its hinges, balancing it carefully as she slides past it, and puts it right back in place. Then, looking to her left and right, she shuts her eyes, feels for the water past the window, ushers it again through the hole in the window—she's memorized its location—and under the door before freezing it into a key and making sure the door is locked again. When she's done, she pushes it back under the door and back into the sea.

She's out. Finally, Katara allows herself to smile in victory.

The night is colder than most she's experienced in the ship, stuck in her room. Many nights, once or twice a week, she'll hear the telltale tsungi horn in the dead of the night, accompanying the waves that carry the ship. Those nights are the nights most of the crew and guards are awake for the music. She'll sleep through it—or, at least, she'll listen, but she definitely isn't allowed up to participate. If there's anything the Banished Prince of Evil is good at, it's keeping his word. Shivering in distaste, she tries not to think about him—all she feels is tight betrayal winding her stomach.

Tonight is supposed to be music night, but it's so cold up on deck that Katara suspects they've put it aside for once. It had been weirdly quiet outside her door, but after an hour or two of waiting—just to make sure the guards were out of her way—she decided to head to her usual spot in the ship. Now, she's ducking past corners and keeping her ears open for wandering guards (who seem to be nonexistent—where are they?). Katara's long since memorized their locations, but she reminds herself that it can't help to be safe.

When Katara reaches her usual location, she checks to make sure it's unlocked. Sure enough, it is. Grinning, she enters it and shuts the door with barely a sound.

The room is bright. Not with torches or sunlight, but with the glow of the moon filtering through the long window. It's a much better room to practice bending in than her little hole in the wall. She walks quickly to the window and unlatches it, pulling one side of it away and feeling the sea far below beckoning to her.

Like every other night, Katara spends hours bending sea water. For two years she's practiced in this room, somehow evading guards—though she's almost run into Hua and Maji a couple times—and wanderers and even the Banished Prince of Evil, who sometimes haunts his ship with his Evil Stomps, popping into random rooms out of his Evil Boredom, scouring the ship with his Evil Ponytail, being the typical Evil Jerk he is. At least, that's what she guesses. She only hears him sometimes. She hasn't, not once, seen him since the day he made her a prisoner. Good, she thinks to herself, watching the waves below her. She thinks the first thing she'll do if she sees him is sock him in the face. Or throw up on his Evil Boots. Both are great ideas.

Katara breathes in deeply and opens her eyes to the water in front of her, swirling and moving with her command. She pulls it toward her, coating her arms with water, and stands poised with long whips of water at her whim.

She's gotten good at bending. She's gotten very good. After spending a year in her room and pulling in water from the hole in her window and practicing with that, she got good enough to manipulate the lock with her water and to sneak out. And for the past two years following that, she practiced here, where the sea was right at her disposal. Sometimes when they stopped at port, she'd take leave for an hour, making sure Ming—the only guard with whom she spoke regularly—had just left her room so that Katara would be certain she wouldn't be coming back soon. All it does, though, is make Katara bitter at the fact that she has to pretend to stay "locked away". But she does it so she isn't stranded somewhere in the Earth Kingdom. She has to wait. If she wants to get to the South Pole, she has to wait.

Every once in a while, she thinks about what might happen if she sinks the ship. But then she thinks that might not be a good idea.

Besides, she's gotten rather fond of Ming, the guard who brought her cups of water with every other meal. And, of course, there's Iroh, who she's seen occasionally. He's visited her several times in her room, giving her updates on the ports that Zhao is building on the western coast of the Earth Kingdom. Every time Katara asks Iroh about leaving her room, though, he only shakes his head and says something about the time not being right, or whatever. And then he gives her a knowing look which halfway convinces Katara that he knows she doesn't actually stay locked up in her room, which only gives her a reason to appreciate the fact that he doesn't say anything to his Evil Nephew. She can't wish him ill—everything she learned about waterbending that's helped her, she learned from him.

A draft of cold air blows through the open window. Katara shivers. It isn't supposed to be so cold, she thinks. In fact, they're at the Fire Nation colonies off of the Earth Kingdom—Ming told her earlier.

But it's the winter solstice.

