A Legend of Korra Fanfic
By Sakura Martinez (aka SMTsukishiro)
Summary:
A promising engineering student. A mysterious woman capable of controlling the four elements. When their paths cross, the resulting collision not only changes their lives and themselves, but the fate of the entire world as well. [Korrasami AU]
Author's Notes:
Welp, this took a while to update. I had to wait for my Beta to send the chapter back at me. I'm really sorry about that.
I hope you guys enjoy this one. This will be the second-to-the-last chapter surrounding the events of the party Zuko held for Korra and her friends.
Also, if you guys want updates on this story (like when the chapters will be released, delays, and a bunch of other stuff related to it), just search for #LoKTheSchism on Twitter as I always post updates using it. :)
The Legend of Korra:
The Schism
Chapter 56: Arrivals
He felt fortunate they were allowed to dock, under the circumstances. He related such luck to his relationship with Zuko. Had he been anyone else, he was certain his ship would have been asked to turn back.
It also helped that the people he had working inside had already secured him the necessary papers to allow them safe harbor.
Surveying the airship dock that stood at the distance—or, rather, what was left of it, his brows furrowed, his mouth thinned into a straight line. He was not at all happy at the sight and what it meant to be seeing it.
"They sure made good work of it," an armored man beside him chuckled, hands loosely holding a spear in attention. "Imagine if this happened in the Earth Kingdom, Chief!"
"That would be catastrophic," the Chieftain nodded. "From what I heard, even the Royal Family was not amused by this."
"I would be surprised if they would have just let this slide." his guard whistled. "Is that why we are here? To fix this incident the Avatar caused?"
He didn't give him much of an answer then. He simply hummed, letting the armored man think whatever this visit was meant for.
It wasn't that he distrusted those that were with him, but he didn't want Korra or Kai to get wind of his arrival. He could only imagine how those two would react were they to learn of his arrival.
It would not be a joyous reunion, he could imagine.
Still, he had been requested to come. The letter that he held within his breast pocket, underneath all the coats of fur he donned, was proof of that. And as he kept his gaze surveying the damage in the Royal Capital, and his men rowed them into the canal that led to the Palace Docks, the old Head Chieftain of Nia Bayou could only pray that this meeting would go well.
He hadn't slept a wink.
Which, really, would not have been that big of a deal. He was used to long nights that blended the days together. But this, in his defense, was a different ball game entirely.
Even though it hadn't even been a week since the beginning of all this craziness when that pillar of light had appeared, it had felt like a lifetime for him.
His hair, which he had taken good care of ever since he was introduced to hair products and styling and looking cool for the ladies (which were both for his entertainment and for infiltrating), now looked like a hen's nest, strands flying every which way.
His amber eyes, which could lure women in if he so wanted them to, were accentuated by dark, heavy bags.
His chin, which had always been so clean, now had growing stubbles that itched but made him frightened to scratch out of fear of hurting himself.
He couldn't even get himself to dress properly. He looked haggard, like he had turned from big-shot mercenary to a bum drunk. All he had willingly clothed himself in, in the days since, was a pair of boxers and a white, sleeveless undershirt.
Amidst all of this, he was glad his roommate had been called into a mission in the city, otherwise, Mako did not know how to explain what had been happening to him.
The Mercenary doubted anyone would be able to.
After all, how could anyone explain why the doorknob of his living quarters had melted off in his touch—something he wasn't willing to believe was possible, and had thought was the work of something else, up until he had touched it again and had completely liquified the metal handle, turning it to a bubbling, hot pool of golden liquid.
Or when he had, upon seeing that happen, stumbled backwards. When he flung his arms back, as he half-stumbled and half-crawled away, a small sprout of flame shot itself from his palm, singeing a curtain. He almost screamed in surprise then.
Or when he almost burnt his hair off as he grabbed fistfuls of them, watching the curtains being eaten by fire, too shocked to do anything until his brain finally kicked into gear and he managed to douse it before it thoroughly consumed the fabric. It didn't really end up burning, but he could have sworn he smelled smoke coming from his hair.
Everything he touched after that, seemed to want to burst into flames. And so he refrained from grabbing hold of anything for too long. Too afraid was he that he would set the entire living quarters on fire.
When he had tried to sleep that first night, he had even awakened to a sweat-covered body and an extra pillow that had been turned to ash.
He hadn't managed to fall back to sleep since then.
This series of unfortunate and inexplicable things happening to him was not the only source of stress for him either. Amon's summons were another.
Amon had, upon reviewing his report, told him to keep his mouth shut about Asami Sato; to keep Hiroshi from finding out about his daughter's whereabouts and her affiliation. When he had argued that it was a job the Head of Future Industries has employed him for, Amon had given him a vaguely-worded threat, but a threat nonetheless.
