A/N: Two chapters ago (when I introduced Ozai for the first time), Cupuffle left some of the highest praise possible for this saga: "This story is so captivating that I am completely and utterly positive that it will join Stormbenders, My Heart Burns For You, Beyond The Rising Sun and The Black Games in the hall of pure, epic genius." Whether this story ever truly becomes as epic as those other legendary works, I would like to again thank each and every one of you guys for taking the time to read this story. For now, I hope you enjoy this update (which I was concerned about, but apparently you guys like it!).
Fear. That's the first thing I feel when Zuko leans over to a nightstand beside his bed and transfers the candlelight in his hands to a real wick. After disentangling himself from the sheets, he swings his legs over the side and stands. We look at each other. He moves past me more quietly than a breeze. He stops at the door to ensure it's firmly locked. Then he stands facing the door and not looking at me, his shoulders tensed. Probably thinking of all the things he'd like to do to me. Who will protect me here? His black-hearted murderous father? Len, for all her spunk, is still a servant whose word is ultimately powerless against that of a prince. No one can help me now but myself. That's just fine by me.
Zuko's shoulders relax. "I think she's gone," he says, and only then do I understand he was listening at the door for Len to go. Now I'm really alone, but I won't let myself be entirely vulnerable. I scan the room for any kind of weapon. There's a glass of water on the nightstand. I reach out and hope the liquid will come to me—no, still chi-blocked. Instead I grab the glass and smash it against the wall. It shatters into shards that clatter against the wooden floor like ice fragments. I tug my long sleeve over my hand and grab a sharp sliver through the fabric. Let Zuko try to attack me now.
But when I turn on my heel to face him, the prince is still staring at the door. The single candle lighting the room paints his silhouette a dusty yellow. Two emotionally incompatible thoughts occur to me: that his feet are bare and probably cold, and that I could easily stab him in the back with the glass shard before he could turn to block me.
His body shudders with the weight of a pained exhale. "Katara, listen," he says to the door. "I know you're probably confused—"
"Confused?" I echo. "I don't think things have ever been clearer."
He finally looks at me. In the dim light, I can make out nothing of his expression except a faint glimmer of familiar gold irises. "I need a chance to explain."
My fist tightens around the glass fragment. I can feel it cutting into my palm even though my sleeve. "You think I'm going to give you a chance? I've given you nothing but chances! I trusted you with my life. With Aang's life! And what did that chance lead to?" Just looking at that traitor makes me sick. I step away and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head.
"You don't understand—"
"No, you don't!" I stare past him at the wall. I refuse to give him the dignity of meeting his gaze because he hasn't earned it. "You think there's any way I can trust you after everything you've done?"
He opens his palms and holds his hands up. A symbol of peace and surrender. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to listen."
"No, I won't! I thought you were an actual human being with feelings, but it was just what your father said. You got us to trust you so we'd let our guard down, and then after everything you sold us out to your sister! You threatened to kill me. Remember that?" I hold up the glass and angle it carefully. Candlelight reflects off its jagged edges. "I'm your prisoner now. I get it. That means you can punish me into doing what you want. That's what it'll take for me to listen. Because I don't care what you have to say."
"No, I have to explain—"
"You had no right!" I shout. "No right to pretend to be on our side."
"I am on your side! I know I did some awful things in the beginning, but then I joined the team and realized I was wrong about the Avatar and about your friends and especially about you. I was trying to help you in the catacombs—"
If the room could reflect my tortured disbelief, every inch of the floor would be screaming. "Help me? By killing the world's only hope?"
"I saved Aang's life!"
Before I'm even aware of my actions, I lash out with the splinter and cut right through the fabric of his sleeve. He grabs his forearm. Chokes back a gasp. We both look at his fingers. Sticky, stained red.
"No more lies," I warn. My voice is dangerously soft.
"It's the truth—"
White-hot anger burns inside me. "I'm not interested in hearing anything else you have to say!"
His gaze moves to the glass shard. "Put that down."
"Get back!"
"Katara, please. I'm your friend." He tries taking the glass out of my hand by force with his own sleeve. I hold it tighter, filled with an overwhelming desire to hurt him for trying to pretend he's still on my side. We wrestle for the fragment. It cuts through his shirt and my shirt. We both drop the shard. Blood runs from our split palms.
"Friends don't hurt each other," I accuse.
He grabs both my wrists and pulls me so close. I flashback to a replica of this moment we shared as enemies long ago, back when a liar promised I'll save you from the pirates. "Listen!" he orders as I feel his hot blood on my wrist. "When I went to search for the Avatar, I read up on everything having to do with him. If he's killed in the Avatar State, the cycle is broken forever! My sister was going to shoot him with lightning. You saw that! I couldn't think of another way to stop him."