Suddenly, Katara narrows her eyes. Her motions become swift and dangerous, angry with the sudden increase in her heart rate. Oh, yes, she knows what today is. Today's the Banished Prince of Evil's birthday. The same prince who sentenced her as a prisoner on his own ship. A prisoner! When he was banished from his own nation! In essence, he's a criminal, and he has no right to treat Katara the way he's doing. And hadn't they been—hadn't they been friends, a little bit, before he went off and sealed her away in her room? (The fact that she can get out every night isn't what matters—it's the idea of it, the fact that Prince Evil even had the nerve to put her in a room and claim he was doing it so she wouldn't be in the way. Ooh, just thinking about it makes her blood boil.)

No wonder music night's off, thinks Katara, turning the end of her whips into ice and shooting ice daggers into the night sky, out of the window. (That way, it doesn't make a sound on the walls of the room, and no one suspects her of anything.) He hates it. They only listened because it's his birthday.

After a couple hours, she shuts the window and leans against the wall in exhaustion. Her limbs are tired—she's overworked and ready to collapse, and she curses herself in her head. How is she supposed to get back to her room in quiet when she can barely keep her wheezing to a minimum?

Katara grants herself a few minutes of respite before she listens for guards. Safe. But still, it's been weirdly quiet. Maybe most of them are off the ship and are running errands at the port.

She leaves the room, ducks past stairwells, bends around corners to avoid the scarce sleepy guards, and enters her room without a sound. Using the seawater outside her window, she locks the door once she's inside and uses ice to spin the screws back into place in the hinges. Before long, she falls onto her bed and lets sleep consume her.

The morning greets her with a giggle.

Literally.

Katara opens her eyes and rubs a hand over her face, trying to push out the sound of some woman giggling her head off in the hallway. Spirits, who is that?

There are a few catcalls down the hall, faint ones that cause Katara's eyes to roll up to the ceiling in distaste. She sits up and meets her tired gaze in the mirror barely three feet away from bed.

Over the years, her hair has grown out—even the bits that the Banished Prince of Evil singed off—and trails down her back. Since her beads were melted off when her hair was burned, she doesn't have anything else to tie her hair back with, so it's loose around her face and often catches in her mouth when she's asleep.

"Dumb hair," Katara mutters to herself, dragging her fingers along her cheek and pulling the strands from her mouth. Then she blinks and stares at herself again.

She's taller. Her face has thinned out somewhat, her eyes smaller, her knuckles more prominent on her hands. Her red clothes—the same outfit she's been wearing since before she ran off, her servant clothes—are too small and uncomfortably tight in certain areas. Notably her waist and chest. Which, she notes with some pride, is getting slightly bigger. I'm growing up, mom.

The giggling starts up again. This time only a few steps away from her door. Katara's head whips to the sound and her ears strain for an explanation.

But the clack of heels indicates the woman's departure. Katara sighs and turns to the window, staring out at the waves below. She almost forgets about the giggling woman when a voice sounds from down the hall.

It's a guard. It sounds like . . . Tuzen. "How was your night, Prince Zuko?"

Nothing, from what she can hear. Prince Jerk isn't around her room. Katara feels her expression darken at his name.

Then Tuzen speaks again. It's peculiar because Tuzen chuckles, something that sounds a little too familiar with whatever they're talking about. It's also peculiar because Katara doesn't think she's ever heard him laugh. "Well, sir, it was your seventeenth birthday last night. It's only tradition."

A pause. Katara's eyes narrow.

"We'll be leaving soon, sir. Did you give your companion some Unagi Scale tea?"

Katara blinks. Companion? Unagi Scale tea? She's heard plenty of things about tea from Ming, who tells her about the different brews of tea Iroh knows how to make. Unagi Scale tea is . . . is . . .

"Very good, sir. We knew it was a good choice to take you out to the tavern for your birthday. You're of age, now, and you are a man."

. . . is a contraceptive.

Katara nearly throws up.

"Of course, sir. Yes, sir."

Another pause. Then—"Ah—I'm sorry, Prince Zuko, I'm afraid I don't . . . you mean to say . . . "

Katara tries to stop listening. Really, she does. It doesn't work. Rather, her ears tune in, listen to the scrawling of Tuzen's boots on the metal floor of the ship. All of it just makes her more annoyed, but she can't stop listening.