"It is all for the glory of our infant nation," the Masked One had said when, despite the insinuations he was provided, Mako still pushed for an explanation. "Hiroshi Sato is almost finished with the repair and enhancement of the Spirit Bastille. If we were to tell him of his daughter, it would only divide his attention."
Mako wanted to argue that it could also urge him to finish the hulking structure quickly, but his arguments fell on deaf ears. Whatever ideas Amon had in his head, it was not going to change for anyone or anything.
He was a man whose mind had already been set on one thing. And now that he had achieved his bid for power over Republic City, he was now bent on perfecting the Spirit Bastille and obtaining a source for unlimited power in the form of the spirits.
"And it all falls on you," he had said, eyes gleaming behind the mask that he wore. "To find me spirits to fuel Hiroshi's creation."
It was such a strange request. "Why me? I don't know anything about them. It would be much more useful to have the Sato girl here. She would know, considering how much time she had spent with this Avatar-person."
"I think you have proven how difficult it would be to get those two women back here, Mako," there was bite in Amon's words.
He had to bite the insides of his cheeks from blurting out some choice words of his own.
"This is a chance I am giving you," the Masked One turned around, hands behind his back as he surveyed Republic City from the wall of glass that served as his window to the outside. "A very important task that I would reserve to no one but the best under my command. Infiltrate this Avatar Korra's group, if you must. But find me a powerful source of energy to fuel up the Bastille." He turned slightly to face the Mercenary, a steely look on his eyes. "Failure is not an option. I am certain your brother wouldn't want you to fail either. Do you understand?"
And he did. Mako understood perfectly. He agreed, and he already had a plan in his mind by the time he returned to his quarters.
Of course, that was before he had become some sort of walking, human matchstick lighting things up left and right.
Now, it seemed like Amon was just humoring him about the Avatar and the Sato girl; that he knew what was going on with him and was just toying with him. He felt trapped. Paranoid. His mind kept giving him all sorts of scenarios of being watched and surveyed.
What if whatever is happening to me has something to do with all these Spirits crap? It wasn't the first time such a though entered his baffled mind. What if Amon is planning to use me as some sort of human sacrifice to fuel his machine? He proved he could extract energy from humans with that glove of his...would it be so farfetched to think he would do the same to me if he knows that I am literally bursting with fire?
Such thoughts kept him even more awake at night and kept him from thinking much on the job the leader of the Equalists have given him.
He looked at the communicator lying haphazardly on the lone, circular table in the room. He hadn't touched it for fear of destroying it and having to explain why he needed to acquisition a new one. Now, it was tempting him.
He weighed the options he had in his mind. He could call Duo Xing and ask for her advice if she was still unwilling to help him (he couldn't really blame her, but... Gods why do women have to be so difficult?).
But then he remembered, Amon was just a side-line now. Another employment to simply keep the cash flowing and keep his brother safe. There was someone else he was working for now. Someone who had proven more capable and powerful than the masked leader; someone even more mysterious than Amon could ever try to be.
It was true that his new employer hadn't provided him an ounce of help at that time, and had simply dropped a message from Amon, but things were different now.
Surely, I would get the help I need.
Despite not knowing how to get into contact with his hooded employer, Mako decided then that there was another option open to him.
There always has been.
Opal had quite a number of hobbies.
She liked growing flowers, which was why she had a small garden back when she was still living with her family and why her room—apart from having shelves upon shelves of books—were home to pots of various sizes all of which taking the bulk of her windowsill's space.
She liked reading, which was a given. Her natural curiosity found great solace in the pages of books; their smell comforting. Each book to her had a soul that burst forth when it is opened; a soul that yearned to divulge the secrets with each touch of its pages. Each word read was a whisper from the authors, whether they were well-known historians or people whose names have long been lost but whose stories were never forgotten.
She liked to write. As someone who aspired to be a great historian—and as an avid reader—herself, she had learned to take the pen and use it to tell the flow of history from her point of view and her understanding. She let her passion flow out into each word scribbled and transcribed into paper, hoping her words would create the vivid picture of what was and what could be; that her words would bring about the truth that had been lost and, sometimes, hidden.
She learned to like traveling as well. At first, she hated it. Hated having to leave those things that were familiar, but knowing it was needed. She hid that fact well, not even certain Asami knew. With each brand new day she spent in the company of the Avatar, and the adventures (and misadventures) that they encountered along the way, she found that she enjoyed it immensely. She liked the new discoveries that she made; she loved seeing the places she had only read about in her books. She loved experiencing these new things.
But, perhaps, more than anything, Opal loved people-watching. She loved to simply sit somewhere and watch how people interacted—their mannerisms, their stature—and ry to come up with stories behind the things that they do. She loved to simply observe how others behaved and see the difference in cultures and upbringing away from the scene in her subjects interact. In doing so, she learned so much about them and the community they live in. She had learned to gauge people from honing on that skill as well.
