disclaimer. it still ain't mine

author's notes. thank you all you beautiful people for reading and following and commenting! here, have another update.

warning that i have a raging literary boner for stories within stories.

i give you...

southern lights

chapter xxxix. stolen moments


and i'm more tired than awake
and my bones feel like strangers
and they're heavy and they ache

"witness" / ansley simpson


The wind nips at the exposed skin on his cheeks, making him bury his face deeper into the warm fur lining the collar of the parka Katara had gifted him. It ruffles the hair on his forehead, blowing it into his eyes, obscuring his view of the arena flattened into the snow stretching out on a high ledge behind the band chiefs' hall. In the warm oily light of the lanterns piercing the deep blackness of early morning, it gleams to a high-polished shine.

Except for the tracks gauged through its surface, kicking the snow up into turbulent divots and mounds shaped by the bodies of the hopeful Northern tribe waterbenders lined up for a chance to face them, to join their ranks as Team Avatar's waterbender, and then gone skidding along the snow, pummeled into the ground with the cold crash of reality.

Zuko glances at the benches lining the outdoor arena on parallel sides, packed full with grim-faced Northerners determined to prove themselves. The best and the brightest among them, Chief Arnook had said, putting out an open call for anyone who thought they could represent the Northern tribe alongside their number. Arnook and the other band chiefs now sit behind his uncle on a tiered set of steps at the head of the arena, watching the progress of their treasured young men as they square off against Zuko, Toph, or Aang to show off their skills.

Their main purpose remained unspoken, but it rings out blatantly anyway, with each waterbender introduced to them by one of the invested chiefs. Surely among our finest, you will find a happy replacement for that uncooperative little girl.

Zuko sighs loudly. It puffs into a small cloud, misting into the brisk morning air.

So far, three waterbenders had already tried and failed to impress much. Imnek and Tartok, Chieftain Keelut's two sons, were the first to challenge Zuko in the arena. Imnek the elder son, was a dark, fine-featured slip of a boy whose gentleness seemed better suited to the healing houses than waterbending. But, being the firstborn son of an important tribal chief, he tried his best to put up a fight anyway, withstanding maybe three blows before Zuko stood over him, perplexed by how easily he had defeated the boy.

Tartok, his younger brother, had put up a much stronger fight. What he lacked in creativity, he made up with a single-minded brutish determination that took Zuko by surprise. In fact, while facing off against him, Zuko unhappily remembered a similar exercise pitting him against another waterbender determined to prove her worth, back in a remote corner of the Fire Nation when the world had been a different, calmer place.

Compared to Katara's skill a lifetime ago, Zuko reluctantly had to admit that Tartok was stronger, with a technical finesse that would almost certainly have overpowered her scrappier bending had they faced each other that young summer evening. But unlike Katara, whose adaptability had earned her a win during their first duel (and the four other firebenders tasked to fight her that day), Tartok's bending was predictable enough to allow Zuko to easily find an opening and send him sprawling into the snow, just like his much weaker older brother.

Next had been Chieftain Suluk's gargantuan son, the silent lumbering giant called Sangilak. The ground seemed to groan under his feet as he marched into the arena, his face stolidly impassive in the flickering lamplight. To Zuko's relief, Uncle Iroh had him step back for a breather, allowing Toph to test the big warrior instead.

"Now, remember," Aang warned as she marched past him, punching the palm of her open hand with gusto, "No murdering anyone before breakfast, got it?"

Zuko was relieved to sit on the sidelines instead. Sangilak moved with a speed that belied his size, towering over the small earthbender and matching the power of her strikes with a surprising nimbleness. He watched Toph scrunch her face as Sangilak's streams charged toward her. She was still struggling to sense her surroundings properly in the ice, cobbling together a hazy picture of the world around her from the bits of dirt mixed into the fathoms-deep snow that coated the frozen earth far below their feet. At the last minute, she sprung out of the way, bending her own chestplate into a missile that sliced through the air and took the big man under the chin, knocking him down so hard the ground seemed to sway.

"Nice one," he says as she staggers back toward their corner.

"Don't coddle me, Sparky," she spits with a grimace. Her chestplate whizzes back toward her outstretched hand, reforming into its original shape. "They ought to replace me too, with that performance."

"There's barely any earth up here for you to fight with," he points out. "You're at a huge disadvantage and you still beat him."

"Besides," Aang cuts in, "we can't afford to lose you too, Toph." An uncharacteristically dark scowl twists across his face. "This is all bad enough already."

A small commotion at the head of the arena marks a break in the tryouts. They glance up at the distraction, as a handful of women appear, balancing trays of small steaming cups of tea in their steady mittened hands.

"A break? Already?" Toph complains, her frown deepening. "But we barely even started."

Zuko doesn't answer as the wind picks up again. Glowing bands of pink and gold begin to stretch across the lower sky, dimming the heavy warmth of the oil lamps. The ghostly crescent of the moon hangs dully among the swirling clouds, a lifeless afterthought.

By now, one of the women picks her way toward their corner at the far end of the arena, her tray mostly empty. Up close, she appears young and vivacious, with the nut brown skin and blue eyes characteristic of her people. She gives him a shy smile before averting her gaze and handing him a small pottery cup.

He doesn't miss the way her cheeks flush when their fingers touch. Clearing his throat, suddenly embarrassed, he steps back a safe distance away before thanking her politely, if not somewhat gruffly.

"Oh boy," Toph remarks as the girl quickly hands out tea to the rest of them before fleeing, clutching the empty tray to her chest as the flush on her face deepens. Every now and then, she glances at him over her shoulder with a crestfallen look on her face. "I hope she's not nursing that crush too hard, Sparky."

"Shut up," he grates, instantly wishing Katara was still with them and disgruntled at her absence. With all the paranoia of a royal upbringing, he wonders if the resemblance was a fluke, or if the band chiefs were plotting something. If so, he was insulted if they thought he would take the bait. The young Water Tribe girl retreating from them was a sweet biddable thing. Katara had single-handedly fought her way out of his father's stronghold with his prone body on her back, and won.

There was no comparison at all.

Still, the next Water Tribe hopeful pats the girl on the shoulder consolingly as she walks past him. The girl averts her gaze again, the tips of her ears growing somehow even redder before her pace quickens.

"Such a sweet thing," the guy crows as the women finally disappear from their midst. He steps into the centre of the arena, swinging his arms in circles. Sour-faced Chieftain Mallik introduces him stiffly as his nephew, Unnuk. To Zuko's growing consternation, Unnuk meets his eyes deliberately, before licking his lips. "If you and your uncle still leave today unsatisfied, we have plenty of other ways to sweeten the deal."

