A/N: I did it. I beat the anxiety-ridden pandemic slump and finally got this chapter out. This is on the longer side. I debated whether to separate this into two shorter chapters or keep it as one long chapter, but decided it flowed best all together. So here you go, "Lockdown Length" for your reading pleasure. Also, I'd like to just take a moment to recognize Ozai, the social distancing champion. I hope you all are staying safe during this difficult time.
The hills were a patchwork of green, the road a beaten, tawny river winding through it. Sunlight glimmered off the deep swells of grass, burning away the mist that veiled the peaks of the mountains where they snagged their snowy tips on the sky.
Ozai had survived their first night and the day so far without incident. No bewitching waterbender curled up in his arms, at least. Their sleeping bags and the wide-open expanse ensured adequate distance and he gave silent thanks to the spirits for that small mercy. Perhaps with any luck, things would continue on in this way, they would knock out these tasks, and whatever this was would fizzle out naturally.
A sudden breeze pressed the dress to her body and whipped the long, loose hair around her face. For an instant, it gave her an almost wild look, like her soul was untamed. Katara tossed her head to the side, raked her fingers through her stormy locks and swept them over her willowy neck, a mesmerizing tangle of chocolate waves. Before he could even put up his guard, he was hypnotized.
When the wind died down, he watched her throw another treat into the air for Fern, her eyes meeting his in a winsome glance. He looked away.
"Worthless beast," Ozai grumbled, jaw tight. The creature stamped the dirt road and gave a sharp tug on the reins.
"Hey now, she's not totally worthless. That's a lot of luggage she's carrying for us."
He gave a snort of disdain. "At this rate, we'll run out of food long before we were meant to, trekking the whole damn way on foot." Not to mention how much longer it would drag this out, the two of them. Dammit, he missed Lu Da.
"At least Brondolf gave us that extra money. And you're never going to get in Fern's good graces if you keep up that attitude. You gotta earn her trust, win her over with kindness." Another morsel flew into the air. The animal caught it.
Katara had woken in especially bright spirits this morning. The girl had scarcely stopped talking since the moment she'd risen. Every new and peculiar sight, the rich and vibrant scenery, every strange little creature that ducked out of their path seemed to delight her. It might have soured him, considering their circumstances warranted entirely the opposite, but in spite of it all, Ozai found himself strangely charmed by her happiness.
"So how long do you think it'll take us to get to the… what is it, the something Wilds? The Whisperwoods. What is it were looking for again? An Alderlock tree?"
"Blessed silence?"
She laughed and leaned into him in a way that stopped his breath – flirting with him – her eyes sparkling like water in the sun. He tried to keep his gaze locked firmly ahead. The blue sky arched above them, but he was back in that bed again, her body pressed against him, the silk of her hair, the sultry whisper of her breath on his chest.
"Come on, you know me better than that by now."
Her words settled in his chest. Far better than he ought to, that much was certain. It pushed the limits of propriety, toeing a line that was wearing dangerously thin. Every time they got close it was as though an electric current had been run through the ground. The glances that lasted longer than they should, the subtle little touches, the sensations she provoked that threatened to capsize him…
Ozai steeled his guard. He wasn't going to let that happen.
"A full three days, if we only stop to eat and sleep," he said brusquely in response to her question.
"Well, that's not too bad."
Ozai spared her a look, half expecting the ground to sprout a flurry of rainbows and butterflies in her wake. Ever a ray of sunshine in the gloom.
And he, a shadow damping it down.
"That's to get to the edge of the Carraberto Wilds," he reminded her. "The area is vast judging from the map, and Brondolf stated the Alderlock tree grows at the heart of it, which adds another day or two at least."
Exactly how many days depended on a lot of things. Weather. Navigation. If they could ride instead of walk. Toxic mushroom spores.
"How worried are you, about the Whisperwoods?" she asked, a shade of worry tainting her tone. "The voices people hallucinate? I mean, what if we get lost and can't find our way out?"
Ozai considered it for a moment and gave a shake of his head. "We've come too far. I'll be damned if some illusory whispers are going to get in my way."
That seemed to placate her for a while, but by now he knew that any considerable stretch of silence was a lost hope with her. In truth, he had grown accustomed to her chatter and perhaps enjoyed it more than he cared to admit, even to himself.
"Just remember what you promised me."
Ozai cocked his head and cast her a questioning glance. "And what is that?"
"That if this plan of yours works and you get your bending back at the end of all this, you won't use it to hurt anyone again."
His skin tightened. He had almost forgotten the lie he had told her, playing her sympathy to compel her to help him. Katara couldn't know the truth of what she was doing to the avatar, to her friend. He wanted – needed – this vengeance like it was air and he couldn't breathe. And yet, his heartbeat felt leaden, heavy as he held her trusting gaze. Ozai looked away.
"I gave you my word on that." At least that wasn't a complete lie. He would never hurt anyone with his bending again.
The silken green became hills of wild lavender and poppies, the air fresh with the scent of sun-kissed blooms. A sleepy little village was perched atop a hillside in the distance, looking over the colorful valleys.
Up ahead, something cut into the horizon. Even from a distance, Ozai could tell it was massive. A strewn, sprawling silhouette.
"What is that?" he heard Katara ask on the other side of Fern.
Ozai only shook his head in response. It was hard to say. Certainly not substantial enough to be a town or even a village. It took the better part of an hour before they got close enough to see the crumbled archways and broken pillars.
They came to stand finally before the remnants of what must have been a magnificent city at one time. Vines and twisting tree roots choked what remained of the columns. The ground sloped here and there at odd angles, weathered stones and blocks breaching like tombstones. All that was left, it seemed, of the tops of some of the buildings. It appeared as though the earth had simply opened up one day and swallowed most of an entire city whole.
He gazed up at a gigantic stone sculpture of a naked woman, now tilted and half buried to the waist, yet still towering over him. Many of the details had been eroded over what was likely centuries, but Ozai thought the woman almost resembled Yrsine, the goddess these people celebrated at Lunamass – or, demigoddess perhaps? He wasn't sure.
But upon closer inspection Ozai realized it was, in fact, a rendering of Yrsine. A laurel wreath crowned her head and she held a torch in one raised hand, two half-crumbled winged lions on either side of her. One of the beast's heads had broken away, lying on its side now several feet from one giant paw, its fanged mouth open and snarling.
"It's kind of sad," Katara said, wistful, "a haunting sort of beauty, seeing such grand architecture like this in decay, most of it lost and buried. I wonder what it was like, who lived here."
They stepped reverently around the rubble, beneath sculpted archways, pitted and stained, the carved inscriptions now illegible. Ozai stopped to run his hand over the cool, weathered stone then turned to her.
"There's nothing to see, let's go. We're wasting time, and we need to cover more ground before dusk."
"I just want to stay a minute and check it out," she replied without looking back. "Besides, dusk's not for hours yet."
"It will be upon us before we know it."
She didn't answer, stealing around a segment of partially collapsed wall. The earth sank and crumbled down beneath her feet and Katara gasped, quickly scrambled to firmer ground. He expected her to turn back but she kept going. Ozai shook his head and grumbled, carefully walking after her.