Which was why, as she observed Korra, she couldn't help but wonder what was the cause behind the Avatar's demeanor. She had thought that, after acknowledged in such a grand way, that Korra would be standing proudly, boisterously, and smugly as she did whenever her identity came up.
During those times, Korra would puff out her chest, grin that self-satisfied grin of hers, and would not hesitate to show—in words and in actions—how beneath her humans were. Even when she had mellowed out somewhat thanks to whatever spell Asami had cast on the young deity-turned-human, the mere chance to let everyone know she was not like them, was not something the Avatar passed up on.
And there was no bigger stage that could be given to her at that moment than the ball the Royal Family had prepared that placed her high up on a pedestal with big, bright spotlights aimed straight for her.
This was, in Opal'ls opinion, supposed to be the moment where Korra would transform into her haughty and overbearing nature that by the time the party was over, there was not a single person in that room who did not get a sense of how big a character the Avatar was.
But the Korra she had observed thus far was tamer, yet unsociable, in comparison. She didn't give any biting words to anyone, didn't threaten them into being roasted, blown away, knocked off, or out. She didn't speak brazenly to anyone, nor did he send anyone into a frenzy of anger or running out of shame with her words alone. She didn'lt walk around like she owned the place, or regaled anyone with displays of her strength and power to have them all shaking in their boots (or heels, or whatever soles their footwears had) in awe and fear.
Instead, the Avatar's words were short and clipped. Her smile—toothy as it was—barely reached her sapphire irises. She didn't even seem to pay attention to what those who were courageous and bold enough to speak with her had to say.
Her posture was rigid, as though she was a carved statue suddenly brought to life with no idea that human limbs were flexible. More importantly, Korra didn't look like she was having any fun. She looked as though she would rather be anywhere but here.
It was understandable, of course. She had heard from Asami a fragment of what kind of gatherings Avatar Korra had been privy to. As someone whose goal was to learn about cultures and history and share what she had learned of the world to the world, Opal wasn't surprised that the concept of human sacrifices were still practiced in foreign parts of the world. Given who and what Korra was, it was pretty much a given that something as horrid as that would still exist in a world where everything was progressing at a rapid pace—cultures, included.
Still, it was one of those things the young Bei Fong would rather not have front row seats in witnessing.
But even when it should really be apparent to Korra that there weren't any sacrifices to be offered to appease her in that particular gathering, the chocolate-skinned, young woman didn't show any signs of relaxing or getting into the mood of the party.
In a way, Korra was even becoming such a downer for it.
"You know," Bolin pulled her from her thoughts, speaking beside her. Despite having others he could have hung around with and talked to, the Mover Star hadn't left her side ever since they were reunited. Opal didn't mind, though. He was good company. Funny and entertaining, gentle and kind. "I don't know Korra that much, but I prefer her snarky than brooding."
Opal nodded, agreeing with his sentiments. "This isn't what Asami described Korra's mood was when she went and talked with her before. I wonder what happened?"
The Mover Star shrugged, as though the question—rhetorical as it was—was directed at him. He gave her a sidelong glance and replied, "You should go and speak with her." When she gave him a questioning look, for she had already attempted to leave Bolin be before but the young man was like a lost puppy, following her around. It was surprising to her that he would tell her thus now. "As wonderful as my presence is, and as awesome as my stories are, standing around me wouldn't give you the answer to your question."
She couldn't help the raised eyebrows that accompanied her words as she spoke, "Are you sure you're not saying that just so you could eavesdrop on whatever conversation Korra and I might have in order to satisfy your own curiosity?"
In response to such accusations, Bolin gave a loud gasp. One foot took a small step backwards, eyes widened like saucers, and his mouth hang agape. His right hand shot over his chest, gripping it as though the words had physically pained him.
It was such a theatrical performance that ended with the famous young man saying in an equally dramatic fashion, "You wound me, Miss Bei Fong! I'll have you know that I was raised as an impeccable youth and am a great and outstanding member of society whose only joy in life is to spread the wonders of Movers and entertain the masses! I am an honorable gentleman. I do not eavesdrop on conversations!"
How does one respond to such declaration but to roll one's eyes—which Opal did-as she turned and began to heed the young man's advice, grinning as she waved him off and said, "Whatever you say, Bolin."
Bolin watched as Opal walked off, a goofy look painted across his face. She was interesting and witty, reminding him so much of Asami in their childhood—not that Asami had changed that much in the course of the years that had passed. Asami was still Asami, and he was glad of that. He had worried over her when he had to go away; that somehow her stature in life was going to swallow her up and change her as a person.
It seemed he didn't have to worry about it, though. He wondered if Opal had anything to do with keeping the young heiress grounded—not that he knew anything about Opal Bei Fong, apart from the things he had gathered from conversing with her.
Why does her name sound so familiar, though?
