Author's Note: Again, thanks so much for reading this story! If you like it, please share with friends/Zutara/A:tLA enthusiasts. I write for myself, but I also write so all of you can enjoy it!

Disclaimer: AS always, I own practically nothing, because Bryke and Nickelodeon hoard it all.

"All the survivors are secure in the palace prison and rations have been sent down," Katara finished and took a long, much-needed breath. She, her brother and father were seated in the royal dining room, finishing dinner. The Emperor had requested a full report and Katara had provided, with Sokka supplementing information every once in a while that she had forgotten…or purposefully left out.

"Very good," the Emperor said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. The dinner had been extravagant with four courses, and Katara felt a twinge of guilt as the servants gathered plates of untouched food to be incinerated. The refugees had only gotten meat and cheese to eat while she feasted and wasted perfectly good food. Sokka leaned back in his chair and burped loudly, clutching his rotund stomach. Katara waved a hand in front of her nose to dissipate the stench. Her brother had been all too eager to provide every gruesome detail of the day's happenings, including how one refugee had cried for mercy, and how others had drowned, screaming in the ocean.

He was sadistic through and through, but adept at hiding it beneath inappropriate puns and bad jokes.

"Father, did you hear the one about the penguin who couldn't dance?" he asked, as if on cue. "It was because he had two webbed feet!" Sokka began laughing hysterically while his father chuckled softly, although it seemed to Katara like he was humoring him. For a 16-year old prince, her brother had no regard for propriety. But he was clever. Even now she noticed his dagger lying inconspicuously beside his dinner plate. His boomerang was strapped over his chair, and she was certain he had other weapons concealed within his clothing. He was a warrior, prepared for any possible turn-of-events.

She would never let him know how much she feared him.

"Daughter," her father said, interrupting her thoughts, "would you like to spar tonight?"

That is the last thing I want to do, Katara thought. Honestly, the day had exhausted her. She was not sure if she could stand a beating from her father, but he was looking at her in such a way that made it clear he expected her to decline. Then he would turn to Sokka for a sword match and the two of them would laugh at how weak she was. She couldn't allow that.

"Actually," a voice suddenly cut across the room. "Katara will be with me this evening." All three at the table turned to see Empress Kya walk through the doors and approach the table, taking a seat at the opposite side.

"Nice of you to join us for supper," the Emperor muttered with murder in his eyes. Katara saw Sokka slump back in his seat and felt a momentary sting of sympathy. Only months ago his mother had died of pneumonia after she fell into the channel. Even though she was only the Royal Mistress, she'd had a full royal funeral. Her passing had hurt Sokka. He hadn't been the same since, especially around Katara's mother. He didn't try to hide his disdain.

Kya simply nodded at Emperor Hakoda. She did not move to get anything that was left on the table, indicating that she had no intention of eating with them. She matched her husband's glare and Katara leaned away from the palpable tension between them.

"My dear wife, I do think Katara's time would be better spent with me. Training," Emperor Hakoda said. Kya folded her hands on the table.

"She has spent the last few evenings doing just that. Tonight, she will be practicing her healing. With me." The tone of her voice left no room for argument. Hakoda's nose scrunched and his hand twitched, as if he wanted to attack his wife, but he restrained himself by throwing back his chair and stomping from the room. Sokka followed behind him, a mirror image of his father, but spun around at the door to stick his tongue out at the women. Katara rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, mother," she said, and reached over to place a hand upon Kya's arm. Her mother's eyes softened as she looked at her.

"No need to thank me. You need keep up your healing. You can fight all you want, but if you get hurt, it will not matter how many hours you've spent perfecting your ice dagger. Healing is the essential counterpart to fighting, no matter what your father thinks."

Kya and Katara went from the dining room to a small training space on the second level. The room was no larger than Katara's bed chambers and had a trough of water running along the entire perimeter. Katara and Kya took their places on mats in the center of the room where a pair of wooden human replicas were lying and began their routine.

In identical movements, they called forth water from the trough and placed both of their hands on the feet of the human dummies. The water around their hands began to glow a brilliant blue, and they pulled the healing water up through the wooden bodies, to the knees, pelvis, stomach, chest, neck, and head, and back down again. They were usually silent when they performed the routine, but Katara had been longing to speak to her mother about the refugees ever since she'd found out from the General that they were being transported. And since her mother was often absent for days at a time, she hadn't had a chance to talk to her about it yet.

"Mother?" she asked as her hands brushed over the dummy's torso.

"Yes?"

"If you had the chance to save a number of lives, at the expense of a significant number more, would you do it?"

Kya was silent. Like Katara's father, her mother was not one to act or speak impulsively. Unlike Emperor Hakoda, Kya was steadfast in her beliefs once she formed them. Which is why, when she answered, Katara was not surprised.

"Absolutely. To protect even one life is our responsibility as humans, no matter how important or insignificant we believe that life may be." She said this softly as she expertly maneuvered a complicated pattern on the chest of her dummy. Katara watched for a moment, mesmerized as she extracted the water from the channels of the body and rotated it mid-air, spinning it faster and faster until, finally, it evaporated into the air. Then she pulled some fresh water from the trough to their right and began the process again before Katara had even finished it once. She truly was out of practice.

Instead of asking more she put her focus into completing her routine. The push and tug of the water in her hands felt rough and difficult to control, but it was familiar. Soon, after a few cycles of fresh water, she completed the first routine and moved into the next, finally falling into a comfortable rhythm.

Her mother had known what Katara meant. She understood the tremendous pressure that was on her shoulders. The Empress was a good person, always considerate of others and of the connection between the human world and the spirits. She was balanced and at peace. Katara liked to think maybe she was more like her mother than her father. But unfortunately, with the duties she had been born into, she had to at least pretend it was the other way around.