"Of . . . course . . . I'll just . . . yes, sir, we will be up on deck in several minutes . . . " And then Tuzen trails off and something clambers down the hall and then there are footsteps coming toward her room, past her door, down to the end, some indiscernible murmurs—and then they're right at her door again and the lock clicks.

Tuzen—how long has it been? At least a year since he's last been at her door, handing her a tray of food silently—is staring at her from the threshold of her tiny room. Cell. Prison. Whatever it is. Katara thinks she might collapse just from seeing someone other than Ming or Iroh at her door.

"Prince Zuko wants you up on deck," says Tuzen. Behind Tuzen is Ming, who looks extremely apologetic. But Tuzen himself looks vaguely uncomfortable, almost to the point that Katara may be imagining it; his lips are tight, his fingers clench the face mask all guards wear with more force than necessary—Katara doesn't quite know how to say hello. She opens her mouth and nothing comes out. She wants to say "no"—she wants to slam the door in their faces, make them run back up to Prince Evil and tell him that he needs to beg for her to meet with him, but she can't speak.

"Let's go, Katara," says Ming, pushing past Tuzen and grasping her arm gently. "I'll take you up." She shoots a look at Tuzen, whose older eyes crinkle in confusion at Katara. What's she supposed to say? Hi, Tuzen. I've spent three years locked in some room while you, Maji, and Hua weren't allowed to talk to me. Nice to see you again! Tell your prince that he should jump in the ocean and drown!

"Thanks," says Katara faintly. She bumps past Tuzen on her way out as Ming leads her away from her room, feeling the other soldier's eyes on her, following her until they've turned the corner of the dim hallway. When they enter the nearest stairwell, Katara asks, "Ming, what's going on?"

"I don't know," says Ming. "I would've let you know sooner if I knew the prince wanted to see you. Judging by how urgently he asked—I heard it all—I think something's up."

"I haven't seen him in years," says Katara. Her breath starts to come short with irritation. "What can he possibly want with me now?"

But Ming only shakes her head, opting not to answer Katara's question. Just as they're about to enter the open deck, Ming turns Katara around to face her. The older woman takes Katara's loose hair and tangles some of it on purpose before stepping back.

"Your hair looked too nice for a prisoner," says Ming, smiling slightly. "But now you look just right, with your messy hair and your clothes." Then Ming's brows hurdle slightly. "We should get you some new clothes later. I can bring some stuff for you. You've outgrown these things a while ago."

"I know," says Katara. "Thank you so much, Ming. I can't tell you how much it means to me to have you sacrificing so much." There's another reason she hasn't left the ship—she can't abandon Ming, not after everything the older woman did for her for her first year when Katara couldn't leave her room. Knowing what Prince Jerk of the Evil Fire Nation did to Katara, with whom he'd actually been somewhat nice right before he stabbed her in the back, Katara's all too afraid of leaving Ming by herself and getting her into trouble. Who knows what the damn hotshot would do then?

"It's barely a sacrifice," says Ming. "Honestly."

"It doesn't matter." On instinct and out of gratitude, Katara grabs Ming in a large hug. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, little waterbender. Now go out there and tell the prince who's boss."

He's taller. Much taller.

And he isn't facing her way when Katara finally emerges on deck, feeling the sunlight on her skin for the first time in three years (aside from when it shone into her room through her window). His back is toward her, his fists are clutching the railing with tight white knuckles, and his shoulders are taut with anticipation.

But he's so much taller. Not as tall as some of the adults, but La, he's tall, and he isn't bald anymore. His hair is long. She doesn't mean Maji-long or Hua-long, like most of the other men, whose hair just barely touch their shoulders. Katara means Katara-long. Ming-long. Ozai-long.

It isn't even in a partial topknot. It's just loose. Like hers. And he has bangs. Long hair and bangs. Long hair and bangs.