Wind slipped between stone pillars, the long grasses whispering. A bird called from upon a broken column. He couldn't quite say what drew her on, but even Ozai had to admit there was something about the stones that spoke to him. Perhaps she felt the same. Something in the derelict pillars, the cracked marble, the lonely, weather-beaten statues that roused a deep affinity in him. He was a ruin himself, wandering among ruins.
The pitted remains of a stairway led downward to be engulfed by steep slants of earth and collapsed blocks. A small animal scurried into an opening there, a dark hollow leading deep below. Katara crept closer and knelt down, the ground shifting beneath her feet as she peered into the unfathomable gloom.
"I wonder what it looks like down there," she mused, tilting her head and squinting.
Suddenly, the earth began to slide and crumble. Katara yelped and tried to scramble back, clawing at the base of an adjacent pillar, the stones sliding out from beneath her grasp and gulped down by the nothingness below. Ozai let go of Fern's reins with a curse and darted forward, taking hold of her while fighting to keep his footing when a deep rumbling crack sounded from above. The pillar groaned and began to topple over and Katara screamed, scrambling for purchase. Ozai reached toward a coiled tree root and heaved, wrenching them both to safety an instant before the column crashed down in a mess of dust and rubble.
He landed on top of her and tried to catch himself with his hands, carried by the impetus of his leap, their breaths heavy with adrenaline. The dust settled and in the meeting of their eyes, everything inside of him intensified. Katara's arms were still loosely around him, one of his legs settled between hers. Her gaze as it swept his face was like an intimate touch, alighting on his lips. The memory of their near kiss in that alley days before sent him spiraling, aching, her seductive mouth parted as air passed back and forth between them.
The breeze was cool but Ozai was smoldering, a spark in a draft about to catch. He was certain a mouth had never looked so enticing. The barest deepening of her touch on his back and the faint lilac-sweet scent of her threatened to obliterate his control. Katara swallowed, their gazes flitting between mouths and eyes, the color on her cheeks deepening as neither moved to get up. That throbbing ache in his core burned hotter as temptation whispered a sinful spell.
Give in, it coaxed. Take. She wants it, so where is the harm? Just give in.
It would be so easy. Right then and there, to loose the reins on his passion, purge the feelings she provoked in him. Heat curled down his spine. He would be lying if he said he didn't consider it. But Ozai stifled the spell and ground his teeth against it instead. No.
With one great, agonizing effort, he collected himself and pushed off of her, wishing for an ice-cold river to submerge in as he offered her a hand. Blushing, Katara let him help her to her feet and he quickly let go. Reclaiming Fern's reins, he did his best to level a controlled, hard look on her, her cheeks still flushed. A day without incident, it seemed, was too much to hope for.
"If I had been a step further away, you would have been buried alive. Your curiosity is going to get you killed," he rumbled. "No more poking about ancient ruins. Or anywhere that is not directly related to the task at hand, understood?"
Katara gave a small nod and looked away sheepishly as they crept back through the debris, on again toward the rolling horizon.
It was well into the afternoon when they finally stopped for a late lunch and a much-needed break. Their legs were sore, their bodies tired, and neither of them were in any hurry to trek on right away. So, gathering what little kindling they could find around the few trees nearby, Ozai cleared a space and sat down to nurse a small fire into something he could cook on.
Brondolf had stocked the saddlebags with plenty of foods, many of which would not spoil quickly and which Ozai intended to save for last. So he had unwrapped a slab of salt pork and cut it into chunks with his blade, skewering equal portions onto two sticks. He did the same with four small peppers, two on each spit, and turned the sticks slowly over the fire while Katara busied herself with their pea-brained animal.
She was coaxing it to eat from her hand now, holding her palm flat and speaking in a tender tone. The animal snorted softly, its bushy fox tail twitching, but it inched closer, finally snuffling the offered treat while Katara attempted to pet its tawny neck. She received a nip on her hand, long curved horns bucking. But, after flinching, Katara only scolded it gently, smiling soft as she held out another treat, undaunted.
The air filled with the savory aroma of grilled food as Ozai browned one side of the skewers and then turned them. He tried to keep his eyes lowered, tried not to stare, but she drew his gaze like a magnet. The girl was beauty in all its forms. Passionate, gentle, wild, pure.
Katara was determined to tame it. It seemed foolish to him, so much energy devoted to that surly creature which might never soften to her efforts at all. Why the girl cared for others so deeply regardless of the love she might gain in return baffled him. It was perhaps both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness.
With that sweet smile, she held out another morsel. This time, when the creature stretched its neck out, Katara inched her hand back. The animal made a peculiar little sound in its throat, something akin to resigned frustration. She lured it closer with soft words and soothing gestures, closing her hand just when the creature was near enough to take it. Gingerly, Katara stroked its muzzle and only after a long moment did she open her hand and yield the reward.
To Ozai's surprise, Fern didn't nip or buck as she had before. Instead, the beast whickered and nudged its snout almost playfully around Katara's waist in search of more snacks. Katara frisked backward and tossed her one to her, laughing, and this time when she stroked her neck, Fern leaned slightly into it.
Beaming, Katara glanced his way and Ozai dropped his gaze. A thin trail of grey was rising off the skewers. He smelled smoke and suddenly realized he had stopped turning them. Shit. Ozai jerked the sticks back from the flames. Some of the meat's edges were nearly black, the skin of the peppers blistered and peeling.
He cursed himself for losing focus to her, again, and heaved an exhale just as she walked up to stop before him. His eyes rose to hers reluctantly. Katara tipped her head with a mischievous look.
"Wow, those look… well-done. You managed to burn the simple meat and veggies?"
Ozai clenched his jaw and grumbled. "It's not burned–"
"It's pretty charred," she simpered, but nevertheless took her share and sat down beside him. Ozai didn't respond in hopes she would let it go, but judging by the probing smirk on her face he knew that was unlikely. "I guess you were spoiled all your life, they probably don't teach cooking basics to the Fire Prince."
"I know how to cook," he retorted.
Katara glanced to her skewer and back up. He grimaced as she raised a teasing brow. "Then what, you got distracted out here in the middle of nowhere?"
The words had scarcely passed her lips when she blinked, the realization skimming her slackening face. Ozai bristled hot. His eyes dropped sharply to the ground, and in the pause that followed he could feel her doe-eyed gaze mapping his face. Flitting over him like a moth around a burning candle, drawn but afraid to burn. In the corner of his eye, her fingers twitched up, as though she were about to reach out and touch him.
"Ozai…"
"Don't," he warned, quiet, scorning how much that one word suggested.
There was a long silence, charged with things unsaid. The grass hissed softly in a breeze, a distant bird sang out. Her voice when she spoke was faint and halting, as if unsure whether the question was taboo.
"How long are we going to keep acting like there's nothing–?"
"I said don't, waterbender," Ozai snarled finally, glaring down at the overcooked skewer. Her brows pinched with a hurt inhale and her shoulders fell. The slur on his tongue where her name should have been tasted entirely wrong now, like saké that had been forgotten and since turned. It blunted the edge of his tone and, bewildered, he muttered, "Just eat so we can go."
She looked very small suddenly and Ozai felt a stab of guilt. He did his best to shove it aside. Better that than encourage her sentiments further. Whatever she had intended to say died on her lips and her eyes followed his to the ground.