He still hadn't been able to figure why and he didn't want to ask her or anyone else for fear of looking and sounding stupid. He also didn't want to risk being rude in asking. It might be as sensitive a topic as Asami's relation with Hiroshi Sato and Future Industries.
"You should really stop making such strange expressions. You might end up scaring people away and starting some rumors about how unhinged and unapproachable you are."
Despite her remarks, Bolin couldn't help but turn around and grin at Duo Xing. Biting as she always was with her words, he knew he meant well. She was a bit rough around the edges (and he only said that not to sound mean), but underneath it all, she was kind and always had his best interest at heart.
"My expressions are never strange," he retorted with a mock glare. "I have been given accolades because of them."
Duo Xing rolled her eyes at him. She knew the awards he had been given because of his acting prowess, of course. She had been witness to those times when he received them. She had also been made privy to watch the magic being woven in action, being allowed during shoots of his movers.
Her eyes left him and traversed the same path that Opal had taken. He gulped and tried to hide his discomfort at what was to come.
"It seems you are among the few who weren't so surprised about them," Duo Xing began as her eyes landed on Opal and then at Korra whom she was speaking with. A myriad of expressions passed over her features, too fast even for Bolin to catch. "It also seems to me that you are quite familiar of them...why is that, Bolin?"
There it was, the beginning of her interrogations. The Mover Star always hated when she got into it.
"Well...Asami and I were friends when we were children." Bolin explained, deciding to be as honest as he could, though being mindful of what he says. "We ran into each other again in Shu Jing."
"Is that all?" Again, Duo Xing gave him a look that made him shiver in fright. It was a look that could easily be interpreted as her knowing what he had been hiding. It was also a look that told him things will not bode well for him.
Bolin swallow. "Well...yes."
That did not mean he was not going to lie through his teeth and hope she would buy whatever would come out of his mouth.
Of all the expressions that would cross his secretary's face upon hearing him answer, however, the Mover Star did not expect her to smile and look pleased. He wasn't an idiot, though (despite what Duo Xing would often think and say). Bolin knew not to be relieved by that smile.
"Then, I suppose, I misheard what you said about sneaking them into the Capital."
The way he took a sharp intake of breath made it sound like he squeaked. Quickly, Bolin composed himself, shaking his head and replying with an elongated "No". He chuckled nervously as he attempted to correct that little slip-up he had made earlier.
"Of course, you misheard me." He said. "How could I have possibly done something like that? That would require a lot of planning, and with the way we had to leave Shu Jing because of those things, there was no way I could have smuggled them in here."
"That is true," Duo Xing acknowledged, but something told Bolin that he didn't truly believe him. "How could you have helped them out of such a chaotic situation? It would be impossible to have found others in the mayhem caused by those creatures. It would take quite a bit of luck, or some sort of divine intervention for that to happen."
Bolin hadn't thought much of how lucky Asami and the others had been that the airship they had chosen to board and stow themselves away in had been his. But Duo Xing's words gave him reason to pause.
Could it all have been luck? He wondered. Or does being the Avatar gave Korra some leeway to get things to work on their favor?
Again, the Mover Star shook his head. Korra might be something special, but he doubted she would have such an ability to have fate be on her side. If that had been the case, after all, he didn't think her group would have had experienced the trouble Opal had told him they had been in.
So Bolin just shrugged in response to what Duo Xing had said. He didn't want to say more and inadvertently dig an even deeper hole for himself.
At that point, Prince Iroh walked towards him. He looked as sullen as he had been during the start of the ball. How anyone could feel down during a feast, the Mover Star didn't know. Especially when it was something thrown by the Royal Family, with all the delectable foods splayed out in the tables, the funky music playing, and the people around them who were all (well, mostly) fans.
"Your highness," Duo Xing bowed, she looked at the young royal perplexed.
Bolin mimicked the actions, lest he had to, once again, sit through etiquette lessons. Though that did not stop himself from blurting out, "Prince Iroh, how are you doing?" so casually that he could almost feel Duo Xing's eyebrows twitch.
"My grandfather, Lord Zuko, wishes to speak with both you," he mumbled, like he did not like being used as a messenger. Chances were, that was exactly what was pushing the Prince's buttons.
Bolin looked over at Duo Xing, who looked back at him and shrugged. She was just as in the dark about the reason for such a summons from the Hero of the Hundred Year War.
"Can we ask why? Is there something he needs from us?" the Secretary asked on both of their behalf.
Prince Iroh shook his head. "My grandfather did not say. But he shall be awaiting both of you at the throne room." He nodded to himself, and having delivered his piece, bid them all an enjoyable evening before turning around and leaving them to themselves.
"You didn't do anything that would get us into trouble, did you?" Duo Xing eyed him with suspicion.
"What? Of course not!" He paused as he thought it further through. "Well, nothing I could think of, at least."
She sighed, exasperated. "I swear, Bolin..."
"W-Well, maybe it has something to do with our ticket to the Earth Kingdom?" Bolin pointed out another possibility—the one that he had been waiting to learn more about.