Finally, the Crown-Prince-of-the-Fire-Nation-turned-Banished-Prince-of-the-Fire-Nation-and-All-Evil turns to face her when the stairwell door behind her shuts with a clang. For a moment, the world is still, the waves are ice, the sun hangs in the sky, and the wind drops out of the air as she forgets how to talk. Oh, she wants to talk. She wants to talk and scream and shriek and pull her hair out, kick him with everything she has, give him a black eye to rival the angry red already scarring his left cheek. But she thinks she might collapse before she can get to that.

He walks toward her with intimidation spilling over every spirit-forsaken piece of clothing he's wearing. Katara wills herself to back away, or to at least meet him halfway across deck, but not only does her tongue not work, her legs have apparently failed her, as well.

He stops in front of her, doesn't smile, doesn't do anything.

Katara barely dares to take in a breath of the salty chilled air. It takes all her effort not to reach up and pull at a strand of his long hair in shock. Something coils in her gut and she restrains herself from doing anything at all.

Then he steps around her, toward the stairwell door, and opens it. Incredulous, her voice suddenly threatens to spill out at his nerve—how can he just leave?—when he looks back and juts his chin upward in a follow me motion.

She has half a mind to not listen to him, to ice the oceans solid, jump off, leave the ship, spend the next few months making her way to the South Pole if she needs to. But she thinks about Ming and Iroh again and she can't do it. Fingers curling and heart pounding with apprehension, she quickly traces after him without a word, vowing to land some sort of slap on his cheek before she asks him what the hell his problem is.

He's a couple steps in front of her as they wander through the ship, taking her through halls that she hasn't traversed in over three years. Most of the time walking to wherever he's taking her is spent with Katara trying her best to keep up with his quick pace. Every once in a while, he casts a glance back at her with his scarred eye, which is partially hidden by his bangs, and Katara makes sure to give him the hardest, most despicable glare she can give him in those split seconds. It gives her a particular satisfaction when he stumbles and makes a surprised noise through his teeth. Looks like you're not as tough as you look, jerk.

But they have to stop eventually, and stop they do. He unlocks a door and steps inside before holding it open for her. Katara stares at him. Does he expect her to actually let him hold a door open for her?

He gradually becomes more and more annoyed with her as she doesn't move. Finally, with a downturn of his lips, he pulls her inside by her collar before shutting the door behind him with a clang. Serves him right. She won't do anything for him, not until he explains himself.

Before facing him, she lets herself absorb her surroundings. There's a wooden desk in the corner, fire nation drapes and tapestries hanging off the metal walls, a large bed in the corner, a set of dual Dao blades fastened above the candelabra at the other end of the room as a fashion statement. These must be his quarters. She turns to face him, about to demand what he wants, when he says, "Hello, Katara."

Katara freezes.

It only occurs to her a split second later that he's never once addressed her by her name. He's never once called her Katara, has never once said Katara in reference to her while she was in the same room, has never once even let the fact that he knows what her name is out to anyone.

And, spirits help her, it makes her so angry. That thing in her gut coils even more. She wants to punch him. She wants to throw him in the ocean, she wants to make his blood stop, she wants to lock him in a room for three years and keep him away from his damn honor and his damn, damn evil family.

"You—" she starts, feeling her blood start to boil and her heart begin to tremor. "You can't just—why did you—how could you—" Katara's vision goes red and her head throbs with something she can't even explain. "Y-you—"

"Katara," he says harshly, and she whirls around, throwing her hands in the air as he keeps talking. Oh, she wants to smack her name right out of his mouth! How dare he say her name again, just now? Two times with ten seconds in between? "I have questions for you, so just—listen! Or I'll lock you right up again!"

"I'm never going back in there, not when I felt the sun on my skin for the first time in three years," says Katara, stepping away involuntarily, feeling the sentence wash away her shock. The heavens be with her if she's locked away into that room again. She'll get out—she always does. She'll capsize the ship if she wants to. He can't control her. "Tell me what you want and don't you dare put me away like an object."

He stares at her, obviously becoming more and more flustered and losing his intimidating front, but finally, he shrugs, trying to appear cold and orderly. "Fine," he says coolly, trying to hide the irritation underneath (rather unsuccessfully). "Have it your way. So long as you don't bother me, I think that'll work just fine! Now, will you hear me out, or will you keep hyperventilating?"