I twist my hand and wrench it out of his grasp. Then I backhand him across the face so hard it leaves an angry mark. Zuko lets go of my other wrist. With both hands free, I slam my palms into his chest. He loses his balance and falls.
"Weeks of thinking and that's the best excuse you could come up with?" I scream. I won't let myself believe it no matter how honest this might sound. Besides, even if he had good intentions, it doesn't change the fact of our imprisonment in the Fire Lord's evil clutches.
Zuko lies on the floor looking up at me. One bloody hand print stains his black armor where I pushed him. It's not enough. I want to break his face, shatter his hurt expression, make him feel a fragment of the real pain he's put me through these past many weeks.
"You don't know what it's like," I say. My whole body's shaking. "You don't care that I had to sit down in that ship for days waiting for imprisonment or death—"
"You think I don't care?" he says. He pushes to his feet and leaves a bloody hand print on the floor. He grabs my hand and now the blood from his cut palm is on my palm, too. "You don't know how I feel."
"Don't lie again—"
"Please, I'm trying to explain—"
"Zuko, just stop!" I shriek, backing off. "You don't get it. You can never get it! You, just standing there . . . you . . ."
I can't stand seeing his hurt eyes, which are begging for the kind of trust and understanding I will never give him again. If I can't smash his cruelly kind façade then I want to get out of here, to run and keep running and never look back. I run to the door and tug on the locked handles. I stare at the wooden frame because this is better than staring at those pleading golden eyes. I won't forgive him. I won't. I won't.
"Let me out," I say.
"Not until you hear me out."
I turn around so we're staring each other down. "What? What else do you have left to say?"
Now that he's finally given the floor to speak, Zuko seems at a loss for words. This isn't entirely surprising. Words are never enough for some things; not enough for his swords at my throat, for my tears, for the I loved you I confessed in the crystal cave. He angles his head away from me as if the distant glowing candle could somehow advise him. Words work against him as he tries to explain: Katara, I . . . okay, I've had a few weeks to think . . . all the little moments . . . you saved my life in the Serpent's Pass . . . that night at the restaurant . . . when Azula gave me that decision . . . I already knew . . . I think I've known for a while . . .
"Zuko," I urge, fighting the urge to backhand him across the face again. The red mark I left on his cheek is still there.
He looks at me, suddenly. He blinks a few times. There are tears in his eyes, which is still so strange for a firebender. Water is in my blood, in my breath, in my heart. He can tell me all the lies he wants. Fake all the tears he wants. I know, I'm certain, that his bending art holds only anger and hate, not the pulse of life as I slowly convinced myself it might. Still, I watch him fists his hands against his hair and run them down his face. A red streak of blood remains where his injured palm goes. Now it looks like his scar is bleeding. An old wound, reopened.
Another old wound is cut open again when he says three unexpected words.
"I love you."
It feels like he's just punched me in the mouth. I can't breathe. I can't blink. I stand frozen until I finally bring my hand up to support my face. My shoulders are shaking so hard. I step back, wanting nothing more than to get out of here. I want to close off my ears to his words, but in the measured trembling tension of his voice I realize it's even harder for him to speak than for me to listen. And so I let him talk, no matter how much it hurts to hear him to lie about this most sacred of things.
"I love you and I would die, die rather than hurt you or the people you care for. Katara, please, believe me. I won't let my father or anyone else in this palace touch you or Aang."
His eyes are so wet now, and he's still lying with eyes like those . . .
"Someone very important once told me 'everything I've done, I've done to protect you.' Then that person gave up everything for my sake. People do things you won't believe to save the people they love. And I know I've made a lot of mistakes, but I've tried to pass that legacy on to the people I care for in honor of the person I lost. In honor of my mother, Katara."
I feel a sharp pang. His mother. How could he lie about her?
"I did everything I could for you and Aang in the crystal cave, and I'm going to do everything I can here in the palace too. I don't know how, but I'll find a way to protect you."
Those last words. The ones my mother spoke in my feverish dream when she came to me with Aang's shawl . . .
And a blanket emblazoned with a black Fire Nation insignia.
Suddenly, I understand.
But before I can respond, there's an urgent knock on the door behind me. Zuko looks past me at the locked handles. I'm not entirely sure he's seeing them. "What is it?" he asks slowly. His voice seems to coming from a great distance.
"My apologies for the interruption, Crown Prince Zuko, but the Fire Lord sends an immediate summons," a servant calls through the door.