The silence he had so craved before descended now in graceless irony, thick and awkward, while Fern grazed obliviously on the lush billows of grass.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
The afternoon passed at a snail's pace, the sun listlessly tracking across the clear canvas of blue. They kept to the beaten road, passing a large stone house up on a hill, rows of grapevines and olive trees fanning around it. Another two houses, miles apart. More grapevines, more olive trees. A trio of men galloped by on hooved creatures, sparing them nary a glance.
But aside from a few signs of civilization, the only life for miles had been mostly the wild variety. Meadow voles, foxes. Birds darting into the grass, bees flitting between flowers.
A different sort of movement up ahead caught his eye. A figure drifting about what looked like an overturned wagon. Some sort of creature, like a buffalo, was still yoked to it and resting in the grass. As they drew closer, a little boy of about eight stood straighter, the child blocking their route and waving them down awkwardly. A woman was lying next to the wagon, groaning quietly, the bodice of her dress stained a deep red.
Something about the scene struck him as off, though Ozai couldn't quite place his finger on it. He didn't think it was a sign of a threat, but it was something unexpected. It was always better to be cautious in the face of what was not understood. They approached carefully.
"Please, help!" the boy called out, bounding into their path. "My mother, she's hurt."
"What happened?" Katara asked, sympathy already rolling off her in waves. "Are you okay?"
"Some bad men came by and tried to rob us. Mother fought them off but they hurt her bad. We need help."
Ozai narrowed his eyes. "You're out here travelling alone, just you are your mother?"
"We do it often to go visit my cousins and help my aunt with the new baby." The boy fidgeted with his hands.
"Where is your father?"
"Ozai," Katara scolded. His mouth pinched.
"My father stays back to work, we need the money. We were supposed be back by now, he's probably starting to get worried, and I'm scared. Please. Can you help? I don't know what to do."
"Of course, we'll help," she hummed, hands on her knees as she stooped down to look him the eyes. "I might even be able to make her all better."
Ozai's neck prickled, the leaves of the nearby trees murmuring in a breeze. He didn't know what it was, but something wasn't right. He scanned their surroundings, his eyes cutting sidelong toward her.
"Katara," he cautioned quietly but she returned it with a scoff.
"I'm not walking away from people who need me, especially not a kid."
As she moved toward the woman and knelt down, Ozai kept his eyes trained on the boy. He scratched his head, a contrived sort of motion. Fern snorted, jerked on the reins.
Then in a flash, a man and a woman leaped out from behind the overturned wagon. Katara stumbled back in surprise, tearing water from a circle of grass. The woman went down in a burst of ice but the man sprung on Katara from behind and twisted her arms behind her back. Ozai was darting forward, his hand on his blade, when a shadow lunged in his peripheral vision.
Before he could turn, the pain hit. A sharp, blinding agony that splintered through his head an instant before the world slanted and went dark.
Katara struggled against the ropes, glaring from where she was tied atop the wagon bed. Two men and a woman were rummaging through their saddlebags and satchel, pulling things out, divvying them up with smirks and snark.
The injured woman had turned out to be very much unscathed, and not the boy's mother at all. As Katara had been tackled to the ground and her arms pinned behind her, she had watched the men right the wagon and struggle to heave Ozai's unconscious body onto it. Ropes had been secured tightly around both of them and she had lain beside him as the wagon jostled and jerked, wincing every time they went over a bump or a ditch.
When the cart had finally stopped, she'd been dragged upright to find they had arrived at some sort of camp. There were several tents both large and small, a cooking spit, two other stationary wagons and more strange buffalo-like creatures grazing at a trough, along with a small community of all ages ambling about. Ozai had been hauled off somewhere out of sight and Katara was left alone while the saddlebags were dismounted, not without a valiant fight from Fern, though she too was ultimately vanquished and was tied to a nearby tree, snorting anxiously.
As they rifled through their possessions now, one of the men – Hugo she'd heard him called, the leader of these bandits she'd guessed – held up one of the heavy Myrran garments Brondolf had given her. "My wife thanks you for this fine furred cloak, mademoiselle," he called up at her, grinning.
"And these stones," said the woman, drawing the Moonstone and the Windstone from the satchel, ogling their faintly glowing runes. "They'll make a lovely decorative statement."
"You will give us back our things," Katara spat, which only earned her a few cackles and jibes in response.
Their belongings were sufficiently pilfered, even the saddlebags were seized, and what little left was tossed aside in a careless heap. All of their things, everything they needed to survive, to carry out this mission, gone. And who knew what they planned to do with them. A rock hardened in her stomach. She still didn't see Ozai, didn't know where they had taken him.
"What have you done with him?" she asked the man called Hugo as he sauntered past.
"Who?" he asked lightly without looking up, knowing exactly who she meant.
"My… The man I was with."
His expression was cool and casual when he looked at her.
"I assure you, your companion is safe and being tended to."
"Why keep us here? You have what you want, why not just let us go?"
But he didn't answer. His eyes only crinkled smugly before walking on. Katara glared daggers at his back as he crossed the camp, finally stooping down beside a bed of sorts where an old woman was resting in the shade of a tree.
He helped her sit up slowly and held a cup to her lips while she drank, stroking her head with tender affection. The woman doubled up in a fit of coughs and heaves that shook her frail body and left her choking and gasping. When she could finally breathe again, he pulled a cloth from his pocket, dabbing the strings of blood and saliva from her mouth before resting her back down gently.
The scene plucked at her heart and reluctantly she felt the glare on her face soften before Hugo turned and crossed back again toward her. Katara narrowed her eyes in a scowl again.
"Let me guess, that woman's fake sick too."
The man stopped short as though she'd uttered some sort of curse and turned to her, his jaw hard. "That woman is my mother. And it's rather hard to fake cancer."
Katara blinked, the surprise and guilt dulling the edge of her scorn. She looked down, her teeth clenched. "I'm sorry…" she grumbled.
With a cynical huff, he sneered and began to unyoke the animal. She didn't expect him to speak again, but after a silence he continued sullenly. "The doctor said it's eating her lungs. She struggles with every breath. Hasn't left that bed in months. And she never will." Unfastening the reins, he gave the beast's rump a pat and it trotted toward a feeder with others of its kind. "Cruel way for such a woman to go. The most incredible woman I've ever known. She deserves better."
Katara stared down at the grains in the warped wood, willing herself to bite her tongue. Ultimately, she failed. "What if I said…" she began, looking up at him, "I might be able to heal her?"
"We've tried everything you can think of, it can't be cured," he scoffed harshly.
"Everything? Are you sure?"
His steel-grey eyes went cold, narrowed. "Think you're gonna pull on my heartstrings and fool me with that noble act to get out of those ropes? Save it."
"Like you have heartstrings to pull," she bit back before reining her anger back in. "It's not an act. I lost my mother years ago. I just know if I'd had a chance to save her, I would have done anything. Maybe you're right and I can't help. But if there's a chance I could, wouldn't it be worth a shot?"
"Awfully eager." Hugo's mouth twisted. "Why should I trust you? I saw what you can do."
"Yeah, it's called self-defense."
His lips pulled to the side, granting that, as he considered. "If I untie you, and you hurt so much as a hair on anyone–"
"Spare me your threats, I don't want to hurt anybody. I see a poor woman suffering and I want to help her, that's all."