"I think I'll keep hyperventilating, thank you very much."

"Agni, I knew this wouldn't be easy," he says, his jaw clenching. "Look. I have a reason for what I did. I have plenty of reasons. But for now, I need you to answer my questions. Then you can do what you want. Okay?"

Katara's mouth shuts, but she doesn't stop herself from pinning him with a hard look. "Promise?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes."

I'm gonna slap him. She folds her arms over her chest and waits, her heart still pounding and her eyes still seeing red, but if she can give him a piece of her mind, then she'll answer a question or two. If he has a good reason, then—

"One of my men was murdered yesterday while I was occupied."

The image of her hand slapping him smack on his left cheek freezes in her head. "Wh-what?"

When she meets his look again, actually paying attention to his expression, she sees a terrifying simmer deep beneath the golden color of his eyes, as though a horrible beast is about to claw from his chest and rain havoc on everything around it. He inhales harshly and shuts his eyes before continuing. "One of my men was killed. I need to know if you saw anything. I don't—" He loses some of his composure here, which reminds Katara that his intimidation tactic is just a front. "One of my men was killed," he repeats, as though it explains everything. In a way, it does. His peculiar calm front, his sudden will to act like a man. He's leading this crew. It also reminds her a little bit of something else, but she can't pin it down quite yet.

"How could I have seen anything?" says Katara bitterly. "You locked me away in my room for three years. I don't exactly have an all-seeing eye." But she could've seen it. Right? She was out last night, practicing her waterbending. Does he know that I wasn't in my room?

"The rest of my crew doesn't know," he says instead, opting not to answer to her comment. "Only my uncle." He crosses his arms over his chest—over his battle tunic, his shining gauntlets, his taller, more Prince Jerk-y stance that reminds her that she's been away from him for a long, long time.

"How did you hide that from your crew?"

"Easy," he says, sighing. "I just told them he jumped ship. But I found him on my own when I was coming back to the port. He was in an alley. His throat was sliced. He was . . . tingling. With some sort of static."

"Well—who was it?" says Katara, her heart jumping into her throat.

He looks at her, opens his mouth, shuts it again. Then he stares straight through her and doesn't answer her question.

"You—you can't not tell me," she says. "You can't summon me out of my room, tell me that one of your men was murdered last night, and then not tell me who it was. You have to tell me, Zuko!" The name feels foreign on her tongue. She hasn't said it for a long time, either.

He only looks away, jaw moving as he grits his teeth. Katara feels blind anger rush through her—he's restricting her, again, and spirits be with her but she hates him for constantly withholding things she needs to know, like why she was stuck in a room for three years and why he hasn't let her go home and why he isn't telling her who was killed—and her hand lifts, smacking him straight on his left cheek, the noise echoing through his chambers with the painful sound of betrayal.

He treated her like a peasant.

"You tell me right now who was killed," says Katara in a bare whisper, feeling the tears come on as she thinks about everything she's missed during the years. "You tell me everything. I deserve to know. I deserve to know why you didn't let me out, why you didn't take me home, why you kept me locked up on here, why you ruined what I thought we had as acquaintances—or, La be with me, friends—three years ago. You tell me right now who was killed, Zuko, or I'll do a lot more than just slap you."

"It was Hua," says Zuko, his head still turned to the side from the motion of her palm again his scarred cheek.

Katara isn't aware of the tears trailing down her tears, or the ducking of her head into her palms, or the silence that rings through Zuko's quarters after his words. She isn't aware of the choked noises from her throat, or the awkward fidgeting of Zuko in front of her, or the wetness of her small shirt caused by her tears.

When she feels as if she can't cry anymore, she looks up at Zuko, who's staring behind her at the wall as if waiting for her to finish. "I didn't see anything," she says again in a barely audible breath. "I didn't see anything."

"I know," says Zuko. His battle tunic seems too imposing, now, too domineering and too hard-edged. All she wants is out. Out of this room and out to the deck where she can feel. Out and off of this ship, back home, away from all this madness.