Zuko runs his still-bleeding hand over his face. I look at my own hurt palm and wish I could use my bending to heal myself . . . and I guess him, too. "Tell my father I'll be there soon," he says.
"The summons is not for you, Crown Prince. The Fire Lord requests to see your new servant."
The messanger's words slowly sink in. I'm not sure if I want to remain in this room with Zuko, but I definitely know I don't want to get myself into an alone situation with the Fire Lord. I step closer to Zuko as if this proximity could somehow keep me safe from his father.
"Fine," Zuko says loudly, aware of my unspoken request. "We'll both go."
"The Fire Lord clearly indicated he wished a private audience. No other parties may be present."
I'm shaking as if suddenly exposed to a cold wind. I look at Zuko. He looks at me. This momentary exchange of contact is enough for me to realize this may be a lucky interruption. I need time to think about what he's just said. The things he's confessed.
"I'm coming. Help me unlock the door," I ask Zuko. As an afterthought, I add: "Please."
I stand back as he does so and pushes the twin doors ajar. Quickly, before I can change my mind, I step past him into the hall. The messenger beckons. I follow. The last thing I see when I glance back is Zuko wrapping his bleeding hand in a length of fabric torn from his sleeve. Then we turn a corner and I'm alone with my escort. I borrow Zuko's idea and tear a small strip off my sleeve to bandage my hand. I'm sure I can get another outfit from Len tomorrow.
". . . I can't believe Father handed her over to my brother. Is old age rendering him senile? Zuko seemed too obviously desperate for her. There must be something going on."
This voice belongs to Azula, who enters our hall from an adjoining corridor along with Mai and Ty Lee. The chi-blocker spots me and the messenger. She tugs on Azula's sleeve. "Hey, look! There she is."
As we pass by, the messenger bows to the three girls with a quick good evening, princess, ladies before hurrying on. Before I can follow, Azula steps in my way. "Where are you going?" she asks.
"To a private audience with the Fire Lord," the messenger helpfully supplies.
Not once in all the time I've been chased by the fire princess have I seen her shocked at anything. I'm secretly thrilled when her mouth actually drops open. Ty Lee gasps audibly, and even Mai looks unusually interested. The acrobat and knife-thrower stare at me.
Azula regains her icy composure instantly and glares at her friends to do likewise. "Why would Father want to speak to some peasant slave?"
Thankfully, the messenger intervenes on my behalf. "My apologies, princess, but the Fire Lord does not like to be kept waiting. Come along."
He drags me away, though not before I glance back at the three girls. They're watching me curiously. Azula's eyes narrow thoughtfully. She mouths private meeting? and then we've turned into another hall. At the far end is the curtain that ripples like living firelight.
"Go on," the messenger says, gesturing me inside. I steel myself for the encounter as I pass through the fabric and feel it gently flow over my face.
There is nothing gentle or welcoming about the throne room beyond. Great columns flank me on either side as I approach the wall of fire at the far end. That I don't actually see any guards in the dimmed room doesn't mean they aren't hidden in the shadows. The gold light of the fires fills my face and eyes. I stand tall. I will not kneel unless ordered.
The Fire Lord's face is all darkness beyond the bright fire. "So. You are a waterbending peasant who happens to be an ally of the Avatar."
This isn't a direct question and so I don't respond. Whatever small fragment of defiance I'm granted, I'll take it—even if I'm only pretending to myself I can stand up against this monster.
"You and your allies have caused my nation a great deal of trouble because you foolishly believed you could end this war. No one has successfully opposed the greatest of all four nations in a century. Now that your Avatar is subject to my will, no one ever shall. So tell me, peasant." The Fire Lord stands and steps through the wall of fire. Now the fire throws his familiar face into sharp relief. "What makes you think you can enter my presence without showing respect to the most powerful man in the world?"
The absolute calm of his voice chills me more efficiently than could any angry threats. His merciless gold eyes stare me down. I should look away. I should kneel down. But I won't, not until he actively orders me to do so. Let him think what he wants.
"Do you believe yourself to be my equal?" he asks as he walks around behind me. He still hasn't ordered me to kneel, and I don't.
"I'm your prisoner," I simply say.
"You are indeed." He completes a circle around me but doesn't pause. He continues to walk slow laps around me. "And for a prisoner aware of her inferior position, you are very vocal about your opinions. You despise me, don't you? You despise me and all people of my nation."
I'm starting to see what this private meeting is about. He's going to punish me for my outburst earlier about the airbenders, and he's going to do it here where no one can protect me.