He winks suggestively, and Zuko struggles to keep his face diplomatically straight.

"Ergh." Aang wrinkles his nose distastefully. "Did he just say what I think he said?"

"Yup," Toph remarks, crossing her arms in disgust. "What a sack of pigweasel droppings."

"I know!" Aang exclaims, his pale face mottling indignantly. "How dare he talk about his own tribeswomen like that?"

But then his uncle gets to his feet, studying the three of them intently. "Prince Zuko," he calls, "are you ready to fight again?"

Zuko groans. But before he steps forward, Aang's hand shoots out, blocking his progress.

"I can do it," he offers brightly, his consternation seeming to vanish like a cloud before the breeze. "I haven't even had a chance to fight today yet. Feel free to sit this one out, Zuko."

"Uh," Zuko stammers as the young Air Nomad heads into the arena, spinning his glider nonchalantly before snapping it back into the holster strapped to his back. "Thanks."

Toph shuffles her feet into the snow, as though the deeper they dug, the more clearly she could sense the events unfolding around her. "This should be good."

Zuko doesn't even look at her as Aang waits patiently on his side of the arena. "What makes you say that?"

Unnuk finishes his stretches and slides into an offensive stance. Across from him, a good distance away, Aang remains still as an ice statue.

"Intuition," Toph offers.

Then Unnuk rushes toward him, springing into an athletic motion. He raises a mound of snow that turns into a jet of water, looping around his body, over his head, and then straight at the Air Nomad.

Aang remains perfectly still, even as the water rushes toward him.

Then, in a movement so quick it renders him a saffron-coloured blur to Zuko's eyes, Aang spins out his glider and slams its length against the ground. A powerful funnel of wind bats Unnuk off his feet, scooping him into its rotating bowl and spinning him bodily in midair. Another circular sweep catapults him straight over the length of the arena and over the edge of the ledge to land with a decisive thump in the snowbank below.

Zuko's mouth drops. A stunned silence grips the arena as Aang reholsters his glider and calmly walks back to the far corner without another word. In the corner of Zuko's eye, Uncle Iroh claps a hand to his forehead in growing despair.

"Told you," Toph whispers, before raising her voice. "Hey Twinkletoes, calm down! What happened to no murder before breakfast?"

"Sorry," Aang answers, not sounding sorry at all. "For a sack of pigweasel droppings, he was a lot lighter than I expected."


It is early in the morning by the time Katara musters the courage to enter the healing house. The sky remains ink blue, dotted with the last stars that peer through the canopy of night.

Inside the healing, it was cool and spacious as always. A couple of women, hand-picked by Nerrivik to help the healing masters teach their lessons, bustle about in an effort to set up the room. At the head of the room, Yugoda and Ahnah converse among themselves in low voices.

Katara feels very small by the time she approaches them. "Um. Hi," she says awkwardly. "I...I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn't mean to make a scene during the lesson."

Yugoda smiles at her warmly. "That's quite alright, dear. We were worried about you! I hope everything is okay now?"

"That's just the thing," Katara answers, twiddling her fingers. "That healing technique you showed me yesterday...it just reminded me so much of something else…" She trails off, remembering the thrill of bending Ozai's blood at the height of the full moon with a sick lurch in her stomach.

"Her name was Hama." Katara doesn't understand where the words are coming from, only that they needed to escape her like bad humours from a wound. "She was a waterbender from the South, like me. She was captured by the Empire and thrown into prison. The only way she escaped was by inventing a new form of bending." She wraps her arms around herself protectively. "She called it bloodbending."

The word seems to echo through the healing hut. Katara worries that the other women setting up would hear her, would report her back to Nerrivik and the others without hesitation...

But Yugoda only tilts her head in confusion. "Bloodbending?"

Katara nods. "Where there's water, there's life. That's what she said too. She learned how to bend the water inside the body of another. How to reach into them and control their movements." Her hands begin to tremble. "Like some sick sort of puppetmaster."

"I see," Yugoda muses, falling into a contemplative silence. "What a fascinating concept."

Katara chokes in disbelief. "Fascinating?"

Ahnah clasps Katara's trembling hands inside her knotted one. "It sounds like a perversion of the principles of healing," she says firmly, staring up at Katara with pale, filmy eyes. "And yet...I commend this Hama's brilliance, for bringing into harmony the opposing sides of healing and bending. What a fearsome power she must have wielded."

Hunched and shrivelled in her old age, Ahnah stands a full head shorter than Katara, but it is Katara who feels suddenly small in the strength of her presence. "She taught me how," Katara confesses. "She made me do it to her."

Ahnah's grip on her hands tightens. "She sounds like she would have made a masterful healer, if life had treated her differently," she says slowly. "Imagine what she could have achieved if she had been allowed to use her gift to help others, rather than harm."

Katara shakes her head vehemently. "You can't use it for good. It's evil," she protests weakly. "It's how I overpowered Ozai. I could have defeated him honourably. But I bent his blood because I could." Her eyes blur with hot water; the insides of her chest feel heavy as though lined with lead as she finally admits what she fought so long to accept. "I wanted him to suffer. To feel as powerless as he made us."

She expects the two old masters to recoil from her in disgust at the confession. Instead, Yugoda lays a comforting hand on Katara's shoulder.

Ahnah lets go of her hand. "This is what separates healers from monsters, Katara," she says. "Despite the ability to bend life to your will, you will never lose your respect for it. That is clear." A slow smile works its way across the old woman's face. "I think you will make a formidable healer indeed, if you possess such a rare talent."

"Talent?" Katara echoes incredulously. "It's a curse - it's dark, and twisted, and wrong! Everyone says so!"

"Do they?" Ahnah cocks her head slyly. "What short-sighted company you keep, child. Why, to me, it seems that just like any other technique, the only inherent harm lies in the intent of the one using it."

Katara gapes at the old wisewoman, wondering if this was some sick joke. "I don't understand," she stutters wildly. "How could this be used for good?"

"Katara," Yugoda says very carefully, as though the wrong word could send all three of them hurtling off an unseen precipice. "You know this is how we heal, right? By reaching inside the human body and bending it to your will. Imagine...how powerful a healer could become if she knew how to bend blood."

The sky outside the doors begins to lighten, piercing through the dimness of the healing hut as some of the younger apprentices begin to filter in and take their spots.