The man scrutinized her for a long moment. But finally he ascended the two stairs up to the wagon bed and stooped down before her. Eyes trained on her like a hawk on its prey, he cautiously untied the ropes, stepping back as they fell and gesturing toward the woman's bed.
Hugo was drawn tight, braced for sudden action. But Katara moved past him, crossing the camp beneath a growing number of stares and murmurs as she came to stand beside the old woman. Her breathing was labored, rasping, her eyes sliding listless beneath closed lids.
"What is her name?" Katara asked as Hugo came to halt a pace behind her.
"Carlotta," he replied, his tone laced with suspicion, as though she intended to weave a dark spell.
She bent over the woman, resting her hands down gently upon her chest first, sliding down to her stomach, feeling for the taint of disease. In the corner of her eye, the man shifted on his feet warily.
"Carlotta," she said softly, "if you can hear me, I want you to know I'm going to try to help."
"Papa, what is she doing? Don't let that lady hurt Mamie," came a young voice.
Katara straightened and turned to see a little boy now pressing himself to Hugo's side, half hidden behind him.
"I won't," he assured his son with a pat on his ruffled head, eyes still trained on her.
She recognized his face at once. The very boy who had tricked her into feeling sorry for him. For just an instant her pulse heated. But his large brown eyes stared at up her, cagey and full of heartfelt worry, and despite it all, he was still just a little boy who had probably only been following instructions. She willed her anger away.
"I'll need some water."
Hugo nodded and glanced down at his son. "Argo, fetch the lady– Erm, forgive me, what is your name?"
She blinked at the question, the unexpected cordiality of it. "Katara."
"Fetch Katara some water."
He bounded off with the kind of glee that only little boys can muster, and returned a minute later hauling a wooden bucket in two small hands, water sloshing over the rim with each ungainly step. She couldn't help but smile.
"Thank you, Argo. You're very strong." He beamed in response.
Katara took in a deep breath, let it out slow. At her will, the water streamed up from the bucket, wrapping around her hands and beginning to glow a soft blue. Once again, she slid her hands along the woman's torso. She could feel the mired flesh of her lungs, heavy with growths, parts of her liver and kidneys too, but also the echo of something less tangible. A deep sorrow, anger, regret. The muddled feelings of a dying woman.
Healing flesh wounds was fairly straightforward, a skill she had mastered with practice. But healing the tissue of a body turned against itself was something else entirely, something she had never attempted or even considered. She wasn't sure it would even be possible, but she was determined to try.
Rather than pull with her chi, the way she would with a wound, Katara gently channeled her energy into the bloated, gluttonous growths, wrapping the lungs in warm, healing light. The cancer was rooted deep and at her touch it almost seemed to dig in deeper. But then, like uprooting a stubborn weed, she felt a soft snap in release. The woman's sandpaper breaths snagged, a pained groan passing weakly through her lips, and Hugo took a sharp step forward.
"What are you doing to her?" he demanded.
"Just wait," urged Katara, sweat beading on her brow, her arms beginning to tremble with exertion. Slowly, surely, she felt the tumors shrinking, shriveling, healthy flesh re-growing slowly beneath the touch of her power until all that was left were lungs. Expanding and relaxing. Breaths coming easier.
Mustering her strength, she repeated the process over the woman's kidneys and liver, and those dissolved much more easily, like the last patches of ice on a sunny day. And at last, Katara's arms went limp with a great exhale, wiping the sweat from her forehead as Hugo stepped forward and placed a tentative hand on Carlotta's shoulder.
"Mother," he spoke softly. "Can you hear me?"
Her wrinkled face grimaced once before her eyes opened slowly. She blinked as she drew in a slow, deep breath and glanced at the faces surrounding her.
"I… I can breathe," she croaked, one leathery hand coming to her chest. Her brown eyes widened and shimmered with tears.
Hugo's face went slack, looking at Katara as Argo rushed past him, throwing himself over his grandmother's chest.
"Mamie!" he cried. The old woman laughed, like dried leaves blowing over ground, and wrapped her frail arms around the boy.
"I don't understand. Even our best healers… How did you do that?" Hugo asked in reverential wonder.
Katara's heart was warm and full. "I have a… special kind of training."
"I am at a loss for words." He shook his head, his voice choked. "We are truly in your debt."
Slowly, Carlotta sat up and reached out for Katara, taking her hands and drawing her close. "Thank you. Words seem too empty to express my gratitude for the gift you've given me." She glanced to her son. "Where did you manage to find such a remarkable healer?"
Hugo went tense, his eyes skating to Katara.
"We met on the road today," she replied coolly, holding his gaze firm.
"A stroke of divine providence. Bless Yrsine for guiding you to us, child." Carlotta raised her arms heavenward, then pressed her knobby fingers to her lips.
"Yes, Yrsine has blessed us too. We had a little problem with our saddlebags earlier, but Hugo's men generously offered to help fix them for us. They're stowing our belongings for safekeeping while we wait."
Katara lifted a brow at Hugo and he huffed a quiet half-laugh at the ground, biting his lip and nodding slow.
"Yes, the men should be about finished now. Should we check up on your things? And your comrade? Argo can show you to him, if you'd like."
Grinning, the little boy took her hand and led her past several tents and curious onlookers. Along the way, he took a giant leap and boasted, "Look how high I can jump."
Katara was lurched forward, laughing. "Impressive."
"How hard do you think I'd have to jump so that I won't come back down?"
"Umm…" Before she could think of a response, he followed with another question.
"Do you like islands? Do you wish you could discover a treasure island? What kind of treasurewould you like to find? Gold? Silver? Rubies? My choice would be sapphires."
"Those are my favorite too," she nodded, stifling a laugh.
"Mother says I ask too many questions. Do people ever say that to you? Why do flies think gross stuff smells good and good stuff smells gross? Do you think their lungs are upside-down?"
She couldn't hold it back it any longer, the laugh spilling over with force as Argo gleefully led her toward the other side of camp.
Hazy light filtered through dark lashes. Distantly, a small jab at his chest again. There was the light weight of a sheet on his body, something soft beneath his head. And pain, bright and exquisite.
"Are you dead?"
A small voice whispered over Ozai's head – a head that felt like it had been crushed by a giant. His shoulder was poked once, twice, and he groaned and cracked his eyes, blurred lines coming into focus.
The upside-down face of a child hovered inches above his own, filling the screen of his vision and staring down at him very familiar brown eyes that looked more curious than concerned.
The little shit.
Ozai recognized him at once, his hands balling to fists. He tried to sit up but his head hurt too much so instead he glared and wet his lips to speak. The child slopped some water over his mouth, and he almost choked instead.
"Give back our fucking things," he growled.
"That's a bad word," said the child simply.
Ozai barely bit back the response on his tongue and glowered. Sitting up was still a distant hope but he turned his head to look around as much as he could, wincing at the pain.
An open tent, bearing more resemblance to an awning with its lack of walls, stood over him and beyond he could see a small community of more tents, wagons, people dawdling about.
"Where is Katara?"
"She's on the other side of camp playing with the other kids," the boy perked up.
Rolling his eyes closed, he rested his head back again with a soft thud. Of course she was.
"She has a pretty smile. I like her. I'd be playing too, but she gave me a coin to watch you and all your stuff, and she said she'll give me another when she comes back, but I don't think she will if you die. I kinda thought you would. You were breathing funny, but you seem okay now."
