Author's Note: Happy 2017 everyone! Hopefully, this will be the year I finish this ridiculous story. Fingers crossed. Anyway, I've had a lot of this chapter written for like MONTHS and I'm so happy to give it to you! (Although I'm p sure some of you will hate me for the ending, even though you had to have known it was coming.) Sorry that the Katara half is twice as long as Zuko's-that's just the way it turned out. Please comment if you liked this chapter, or if you have speculations to make, or constructive criticism! Also, fanart is bae *insert finger guns here* ;) ;) ;) (thanks again to randomdays45 for their incredible fanart image/143625786407)

Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar

When Zuko and Toph found Katara in the war council room hours later, she wouldn't respond to either of them. She stared at a random spot across the room, eyes fixed, face emotionless. Only when Toph punched her in the arm did Katara finally look up to yell at the earthbender. But before she could, her face crumbled and she pulled Toph to her, apologizing over and over again. Toph had looked over Katara's head at Zuko, wide-eyed, but he just shrugged. Katara wouldn't tell them why she was sorry, nor could she say what had happened in the meeting. They took her up to the mess hall and Loq made her squid stew, which looked and smelled like tar (she ate four servings, which made Zuko want to chuck up the sea prunes he'd had earlier).

Toph insisted on taking Katara back to her room after that. "Alone, Sparky," she'd said as Zuko made to follow them, even though he was dying to know what had happened in the meeting. He had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that it was about the Fire Nation invasion. Was it going forward? Had it already begun? He longed to send out another message to his family, but without Katara's help, it was impossible. So he kept his distance for the day and let Toph take care of Katara. He was concerned, of course, but if whatever had upset her had to do with his home country, he didn't want to make things worse for her.

Instead he attended to Sokka the next day, which, after all, was his actual job. The two hadn't interacted much since the disasterous hunting trip, and Zuko did not know where he stood with the prince. Jet and Hahn and the rest of their pompous Northern friends had left without causing any more trouble, as least to Zuko's knowledge. He still couldn't believe the arrogance they'd demonstrated. If he'd been disrespected like that back in the Fire Nation, his father wouldn't have hesitated to banish them from the country. But Zuko wouldn't have let them tarnish his honor in such a manner to begin with. He'd had more than enough of that in his youth, by his own sister no less.

Shamefully, Zuko realized he hadn't truly thought about Azula in a long time. With everything that had happened, he'd forgotten the rage over her death that had inspired his mission to the Southern Water Empire in the first place.

Oddly, however, the thought of her murder didn't send plumes of smoke from his hands as it used to. Of course, it still pained him. And surely, deep inside, he was still grieving. He didn't know if that would ever stop. But he wasn't angry, though he knew he should be. He thought that maybe living here, seeing the other side of the cruel Water Empire—namely, Katara—had helped him overcome the unadulterated hatred that had fueled his vengence. Perhaps his was no longer a vendetta against a tyrannical country—perhaps now it was a vendetta against its tyrannical ruler.

This revelation came to him as he approached the training room, and his steps stuttered. Months ago, he would have been plotting ways to disable the two guards standing beside the doors to get the prince alone. But now he merely nodded to the guards, who opened the doors for him automatically. Inside, Sokka was casually going through his warmups with a dull-pointed sabre. There was already a glisten of sweat across his forehead which he hurriedly wiped away when he saw Zuko eyeing it.

"Thanks for finally showing up," the prince dryly said.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Zuko made his way over to the rack of weapons and selected an identical blade, testing its weight. He was surprised they weren't using broad or longswords, something that would hurt a little more if Sokka managed to catch him off-guard. Moreover, the guards had not joined them in the training room—they were quite alone. Zuko ran a finger along the long, skinny metal to the sabre's hilt. The traitorous thoughts he expected to intrude stayed quiet, locked in the recesses of his mind. Sokka circled him twice before stopping a few yards away and raising his sabre.

"You ready, peasant?"

Zuko smirked. "Are you sure you aren't out of shape from all that banquet feasting?" he fired back.