Lord Zuko had already told them that they would be allowed to board one of the airships of the Royal Fleet, but that he was not going to do so out of the kindness of his heart. He had told them that it was only in exchange for "a service to the Fire Nation". What that service was, both he and Duo Xing had yet to be informed of.
He was hoping they would be told what it was soon. His Earth Kingdom tour was just around the corner and his schedule was already delayed enough as it was. They couldn't suffer any more of it.
Bolin let Duo Xing mull over his words. She closed her eyes a moment later and took a couple of calming breaths, which told him she would, at least, try to look at the summons in a positive light.
"I suppose you may be right," she admitted. Those words were soon followed by a glare that had sweat build up in the Mover Star's brows once again and had him swallowing hard. "But if we are being summoned because of something you did, I swear Bolin, you will be in a lot of trouble."
And he didn't doubt that. Not one bit.
"If this is what you're like in a party, I would hate to see how you are in a war meeting or a funeral," Opal's words broke through the debate that has been going through her mind.
She frowned, "That is a strange way to greet someone."
And it was.
Though, Korra supposed, she was in no position to say something like that. She was certain people had begun to view her even more strangely than they did before.
It didn't help that the Historian affirmed it by saying, "Not as bizarre as seeing you like this." She gestured a hand at the entirety of the Avatar, waving it from her head downwards until it fingers pointed at her feet.
Korra crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. It was one thing to be aware of it, but it was quite a different thing all together when someone else pointed it out.
If she had hoped such an expression would keep Opal from digging deeper and from interacting with her, she was wrong. She was not that fortunate. The moment the expression crossed her face, Opal renewed her...meddling.
"See, this is what I am talking about," she said, saying it as though she had just caught on to something. "You are acting all broody and shunning people away when normally, given the situation we finally find ourselves in, you would have jumped at the opportunity telling everyone you are some powerful being born to bring balance to the world."
Korra's brow creased even further. "You and Asami told me to keep that to myself," she told them. It was only a fraction of the truth behind her current disposition, of course, but it was a convenient thing to remember them telling her.
That should have been enough to keep the young Bei Fong from pestering her with questions she really would rather not have to deal with. But Korra forgot something about Opal—something she had been reminded quickly of.
Opal Bei Fong was an inquisitive human.
"Is that really the reason why?" Opal's inquiry was uttered softly. It was as though she felt the need to ask the question gently. "It has nothing to do with the parties you have to live through in Nia Bayou?"
The Avatar sighed. "Asami told you."
Though it wasn't a question, Opal responded to her with her own question. "Should she not have?"
Korra shook her head. "It doesn't bother me that she did. I didn't tell Asami not to tell anybody about it either. But if it would keep you from assuming things, the answer to your previous question is: no."
"Really?" Opal didn't believe her, if the lilt that accompanied her words were anything to go by. Similarly, Korra could see the doubt in her eyes before it had that far-away look in them as she mulled things over.
Korra didn't like the expression that took over Opal's face after a few moments. She braced herself as the aspiring, young historian's eyes lit up, as though whatever she saw in her mind—whatever conclusion there was—revealed itself to her.
As if it was not horrifying enough (not that Korra would ever admit feeling that way about the human) that Opal had come up with her own explanation as to why Korra was acting the way she was, the other girl grinned at her knowingly.
"I see..." Opal hummed.
What it was Opal could 'see', Korra couldn't really fathom. She was both curious and apprehensive.
Curiosity got the better of her, however, and she ended up asking, "What are you talking about?"
Instead of answering her question directly, Opal confuddled Korra even further when she uttered, "It was your fault, you know. If you hadn't gone and disappeared on us, we could have all gone here together."
Sapphire eyes squinted at the Earth Kingdom native. Speaking with Opal, Korra forgot the burden she felt she was carrying and found herself filled with confusion of a different kind.
"I truly do not understand what you are talking about," The need to point that out became so apparent when her friend would not stop smirking at her. It wasn't that she was trying to act ignorant of what Opal was accusing her of. Simple—and very truly—was.
It was Opal's turn to raise an eyebrow. "The dance?"
She blinked. "Dance?"
The Historian blew a raspberry. "Yes. You don't have to act like you don't know what I am talking about. Jealousy is oozing out of you in waves."
"W-What? What do I have to be jealous about? I am not even familiar with the concept of that human emotion." Korra sputtered, but even as she said those words, a recent memory flashed in her mind: long, raven hair flowing with each turn; of strong hands on porcelain skin, guiding; of two people who looked good together, dancing in the middle of the crowd.
She felt a pang in her heart then. And knew what she had said was a lie. She hadn't known about the concept of jealousy, but that was before...
Catching herself thinking about it sent her neck and her cheeks burning, like she was just about to bend and breathe out fire. She wanted to wipe her embarrassment away, but it was already too late. Opal had already seen it and had pointed at her with emphasis and an "Aha!".