Katara's eyes grow so wide they nearly pop out of her head. "You're joking," she breathes. "You think you could use bloodbending…to heal?"

"I'm saying it might be worth a try." Yugoda glances at Ahnah entreatingly. "What do you think?"

The blind woman taps her cane against the ground. "I think it sounds like the most exciting thing I've heard in many years," she replies. "What about it, Katara? What will you do with this incredible skill?" Her pale eyes glitter keenly in the fading dark. "Will you keep it to yourself in fear and shame...or will you share it with us and help advance the art of healing?"

"But I don't understand," Katara protests stupidly. "I thought it was forbidden to waterbend."

"And so it is," Ahnah declares, before a knowing smile crosses her wizened face. "But you will not be waterbending, Katara. You will only be showing us a better way to manipulate the human body, as part of our healing lessons."


"No way!" Toph gushes over dinner that night. "You're teaching the other girls how to bloodbend?"

"Keep it down!" Katara hisses, glancing around anxiously before whispering, "I'm just...showing them a different way to manipulate the human body."

"I'd never have thought of that," Aang admits. "Using bloodbending to heal. But I guess it makes sense."

"You must be so excited," Toph says. "At least this way, you can still bend."

"I guess." Katara thinks back to that morning, when Ahnah and Yugoda had announced their new experiment to the apprentices. She had expected more of a pushback, but somehow, everyone had gone along with it. Even Nerrivik's women hadn't said anything.

Her stomach churns regardless. Even in spite of Ahnah's assurances that this was all to improve the art of healing, she couldn't help but think that Nerrivik and her overbearing family would be unimpressed by the concept.

"What about you?" she asks, spooning more five-flavour soup into her mouth. "What did you get up to today? More war meetings?"

Aang blows a resigned sigh into his steaming bowl. "No," he grouses. "Tryouts."

Katara raises an eyebrow. "Tryouts?"

"For your replacement," Toph supplies darkly. "We had to find another waterbender."

"Oh." Katara steels herself against the waves of hurt that pummel her at the thought. "Did you find one?"

"Barely," Toph sniffs. "Nobody held a candle to you, Sweetness. But Grandpa ended up taking Tartok, for whatever bullshit reason."

"Tartok?" Katara repeats, her face wrinkling in distaste. "But he's such a jerk!"

"That he is," Toph replies as Aang nods vociferously in agreement, "but he's also one of Hahn's best friends." A falsely bright expression crosses her face as she continues mockingly, "and we can't afford to piss them off."

Katara purses her lips at the thought of the three of them trying to adapt with Tartok as their new team member. From her limited encounters with the guy, she found the idea entirely implausible. "He's a decent enough waterbender," she says cautiously, remembering how he had been able to fend off the much more powerful Sangilak in their fight, "but I'd be really surprised if he could catch up to you enough to produce more fused bending."

"Grandpa didn't even mention that part," Toph answers dully. "As far as the chiefs know, it's just a multidisciplinary bending project. He probably knows taking Tartok will stall any momentum we had. But what else could he do?"

Katara says nothing. Truth be told, she was regretting her decision more with each passing day. But it was also becoming clear to her that there was little the Northern band chiefs wouldn't do to ensure she remained under their control.

Which only made the prospect of teaching bloodbending to the other girls that much more thrilling.

Let the band chiefs think they have me under their heel, she thinks fiercely. I'll be the picture perfect Northern Tribe woman. But in the healing huts, I'll be sharing the art that I used to take down Ozai, and they won't know any better.


But she had reckoned without Nerrivik's scrutiny. One unremarkable morning several days into the new lessons, the fearsome chieftainess barges into the healer's huts, accompanied by Princess Yue herself.

"See!" Nerrivik exclaims loudly, pointing a finger at Katara where she stands at the head of the room, the hide mannequin hovering in the air like a stringless puppet. "See how the Southerner repays us!"

Cheeks flaring hot at the sudden attention, Katara slowly lowers her hands. The floating mannequin follows suit, settling flat against the dais in front of her.

"Katara is sharing a rare skill with us all, Nerrivik," Yugoda admonishes gently. "One that we believe will advance the art of healing to heights never seen before. It is the most exciting development that Ahnah or I have ever seen."

"Exciting?" Nerrivik echoes skeptically, her face twisting in her disbelief.

"Precisely," Yugoda answers. "You should be encouraging Katara, not barging in here and scaring her."

Nerrivik looks like she had just swallowed something very sour. "Forgive me, Master Yugoda, but I believe I just saw Katara waterbending. Which, last I checked, was forbidden for women in this Tribe!" Katara flinches under her warning stare. "She already knows the consequences of going against our tribe's traditions."

"You believe you just saw Katara waterbending," old Ahnah interjects witheringly. "And they call me blind! Katara was not waterbending, Nerrivik. She was demonstrating a skill to help our healers control the flow of blood within the body."

Nerrivik lowers her eyebrows forbiddingly. "Bending blood? I do not like the sound of that any better."

Ahnah shrugs impatiently. "Be that as it may. This remains within the domain of healing. Therefore Katara has done nothing to go against our tribe's traditions, and you cannot have a problem with it."

"I'll decide for myself what remains within the domain of healing and what doesn't," Nerrivik fires back with an outraged sniff. "This...this bloodbending will never be accepted here, and if the men hear of it -"

"Ahem."

Everyone jumps as Yue quietly clears her throat from where she leans against the doorway, so silent and still her presence was all but forgotten. "I'm sorry to interrupt. But I must agree with wise Ahnah and Yugoda. If Katara can share a new skill with you all, especially one that can make you better healers, I'm sure the men won't object."

Katara's mouth drops as Yue tucks her hands into her sleeves and smiles guilelessly.

The rest of the women fall respectfully silent, but Nerrivik scowls. "With all due respect, Princess Yue," she objects, her voice softer but no less obstinate, "I don't think it'll matter once the men get wind of it. Dress it up however you want, but it is still waterbending."

"If the men come here and see waterbending, it's because they insist on bringing it everywhere they go," Yue replies without raising her voice. She taps her chin thoughtfully. "In the meantime, I can't wait to tell my father, Chief Arnook, about all the fascinating new healing techniques you're teaching our women, Katara!"

A bright, almost wicked smile flashes across her face before she turns away. "Oh! And I'll be sure to let my betrothed Hahn know that he was right! That you fit right in here with our women thanks to your talents." She waves a hand airily. "Well, I've seen enough. Please, carry on!"

And with that, the princess sweeps out the door as silently as she had entered.