Sokka surprised him by chuckling softly and saying, "I wasn't the one dragging in the back of our hunting group." Zuko rolled his eyes. Sokka flicked his sabre at Zuko, taunting him, then lunged. The prince's attacks weren't as mindless as the first time they'd sparred. He'd obviously been practicing, even in their off-time.

But Zuko was still better. Sokka only had him on the defense for a few minutes before Zuko launched into offensive mode, slashing left and right, making the prince shuffle backwards towards the wall. Zuko cackled, then said, "Well, you weren't carrying fifty pounds of seal jerky and furs on your back either, your Highness."

Sokka fended off Zuko's blade, and the shrill contact of metal on metal made them both flinch. Sokka cracked a smile. "Touché, fire brat."

He was heading back to the servant's quarters later that night in the empty hallway, remminscing on the downright unusual training session he'd had with the prince. For once, Sokka had seemed to enjoy himself, and not in a malicious way. Although Zuko had a fine-looking bruise on his right bicep from one of the prince's lucky shots, he wasn't really injured. He wasn't bleeding, at least. And, looking back, Zuko had to admit he'd almost enjoyed himself, as well. Almost. Although he no longer wished the prince a slow, tortuous death at his own hands, Zuko could never forget that he was still his slave.

He was almost to the room when he heard his name whispered through the dark hall. He paused, one hand on the door handle, and Toph came rushing from the opposite end of the corridor. It wasn't until she was feet away that he saw the look on her usually-composed face.

"What's wrong, Toph?" he asked at once. "What happened?"

Her eyebrows turned in. "I just found out—well, Katara told me—she just got some news."

"What?"

She hesitated. "You should go ask her yourself." He didn't need to be told twice. If something had Toph this shaken, it had to be serious. He took the stairs two at a time, a difficult task considering he had to be quiet as well. The palace guards were already making their evening rounds and he had to take care to avoid their detection, especially as he approached the royal family's quarters. Fortunately, he did not have to wait long outside Katara's room; as soon as he knocked, she opened the door and pulled him inside, apparently expecting him. He barely had time to stutter a quick hello before she had pinned him frozen with her eyes. They were swimming with panic.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking a step towards her. She didn't move, but he could tell she wasn't in the room with him: her mind was far away.

"I'm so sorry, Zuko," she started, adding to his worry.

"For what?"

She bit her lip. "My father…he's upset with me. Something happened at the war council and…well, long story short, he's punishing me."

He grasped her shoulders. "How can I help?" Whatever it was, they could figure it out, the two of them. If he had to get her out of the palace, out of the city, he would. They'd find a way. Hakoda's sharp blue eyes reflected across his vision, so much harder and indifferent than the pair of ocean eyes that met his own now. Katara put a hand on Zuko's shoulder and he lessened his grip.

"I don't think you can."

He breathed out, starting to get frustrated. "Why not? Why are you being so secretive, Katara?"

Her mouth became a tight line. "Because I shouldn't be telling you this, but I know you'd want to know, even if there's nothing you can do."

It's the invasion, Zuko realized with a start. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. My family. My country. He had hoped the Emperor would put it off since the Summit had only just ended. Had the nobles even returned to the North yet? How would they fund their generals and soldiers from a ship on the ocean?

His hands dropped as his world came crashing down around him. Katara walked away and paced the length of her room. He'd been right when Toph came to get him. This was serious. The invasion was beginning. And he was too late. He had failed his mission, and—

"It's the refugees."

Zuko's train of thought came to an abrupt halt. "The refugees?" he repeated dumbly.

Katara nodded. "The prisoners who were sent to the Pit. In retaliation for my misbehavior, my father has scheduled the first refugee executions. For tomorrow evening." She licked her lips. "It will be in the village square."

A public execution. Zuko stared ahead, not really seeing anything. He couldn't quite make out his feelings. On the one hand, he was relieved his family was safe, at least for another day. His worst fears hadn't come to fruition—at least, not yet. On the other hand, he had been dreading this. He knew the day would come when the refugees would have to suffer the consequence of—of what, exactly?

