disclaimer. obligatory acknowledgment that none of atla belongs to me, alas

author's notes. a huge thank you to everyone who's read and commented and following along! you are powering me through some really challenging times and i can never be grateful enough to all you beautiful people. i'm back on tumblr, feel free to follow me at colourwhirled-writes for fic-related and general updates.

some bits and bobs for the upcoming chapter:

1) the water tribe marriage rituals as described are loosely adapted from those historically followed by the inuit of northern canada

2) the prevalence of healing among waterbenders was somewhat inconsistent in canon, with pakku suggesting that all female waterbenders learned healing vs. jeong-jeong implying that healing was a rare gift among waterbenders. i've elected to go with the latter, where not all waterbenders can heal

3) trigger warning for mentions of domestic violence and mariticides with varying degrees of success. please proceed with caution if you find these upsetting.

i give you...

southern lights

chapter xl. to tame the ocean


are you able, find your ground
with all the people falling down
tell the world that saw you head for hell
i can be something you believe in

"to believe" / the cinematic orchestra


It isn't until the following morning that Nerrivik pulls Katara out of her morning healing lesson and frog-marches her down the main street of Aujuittuq straight into the band chiefs' great hall.

Nerrivik remains rather tight-lipped and severe, preferring to communicate her disapproval through several loud sniffs of her nose, before presenting Katara to the assembled band chiefs and then leaving as quietly as she had come.

Chief Arnook, seated in the middle of the group of stern old men, beckons to her with a wave of his hand. "Come in, Katara. Make yourself comfortable."

In the cold light of day filtering through the slitted windows and bone-deep chilliness radiating from the rest of the chieftains, comfort felt like the last thing she could expect to find. But she draws closer, heart pounding nervously as the chieftains exchange wordless glances among each other, their frosty disapproval plain on their faces.

Arnook smooths the deep purple chieftain's mantle cascading over his shoulders before taking a deep breath. "Well, Katara. This is an awkward situation we find ourselves in, isn't it?" He smiles at her, even as the frowns of some of the other men deepen.

"Uh," Katara falters, the chief's friendliness taking her by surprise. "I don't know what you mean?"

By now, she recognizes Hahn and his father, seated on either side of Chief Arnook, as they glance knowingly among each other. Then Hahn levels her with a piercing stare. "We had such high hopes for you, Katara of Sivusiktok," he begins. "We invited you to join our tribe, as one of our own. We have given you a place to develop your healing skills. And all we asked of you was to respect our tribe's cultural traditions. One simple thing."

"I didn't mean to -" Katara begins to protest, but Hahn raises a hand to silence her.

"But we are troubled by the reports we have heard about your behaviour here," he cuts her off, straightening in his seat. "First you used waterbending in broad daylight, in the presence of our finest warriors, no less! Then you try to bring some barbaric form of waterbending into our healing classes. And now I hear from my good friend Tartok, Chieftain Keelut's esteemed younger son -" he gestures at a sour-faced old man who glowers next to him, "- that you had the nerve to attack him in a crowded street!"

But even as some of the chieftains shake their heads darkly, others shift in their seats, appearing unconvinced by Hahn's theatrical speech.

"These are serious accusations, Hahn," Chief Arnook admonishes, to Katara's mounting surprise. "Well, Katara? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Katara fights to reign in her rising temper. "It wasn't my intention to be disrespectful to your tribe's traditions, Chief Arnook," she begins, with as much patience as she could muster. "But the first time I had to use waterbending, it was because Tartok and Sangilak got carried away in a duel and collapsed the bridge I was standing on -"

"So it isn't enough to fight my son," huffs Chieftain Keelut, "but now you go after Suluk's son as well?"

A grizzled giant of a man sharing Sangilak's heavily-muscled bulk only stares impassively at Katara. "Speak for yourself, Keelut. I have heard no complaints from my son," he rumbles in a voice like an avalanche, his nostrils flaring distastefully. "Perhaps it is different in your village, but in Akluilak, we consider it beneath the dignity of a Water Tribe warrior like Sangilak to pick fights with women...let alone lose to them."

"I agree with Suluk," pipes up an old man with smooth white hair that seemed to glow in the streaming daylight. "My grandson Jukka relayed some of this story to me. According to his friends, Tartok actually provoked a fight with this girl, in front of other women, no less!"

Katara's eyes widen with surprise at the old chieftain's declaration. Jukka had always been friendly to her despite being a guy from the North. Perhaps his old friendship with Sokka had earned a degree of loyalty after all.

"My daughter Bunik witnessed the whole affair too," another chieftain cuts in, with a surly face and flat voice that reminds her of Master Pakku. "Her tale concurs with those of Suluk and Onartok here. Tartok attacked this girl, and then had the nerve to come complaining to us when he proved to be weaker." He shakes his head disparagingly. "This sounds more like an issue of the strength within Keelut's family line than it is for a ruling of the band chiefs."