Nerrivik opens and closes her mouth uselessly as the tent flaps sway in the princess's wake. "Well," she stammers, her face flushing darkly, "when this all ends very badly, don't say I didn't tell you so!"

And with a tirade of curses mumbled under her breath, she barges out of the healing hut, hard on the princess's heels.

An awkward silence settles inside the hut, before Yugoda clears her throat loudly. "Well, Katara, let's take it from the top. Something about pushing and pulling?"

Blood rushes to Katara's face as she gets to her feet. Dozens of curious eyes land on her expectantly. "Right," she stammers, raising her hands. "In waterbending, it's all about feeling the push and pull of the water. But in bloodbending, you have to fight against the push and pull of the blood inside the human body, in order to control its flow." Hunching into the shrivelled stances, the mannequin rises off the surface of the dais, its limbs contorting at unnatural angles. "Like that. Now who wants to give it a try?"

A dozen hands shoot enthusiastically up in the air. Katara looks at the crush of glowing, enthusiastic faces staring at her and a strange new warmth rises in her chest.


"I still can't believe Princess Yue told that old lady to shut up and let you go on teaching the girls how to bloodbend," Toph remarks later that night over dinner.

"I still can't believe you're teaching the girls how to bloodbend," Aang supplies with a wry smile.

"I know," Katara agrees, blowing on the stewed sea prunes steaming in the bowl before her. "It's really amazing how quickly the girls are picking it up, considering they've never actually learned how to waterbend."

"There must be something in healing that gives them an aptitude for bloodbending," Aang muses thoughtfully. "Who knew?"

Katara shrugs before helping herself to a bite of chewy sea prune. "Anyway, speaking of experimental bending, what did you guys get up to today?" She tries to ignore the fourth empty space at their table.

As one, their faces both darken instantly. "Drilling with our new waterbender," Aang replies glumly. "General Iroh thought it might be a good change of pace for us to get used to working with Tartok in our group."

Katara winces. "How did that go?"

Aang chews on his lip, thinking carefully. "Not good," he says at length.

Katara can't help the small petty part of her that manages to gloat with the news. "Oh."

"It doesn't help that Caveman is the biggest jerk ever," Toph continues, her face still dark with disapproval.

"Caveman?"

"Toph's new name for Tartok," Aang replies.

"Ah."

"He thinks he's so great, but he can't take criticism at all, because he's so arrogant! And he gets offended every time someone beats him! And he refuses to adapt too!"

"That's awful," Katara comments, privately unsurprised by the news. "For an element that's all about change and adapting, the Northern style of waterbending seems really rigid, from what I've seen so far."

She thinks back to her lessons with Pakku, an age ago. The man had been from the North, but even his teaching had been more open to change by comparison. They really could use his training up here. I wonder why he left, or if he'll ever come back.

They are interrupted by the usual nightly fanfare that grips the entire tent as General Iroh and his retinue make their entrance, hungry and weary from long, taxing meetings. By now, it has become a ritual of sorts, as Zuko grabs his dinner and seats himself at the empty space at their table. General Iroh stops by to exchange some stiff pleasantries, made slightly awkward by the frozen civility that now exists between him and Katara, before shuffling away to join the Air Nomad Elders at the other end of the tent.


Some evenings they try to revive the tradition of music night, with Iroh and the Air Nomads trying to outdo each other with renditions of songs from their homelands. Iroh's senior officers would reluctantly be goaded into playing whatever instrument they could scrounge together.

Even Zuko couldn't be spared, his title as Iroh's heir making him prime fodder to be bullied into playing the tsungi horn some nights.


Other evenings, they exchange stories from their respective cultures. Master Vayu of the Northern Air Temple surprises them with the entertainingly ribald story of the first airbender: a celibate Air Nomad and the seven temptations sent down to test him by the spirits. Master Sutra of the Eastern Air Temple has them all in stitches over the exploits of Pawan, the lemur who successfully tricked the wind spirits into giving him wings and became the first of the winged creatures that populated all four Air Temples.

Katara says nothing, thinking of her tribe's own stories even as General Iroh launches into a popular Fire Nation tale about a dragon emperor cursed to live as a mortal by a dark water spirit.

"A water spirit?" she echoes disparagingly, even as Iroh continues with his tale. "Really?"

But to her surprise, Zuko gives her a very wry smile. "This was my mother's favourite play," he mutters to her. "We'd go to Ember Island every year and watch them butcher it on stage." A smattering of red dusts his face. "One year, the actor who played the Blue Spirit gave me his mask. I still have it in my room."

Katara gapes at him, her blood suddenly rushing and searing hot with the memory of the laughing blue mask in her hand and his closeness. Her skin prickles in a thousand places, as though it was reliving that night. "R-right," she manages hoarsely. "I remember."

Zuko looks away, the deepening red crawling along his ears and neck. The tent bursts into applause as General Iroh concludes his tale with a flourish.

"Thank you, Lord Iroh, for telling us such a moving tale," Master Sutra pronounces, wiping at her eyes. "But I have yet to hear my favourite story from the Fire Nation. The one about the Painted Lady."

General Iroh's face splits into a grin of delight. "Now that is truly a stirring tale, Master Sutra. What excellent taste you have." He surveys his audience thoughtfully. "But I have done enough talking for now." To Katara's mounting consternation, his gaze pauses upon their corner of the room and his grin widens mischievously before he speaks again. "Prince Zuko. Why don't you treat our guests to the story of the Painted Lady?"

Katara doesn't think Zuko could turn any redder as his shoulders stiffen with the unexpected attention. "Me?" he stammers, already fighting for composure. "But - but -"

"My nephew is well versed in the folklore of our people," Iroh continues smoothly, as though he couldn't hear Zuko's fumbling protests at all. "He would be happy to share this tale with you, Master Sutra. Wouldn't he?"

Zuko sighs loudly before getting to his feet in defeat. "It would be my pleasure," he grumbles, sounding as though nothing could give him any less pleasure.

Katara privately sends him her condolences, at once indignant that Iroh would put him on the spot in front of so many people when he clearly didn't want to, but also curious to see how he would fare.

Zuko fidgets nervously on the spot before he clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "Uh - so...the tale of the Painted Lady," he begins awkwardly, faltering as all eyes focus on him. "This is a popular story in the small villages of our homeland. They believe that she lives in the rivers and visits them from time to time when they need her…"

He trails off, swallowing hard at the expectant, impatient silence. "A-anyway," he continues, his fingers twisting together anxiously, "I guess we should start at the beginning? Long ago - after the great divide of the human and spirit worlds. There was, uh, the king of all the spirits, and he had a daughter. They lived in the spirit world, but they kept hearing prayers from the human world below. The daughter asked why nobody helped the humans, and her father said it was because they broke the bridge between realms. They no longer deserved help, and any spirit caught helping them would be cast out themselves."