"They haven't done anything wrong!" Zuko nearly shouted, as if he could reason their way out of this.

"I know, Zuko."

"They were taken from their homes by your soldiers on your father's orders!"

"Zuko. I know."

"How can your people justify such a barbaric death?"

"I know!" Katara did shout, and they both silenced, listening for guard's footsteps. Luckily, they heard none, and the quiet gave Zuko a chance to cool down.

As soon as she deemed it safe, Katara shook her head and whispered, "I mean, I don't know. My father is calling them traitors, saying they were part of an uprising to overthrow the Empire."

Zuko's throat went dry. "They weren't part of any uprising." That he could be certain of. "They just didn't want to be arrested and killed," he said, his voice cracking on the last word. That was the only reason they were taken to this spiritforsaken land in the first place. And now they would die here without even a chance to say goodbye to their friends and loved ones. He couldn't help thinking: Just like Azula. "Katara, you must do something."

Her hand rubbed the back of her neck. "I've told you, this is only happening because I disappointed my father. He's being generous by not making me attend the execution—he's probably just afraid I'd wimp out and not be able to go through with it and embarrass him in front of all our people." She began to ramble, pacing again. "I can't voice my opposition. If I did it in private he'd just ignore me. If I did it in front of the nobles or the court, he'd kill more of them just to spite me. Zuko," she pleaded, refocusing on him, "my hands are tied! There's nothing I can do." Her eyes fell to the floor. "I just thought you'd want to know."

Although Zuko understood her reasoning, he wasn't happy about it. He did appreciate that she told him, though. He had been one of the refugees. He had shared food and fires with them. Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he remembered seeing Roz for the first time. He'd shared a tent with the boy who looked so much like himself when he was younger, whom he imagined Roku would grow up to resemble. He had stopped Zuko from fighting the guards, probably saving his life, but condemning his own. He could still see his golden eyes, his Fire Nation eyes, staring at him from the clutches of a Water Empire soldier. Roz could be in the execution lineup. And Zuko would have to stand by, complacent, as one of his own citizens was murdered.

No.

Zuko felt his hands tighten into fists. He had put up with a lot since he'd arrived in this icy hell-hole, but this was not something he could tolerate. He would not.

With a newfound determination, he turned to the door.

"Zuko," Katara's soft voice stopped him. He looked over his shoulder. She stood on the opposite side of the room, her arms crossed over her body as if she could make herself smaller. "Please don't do anything stupid."

Unable to promise her that, Zuko merely nodded in acknowledgment. Then he left.

Upstairs, Zuko roused Jin from her pallet and brought her to the room he and Toph used to meet.

After ensuring the door was tightly closed, he rounded on her. "Jin. I need your help."

Katara hadn't seen Zuko since he left her room the night before. She could still see the hurt on his face when she told him she couldn't do anything to help the refugees. Like she was some kind of heartless monster. Like she didn't still see their eyes in her nightmares, peering up at her as she walked the length of the line on the shore, assessing who would live and who would die.

She wandered the corridors, smiling absently at the maids and courtiers she ran into, barely hearing their muted greetings. When she'd questioned Toph earlier that day the girl merely shrugged, saying she didn't know where he was either, but she was obviously lying. It only confirmed what Katara had feared: he was avoiding her. She couldn't really blame him. After the war council she had refused to see him, although for very different reasons. She felt immensely guilty for not saying anything about the invasion, but she couldn't. She knew he'd want to contact his family again, and with the post being more heavily inspected in the village ever since her father's plan was approved, there was no chance it would get through. And if Hakoda found out someone had leaked his plans, she would be his first suspect. He always said that compassion was her greatest weakness. Even if she managed to lie her way out of it, he wouldn't stop until he revealed who had written the letter. So, really, there was no point in telling Zuko.

Then why did you tell him about the execution?

Katara leaned against a blue velvet tapesty on the wall. The cool ice behind the fabric chilled her skin through her thin dress, but she could hardly feel it. She'd been numb ever since receiving the note from her father's servant detailing the proceedings of the execution. Perhaps some traitorous part of her hoped that Zuko would be able to do something about it. Or maybe she just knew if she didn't tell him, and he inevitably found out, that she would never gain his forgiveness. The same logic could be applied to her knowledge about the invasion, and the realization made her sick to her stomach.