Zuko inhales. "The other reason I've called you out is because I need your skills. If—if my men are going to be hunted down and killed, I need someone there to protect them. To heal them." His good eye narrows. "This isn't for your sake. This is for my men. I'm an honorable man"—he says the word "man" with a jut of his chin, accentuating it—"and I protect those who serve me."

"What else?" she says, somehow knowing that he'll ask for more.

"We need to start having you practice your bending again if you're going to protect my crew."

Katara holds back the urge to wipe the drying tears on her cheeks. She also withholds the urge to laugh in his face. If only he knew.

"That's it," says Zuko. Finally, the confident and horribly out-of-character front drops and he goes a little red behind his bangs. "You, uh, you've grown. You should probably . . . get new clothes."

Well, if anything, at least he's still as awkward and weird as ever. But Katara's already got the slap out of her system. She still needs an explanation for what he's done, but she can either get that from Iroh, or she can wait and let him tell her herself. For now, she's going to work to avenge Hua, who had also been one of the few to show up at her room, who had also been one of the few who she couldn't give him, who had also been one of the people she didn't want to capsize along with the ship. It wasn't their fault I was in that room. It wasn't any of their faults.

Zuko moves past her, opens the door, and leaves with a glance over his shoulder, looking as though he wants to say something else. "I had a reason," he says finally, rough and bitter at the same time. "I had . . . I had a lot of reasons."

Katara's left in his quarters when he shuts the door behind him, wondering what was just dumped on her in the span of fifteen minutes.

"Sokka."

Sokka groans, feeling the naked part of his head prickle at Kiwea's voice. That tone can only mean one thing. Fishing.

"Come on," says Kiwea, practically pulling Sokka off the icy floor of the igloo. In the corner, Sokka's mother murmurs to herself as she shifts her stew around in her bowl. Sokka gives her a sorry look before following Kiwea out of the hut and toward the outskirts of the village.

"Y'know," says Sokka, looking up at the older man, "I can hunt by myself."

"No, you can't," says Kiwea immediately. At first, Sokka's insulted, but then Kiwea gives him an amused look. "I'm coming with you to make sure we get the arctic koi fish. You can't hunt those. Not until you pass my test."

"Your test," scoffs Sokka. "Who said it was your test?"

"I did. It was specially made by me. You have to use my spearheads."

"Ever since you came back a few years ago, you've been all over me about hunting this and fishing that," says Sokka. "If anything, it's the elders' test. Not yours. They designed the whole thing."

"I'm your elder," says Kiwea. "What I say, goes. Face it, Brother Sokka."

"There isn't anything to face!" complains Sokka. "All I want is some of my Gran-Gran's stew."

"Well," says Kiwea, obviously enjoying himself, "let's catch some arctic koi fish, and then we can make some stew ourselves."

When they finally reach some of the rafts, Sokka climbs in as Kiwea holds it still. "Now, look carefully," says Kiwea, holding up a spearhead. "This is called the ice-cracker."

"Very original," Sokka comments.

"Quiet. Anyway, this'll let you crack ice quickly and effectively." The older warrior hands Sokka the spearhead. It's wide and flat, meant to deal a great amount of damage to an icy surface. "Then you use one of the smaller, more precise spearheads to nail down a fish."

"What do you use for the koi?"

Kiwea grins. "Never thought you'd ask. Look here." He pulls out a thin stone spearhead. "These little things are pretty rare. I picked a bunch of stones up on my way back when I was younger. When I was with your dad, I learned to make these special heads, and when I got back to the pole, I tested them out on the arctic koi. If you're quick and you can nail a good shot, these heads'll guarantee a great, clean catch." He fingers the end of the spear head, which is wide compared to the thinner, sharper tip. "This end will keep the koi stuck on the spear once you strike it clean through."

"No problem," says Sokka. "I'll get it in no time."

"Su-ure," says Kiwea. He begins to paddle the raft toward the glaciers where Sokka knows the fish are waiting. It takes a little while, but once Kiwea announces they're at the prime spot, Sokka strings on an ice-cracker spearhead to his spear.

"The arctic koi hide under the ice," says Kiwea. "You break the ice. The koi will try to swim away. I'll catch two or three koi with my stone head. A few rounds of it, and we'll be good to go for dinner for the next few days." He motions to the oil lantern above them, held up above the raft by a long pole. "We don't have sunlight since it's the winter, and this light won't be enough for us to do too much fishing. So we'll end it quickly and head back."