Ozai tried to wrap his aching head around the words. Watch their stuff? Hadn't these people just stolen their stuff? Before he could ask, there was a stomping sound and a sharp snort and he looked to see Fern approaching, led by a stern-featured man with a simper creasing his weathered skin.
"That's my papa," said the child. "I've never seen him give someone's loot back before. But while you were knocked out, Katara healed my grandmama's cancer. It was incredible, you should have seen it."
"I think I can imagine."
"And then she got to talking with us. Most people don't treat us very nicely, like you. But your lady, she's different."
"People might treat you better if you stopped attacking everyone who thinks they're helping you."
The boy shrugged. "We steal to survive. My papa is Hugo de Gorgon, leader of the Cloak and Dagger Clan. We reject all forms of authority and make our own way, that's what my papa says. He went to chase down your animal. It got spooked when some of the kids ran too close. It's really fast."
With considerable effort, Ozai managed to sit up and then slowly stand, only swaying once. He squinted as he stepped out into the golden sunlight of early evening, halting as Hugo stopped before him.
"Feisty little hellcat, this one," he grinned. "Managed to stop her before she got too far. My boy been taking care of you all right?" Lifting an eyebrow, Ozai glanced sideward and met the child's proud smile. "And uh, apologies…" Hugo continued. "About your head."
Ozai blinked hard, taking in the scene around him in a frown. "What exactly is going on here?"
"Your companion, Katara is it? She's, uh… Well, she's one hell of girl. I'm sure Argo's told you what she did. Has all the kids and most of the clan wrapped around her finger now too," his grin broadened as though he might laugh, shaking his head.
"I still don't understand. You're giving back what you attacked us to steal?"
"This is a first for me for me, too, so don't take it lightly. A favor for a favor. You can thank your girlfriend. If not for her, it would have ended differently, I assure you."
"She is not my–"
"Ozai, you're awake."
At her bubbly voice, he turned as Katara floated up to his side, one hand resting down on his arm gently, the other reaching up to touch the dull pounding pain. "How's your head?"
Ozai caught the smirk on the man's face.
"I'm fine," replied Ozai, lowering her arm.
"Listen, I know we started out on the wrong foot. My sincerest apologies." Ozai eyed the man with suspicion. "There's no way I can repay Katara for her kindness, but we would be honored if you would share supper with us. And you are more than welcome to stay the night as well."
Ozai shifted on his feet and shared a glance with Katara. A free meal was nothing to take lightly and it was getting late. He didn't sense anything deceitful. But he was naturally cautious about sharing food with the people who had attacked them only hours prior, and even more so about letting his guard down to sleep.
Sensing his hesitation, Hugo added, "You are our guests and under the protection of our clan, you will be safe, I assure you. If it's privacy you're in need of, we're happy to spare the two of you a tent."
Ozai drew a tight breath and Katara looked down, rubbed her neck.
"No, it's not like that," he quickly reaffirmed, and felt the subtle touch of her gaze. The implicit knowing hung in the air like incense and a fire swept over him. They were one slip away from that becoming a lie.
"Well, at least allow us offer you some food and, dare I say, good company." Hugo smiled, half turning toward where the community had begun to gather around the cooking spit, extending his arm in invitation.
Fern was led to the troughs while Ozai and Katara were seated around the fire pit among the motley community of brigands. Tin cups were filled with cool water and portions of roasted meat were divvied up generously. They ate around the fire while stories were shared of ghosts and monsters and adventurers of old.
A pair of hulking teenaged twin boys argued over which version of Bluebeard was to be believed. The first boy's elbow jabbed the other's ribs.
"Cut it out or I'll cart you off and throw you into the pits of Antinne."
The other boy laughed and shoved back. "Good luck not falling in yourself, you dunderhead."
A few others laughed. Beside him, Ozai saw Katara perk up.
"You wouldn't be talking about those old ruins we passed earlier, would you?"
"With the statue of Yrsine and her Pteroleon?"
"Pterleon?"
"Lions with wings."
"Yeah, that's the one. What was that place?"
One of the boy's mouths opened but it was a deeper voice that spoke first.
"Antinne was a proud and prosperous civilization, many ages ago." Heads turned and the circle parted as Hugo stepped through and found a seat beside a woman who Ozai took to be his wife. He took a drink from his cup before going on. "The people were revered and renowned for their noble customs and ageless wisdom. As I'm sure you noticed, the city was buried long ago. A great fault opened up deep below and took the illustrious city with it. The world mourned at its loss. Over the centuries, men have ventured down into its depths in search of knowledge or treasures or fame. Only one is said to have ever returned. Bastien Chausson. The tales of his harrows spread far and wide. He relayed an account of some sort of monsters that lurk down in the city's grave. Pale, ghastly, bodies hunched and bony. Yet humanoid to an eerie degree."
Hugo paused for emphasis. Ozai lifted a skeptical brow and shared a cock-eyed glance with Katara.
"That's right. They used to be people. Bone-chilling, isn't it? When Antinne was buried, a fraction of their civilization survived. But they were trapped and forced to make a new life underground. They've lived in darkness for so long that they've gone blind, their eyes now cloudy and lifeless. They've evolved into grisly things with sallow skin and long slits for nostrils, a keen sense of smell that helps them track their victims. Or so the stories say."
"How can anyone know this if only one person supposedly came back?" Katara asked.
"Sketches rendered from Bastien's account. Artists skilled in the technique depict them closer to goblin-kin than humans."
One man shuddered. Argo shimmied closer to his mother and she put an arm around him. The small crowd had gone quiet in rapt attention, the snap and sizzle of the fire magnified.
"Who knows how much veracity there is to the tales," Hugo simpered and gave a wink. "But it certainly makes for a fun story."
A gentle murmur of conversation picked up again. Ozai and Katara were warmly included in the banter, their plates and cups filled generously, treated as seamlessly as though they were one of their kind.
With daylight almost gone, it made little sense to start out again. Katara, it seemed, was as good as a deity to these people now. There was an odd sort of calm being among them, and the paradox was almost humorous. He felt a kind of knot inside him loosen and, when Hugo offered a second time, Ozai agreed to stay the night.
Music and voices drifted on the air. Daylight had died, stomachs were full, and now a fire crackled softly, the community of vagrants gathered around it in song and warm conversation while stringed instruments were strummed softly.
Katara sat next to Ozai a short distance away from the gathering, their sleeping bags laid out beside them. The glow of the fire cast long shadows that fell just short of where they sat, and she watched Ozai watching the dark shapes shifting and dancing like oil slicks over the ground.
He sat quietly with one knee drawn up, his arm resting on top and his chin against it. The glow of the flames spun strands of caramel through his smooth black hair, sculpting his face in planes and angles. His cheekbones were strong, but his expression was soft, his porcelain skin warm and smooth. Even his posture was mellow.
It struck her at once that she had never seen Ozai look so… peaceful might be a bit of a stretch. At ease, perhaps. The man navigated the world as though perpetually braced for an attack, his steps aggressive and guarded, his gaze sharp and exacting as a knife's edge. Seeing him now in this light was like peering through a tiny keyhole and glimpsing the hint of a world mysterious and beautiful and knowing the door was barred from the other side.
"I don't think I've ever seen you look like this," she ventured quietly.