But she'd known from the beginning of their friendship and 'courtship' that they were doomed anyway, so what did it matter if he'd eventually hate her? At the very least she could enjoy herself for a little while. And pretend that she wasn't the worst person on the face of the planet. Okay, well, maybe not the worst, she conceded. The daughter and successor of the worst person, which really only makes me the second-worst person. That is, until I take the throne.

She scoffed. She was trying to manipulate even herself. Where would the lies end?

A servant passed Katara wearing the dark blue robes of the cleaning staff. She bowed her head and quietly greeted her princess, but her eyes never left the floor. In her hands she carried a bowl of red berries, probably on her way to her mother's chambers. There seemed to be a sadness among the palace staff today. Word must have spread about the execution. Other than Toph, Katara wondered how many of her own servants had known the refugees, perhaps even had been a refugee at one point. She watched the woman walk down the hall, her dress billowing out behind her, fluid, like water. Katara was surrounded by water: the walls of ice, the snow outside, the water inside her body and blood. Sometimes she forgot what a powerful force her element was.

The servant disappeared around the corner, but not before an idea had begun to form in Katara's mind.

I might not be able to do anything about the execution, she thought, a smile tugging at her lips. But I know someone who can.

If the palace atmosphere was subdued, the atmostphere of the village was the complete opposite. The main street leading from the gates of the palace to the village square was illuminated by flaming torches on both sides. The fire flickered against the stone pathway slicked over with ice and bounced across the faces of the buildings which were empty since everyone was congregating in the square. A platform of wood had been constructed in front of the fountain, and the crowd surrounding it was at least twenty people deep on all sides. Katara crept along the shadowy side of a tannery off to the right, out of eyesight.

No one would recognize her as Katara, Heir to the Water Empire throne. But they would definitely recognize her as the Painted Lady, ancient water spirit of the Jang Hui River. The Painted Lady was a revered spirit of the Water Empire. She'd learned of the powerful and benevolent spirit in her lessons when she was young, admiring this female figure who managed to gain the respect of even her father. Although the South had longed stopped worshipping her, she knew the practice was still alive in Jang Hui.

She hoped that, if she was seen, the Southerners would be too afraid to try and catch her. Like their other ridiculous traditions, the South was still highly superstitutious, especially of ancient dieties.

A wave of silence rippled through the gathered crowd and Katara looked up to the platform. A stoic Empire soldier approached the stairs. Five prisoners followed closely behind, all bound at the wrists and blinded by black sacks over their heads. All at once the noise started up again, tenfold. People began to shout and jeer at the refugees, crying out traitors and conspirators, and threw rotten food at them. One refugee, who was so thin that the ropes around his wrists had been wrapped at least four times, staggered back when a tomato his him in the chest. He fell onto the platform, and Katara winced at the way his bones jostled just underneath the surface of his sallow skin. But her people had no sympathy for him. They shouted louder, more derogatory words at him, and another soldier grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his position beside the other refugees.

They all faced the crowd, heads bowed beneath their sacks. Their uniforms—threadbare pants and shirts issued to every prisoner at the Pit—were torn and ragged. The clothes hung off them like children playing dress-up. Katara's stomach was turning. She had known the conditions of the Pit were less than ideal, but this? This was inhumane, even for her father.

As if summoned by her, the Emperor emerged from behind the platform flanked by palace guards. Sokka was behind him, decked out in war paint and his armor. Much to the chagrin of her husband, Kya was the only member of the royal family who had stayed behind—other than Katara herself, who was supposed to be in the palace. Katara had heard her parents arguing down the hall before her father had stormed to her own room to make sure she was still there. She hadn't opened the door for him since she was already in her body paint and disguise, and he hadn't insisted. He'd simply instructed a guard to stand watch there all night to make sure she didn't try to escape. After her father and Sokka had left, she'd knocked out the guard and locked him in a closet down the hall, then bent her way through a wall on the second floor, out of the palace.