"Except one," the Fire Lord adds. His voice comes to me from behind. "I believe you have particular fondness for my son."
I swallow, hard, and hope he doesn't notice. But of course his gaze is already on my throat. He smirks and stops directly in front of me.
"You are probably wondering why I have summoned you here. I have one question for you, waterbending peasant. Ally of the Avatar. Prisoner of the Fire Nation." His smirk widens so I'm seeing teeth. "That necklace is precious to you, isn't it?"
Before I can stop my instinctual response, my fingers are on the carved pendant. I step back and understand one thing: I am probably about to die. I know this because I will obey many orders, but if he asks me to hand over this necklace then I will simply not let him have it. If he tries to take it from me by force, I'll fight until he kills me.
"It's my betrothal necklace," I lie, counting on him not to know any Water Tribe customs. "It can't be taken off unless I'm breaking off the engagement."
He laughs like this, too, is some great joke. "Yes," he agrees as he continues to pace in a circle. "It is indeed a betrothal necklace. So you sleep in it? You spend your life collared to your husband? Such fine savage traditions."
The white-hot anger is back. I understand he's the Fire Lord. I understand he could order me dead. But this doesn't give him the right to say such things about my people.
"Yes, that is a betrothal necklace," he says suddenly, stopping again in front of me. "And it is indeed in your possession and on your neck. But tell me truthfully, peasant." His eyes meet mine, bright with some secret knowledge. "It was not carved for you, was it?"
What does that mean? That he thinks I'm too young to be betrothed?
"If that necklace is precious to you and you wish to keep it, you will answer one question with the absolute truth," he says. "Who did that necklace belong to?"
I press my lips together and glare at the floor. "My mother," I say. There's a real edge of anger in my tone because I had to speak that sacred word in the presence of the man indirectly responsible for her death. I bet he ordered the very mission that led to her murder.
The Fire Lord's voice comes from behind me. "Originally?"
"Originally, what?"
"Did your mother originally own that necklace?"
Suddenly I'm furious. My face is burning, and I can feel my heart hammering. "It's none of your business!" I yell before I can stop myself. I trap a breath in my lungs. Now I've done it! If I had a chance of making it out of this audience unscathed before, surely he won't excuse me now.
"Understand something," he says. His voice is colder, crueler than before as he once again steps in front of me. "Everything is my business. With your Avatar and your hope imprisoned and destroyed, one day soon the world will belong to me. And then you and your pathetic Water Tribes will kneel at my feet in pieces if you will not bow of your own will. Until that day, pretend you have your power." He turns away and strides back through the fire. "You are dismissed."
This isn't an instruction I need to be given twice. I bolt out of the throne room through the curtain, not stopping to breathe until I'm safely on the other side. Only now do I realize I'd been digging my fingernails into my palms the whole time and my bandaged hand throbs with pain. I'd been expecting the worst. It's not just anyone who can say they've faced the Fire Lord twice and lived to tell the tale.
But why so much interest in that necklace?
This question and the amazing fact of my survival leaves me thoughtful as the messenger escorts me back to Zuko's room and leaves me at the door. Once there, I lay my palms flat against the wooden panels but don't go inside yet. I haven't actually decided how I feel about what Zuko's said. I don't think I'm ready to decide, not now when I'm feeling more confused than ever. I guess I'll just have to keep my distance until I've come to some conclusion.
For now, I quietly slip inside because it's late and I'm so tired.
He's already curled up on the bed, tucked beneath a blanket. He doesn't obviously move when I come in, presumably because he thinks I'll believe he's asleep. But my keen eye detects his sudden sharp inhale. Of course he's asleep. As if.
Zuko's lying on his side at the edge of the wide bed. He probably thinks I'll accept the peace offering and climb in on the other side. I grab an unused pillow and blanket and toss both on the floor. I'll make my own bed. I don't need his help until I've decided if I'll accept what he's told me as truth . . . and not until I've sorted out my own feelings.
The floor is hard, but it's not any worse than my cage from the ship. Plus there's the warm blanket, a significant improvement. Which reminds me. I sit up and unfold Aang's shawl from my wrappings, then squeeze my head through the opening. I tuck the loose edges of the shawl beneath my servant outfit. There. Now the orange cloth might easily pass for my normal clothes, and a small piece of my airbending friend will always be with me. Tomorrow, I have to start coming up with a way to break us both out of here. Tonight, I close my eyes beneath the blanket and try to get to sleep.