And even though what the actual thought was that caused her to blush was a secret from Opal, the fact that she had just been caught blushing was enough of an ammunition for the young historian. Not that Opal actually needed anything more to put whatever puzzle pieces she had together and come up with something—though not entirely on point with what was really going on with Korra, but was enough to shine light to an aspect of it.
Again, Korra crossed her arms, looked away, and huffed. That got Opal to chuckle even more.
"Asami wouldn't have danced with him if you had been around, you know." The young Bei Fong wanted to assure her, explaining on Asami's behalf. Not that Korra wanted an explanation. Or cared about it. At least, that was what she told herself. "She thought it would be a good idea to humor Prince Iroh and try to be nice to him. Get him to help us, you know?"
A sigh and an "It doesn't matter" was Korra's response. Her eyes lingered on the raven-haired figure in the middle of the crowd on the other side of the room for a little while before she turned her attention back to her companion.
"As long as she is having fun—as long as all of you are—it doesn't matter," She sighed. "That was the reason why I agreed to this. Besides, I have been told several times these past few days, there are some things that cannot be controlled. Not even by me."
Korra wanted to say more. To share the burden to someone else; to let someone else—apart from Lord Zuko—know what was going on. But she couldn't. To tell Opal that would mean to make heavy her own heart; to enslave her to something she couldn't be allowed to tell anyone else.
And Opal, as trustworthy as she was and as true to her word as she was, would have a hard time doing so. She would be forced to lie to Asami whom Korra knew she cared deeply about, and to Kai. It would be unfair to ask her that, not after everything else the Avatar had already put her through.
And so, Avatar Korra left it at that. She didn't look away when the Historian scrutinized her, knowing that her words held deeper meaning.
After a while, Opal placed a hand on her forearm and said, "I don't know what's going on with you Korra, and I won't force you to tell me. But, just so you know, Asami, Kai, and I? We're you're friends. You can trust us with whatever it is. We can help you."
Korra smiled genuinely. "I know."
It had been nagging Asami ever since she saw Korra enter the ballroom. She had wanted to confront the darker skinned girl, but something—or someone—would stop her from doing so. Earlier, it had been Iroh. Then his mother who seemed to have had a shift in her dealings with her and had been quite kind and accommodating, surprisingly so. It was also difficult not to notice the way Fire Lord Izumi had been looking at her like she was some long, lost daughter she missed and cared dearly for but was too worried and anxious to do anything about.
Now, it was a group of aristocrats who got wind of who she was and her affiliation with Future Industries that kept her from Korra and her friends. All of them had a lot of questions, ranging from doing business with her father's company, why she was in the Royal Capital, how she was acquainted with the Royal Family, and the truth behind the rumors going around that she had been taken prisoner. She answered them as best she could and as quickly as she could in hopes of being freed from their company. But with every question answered, another would take its place that it took all of Asami's patience not say or do anything that would reflect poorly on her and on Future Industries.
What was worse was that the longer she was forced into socializing with these people, the more she could feel Korra's eyes boring into her. When she took a glance at the Avatar, however, she would find that Korra was not looking at her at all. Several times she tried catching Korra in the act. She failed just as many. It came to the point where she wondered if she was just imagining things and was just being paranoid.
It was frustrating.
The wanna-be business partners that gathered around her kept chatting. What they were discussing, she had long tuned out and had lost interest in. Asami was pretty sure it wasn't anything important. Probably just gossip.
Having schooled her face kept them from seeing just how bored she was. Likewise, it kept her irritation from showing, especially when she saw Opal and Korra conversing by themselves. She was jealous of them, if she was being honest. She was even willing to admit she was jealous of Kai—who was by the long tables of food, indulging himself—too.
She felt someone staring at her then. It wasn't like how it felt when Korra was looking at her (or when she thought Korra was looking). It didn't felt creepy, though. It just felt like she was being carefully observed.
That didn't mean it did not give her goosebumps. It did.
Asami was saved from having to look around for the person responsible for such a feeling when an old, noblewoman grabbed her by the wrist. The act surprised her more than how tight she was being held.
She gasped—which was the only sound that managed to escape her lips, before the old woman began speaking.
"You look so much like her," the old woman emotionally said, almost tearing up as she did. "I never thought I would be able to get a glimpse of those eyes again."
It was a strange thing to hear, as it was to say to someone. Doubly so when the person being addressed had no idea what the other was saying. Asami was not able to ask the noblewoman what she meant. It was as though some force far beyond her control was keeping her from asking the important question, for Prince Iroh was suddenly at her side pulling her away from the crowd.
Everything happened so fast that it felt like chaos for Asami. She didn't know what had happened until she was already by the large, double doors that led out of the ballroom, the Prince's hand around her elbow.