The Emperor scanned the crowd, and Katara pulled down the straw hat she wore, covering her face, even though his eyes didn't pass over her. He was too enraptured by the energy of the crowd to notice someone lurking in the shadows. He ascended the steps to the platform and raised his hands, silencing his people.

"The five prisoners standing before you are traitors to the Empire," he announced, his voice echoing over the square. "Guilty of treason against our country, and of conspiracy against your Emperor, they have been sentenced to death."

Some of the refugees started forward, shaking their heads desperately, but the soldiers stopped them.

They've been gagged, Katara realized. To keep them from revealing the truth.

She glared at her father, who was surveying the throbbing crowd with hungry eyes. She would expect nothing less from him.

He stepped to the side, giving the people full view of the refugees. At Hakoda's command, the soldiers took their positions behind them. Katara's beath caught. Usually at public executions, the deaths were swift; a cut throat or asphyxiation by bloodbending. But the soldiers were preparing to do the same thing the Emperor had done to the assassins in the war council room, which would be a laggard, painful death. The Emperor raised his hand, preparing to give the execution command.

Katara stepped forward into the light, calling the water from her skins, when a metallic shriek cut through the air, stopping only when a dagger buried itself into the neck of one of the soldiers.

There was a split second of hesitation, confusion—and then there was chaos. The Emperor immediately had an ice spear in his hand and his personal guards were quick to close into protective formation around him. Sokka was ushered out of the square by his own guards despite his protests, and the soldier with the dagger in his body dropped to the platform, lifeless. Seemingly out of nowhere, three more daggers sliced between the refugees, two hitting their marks and sending the soldiers to the ground. The crowd surged with people trying to get to safety and soldiers trying to find the assailant. Katara darted out into the street when one soldier shouted and pointed to an alley to the left of the square. Sure enough, a figure dressed in black, donning a blue and white mask, emerged from the darkness, pulling two swords off his back.

A woman near him screamed "The Blue Spirit!" and ran in the opposite direction. It didn't look like a spirit: It appeared to be a man. But from this distance, Katara couldn't be sure. He faced the soldiers and although Katara couldn't see his face, she somehow knew he was daring them to take him on.

You idiot, she thought. A man ran into her shoulder, pushing her aside without a second glance, desperate to get away from what looked like was turning into a full-out brawl. More soldiers had circled the mysterious assailant, and more were on their way. It seemed as though the refugees had been momentarily forgotten, though her father was screaming at his soldiers to get back to killing them, and some were beginning to listen.

Katara glanced up at the sky. The clouds, almost like smoke, had nearly blotted out the full moon. She smiled. Winding up her arms, she sent a stream of water around the square, extinguishing the torches providing all the light. Instantly, the area went black. There were more screams as people were cast into darkness, her father's voice the loudest among them.

Katara didn't waste time. Although she couldn't see too well either, her eyes adjusted quickly, and she sprinted towards the platform, knocking out a few soldiers on her way up the steps. Her father was being dragged away by his guards and she heard his protests echo down the street. Two soldiers shot ice spears at her as she touched down on the platform and she twisted, avoiding each, then redirected them. The spears caught each soldier by their shoulder guards and flung them off the platform, pegging them against a nearby hut. She was about to reach for the first refugee when something whistled in her ear, and she jerked back just in time to see a soldier, his sword raised to her, fall with a sword in his stomach.

She gulped, realizing how close she had been to…

She shook her head and looked out over the square. The Blue Spirit was bounding towards her, one sword less. He lept up onto the platform, and she prepared herself to fight, but he completely ignored her. Instead, he began silently sawing through the ropes of each refugee. She stood there, gaping, only now understanding: He had saved her life.

Katara shook her head. She couldn't think about that right now. The soldiers that the Blue Spirit had fended off were pounding down the street towards them. She took a protective stance in front of the refugees, hoping she could keep the soldiers away long enough for the assailant to free them.