Ozai shifted his gaze to look at her. "Like what, precisely?"
She hesitated. "Comfortable."
His back straightened, his eyes sliding away, and Katara felt tremendous regret at seeing his armor lock back into place. She looked down, gently playing with the twig in her hands.
It went quiet again for a while, the low hum of voices filling the empty space.
"I've been wondering," she asked at last. "What is it you plan to do after you get your bending back?"
"What do I plan to do?"
"I mean, let's say you do get it back. Then what? That's it? It just seems like a lot of work, going through all of this on the chance you might get your bending back just… to have it back."
"You're afraid I'll not uphold my word?"
"…Should I be?"
Ozai looked closely at her, searching for the meaning between her words. "Just say whatever it is you're asking."
"I guess I just don't entirely understand what this will accomplish."
A roll of his eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. You've never experienced such a loss, the death of a part of yourself."
"Maybe not. But I think I understand better than you know." The arch of single, dark brow prompted her to elaborate. "My mother was taken from me in a Fire Nation raid when I was a little girl. I know it might not be the same, but I'll never forget that day. It felt like a living piece of me was ripped out. For years, I held onto that sorrow and anger. I fostered it, and felt justified in doing it. I would visualize confronting my mother's killer and ending him a thousand different ways. It became an obsession that ate me alive but I didn't care. I dreamed of revenge.
"Then one day, a couple years ago, I got that wish. But when the moment came to finally face the man who took my mother from me… I just couldn't do it. It felt like I'd failed her. Afterward, I sat with my anger for a long time until I realized its real name was grief. All those years, anger had only been the bodyguard of a grief so deep and crushing, I nearly drowned when I finally allowed myself to feel it."
Ozai sighed grimly. "Yet another one of your attempts to play the savior, to convince me to disown my current path and demonstrate the power of forgiveness," he sneered. He was trying to shut her down, deflecting to avoid having to feel. Katara lifted her chin, set her teeth.
"No. I didn't forgive that man. And I'll never forgive him." That seemed to catch him off guard and Ozai held her gaze. "But looking back, I know that even if I had killed him, it wouldn't have helped me heal. I know you're angry, Ozai, that your bending was stripped away, for what your father did to you, for how your mother pretended not to see it to save herself. You have a right to feel angry. But maybe, beneath that, what you're feeling is grief in disguise that hasn't been given a place to go."
Ozai scoffed but she could tell by the way his shoulders slumped just slightly, his head turning away, that she'd hit a mark.
"What happened to you is in the past, and it can't be changed. But maybe you could try to move on. Maybe it's time. Your bending doesn't define who you are. You are still the same man, with or without it."
For a moment, his eyes found hers again, intense. "Don't try to sell dreams to someone who has lived through nightmares. You know nothing of the man I am."
"Nothing? Given all that we've been through together? I don't think so." She met his eyes boldly, unflinching. Grudgingly, he broke her gaze. "I see a man too blighted by his father's poison to see the decency in himself. And just because you can't see your own worth, doesn't mean I don't."
In a long blink, he stared quietly at the ground for several moments. His lowered eyes slid sideward as though he might look at her but stopped.
"It's late. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." In true form, Ozai severed the conversation like a knife against thread. He shifted, sliding into his sleeping bag, though his voice when he spoke again was a note softer than she had expected. "Goodnight, Katara."
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
The mingling of voices woke her. Katara sat up, flipping the hair from her face, and rubbed her eyes just as Ozai sat up nearby. His hair was messed from sleep and in the bright morning sunlight he looked more handsome and more human than she had ever seen him.
"Katara, you're awake!" a familiar bright voice chirped. She turned to see Argo frolicking over to her. Hugo strolled up in tow.
"Perfect timing. Breakfast is served, we hope you'll join us before setting out."
"We'd love to, thank you," Katara nodded.
The food was hearty and satisfying, the conversation warm and pleasant, and afterward their fully restocked saddlebags were strapped to Fern again as they readied to leave. Hugo came forward, Argo at his side, with two armfuls of kindling.
"I know it's not much, and I wish I could offer you more," he said. "But the nights can get cool out here so I hope this will help make your travels a little easier."
He stepped forward and Ozai accepted the firewood with a small nod. "Thank you."
Hugo turned to Katara. "I think my mother was right, in a way. It was divine providence that we met yesterday. Though, perhaps, not in the most conventional of ways." With a small smirk, he glanced at Ozai and added, "Sorry again about your head."
They walked without resting until the day had worn halfway through, pausing only once for a bite to eat. In the distance now, Ozai could see the hard glimmer of water, a stream peeking through the grasses and winding beneath a large willow tree. He decided that they would stop there for a proper rest and a small meal to hopefully get them through until dusk.
The stream turned out to be more of a creek, and Ozai sat next to the animal as it drank and watched it flow through a land that was almost impossibly green. Katara was lying back on the grass, her arms splayed whimsically at her sides, gazing up at billows of fat clouds that passed by.
Almost without realizing, he felt his expression soften and an expansive feeling in his chest. It caught him off guard, her words echoing from last night, and the truth of it struck him then suddenly.
He did feel comfortable with her. To such a degree that it hadn't entirely occurred to him until she said it. Despite all his efforts, it had crept upon him like darkness trailing a setting sun. Gradually, organically, almost with no recognition until it was nearly complete. Ozai had come to enjoy the company of the spirited, sanguine girl beside him. He was overcome suddenly at how natural it felt simply being with her like this. How unthreatened he had come to feel by her closeness. And that was its own breed of startling.
For a while, Ozai stared at the waters of the creek rushing past. Finally, Katara sat up with a contented sigh, smoothing her lavender dress over her knees, hugging them to her chest. His gaze was drawn by her movement and he turned to find her already looking at him, her sapphire eyes smiling genuinely, fondly, lingering on his.
The world seemed to stand still. For a moment, he wasn't Ozai the tortured Crown Prince turned deposed Fire Lord, parched with the thirst for revenge. Not a failure living in his brother's shadow or the bastard spawn of marital misery. Just a man. Sitting next to a beautiful girl, who was looking at him like there was something in him worth looking at. All of a sudden, his heart felt too full. A dry creek bed ill-prepared for such rain. Ozai forced himself to look away.
She had an uncanny way of doing that, disarming him completely without a word or a touch. It shook the walls he'd built around him, piercing him to his core. No one had ever managed to get through before. Not Iroh. Not Lu Da. Not even Ursa, not entirely, and none for lack of trying. A cold, heavy pang squeezed his chest.
He had grown complacent over the years, learning he could trust the strong safety of his walls, keeping the seams tight. But then along came this girl – this passionate, maddening, captivating girl – who possessed an unnerving capacity to cut through his fortress with the ease of a light beam through fog.
She had a way about her that Ozai couldn't quite place, couldn't understand. Couldn't tap with his possession. She was beautiful. Agni, she was so damn beautiful. But she was disquieting.
He could never have foreseen the way this waterbender would so thoroughly worm her way into his regard. Ozai had sworn off intimacy long ago. Well, not physical intimacy, granted, but emotional intimacy. And yet despite all his efforts, he could feel himself swaying at the edge of that abyss. Ozai had jumped once before.
Never again.
Love was a vexing thing, pernicious as weeds. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. It was the guest you welcomed and then couldn't be rid of. No more than a prayer whispered to temper the bitter truth of pain and loneliness.