"What...just happened?" she asked as she freed herself from Iroh. She did not appreciate it, even if she had been looking for a way out of the throngs of people. "Why did you drag me here?"
"You looked like you needed help to get away from those sharks." Prince Iroh replied as he looked disdainfully at the people they had just left.
Had that old noblewoman not spoken to her, she might have been thankful. "I didn't need your help, Prince Iroh." she almost hissed.
Iroh was taken aback by the response he was given, and he showed it by taking a physical step back. He was certain he had been making progress with her in the few hours they had spent in the ball.
Had I been mistaken?He wondered to himself. Then cleared his throat and said. "I apologized if I had made the wrong assumption but I also came to get you, as per the instructions of my grandfather."
"Lord Zuko? Why? What does he want?"
The young prince shrugged. "He did not say. But you are not the only one he had asked be brought to the throne room. Bolin, the Mover Star, and his secretary had also been called. As did your other...friends."
"Korra?"
"Yes," the answer was clipped, but civil enough. Asami could feel there was still some leftover vexation over what had happened not long ago. "I was going to inform her after I had brought you to my grandfather."
"You don't have to," Asami said, turning around. Perhaps this was the chance she needed to speak with Korra for herself. "I will go get them."
Iroh once again grabbed her, keeping her from taking another step. "That is not a good idea, my lady. If you go back in there, you will just be overwhelmed by the crowd again." The look she gave him prompted the prince to release his grip on her and add with much assurance, "I will not delay in getting them. Please, just go to the throne room now."
When Asami still looked at him unconvinced, he sighed once more and added, "And I will not pick a fight with your Avatar."
That appeased the Prodigy somewhat and she nodded in agreement, taking another step to the opposite direction she was about to take with nothing more than a "Very well" thrown at Iroh's direction.
Of course, Asami waited for Iroh to make his move towards Korra and Opal, watching him for a few seconds, before she slipped out of the party and towards the throne room.
It was dark. He felt stuffy with the sack wrapped around his head. He had lost track of time after having been knocked unconscious. Similarly, he was uncertain of his whereabouts as well. But instead of letting the panic surface, he held it down, willed his other senses to function and be more in-tuned to his surroundings.
He tried not to gag at the tangy smell of iron he could only guess (and shudder) was blood, mixed with the putrid stench of dried vomit. It was disgusting, but he could not free himself from it with his hands firmly tied behind him.
Unalaq had been taken prisoner. By whom, he did not know. From their voices, he gauged that there were four of them—two men and two women. He couldn't be entirely certain there were not more of his captors around, but he was confident in his ability to discern the four distinct voices he had heard over the course of his imprisonment. What those voices were saying, however, was an entirely different matter altogether, for he couldn't make out their words which came to him as muffled sounds.
Much as he feared for his life, he still managed to retain a brave facade. If these were barbarians who had hoped to steal what meager belongings he had, he was not going to give them the satisfaction of groveling.
Given his circumstance, one would think he could only feel hopelessness. But he found consolation in the thought that they would not get anything out of him; that they were keeping him alive and bound, feeding him scraps of leftovers fit for strays (but feeding him nonetheless) and using up their supplies for the things that were in the satchel they took from him whose contents were useless except for him.
The disgraced chieftain knew they were running out of supplies too. That it would be a matter of time before they come to him to either kill him or confront him about the texts he had in his possession. He was certain these simpletons would believe them to be documents that would lead to riches beyond their wildest dreams—a treasure map written in some old, ancient language.
Unalaq was already concocting stories to use what he assumed were the simple-mindedness of those that held him captive—he was already making up plans on how to use that (and them) to his advantage, when the rusty doors to his makeshift cell groaned to life as it was pushed open.
Footsteps—two heavy sets of them, and one lithe and barely audible—echoed through the acoustics of the room. He could feel the three of them close by, encircling him. Again, he summoned all the will he had not to show any signs of fright.
The trio talked in hushed voices too difficult to make out, though there was an argumentative tone in one of them. And then, there was silence.
It unnerved Unalaq somewhat, but he forced his body not to crumble; not to slouch. Several minutes passed, the number of which was lost to him as he focused more on his breathing than being aware of the passage of time, before there was quick movement and the sack that covered his head was roughly pulled off him.
He gasped, hoping to drink in fresh air but quickly turned to coughing and gagging when he was met with the smell of urine, strong with the smell of ammonia, and of decay. He shivered at the thought of where the scent of putrefaction was coming from. For a moment, he wished the his head was back under the dirty, piece of burlap where the odors were a lot less assaulting.
Through his watery and squinted eyes that had slowly began to adjust to the room's lighting—or lack, thereof—he saw that his estimation was correct. There were, indeed, three people in the room with him. Two men and one woman.