The soldiers sent jets of water at her, intending to knock her away, but she split them in half, sending them to either side of the platform. A flurry of ice daggers came at her from the right, and she melted them and used the water to freeze the legs of a group of non-bending soldiers to the ground. She saw something glint out of the corner of her eye, heard a high-pitched shriek, and turned just in time to stop an ice spear from impaling one of the refugees. The woman had pulled the sack off her head, her wide eyes trained on the threatening point hovering inches from her face. She let out a shaky breath at it dripped to water in front of her feet. The assailant looked from the refugee to Katara.

"Go that way!" Katara jerked her head towards a side street. "I'll cover you!" He hesitated only a second before shoving the refugees off the stage in the direction Katara had told them to go. She followed behind, bending a shield around them and sending thick streams of water at the soldiers closest to her, knocking them off their feet. Katara could feel the full moon thrumming in her veins, its power coursing through her like pure adrenaline. She knew that, if she wanted to, she could bloodbend every soldier and send them to their knees.

Katara shuddered at her own mind, at the image of the soldiers bending to her will, and put it out of her thoughts.

As soon as they were all out, Katara lifted a barrier of water around the entire village square, cutting them off from the soldiers, and froze it solid. She held it as she ran towards the rest of the group, her limbs shaking with the effort. She knew that as soon as she lost focus the soldiers would be able to get through, but hopefully it would give them enough time to get to the docks.

The assailant had somehow blown out all the torches down this side street, keeping them safely hidden within the darkness. The refugees had the sense not to speak at the seven of them ran to the line of ships bordering the west side of the village. Just like she'd arranged, a fishing vessel was waiting there, its captain standing at the bow. He was a loyal friend to Kya, and had made the trek from the Southern Empire to the Earth Kingdom many times. It wasn't easy to convince him to harbor Empire fugitives, but Katara had eventually been able to buy his silence.

"This man will take you to a port city of the Earth Kingdom," Katara spoke softly, trying to disguise her voice. She looked at the five refugees. Two men, two women, and a teenage girl. "You'll have to take care of your papers and accomodations when you get there." They all nodded. The girl was crying.

"How can we repay you?" one of the women said. She was older than the rest with gray streaks in her wavy brown hair.

Katara grapsed her hand. "Live. Just live."

She saw them onto the ship and, releasing her focus on the ice blockade in the village, sent the ship out of the harbor on a wave that blackened her vision, nearly making her pass out. The Blue Spirit grapped her upper arms, balancing her, and she looked up curiously at the curling tendrils of his mask. His grip tightened on her, and she realized with a start that they were standing far, far too close. She felt her heart race as she pulled away, panicking. Was he a Southern Empire citizen? Had he recognized her beneath her disguise?

I should kill him. It was the logical thing to do, and even though she was physically tired, the power of the full moon still hummed in her ears. She couldn't risk having her identity revealed. If that happened, she was as good as dead. Her father wouldn't hesitate this time. But something stopped her. She could easily disarm him and reveal his identity as well, and something about the way he was watching her, waiting, made her think he knew this, too. They looked up the street at the same time as a shout reverberated against the closely-packed buildings. The soldiers were coming. Katara took a step back from the man, wringing her hands, hoping she was making the right decision. He inclined his head towards her, and she did the same. Then he darted away and disappeared into the shadows of the village.

Soldiers were prowling around the palace grounds when Katara returned. She managed to sneak through their watch, just barely, and slip back into the palace. It was late enough that the servants had been dismissed, and mercifully she only had to dodge one guard on the way back to her room.

She let a small laugh escape her lips. She wasn't sure how she'd done it. She'd never had to sustain such a difficult bending move for such an extended time, and it had definitely taken its toll. Her head was pounding. Without the full moon, she never would've been able to save those people.

And the masked man? Well, he had certainly been helpful. Part of Katara was still worried he had figured out her identity. But she was immensely grateful for his help. Katara ran a hand through her hair. She'd ditched her disguise upon entering the palace and hid it safely in a storage room no one used. Her hair trailed halfway down her back, and was matted from water and sea salt. Her face still itched from where the berry paint had swirled on her skin, and though it was annoying, it reminded her of what she'd been able to do. She had saved those people. And she didn't even have to bloodbend.