Keeping the emotional separate from the physical had never been a problem for him. But now, those boundaries had become blurred. Things were messy, tangled, they were in too deep. The risk was too great, even for him. And he knew, for Katara, the emotional and physical couldn't be separated at all. If he let it go there, which he would not,she would mistakenly think he meant to reciprocate her feelings. He simply couldn't, he wouldn't. And he wasn't going to do that to her.
He wasn't a complete monster.
Ozai climbed to his feet and cinched up the satchel, securing it to the saddle as Katara rose and stretched. Fortunately, they had their work cut out for them. All he needed to do was home in on the task at hand, keep his distance – particularly whenever they stopped – get this over with as quickly as possible. With any luck, before long they would have the Sunstone, finally finish what they started, go their separate ways, and that would be the end.
…the end…
Those two words sunk oddly inside him like a stone and the feeling caught him off guard. He had grown so accustomed to her presence that it was becoming difficult to imagine the lack of it. Already he could feel the indelible mark she was leaving, the carving of it, like a handprint in wet cement. There was only so much time left to smooth it out before it would remain a part of him.
"What do you say we give riding another chance?" Katara asked as Ozai drew Fern back from the bank. "You have to admit, she's really settled down."
It was true, Katara's efforts had indeed seemed to have comforted the beast. If they were able to ride, it would cut days off of their journey. Ozai nodded and drew in a long breath, bracing himself as he hoisted himself into the saddle.
Fern fidgeted but didn't buck this time and he expelled a breath. Katara praised the animal with a sparkle in her eyes, giving her snout a stroke before walking around and placing her foot in the stirrup. Offering a hand, Ozai helped her up, realizing only too late how snug a ride it would be. The saddle had been made to accommodate only one traveler.
She settled in front of him, her ass inadvertently grinding against him as she got comfortable. He breathed in tight through his nose and rolled his eyes shut.
This girl was going to be the death of him.
The sun had set and taken its warmth with it, but the western sky was still the dark purple of dusk, its edges painted in fading hues of apricot and crimson. Wildflowers perfumed the evening breeze. A dandelion fluff passed by gently as they walked the stone footpath that wound through the hills. Fireflies twinkled over the rolling land like hundreds of wandering stars.
They stopped on a grassy knoll dotted with fuzzy dandelions and wild sage, offering a sweeping view of the valleys beyond. Ozai built a fire while Katara rolled out the sleeping bags, and then the two of them sat a little distance apart to wind down from the day's journey, not yet ready for sleep.
She looked out over the moonlit beauty, at the lake that stretched beyond the foot of the hill. Its surface was still and smooth as highly polished glass, reflecting the night sky so purely that it looked as if she could reach down and pull out a handful of stars. A thousand shards of heaven.
The hypnotic glow of the fire weaved a spell that seemed to make everything else fall away until there was nothing but a comfortable quiet. All the while, they were careful not to look at each other, but Katara could feel the restrained magnetism in the air between them. It was in their eyes each time they met. It was the way her heart glowed when he looked at her. The way his voice had changed when he said her name, bitter cold to sun-kissed warmth, the melting of frost at winter's thaw.
Katara knew it, and Ozai did too. Things between them had changed, like a caterpillar stirring inside its cocoon, on the verge of emerging as something else entirely.
The inexorable question that had been gnawing perched itself on her lips and her skin prickled. Before, it had merely been rooted in curiosity, only surface-deep, but now, asking that question would feel glaringly intimate, like shoving all that was unspoken between them into the light, cracking the cocoon they were trying so hard to hold shut. The thought gave her pause. She knew it might push him away. She knew the risk. But nevertheless, Katara let the words form, quiet and faltering. She had to know.
"What happened, Ozai… between you and Ursa?"
A pause. She wondered if he hadn't heard, but then Ozai's head turned slow with a look that stole her breath. His eyes held there, a hot weight settling in her chest, but without a word he turned back to the fire. Katara breathed a silent sigh – of relief? regret? – and rested her chin on her knees.
She wasn't really surprised he didn't answer. The question now was perhaps too intimate, and she knew what it might mean if he answered. But the disappointment hollowed her all the same. Ozai would forever keep her at arms-length, just as he had with everyone else. She was a fool to think she was any different. He would never let her close enough.
Katara supposed he might just sit there, silent as a stone, until she gave up waiting. He was perfectly capable of it. But at last, the first quiet words scraped out.
"I was seventeen when we met," he began. "We attended the same elite academy, and even though I kept to myself, Ursa always seemed to find a way to sit nearby. I ignored it, of course, and called it coincidence. But one day, I had decided to take the long way home. My father had been in especially ill spirits and had left a particularly deep burn the night before, and I was in no hurry to return. Ursa caught up to me on our way out. That was the first day we spoke. The conversation, what little of it, was stilted and awkward but she didn't seem to mind. Ursa walked slowly with me until we were forced to part ways."
Before, every detail had had to be pried from him, coaxed. But now, the words were spilling out like blood from a wound.
"We became friends quickly. For reasons I couldn't explain, she enjoyed being with me, even if it meant simply sitting together when there was nothing to say. There were days when I was particularly quiet and withdrawn, but rather than feel wounded, she would sit at my side and simply be there. I was deeply in awe of her, though I don't think she ever knew that. And for the first time, I felt that maybe my father was wrong. That maybe I wasn't the waste he had insisted I was, if a woman like Ursa could see something of value.
"Over time our friendship grew into something more. But with it came a level of vulnerability that I had never had to contend with before. The day she saw my scars for the first time, some of them still raw and fresh, was the first time I ever told anyone the truth of how I'd received them."
Katara blinked. "Did you ever tell anyone else? Iroh? Lu Da?"
"No."
There was a silence that drifted between them.
"But… you told me." She waited for him to finally look at her. "Why?"
The flames danced and the shadows lapped at them like dark water. He looked away again.
"Ursa was understanding and patient," he continued, passing over the question, "willing to wait for my guard to come down. But my father's poison had spread deep and corroded me from the inside." His nostrils flared slightly. "I tried. Agni, I tried, even she would attest to that. But against all her gentle reassurance, she wanted an intimacy from me that I was simply unable to give her. So, I couldn't blame her when she took it personally in the end. She was heartbroken and, eventually, stopped trying and moved on."
Hidden crickets chirped in the night. An owl hooted mournfully from a nearby tree.
"That must have been awful, losing the only person you could trust."
Ozai gave a faint shrug of one shoulder. "The inevitable can only be forestalled for so long. I had no choice but to accept it, knowing I'd brought the fate upon myself. However, Ursa being from a noble family, our fathers had discussed before the possibility of marriage. And not long afterward the subject came up again. That evening our marriage was decided and arranged.
"Ursa was devastated. She begged me to ask my father to reconsider. I refused." He made a soft huff, staring at the ground. "In time she would love me again, I told her. We would learn to be happy. And while I can say we did care for each other deeply, at first, despite the forced arrangement, a growing part of her resented me and she never did love me again the way she had in the beginning."
His jaw was clenching as though he fought to keep his seams from ripping apart. As though if he opened up one more part of himself to her, all of it would pour out.