He pauses to clear his throat again, the hesitance in his voice finally fading. "So the spirit king decreed and his daughter obeyed. But as the years passed, the people's pleas became more desperate, until finally, one day, she couldn't bear it anymore."

He pauses again, collecting his thoughts. "She disguised herself with cloaks and mists, and painted herself from head to toe before crossing the forbidden rift to the human world. But once she got there, she realized that the humans weren't the unforgivables her father spoke of. They were hungry, feeble and desperate, but brimmed with gratitude when she walked among them, feeding them and healing their hurts, And so for a time there was peace and quiet in both worlds."

Katara watches Zuko with new eyes, fascinated by the story and surprised by his newfound confidence in storytelling, which jarred with everything she thought she already knew about him.

"But one day, the spirit king noticed the trails of paint leading from the forbidden rift up into the bedroom where his daughter slept by day. His fury was terrible to behold. How dare his own child defy his will? He dragged her out of the palace, still dressed in her plain cloak and paint dripping in stripes along her skin, and in front of all the spirits he cast her out." His voice trembles with tightly controlled emotion, but he continues doggedly. "He - he took away her name, her status, everything that had been hers, and banished her from the spirit realm."

What a story, Katara thinks sympathetically. It didn't take much to understand why telling a story about a king banishing his child would be difficult for Zuko. And yet his uncle had still picked on him to do so anyway.

"And so she fell from the skies, cut off forever from the world she knew. But disease and starvation returned to the human world, a blight set upon them by the wrath of the spirit king. Once again the humans cried out for help, but there was nobody to answer them. Nobody except the daughter, stripped of all titles but one." A fierce determination crosses Zuko's face as he continues. "The people begged for the Painted Lady to save them, and in that moment, it didn't matter that she was a lowly spirit stripped of her majesty and banished from her home. She still had her will - to do something when no one else would - and that was something that even her father, with all his power, could never take away."

A chill runs down Katara's spine as Zuko's voice gains intensity. "And so the Painted Lady took it upon herself to save the humans from her father's terrible wrath. Disease-torn villages healed miraculously, crops grew in famine-struck fields, and peace returned where strife and violence once raged. And in the guise of the outcast, she ended the spirit king's reign of terror." He bows his head, his voice growing quiet and the silence gripping the tent thickens as everyone hangs onto his every word. "Even today, when the spirits have all faded to bedtime stories such as this one, in the riverbanks and misty forgotten places, the people still pray to the Painted Lady and fear her return. For the power of the outcast once undid a tyrant...and can do so again."

The sound of thunderous applause is shocking to Katara's ears after such complete silence. Yet the warm interior of the kitchen tent swells with it as Zuko bows his head awkwardly and hurriedly takes his seat, presumably before his uncle could pick on him again.

"That was incredible!" Aang gushes. "You're a natural storyteller, Zuko! Who knew?"

"Yeah, you'd better be careful," Toph warns, smirking, "otherwise Grandpa might make Storytime with Sparky a regular occurrence."

"He'd better not," Zuko mutters darkly, even as his skin flushes. "Once was more than enough."


"That was quite the story," she tells him later that night, in the safe solitude of her firelit igloo. "It was moving and inspiring...but sad. And the spirit king was a real jerk."

Zuko smiles wanly at her. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was one of my favourites." His smile twists into a dark scowl. "Until my father forbade it. He always hated that story, you see."

Katara snorts. "There's a big surprise," she mutters and Zuko grimaces in agreement. "I had no idea you were such a great storyteller," she can't help but remark. "Way to hold out on me like that."

He groans, his fingers digging into his temples. "Uncle put me on the spot. I couldn't make a fool of myself in front of everybody."

"No need to get all defensive." She chuckles at the indignant flush creeping along his skin. "You just surprised me, that's all."

"Why? I had a royal upbringing, remember? Storytelling is child's play."

She tilts her head, watching the firelight flicker across the severity of his face, trying to imagine him as a child. Somehow, even without the shadows making him look tireder and older than usual, it was hard to imagine. Like her, he seemed like someone ill-suited to childhood, even before it had been cruelly snatched away.

But then he yawns and the moment disappears.

In the ebbing firelit and the deepening darkness that swallows the space around them, she yawns too. She presses her fist into her mouth to stifle it. "Not to us," she says at length.

"Huh?"

"Storytelling." Fighting another yawn, she leans her head against his shoulder, continuing, "You might think it's just child's play, but here in the Water Tribe, we hold it sacred."

"Really?" Zuko's head rests atop her own, as his arm drapes around her shoulder. "I didn't know that."

"Mm." Katara yawns again, finding his other hand and interlacing her fingers through his. "Well, now you do. So...the next time someone from the Water Tribes compliments your storytelling, maybe don't wave it off. You might accidentally insult someone that way."

She hears him chuckle softly, pressing his lips into her hair. "I'll keep that in mind."

She isn't sure what she mumbles blearily in response. The spitting of the dying fire is overloud in her ears, even as her limbs seem to fill with lead and her senses muffle as though draped in cotton. The solid warmth of his body next to hers, compared to the softness of the animal furs piled beneath them. The dark stillness of the night deepening outside the swaying tent flaps…

Katara opens her eyes again, only to see faint light glowing beneath the tent flaps, punctuated by the hustle and bustle of the big kitchen tent nearby. Blinking in confusion at the cool black coals sitting in her firepit, the chill breath of the morning air against her face and then, with a slow realization of dread prickling like gooseflesh, the warmth of someone else's breath brushing along the nape of her neck.

She yelps, kicking off the heavy furs that both of them had somehow burrowed into overnight. It tangles around her feet, anchored to the ground with the weight of his feet and refusing to budge.

"Zuko," she hisses, trying to wriggle out from under his arm draped securely over her waist, "Zuko! Wake up."

He groans into her ear, before turning over onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillow.

"No, not like that," she grates out, trying to shout and whisper at the same time. "Come on sleepyhead, get up!"

Scrabbling free of the twisted mess of furs, she crawls over him and pulls the blankets away, before nudging him with her elbow none too gently.