She heard the door behind her burst open and turned to see Zuko sprinting down the hallway after her, a smile splitting his face.

"Zuko?" she asked, wondering if she was hallucinating from exhaustion. Without slowing, he plowed into her, his arms twining around her body.

He said, "I heard what happened."

Katara's blood froze. Did he somehow find out what she'd done? She pulled back just enough to see his face. "What do you mean?"

"The refugees! They were rescued. I—um—I overheard some guards talking about it."

Katara smiled tentatively, still unsure if he knew of her involvement. "That's wonderful, Zuko! But I told you, my hands were tied. Whatever happened, I had nothing to do with it."

His grin faltered, but his eyes continued to glitter. "I understand. But I'm still happy about it."

Katara put a hand to his cheek, all too aware that his hands were still around her waist. "Of course," she said. "I am too." More than anything, she was relieved he'd listened to her and stayed away from the execution. After he left she'd been terrified he was going to try to sneak out, or worse: approach her father about it. She threaded her fingers through his raven hair. It was growing longer since she'd first seen him; it was past his ears now. He put his palm on top of her hand and leaned into her touch.

"Katara…"

"Mhm?" she sighed, letting her eyes close.

She felt him step closer, then, and his hair tickled her nose. She opened her eyes in time to see him close the distance between them, his lips falling softly on hers, light as a feather. They'd almost been in this exact spot the first time they kissed, and the memory made Katara's chest warm. She leaned into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Suddenly, Zuko wasn't so gentle, and his fingernails dug into her back, pushing them flush against one another. Her mouth opened, letting him inside, and he kissed her fervently. Her hands ran up and down his back, dragging along the dark shirt he wore, making him groan.

And, to her dismay, making him pull back.

Her eyes fluttered open. His were inches away, molten gold with desire. His skin was flushed pink, his hair disheveled, and she was certain she wasn't in much better condition.

"It's getting late," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

As much as she wanted to protest, she could feel her body giving out on her. Her muscles ached and, at that moment, the only thing she wanted more than to stand there with Zuko for eternity was a long, hot bath. The thought of Zuko in that bath with her flitted across her mind and made her stomach clench and her face burn, but she quickly pushed it away.

"You're right," she replied, prying her hands off his shirt.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her nose. "Goodnight, Princess."

She looked up at him. "Goodnight, Zuko."

As he walked back down the hallway, Katara felt winter moths fluttering around her stomach, tickling her insides, and she was sure her chest would burst with how full it felt. How was it possible that she could still feel his lips on hers, his hands on her cheeks, as if he were standing right in front of her? Katara crossed her arms over her abdomen, trying to hold that warm feeling inside for as long as she could.

Even after he had disappeared behind the door, and his footsteps faded from the stairs, Katara could still hear her heart throbbing like footsteps in her chest, boom, boom, boom…

Katara stopped moving. She stood in the middle of the hall, halfway between the stairwell and her room, and held her breath.

The heartbeats—or what she had thought were heartbeats—continued.

Boom, boom, boom…boom, boom, boom…

The top of her head went cold. Her hands, still pressed tightly against her stomach, began to tremble uncontrollably.

Get yourself together, she ordered herself, balling her hands into fists. She allowed herself a deep, albeit shaky breath, and turned around.

"Who's there?" she half-shouted into the darkness, which seemed more threatening than it ever had before. There was no doubt she'd heard footsteps. They'd been keeping pace with her own, so they had been faint. But she knew what she heard.

Sure enough, after a few moments of utter stillness, she heard a shallow intake of breath from the end of the hallway. Whoever it was, they weren't very good at stealth.

"Sokka? Is that you?" No reply. "Sokka," she began, feeling her face heat up with rage and embarassment. "I swear if that's you, I am going to kill you." Still no reply. After a few moments, she turned around and continued walking, keeping her eyes up and arms out. She was not a fan of surprises, and if Sokka was just being an idiot, he deserved whatever he got.