"By the time Zuko was born, our friendship had long since dissolved. I found out that she had continued seeing her lover behind my back. The servants had known, I discovered, and there was speculation as to whether Zuko was even mine. The hurt emerged as rage and her own rose quickly to match. What right did I have to act surprised, she said, when I knew from the beginning she was unhappy? I was cruel to squander the love she once had for me but still take her as a wife. I deserved every last scar my father carved and more, she told me, for it complemented the disfigured husk of my heart."
Katara's mouth gaped, feeling the blow of the words.
"As you can imagine, whatever frail vestiges of feeling had survived deteriorated. After that, I threw all my focus into the power I held, the supreme potential of it, consumed with a growing lust for revenge on the man who had made me, destroyed me. And I devised a plan. Ursa was a skilled herbalist. She would poison my father with an untraceable concoction, making it look as though he'd died of natural causes, thereby allowing me to seize the throne. And in exchange, Ursa would be free to go under the guise of banishment. She would finally have her freedom and I would have my power and revenge."
"Wait. You mean you didn't actually banish her? She left?" Katara worked her mouth for the words, her brows knit. "Does Zuko know this?"
"No."
"But, why would you let everyone believe you had cruelly banished your wife and paint yourself as the bad guy? Why lie and take the blame?"
"There was the issue of disgrace. A divorce would bring dishonor upon the royal dynasty. But it was more than that. It was easier than being seen as a victim. Easier than admitting the truth. That the one person whose love I'd never had to strive to earn had grown to despise me." He crushed her with a look, all pain and loss and something worse. "It was the last act of love I ever gave her, letting her go."
The fire crackled, spitting a flurry of sparks. He closed his eyes.
Katara asked a question she never would if looking into them, her voice scarcely a whisper.
"Do you miss her?"
Ozai's head turned away a fraction. In a low, brittle voice the words scraped out. "All the time."
A lump burned in her throat. Ozai stared at the ground, firelight glowing gold on strands of his sleek, black hair, dancing over his porcelain skin. Katara tried to steel herself against the way her heart fractured as she looked at him. But there was just an overwhelming sadness, rippling off him like steam. And suddenly, a thought shivered to life inside her.
Ozai's black heart wasn't born black.
It had been burned. Over and over again.
She couldn't judge him for the height of the walls around his heart unless she was willing to battle the demons laying at its doorway. Katara felt an engulfing pull to draw near him. And before she could think better of it, she found herself scooting quietly and sitting, much too close, beside him. He straightened as his eyes rose and found hers, guarded, rich honey-gold weighing her down.
This was the closeness of something precarious, something startling and intimate. They both knew it, his gaze traveling over her features, reading her, setting her stomach alight with butterflies.
Pulse skittering, Katara reached out to trace her fingertips tenderly along the sculpted arc of his cheekbone, compassion and longing brimming inside her. At her first touch, Ozai's brows lowered and she braced to recoil before his eyes fluttered closed briefly. She continued hesitantly along the strong line of his jaw, gentle as feathers, down through a lock of silky dark hair. And when he still didn't push her away, she swallowed down her heart that was rising with skips and throbs into her throat and inched closer.
His fiery gaze flickered against her own, flame on flame, and helpless she let her eyes fall to his lips. Ozai's chest hitched, desire percolating in the space between them. He didn't draw back, but he didn't exactly lean in either.
Katara did.
The world was teetering at the edge of something high and steep. Ozai's gaze slipped to her mouth with a note of startled anticipation as the inches between them fell to nothing, eyes closing soft.
And the world plummeted over the edge.
Katara pressed her lips to his, a fractured breath escaping his nose as she kissed him, slow and cautious. His lips were smooth and warm, languid against hers, sending a shiver running up and down her spine as the kiss broke.
They hovered there a hair's-breadth apart, shivering breaths passing in the frail sliver of air between them. Ozai's lips had moved so slightly, she was unsure if she had imagined it, if he had kissed her back. But his eyes were still closed, dark lashes dancing over porcelain cheeks. So she dared to kiss him deeper, cupping a hand gently to his jaw, and this time, Ozai tilted into it, a surrender in the sure, tantalizing silk of his lips sliding against hers.
Katara's heart was turning flips with the stutter step of her pulse. She ghosted her parted lips against his as the kiss broke again, a feathery-light brush, her insides tingling at the shudder of his hot breath against her mouth.
And then Ozai leaned in hungrily. Exhaling desire, his smooth, supple lips parting over hers. Katara sucked in a breath, opening her mouth to him in turn as the rim of his beard scraped her chin, the contrast sending a hot spark skittering through her chest and down lower. All sense of time or place was shattered, her mind and body drowning in him, and she slid her arms around his neck, pulling herself into him as desire rose swiftly. The tip of his tongue swept hers, one strong hand sliding around her back, the other behind her head, tangling tight in her hair.
Katara's heart was beating so wildly, so full of butterflies, she could only take little sips of breath. She tilted her head deeper, his tongue stroking hers again with rising passion, the friction of it enough to make her curl her fingers greedily against his neck. Ozai wrenched her even tighter into him, his lips gliding firm against hers like heated silk, teeth grazing her bottom lip, and Katara couldn't stop the heady little moan that escaped her throat. He captured the sound in his mouth, his hand clawing at her back in response.
And she was lost.
The hunger and raw desire in his kiss threatened to completely undo her and she answered, reckless, just as hungry for him. Katara's breasts were pressed against the hard wall of his chest as she clung to him, one shiver away from falling into his lap, when suddenly the hand in her hair dragged down to her shoulder, forced her lips from his so abruptly that she gasped.
"Stop," Ozai breathed heavily, his mouth still inches from hers, eyes still closed beneath deeply knit brows.
The butterflies dropped dead one by one. In crushing dismay, Katara pulled back just enough for her eyes to meet his as they fluttered open.
"Why?" came her choked voice, frail and fractured. "I don't…"
"Just stop." A shadow crossed his face but his eyes burned, intense as a comet in the night sky. And just like that, the mask went up again. "This ends now."
Katara's heart froze, cracked. Ozai withdrew, glowering, and made to get up, but she caught his arm. He faltered there, giving her that much at least, but didn't bring his eyes to hers. She felt like she was turning to stone and clung to his arm, her mind scrambling, trying to make sense of it all.
"Ozai…" A muscle tensed in his jaw, his gaze fixed on the ground. Her eyes trailed over the fiery frame of his profile, grasping for something, anything. "I'm not her," she pleaded.
The look he turned on her then was like a comet indeed, when it veers to earth and turns the fields to ash. She withered beneath it.
"I don't want this," he hissed, deep and scathing as acid. His molten eyes seared her with a warning. "Do you understand?"
Katara blinked her hot, stinging eyes wide, swallowing tight. She managed to hold his blistering gaze, her voice a whisper, brittle. "Yes."
Her hand was forced from his arm as he rose. He kicked dirt over the fire, the flames hissing as they died. Ozai didn't say another word. The strained silence spoke louder than words ever could. He slipped inside his sleeping bag, keeping his back to her, and didn't turn to her again.
She sat there paralyzed, the hot sting of tears blurring the world around her. The last of the cinders sputtered out and finally Katara managed to drag her leaden body to her feet, her chest twisting like a cloth being wrung dry. She wanted to shrink. To disappear. To scuttle away into a dark corner and hide forever.
Instead, all she could do was curl up inside her sleeping bag and pray death would take her before morning.