I hear quiet footsteps about half an hour later. Then I feel one arm under the crook of my legs while another supports my back. Zuko is so gentle as he transfers me to the bed. He must think I'm asleep. I debate struggling but decide it'll be easier to keep pretending than start an argument this late at night. Besides, secretly, I don't mind that he tucks me in. I can pretend otherwise all I want, but I feel safe with him. Good and safe, no matter how much I hate that truth. I drift off to sleep quickly, my mind filled with so much uncertainty.
My dream that night is brief and unpleasant. It begins when I'm out of breath like I've just been running a great distance. I have time to realize, momentarily, that I'm somewhere in the palace before a blue glow passes across the floor, walls, over my clothes and skin. The Fire Lord is ten feet behind me. He's not in formal robes but in some simple brown and red outfit. His hair is unrestrained by a headpiece. It hangs loose and wild around his face, looking greasy and unkempt. He's looking right at me. His arms are halfway through sweeping arcs, and his hands channeling two tendrils of blue light humming on outstretched fingertips. His smirk is the fat grin of a hunter who has been tracking his prey for hours and finally found it backed into a corner with no way to escape. And his hands are still moving, coming down and extending outward. Lightning reflects in his eyes, in my eyes, and if his aim holds true—
I lurch upright in bed, gasping. My hands fist against sweat-dampened sheets. Heart, still beating. Chest, rising and falling with every cycle of breathing. I'm alive. Still alive.
But what if my visions hold more than metaphor, but warning?
Suddenly the room feels like a prison cell. Even though I'm technically no longer caged, I feel more trapped and suffocated here than on the ship. I have to go somewhere. Get up, start walking, at least lap circles around the bed. There's a closet offshoot from Zuko's room. I slip through the door into the comfortable enclosure of formal clothes and shoes. On the far end of the closet is one lone window. I press my face to the glass because I need to see the moon. Tonight, it's a thin curled leaf floating in the black sky.
I try to think about the night and its beauty instead of the fear that brought me here in the first place, but lightning the color of ice keeps slipping into mind. The Fire Lord's cold-blooded fire is nothing more than a bending manifestation of one of the earth's most dangerous forces. True lightning eludes understanding. We craft myths as a way to pretend we have knowledge about it, like this one: lightning never strikes the same place twice. Yet anyone who is drawn to storms knows this is false. Lightning can strike twice.
Once in dreams.
Once in life.
I sit down, scoot back against the wall beneath the window, and tuck my chin against my knees. The night-chilled floor is so cold against my toes. I look at my trembling hands and my skin stained with darkness. Then I bury my face in my hands. Hot tears run between my fingers. All I want is to go home to my family. I want to get Aang and get out of here, and never once look back. Right now, I need a simple thing: one hug. I wish someone would hold me and say, lie or not, that things are going to turn out okay. I need to hear those words.
I don't hear him approach, nor do I realize he's sitting beside me until he lays his warm hand along the back of my cold one. His fingers lace with mine and squeeze tight. Then he simply sits beside me, waiting patiently for me to explain what's wrong. Trusting that I will. Perhaps wondering if maybe the ember of love I felt for him still burns, or hoping that it might be rekindled after all this time.
I don't know if I've forgiven him yet. I don't know if we're even friends, let alone anything more. Right now, I don't know if that matters. I could leave this moment to words, but instead I lay my hand on top of his so our fingers form a dark-light-dark sandwich of comfort. What speech is richer that the language of human touch? I hold his hand so gently and don't let myself speak. His bandaged hand touches mine where we cut each other with glass. His free arm wraps around my shoulder so I'm safe in his embrace. We sit unmoving in the darkness for a while, feeling each other's warmth. No words. No promises. Just the night and the moonlight and us in this moment of temporary truce. Whether it will last I've yet to decide, but tonight all that matters is this: Zuko holds on to me, and I hold on to him.
And I hold on to that.
A/N: I hope that closing moment between Zuko and Katara was at least somewhat satisfying (I tried really, really hard to make it good!). Meanwhile, I'd like to extra thank those of you who have recommended this story on Tumblr. I can't express how my heart sings when I'm scrolling through the Zutara tag and suddenly there's mention of this work. Lastly, Korrasylum {.} elementfx {.} com will be accepting nominations for your favorite Zutara stories from January 4 through January 15. There are many incredible pieces out there deserving of your nominations, so I'm giving a shout-out here so you guys are aware of the event and can honor those amazing authors. Have a wonderful New Year, and may the coming months be as warm and safe for you as Zuko just made Katara feel. Since this is my final update for 2012, please review? I'd love to know what you think about the dreams (visions of the past, the future, or just metaphors?).
Edit: I just posted the first companion story to this saga ("At the Heart of All Things"). Please feel free to go check it out and let me know what you think!