She was contemplating how she would get revenge on him for scaring her—water wedgie? Or something more sophisticated, like the torpedo? —when a series of rapid footfalls erupted from behind her. Katara spun back around just in time to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows, barreling towards her. Katara tried to shout for help, but her throat felt tight with fear, and nothing came out.

She barely managed to bend a shield of ice in between her and the attacker before a sheath of metal—some sort of archaic spear—pierced a fist-sized hole in it. Katara sprinted towards her room, tossing streams of water behind her as she ran, but something clamped to her ankle and she fell, hitting the ice floor chin first.

She groaned loudly, feeling the shock of the fall pulse throughout her body, momentarily paralyzing her. It gave the attacker time to flip her over, and only then did Katara see the plain black mask covering his—her? —face. At first she'd thought it was the Blue Spirit, but the mask was completely different, and this person was definitely taller. Then she saw the glint of something dangling from his free hand.

Katara's eyes widened as she realized it was a dagger. The attacker's arm moved and she felt a hot searing on her cheek. Katara jerked forward, clutching her face, and the attacker pulled back. He raised his arm again, poised to kill this time, and Katara whipped a jet of water into the person's masked face, giving her just enough time to bend the water around her and send her shooting backwards towards the stairwell at the other end of the hall.

She scrambled out the door and took the stairs two at a time, all she could manage without tripping up them. What should I do? Where are the guards? she thought, panicking. Halfway up the stairs she heard the doors below her slam open and the unmistakable sound of her attacker's feet thundered after her. She couldn't go to Zuko—he was up on the third floor, and besides, she'd only put him and all the servants in danger. The door to the second floor came into view and Katara burst through it. There was only one person she could go to.

She managed to find her voice as she stumbled down the hallway to the healing chamber. "Mother!" she shouted, her voice echoing again and again off the glowing blue walls. "Mother help!"

"Katara?" she heard Kya's voice from inside the room, and as soon as she came into view, Katara threw herself into her mother's arms.

"Katara, what's wrong? What happened to your face?" Kya asked, shock and confusion evident in her voice. Katara was breathing too hard to get the words out and could only manage to point towards the door. But Kya understood at once. She shoved Katara, still panting, behind her and squared her shoulders. Seconds later, the attacker ran into the room. Kya was already moving: her arms spun in an intricate pattern and the ice around the attacker's feet wrapped around his legs like eels. But the attacker used a knife the size of his forearms to batter his way out of the ice and, faster than Katara could imagine possible, sprinted at Katara.

But Kya would not give up her ground, and moved to block his path, sending a sheet of daggers at him, only two of which made contact.

"Katara, get out of here!" Kya yelled.

Katara didn't know how she could help, since she was bleeding profusely and was too shaken up to heal herself, but she couldn't leave her mother alone. "No, Mom—"

"Katara, go now!" Kya insisted, bending a wave at the person in black with one hand, and pushing Katara back with the other. "Go get your father!"

Father, Katara thought numbly, the words not sinking in. Then it clicked.

Her mother had cornered the assailent at the other end of the room and Katara took the opportunity to sneak out the door. She felt blood drip cooly down her cheek as she ran to the war council room. She didn't know if he would be there, but she had to take the chance. Her mother was a strong bender, but not a master. With no guards around, her father was the only one powerful enough to stop the attacker. She felt like she was running through mud as she made her way down the corridor. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she burst through the wooden doors of the council room and saw her father there, deep in conversation with his advisors.

"Father!" she screamed. He whipped his head around and glared at her, as did his advisors. But then he must have noticed the blood, because his composure slipped, if only momentarily.

"Katara? What's wrong?"

Katara collapsed to her knees, the exhaustion finally catching up with her. And then she looked up at him.

"It's Mom."

He stood at once and was running from the room before his advisors could stop him, before Katara could explain. The old badger-moles glared at her as they passed, going significantly slower than her father. Hurry up! She wanted to shout at them, but didn't have the energy. It took everything she had to simply raise her hand to touch her throbbing cheek and find it was slimy and drenched with red when she took it away. As she watched, her fingers began to blur and fade altogether, and then everything was black.