One of the men—the one standing in front of him, tall and proud—was burly, with graying long hair as messy as a bird's nest. He had thick, sharkbrow eyebrows with the left having a thin scar that ran from his forehead to the top cover of his upper eyelid, making his olive-green eyes look fiercer and brighter, especially in that darkened cell. A beard grew on his chin, the length reaching his collarbone.
The man wore brown, tattered hakama with an equally dirty and tattered gi held together by a tenugui that had seen better days. His feet—as were his hands, up to his arms—were bound by bandages.
To his right was the woman in the same tattered clothing as the intimidating man in front. Little of her facial features could be seen, hidden by a dark-forest green hood that overshadowed half of her face, leaving only bow-shaped lips that were drawn in a thin, displeased line. Similar to the burly man, she too had her arm up to her hands, as well as her feet, in bandages.
The third of the trio was yet a muscular man who was unashamed of how his body looked—baring his upper torso for the world to see, which was not just bulging with muscles but was also dotted with tattoos intricately designed.
He had long, flowing black hair that reached his chest and hooded his sharply contoured face. An extended goatee accentuated it. His brows were thick, emphasizing the hollowness of his eye sockets making his eyes bigger and more menacing.
Unlike his two other companions, he had no bandages wrapped around any part of his body that Unalaq could see.
They truly looked like a fearsome group. And the fact that they were all looking at him the way that they were made him glad that he was still tied and sitting.
When his coughing fit had ended, he inhaled another lungful of foul air and straightened his back. He looked each of them in the eye with authority that could only be derived by someone who had lived most of his life as a chieftain, before he turned his full focus on the one in he believed to be the leader of the group.
"Finally," his voice sounded gravely even to his ears, his throat parched, making it difficult to speak. Yet, he pushed the words out with as much bravado as he could muster. "I have come face to face with my host."
He was answered with silence. And instead of being further intimidated by it, the Nia Bayou native took it as an invitation to continue.
"I was wondering how long it would take until I was given this audience." If he could have, he would have crossed his arms and his legs and made himself comfortable. "Did you finally get tired of riffling through my belongings? You barbarians could have just asked me to give you my satchel, I would have complied. There is nothing of value in it, after all. Nothing people like you would find valuable, anyways."
He had hoped to get a reaction out of the three people in the room, but he was given none. They just continued to stare at him, unmoving.
Unalaq opened his mouth to speak once more, but was interrupted by a voice that sounded far younger than what he had expected to come from any of the those that were in the prison cell with him.
"It would appear as though my father's tales were not as embellished as I thought they were," the bearded man said. "You people certainly do love the sound of your own voice. It would also appear that nothing has changed from those of 'The Bright River', sounding so pompous and arrogant as they always have been."
Unalaq opened and closed his mouth like a cuttlefish out of water. He was left speechless to hear a barbarian speak with such a familiar tone on his voice about Nia Bayou.
"It seems you have found a way to silence him without even raising a hand, brother." the long-haired man chuckled. "Who knew mentioning that place would get him to shut up."
"H-How?" the chieftain sputtered. "My village is a hidden village. No one should know about it!"
"Oh, we know things, alright." the woman laughed, amused. "Far more than you may credit us for." Angrily muttering, she said, "Calling us barbarians. Hah! Your people should be the ones called that!"
Unalaq was so lost, so confused. His expression remained in the stunned expression it had been in. It wasn't just the bearded man who knew of Nia Bayou, all of them did. His mind raced for an explanation, but he could find none.
The bearded man chuckled, eyes glinting with something the ex-chieftain couldn't quite place but making him, for the first time, visibly shake.
"You have questions, I can tell." He said. "And I have questions of my own as well. What do you say to a little chat?"
As he said those words, he took from under his robes several pieces of parchment—parchments that Unalaq was familiar with and had been in possession of that was given to him by the woman he had helped back in the Water Tribes.
The man waved the pieces of paper around, eyes never leaving Unalaq, and said, "We'll start with these."
Post-Author's Notes:
First up, let me just say that I, in no way, am annoyed with Iroh II. I just find it fun to write interactions with him like this (also considering how I portrayed Korra and how he was introduced into the story). So, there's that.
Second, some more interesting facts and real world tidbits:
I suppose a lot of you know what a gi is, but for those who are not familiar of it, it is typically (and more commonly for Westeners to know) worn by martial artists. It can be called differently depending on what is being practiced (like Karategi, Judogi, etc).
A hakama is a type of traditional Japanese clothing adapted by the Japanese people in the sixteenth century (from the Chinese). Men wear hakama nowadays for extremely formal occasions, whereas before it was a required part of their normal, everyday, casual wear.
A tenugui a thin Japanese hand towel made of cotton. Though used just like any other hand towel, these ones are particularly known for as souvenirs or as part of a kendo uniform where it is used as a headband and extra padding on the head.
Anyways, that's all for now.
I hope you guys enjoyed reading this. As always, thoughts on the chapter and the story thus far are always welcomed.
Until the next update, dream on; fly on! :)