Sokka nods. "Sounds good." He balances his spear on his shoulder before readying himself. "Set?"

"All set."

"Okay," says Sokka. "Ready—and—"

His spear lunges at the ice and it splits clean through. In the dim flickering light of the lantern reflecting off the ice and the frigid black waters, Sokka barely sees long white and silvery fish scatter where the ice split. A split second later, Kiwea's spear is in the water with a loud yell.

"Did you get some?" Sokka nearly yelps. "Did you?"

"Sure did," says Kiwea, lifting his spear up. "Look at this. One—two—three—four—five—six koi fish. My record is eight," he adds, looking smug. "Ready to go again?"

"Yes! I can't believe you didn't do this with me sooner!"

"Alright, Sokka, let's take it down a notch," says Kiwea, laughing. He moves the raft to another ice plate carefully. "Okay. I'm set."

"Okay," says Sokka. "Ready—and—oh, no—" His spear slips straight through the ice and out of his hand, cutting clean through the ice and into the dark abyss of the water with a wshhhhh. The ice splits and Kiwea strikes through another three koi fish, this time staring at Sokka.

"How did you lose that?" says Kiwea in confusion. The orange glow from the lantern flits over Kiwea's bemused expression before he looks back toward the split ice plate.

"I—don't know," says Sokka, staring at where his spear disappeared. "It . . . felt like something . . . pulled it." Then he makes a face. "Duh! Of course not. Nothing just pulls something out of my hand unless it's magnetic. Your ice-cracker isn't magnetic, is it?"

"No," says Kiwea. He chuckles. "Guess I just did my spear-making job too well. Look at that cut—no wonder the spear disappeared."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," says Sokka. "Do you have another spear?"

"Somewhere around here. Let me look for it."

"Sure, sure."

As Kiwea scavenges through their supplies, Sokka sits down and begins to pack the speared arctic koi fish into nets. They're white and reflective under the lantern, ever so slightly turning blue—interesting, do the koi change color?—and then Sokka suddenly feels very heavy.

And the blue intensifies.

Ahead of him, Kiwea's head shoots up. "Why is it—La, what is that!"

Sokka's head whips toward the source of the blue. There's something in the water. Big. Growing. And very, very blue.

"Hold on!" cries Sokka, grasping the edge of the raft with tight fingers. "Don't let go!"

Something breaks from the water and the raft nearly throws itself backward from the force. Kiwea paddles away in a hurry as Sokka stares at the thing emerging from the black, freezing arctic sea, pushing away ice plates and rivaling the glaciers around them in size.

When all is said and done and Kiwea is huffing and puffing behind Sokka, all Sokka can say is, "Your ice-cracker just caught a giant iceberg from the bottom of the sea."

Sure enough, in the incandescent blue of the enormous glowing blue ball of ice, is Sokka's spear. It sticks from the top of the berg at whatever angle Sokka took earlier at the ice plate. And it's tiny when compared to the iceberg. Tiny. Ant-sized. A baby.

"No," says Kiwea, awe-struck. "You caught that. Don't pin this on me." He begins to paddle forward.

"What are you doing?" says Sokka, immediately turning to face Kiwea in the raft. "Don't go toward the big glowing ball of ice! Are you crazy?"

"Possibly! But you're the one who caught it!" says Kiwea.

Sokka turns back to stare at the iceberg as Kiwea paddles closer and closer to it. Something catches his eye. And it isn't all the arctic koi fish swimming in terror at the sudden appearance of more ice. When Sokka turns to voice it, he finds Kiwea looking at him with the same realization.

There's a boy in the iceberg.

So I hope this first chapter with them all finally near their ages in the show (actually, 'bout half a year older) lived up to your expectations. It's a lot more fun writing them older than it is when they're young. Maybe that's because I can start writing emotions and not childlike honesty, lmao.

Ages:

Katara—15

Zuko—17

Sokka—17

Rei—19

Kiwea—22

Aang will be 12. Dur.

Hope you enjoyed it! Please review.