With a grunt and incomprehensible murmuring, he finally turns his head up, cracking an eye open to see her hovering over him in a tight-lipped panic. "Katara?" he mumbles sleepily, before it hits him and his eyes widen. "Shit."

"Shit is right," Katara tells him frantically. "We must have fallen asleep." Somehow, she manages to keep her voice low as she glances anxiously at the doorway. The tent flaps are drawn shut for privacy, but every crack where they gape and sway seems to shine on them like a spotlight.

Zuko groans quietly, a silent rumbling exhale of breath that betrayed more control than it required. "I must have been more tired than I thought."

"Me too." Tiptoeing toward the doorway, she peeks out the side of the curtain. The sky outside was starting to lighten, the kitchen tent bustling with activity. The long row of igloos mostly firelit, with the odd individual already on their way to breakfast. "Oh, spirits, this is terrible."

She barely pays attention to the rustling and cursing behind her, until she hears Zuko's voice right next to her. "What is it?"

Jumping and fighting to contain her yelp of surprise, she runs a hand though her bedraggled hair. "Everybody's awake," she grouses, facing his anxious profile. "Someone might see you!"

He swears roughly under his breath. "Uncle called a meeting with the chiefs first thing this morning too. If I'm not already late, I will be."

Biting back a slew of curses herself, Katara steels herself before sticking her head out the curtains. Glancing up and down the row of houses before accidentally making eye contact with one of the Fire Nation lieutenants ambling toward the kitchen tent.

Oh fuck. Okay Katara, just stay calm. She makes herself smile and nod at the lieutenant, who pauses in his tracks to give her a funny look. "Can I help you?" he asks.

Resisting the urge to implode on the spot, she shakes her head quickly. "No! I was just - uh - just checking for rain," she lies through her teeth. Zuko snorts quietly next to her.

The man nods slowly, clearly thinking she must be insane. "Right. Well, I'll leave you to it then," he says, already turning away.

She fights to contain her sigh of relief, accidentally shouting "You too!" before cringing, her face flaming hot. Smooth.

The lieutenant glances furtively over his shoulder at her again, obviously wondering whether she was having a psychotic break or something.

"You're a real stealth assassin, aren't you?" Zuko mutters dryly

"As if you could do any better," she hisses out the corner of her mouth, ducking back inside out of sight.

Finally, the lieutenant slips into the kitchen tent and she heaves another big sigh. "Oh thank the spirits, he's gone. Go now, quick -"

Without another word, or even saying goodbye, Zuko sneaks out the doorway, hugging the shadows and the nooks and crannies of the neighbouring houses. She watches him for as long as she can, her nerves still taut with panic even as the air finally cools in the absence of his warmth.

She crumples against the doorpost, pressing a hand to her chest. Beneath her palm, her heart hammers frantically. That was too close, she thinks, far too close, at least nobody saw -

"Katara?"

She shrieks, whipping around so quickly that the snow kicks up around her.

To her dismay, Lusa stands on her doorstep, already fully dressed with her glossy brown hair immaculate in their braids and an odd look spreading across her face.

Not good. Katara shifts her weight uncomfortably, praying that Zuko was far gone by now. "Uh - hi, Lusa! What are you doing here?"

"I was helping bring food over." Lusa nods at the big kitchen tent behind her, brightly lit and raucous with the sounds of breakfast being served.

"Oh." Katara makes herself smile brightly. "How nice of you."

But Lusa doesn't return the smile. Instead, she folds her arms and meets her gaze plainly. "Are you okay? You seem a bit strange this morning -"

"Strange?" she echoes, forcing out a strained laugh. "Me? No, no, I'm okay...just clumsy in the morning -"

"I thought I saw someone leaving your place," Lusa cuts her off suspiciously, turning to stare down the row of guesthouses in the direction that Zuko had disappeared.

Katara's stomach plummets. "What?" she squawks. "I...I think you must be seeing things." Lusa only raises an eyebrow, which only makes her breathless in her growing panic. "Or - or um, maybe you saw a wild animal, like - like a polar bear dog…"

Lusa glances skeptically at the ground, and with dread sliding slowly into her gut, Katara follows suit. Glaring back at them are Zuko's very obvious tracks in the snow leading away from her doorstep.

Katara chokes back a gasp of horror as Lusa cocks her head. "Must've been a big dog," she comments sarcastically, her green eyes flitting from the footprints back to Katara in her thin nightgown. "Anyway. I should get going. See you later."

And with that, she turns on her heel and marches off, Katara's indiscretions seemingly already dismissed. Katara shrinks back into the curtains, watching the woman recede into the distance with heightened senses, wildly wondering how much the older girl had actually seen...and just how incriminating it was.


She spends the rest of the day in a paranoid fever, wondering what would happen if the story spread like wildfire among the women of the Tribe. After so long, she was finally feeling like she started to belong among them. To learn that the Fire Prince had been spotted fleeing from her chambers at an indecent hour could only shatter the illusion that she belonged among them.

But apart from a couple of girls asking her whether she was feeling ill, nobody looked at her any differently. Even later that afternoon, when she apprehensively settled among the older Southern girls, busy with their sewing, they didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss. Her heart pounded nervously when Lusa gave her a lingering glance, but if she harboured any misgivings, she kept them to herself, and the afternoon passed by almost entirely normally.

Still, her anxiety persists until much later that night, when Zuko finally emerges with the rest of his uncle's men from their meetings.

"Someone saw you this morning," she whispers to him urgently as he sits down next to her for supper.

He stiffens in alarm. "Who?"

"One of the Southern girls."

He doesn't move, continuing to stare at his dinner tray. "Did she say anything?"

"Not exactly." She scratches her head, remembering Lusa's sardonic smile that morning and wondering about her silence afterward. Maybe she hadn't brought it up because she believed it none of her business. Or maybe she was waiting for the right opportunity to hold it over her head. "But either way, that was way too close."

He nods shortly, his jaw tightening, probably predicting what she says next. "We can't risk being caught like that again."

It doesn't stop the glower from spreading across his face as she continues anxiously. "This time, it was just Lusa. What if next time it's somebody else? Somebody who cares?"

He remains stone still for so long, she wonders if he even heard her. But at last, he finally stirs, his hands clenching into tight fists. "You're right," he agrees reluctantly. "We should probably lay low for a while."

"It's for the best," she tells him, even as part of her quails wildly, already missing him even though he was right there.

He lets out a huff and smoke trickles into the air. "Right," he mutters, still sounding unconvinced. "It's for the best."


"...and Tartok, you must learn when to break and when to yield to your teammates. Do you understand?"

"Does he understand?" Toph echoes mutinously under her breath, but loud enough for Zuko to hear. "Like you'd expect a pile of rocks to take feedback."

"Toph," he groans, already sick of it.

"I'm just saying. I don't think I've ever met anyone so resistant to criticism," Toph goes on, throwing a glare in the direction of where their new resident waterbender now waits. "At least a pile of rocks would actually cause some damage, unlike Caveman over there."

"It'd have a less fragile ego too," Aang adds darkly.

The waterbender in question only glowers at Jeong-Jeong, once again delegated with the thankless task of training up the new team. Wrapped in his nondescript black cloak, the old master seated at the head of the arena behind the chiefs' hall turns his flinty gaze on the remaining three members. "And you three. Must I remind you that you are supposed to behave as a team?"

"Sorry, Master Jeong-Jeong," Zuko says wearily. "It's...it's a big change for us too."

"We're used to Katara," Aang explains loudly, and Zuko doesn't miss the scandalized expression that Tartok throws his way at the mention of her name. "We had chemistry with her. She was talented enough, and open-minded enough, to integrate seamlessly with us." He smiles so smugly, it makes Zuko suspect that the young Air Nomad was actually trying to bait Tartok on purpose. "And of course, she was with us from the beginning too."

"I agree," Toph declares, slamming her foot into the snow. "Sweetness made me realize just how dangerous waterbending could be." She tosses her head scathingly in Tartok's direction. "This guy's about as threatening as a guppyshrimp. All he does is splash a bunch of puddles around."

"I do not!" Tartok explodes, whirling on her with fists clenched tightly to his side. "What do you know, anyway? Such bold talk from such a little girl."

"Little girl?" Toph bristles, slamming her fist into the heel of her hand. "Oh, you did not just call me that."

"But that's all you are." Tartok gives her an ugly smile. "Back where you came from, you might have been a big deal, but this is the North."

Toph points at him threateningly. "I'm hearing a lot of talk, big guy. Why don't you take it to the ring and prove it?"

"You're on," Tartok spits, before glaring at him and Aang. "The rest of you, stay back."

Zuko only sighs again as he and Aang return to one of the benches lining the side of the arena. To his surprise, Aang brightens as he sits down. "Hey Zuko, once Toph kills him for calling her a little girl, do you think the chiefs will let us bring Katara back?"

Zuko only stares at him impassively. "You've been spending way too much time with Toph. Aren't you a pacifist?"

From his spot at the head of the arena, Jeong-Jeong clears his throat. Zuko studies the old man's face, but it was impossible to read what he thought of the match-up. "Begin," he commands.

Toph's face scrunches intently, her feet sliding across the surface of the snow. Across from her, Tartok leaps into action. A lump of snow jumps upward with him, splashing into a crescent of water. It follows the deliberate rotations of his wrists, building and swelling in size until it resembles a floating tidal wave.

"Too slow," Aang complains next to him, sounding bored. "Katara would have gone on the offensive by now."

With a grimace of concentration, Toph raises her hands. Thousands of grains of sand, sprinkled across the slippery surface to prevent any slips and falls, float upward. Then, with a clench and a pull to her chest, they zoom toward her, coalescing into a growing mass hovering in front of her.

"Any time now," Aang suggests, waving his hand. "Don't mind her, she's only going to flatten you."

But Tartok, preoccupied with his kata, doesn't notice the gargantuan missile that Toph hurls at him until it slams into his chest and knocks the wind out of him.

"Oh no, he lost." Aang rests his chin onto his palm as Tartok lands on his back with a loud thump. "What a shame."

Toph only folds her arms, cocking her head triumphantly at her thoroughly trounced opponent. "You were saying?"

"That wasn't fair!" Tartok wheezes, rolling over onto his side to clutch at his chest. "I wasn't ready!"

"How much more time did you need?" Toph demands incredulously.

"You only won because you don't fight honourably," Tartok complains, sitting up and wincing with every movement.

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose as Toph swears at Tartok with a ferocity that would make a pirate blush. "At least he made a satisfying sound when he hit the ground," he grumbles.

"Way better than the ones that come out of his mouth when he talks," Aang agrees savagely. Elsewhere, Jeong-Jeong diplomatically cuts Toph off to berate the waterbender for losing awareness of his surroundings.

Zuko leans back, staring longingly upward at the sky. Even though it was past midday, the sun still hangs low, its light weak and barely able to pierce the thick cloud cover. He longs for proper sunlight, overtired and beginning to go stark raving mad in its absence. But the dim twilight glow would only last a few more hours before the black of night swallowed them again.

Forget what Katara says. Polar winter is hell.

But the thought of Katara only brings up a crush of messy feelings that he isn't prepared to face. Shaking his head, he clamps it all down and forces himself back into the present.

By now, a small group of men are exiting the back door of the chiefs' hall and approaching the sprawling arena. It takes Zuko a moment to spot his uncle, walking alongside Chief Arnook and some of the other Northern chiefs, all small figures clad in identical blue from where he sits.

Jeong-Jeong snaps to attention as Uncle Iroh joins him. "And how is our team getting along?" he asks warmly.

The stony silence that grips the four of them is the only answer he receives. "I see," his uncle continues tactfully before turning to Jeong-Jeong. "Was it like this when you first started the project?"

Jeong-Jeong clears his throat again, conscious of the expectant looks the Northern chiefs all ply in his direction. "There was no shortage of friction between the four candidates when we first initiated the project last summer," he begins, as gently as he can manage. "However...with the existing chemistry between three benders, and a new substitution in the position that requires...quite a bit more versatility than the others, the new team lineup does seem somewhat more...unbalanced than I hoped."

"I see," his uncle remarks, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He studies Tartok with his keen, assessing gaze before he lets out a disappointed sigh. "Sometimes, you just have to accept that these are very big shoes to fill. And time is not on our side, Master Jeong-Jeong."

"You don't have to remind me," Jeong-Jeong grunts, pulling his cloak tighter around himself.

But Tartok clambers to his feet, still wincing. "She can't have been that good," he argues, clutching at his chest. "I think everyone just had a soft spot for that girl, and is taking it out on me because I'm better than her!"

Zuko chokes on his spit, trying to disguise his reaction as a coughing fit. Toph doesn't bother, her laughter ringing out loud and clear in the midday air like a sword drawn from its sheath.

Jeong-Jeong and his uncle both stare at Tartok blankly. It was a testament to their diplomacy, Zuko thinks to himself, that they didn't also burst out laughing at the boy's absurd declaration.

"You are correct in one respect," Jeong-Jeong begins, exchanging a sidelong glance with his uncle. "Sifu Katara has earned a great deal of fondness and respect from all who worked with her on this project. However…"

"You have a lot of hard work ahead of you before you can claim to fill her shoes," Uncle Iroh finishes bluntly. "Perhaps we should stick to the basics for the rest of the afternoon -"

"The basics?" Tartok repeats, his pale face mottling. "I am one of the elite waterbenders of the Northern Water Tribe. I refuse to be treated as some novice!" He crosses his arms across his chest stubbornly. "And I demand to be addressed as Sifu as well!"

"No, son," Uncle Iroh refuses flatly. "That is a title that you have not earned yet." He fixes Tartok with his trademark piercing stare. "And with that attitude, it will be a long time before you do."

Tartok's mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he finally flounders and hangs his head. Angry splotches of red still burn brightly on his cheeks.

"Back where he came from, he might have been a big deal. But this is Team Avatar," Toph mocks under her breath, earning a muffled snort from Aang.

"No, Toph," Zuko corrects, kneading his temples. "He was right. This is the North. Don't forget it."

Uncle Iroh and the other chiefs depart without another word, leaving Jeong-Jeong to drill them through the basics.

Zuko gazes up at the midday sky despairingly. It was going to be a long afternoon.


The following day the clouds vanish, and the sun low in the sky still manages to stain it with soft yellow light. It touches the broad icy streets of Aujuittuq and turns the surface of its rivers to ripples of liquid gold.

Katara is in a similarly good mood by the time she leaves the healing huts, trailing the apprentices and the chaperones Nerrivik had assigned them. It had been a productive morning. In fact, there had been several productive mornings. Her bloodbending lessons had infused the healing classes with a new energy, and she could not believe how quickly the girls were mastering the skill. Even Nerrivik's women were participating, and one of them - a nervous redhead named Ikkuma - had even found some arctic lemmingvoles for use in practice that morning.

Then, a cold blinding pain splits along her temple and all thoughts scatter.

"Ow!" she cries, clapping a mittened hand to the side of her face. Blinking snow out of her eyes, she realizes that someone had lobbed a snowball at her head.

Specifically, one of the Northern Water Tribe boys now marching up behind her. Squinting in the bright midday sun, she recognizes Tartok's sour face.

"What was that for?" she demands hotly, turning on her heel to face him.

But Tartok scowls back, flanked by a crush of other boys, and with another snowball at the ready in his grasp. A small distance behind them trail Zuko, Toph, and Aang, appearing nearly as aghast as she feels.

"You're not that great," Tartok complains.

Katara frowns in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Tartok tosses the snowball from one hand to another, staring at her insolently. "The other benders - Toph, Aang, the fire prince, even the Dragon General," he spits, gesturing behind him to where her friends wait, "they all keep saying that I'm not as good as you."

"Well, you're not!" Toph pipes up, before Zuko nudges her in the side with his elbow. She falls silent with a glower.

Katara doesn't contain her snort of surprise. "And you decided to solve the problem by pelting me with snowballs?"

Tartok's pale face mottles to an ugly dark colour. "I am not inferior to you!" he shouts. "I will not be thought of as weaker than some common Southern woman."

Katara itches to water-whip the petulance out of him, but is aware of all the eyes intently watching their spat. The small group of boys gathered behind Tartok, the healing apprentices watching with growing curiosity. Ikkuma and the rest of Nerrivik's chaperones, who would surely report any transgression back to their overbearing chieftainess, leaving Katara to endure yet another unwanted lecture about Northern tribe cultural values.

"I don't understand," she says slowly. "Are you challenging me or something?"

"I would never challenge a woman! That would be beneath me," Tartok growls, before taking a step closer. "I just want everybody to know that I'm stronger than you."

She can't help the scornful laugh that escapes her. "You want to prove it? Go ahead and try."

Tartok yells as he dashes toward her, pulling a handful of snow into his grasp. He hurls it into a shining silver arc straight for her head.

Katara neatly sidesteps the blow. "Oh, were you aiming that at me?" she asks innocently amid the shocked gasps of the girls behind her.

His face twists into a snarl before he rushes her, water brandished at the ready. She moves quickly on her feet, dodging and weaving through his strikes without much effort until she catches him off-balance and knocks him into the snowbank with a swift kick to the knee.

"See?" Toph yells, running up to her. "She didn't even need her bending to beat you! That's just sad."

Tartok spits out a mouthful of snow. But before he says anything else, Toph makes a motion with her hands to crumble the ground beneath him. Tartok falls into the water with a splash, shrieking at the cold.

"Now be nice," Toph warns him as he floats away, "or Sweetness here will wash you out to sea."

"Toph," Katara admonishes her, nervously glancing at the large group of women surrounding them, stunned by what they had just witnessed. "You know I can't -"

"Picking fights with boys, are we?"

She stiffens as one of Nerrivik's women approaches her wearing a disapproving scowl. "No, Denigi," Katara answers, tamping down her indignation. "More like the boys are picking fights with me."

"You can't blame them for that. It's in a man's nature to fight," Denigi argues, jamming her hands on her hips.

"Come on, Denigi," coaxes Ikkuma, the youngest of Nerrivik's women. "You saw what happened. Let it go."

"I can't just let it go, Ikkuma," Denigi insists with infuriating self-righteousness. "Katara's practically a grown woman. She should know better."

"But Denigi -"

"I'm going to speak with Nerrivik. Are you coming?"

Ikkuma sighs defeatedly. "No, you go on."

With a last lingering look of disapproval, Denigi marches off haughtily. Katara watches her shrink into the distance, defiance and despair competing for her attention. "Just great," she groans, clapping a hand to her forehead. "Now I get to listen to another lecture."

"It can't be that bad," Ikkuma assures her kindly. "You have at least a dozen people who can vouch for you. Don't mind Denigi, she's a bit of a zealot sometimes."

"Besides," Toph exclaims, grabbing her arm excitedly, "you got to make Tartok look like a total idiot in front of everybody! Wasn't it worth it?"

Katara glances at Toph, at Aang and Zuko watching some distance away. A pang hits her along with the sudden sensation of everything feeling suddenly normal, only for a moment.

Then she glances at Ikkuma, at the small crush of Tartok's friends, now scurrying away embarrassedly to help him out of the water. At all the young apprentices staring up at her with unadulterated awe.

"Yeah," she says, finally smiling. "I guess it was."