"Thank you, Mallik," Chief Arnook says, straightening the carved moon-and-star tassels that hang against his chest. Katara isn't sure if she imagines the relief spreading over his face as he continues, "I think that settles the matter adequately. Katara can hardly be accused of disrespecting our tribe's traditions if Keelut's younger son did the same thing." He casts a sidelong glance tinged with triumph at Keelut. "There is hardly any higher disgrace than provoking a woman to a fight. Perhaps we should bring Tartok in here afterward, and discipline him for wasting our time!"

"That - that will not be necessary," splutters Chieftain Keelut, his milky face turning bright red. "It appears this has all been a complete misunderstanding. I will speak with my son myself, and see that he never displays such shameful behaviour again." And even through his penitence, Katara senses the grudging apology forced through gritted teeth was a step awry, a miscalculation that had backfired on Hahn and his faction among the chiefs.

"Very well," Hahn sighs, his disappointment palpable. He leans his chin against his hand, gazing down at Katara from his seat on high. "But we expect this to be the last we hear of you waterbending up here, Katara."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Katara says with all the patience she can muster. "If Tartok stops picking fights with me, then I won't have to defend myself."

Hahn raises an eyebrow, still evidently displeased. "And what's this I hear about you bringing waterbending into the healing huts? What of that?"

But before she can answer, Chief Arnook waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, that. My daughter, Princess Yue, tells me that Katara is working with our healing masters to share one of her skills. It is not waterbending, but a technique that our healers can use to manipulate the human body far more effectively than they are currently able to."

But Hahn glowers petulantly at Arnook. "My mother insists that it is waterbending. I don't like the sound of this."

"Nerrivik has mastered many skills, Hahn," Arnook replies with the hard-won patience of a seasoned leader, "but neither waterbending nor healing are among them. I hope you will forgive me for deferring to actual healing masters when it comes to guiding our decisions here."

To Katara, it seems as though he might as well have struck Hahn openly across the face. But to her relief, the stubborn teenager only slouches sullenly in his chair and says nothing further as Arnook beckons to her with a warm smile. "You may go, Katara."

"Th - thank you," she stammers, bobbing her head in a quick bow before shuffling out of the band chiefs' wintry hall.

Outside, the weak sun flirts with the wispy cloud cover trailing across the sky, illuminating the streets and canals with dim white light. But the breeze that tickles her face and flutters against the braids woven through her hair is unseasonably warm, and so is the strange hopeful feeling bubbling in her chest.


She returns to the healing huts to try catch the last bit of the lesson. By now, most of the girls have grasped enough of the bloodbending forms to practice on the hide mannequin. A few of them even manage to manipulate the lemmingvoles that Ikkuma snuck into the class for the second morning in a row.

The busy motions and side conversations die down instantly as she steps inside the crowded hut. Heads snap to face her, their gazes of combined curiosity and worry pinning her to the spot.

"So?" Bunik demands, the first to find her voice. She drops the lemmingvole from her twisted grasp and it scurries into the corner with a reproachful squeak. "How did it go?"

Katara thinks quickly of her meeting with the band chiefs and the unexpected turns it had taken. She settles for a nonchalant shrug. "Fine."

"Fine?" Denigi echoes, scarcely able to believe her ears. "You mean to tell me the chiefs were okay with your display yesterday?"

"They thought it was Tartok's fault for provoking me," Katara supplies, irritated by the woman's infuriating self-righteousness. She pauses to savour the indignation mottling on the uptight housewife's face before adding with a flourish, "They said there was hardly any higher disgrace in picking a fight with a woman...and losing."

A chorus of cheers greets her words. Katara blushes as a couple of the girls jump forward to grab her arms and raise them triumphantly. "That's what those blockheads get for challenging Katara!"

"Way to show those boys not to mess with us!"

"That'll teach them to think twice before picking on us!"

"Three cheers for Katara! The bravest woman in the North!"

Through all the excited babble, Katara's breath catches in her throat. Surveying the crush of excited, hopeful eyes and the exhilarating celebrations of the women in the hut stokes the fire in her chest and yet another elusive sensation that she hasn't felt in a very long time.

The sensation of finally beginning to fit in somewhere among her own. Of carving a spot among these girls, so different from her and yet somehow, wanting the same.

"And the bloodbending?" Ikkuma asks tentatively, pulling the sleeves of her long flowy tunic over her wrists in a nervous motion. "What did the chiefs say of that?"

Katara smirks, thinking of Hahn's sour face when Chief Arnook had made his declaration. "They're fine with it. As long as we use it only for healing, they have no problems with us working to improve our skills."

The cheer that erupts from the girls nearly threatens to knock her off her feet. Blood rushes hotly to her cheeks, but even she can't fight the big grin splitting across her face.

"Hmph," Denigi huffs, stomping back into a corner with the other older women. She scowls darkly, crossing her arms in disapproval. "What is this tribe coming to?"


"Bloodbending?" Hei repeats slowly, a line forming in the middle of her forehead as she frowns with confusion. "What in the name of the spirits is that?"

Katara leans forward earnestly, the pile of sewing in her lap quite forgotten. "It's a technique I learned from a woman in our tribe," she offers, ignoring the uncomfortable churn of duplicity in the pit of her stomach. "Master Yugoda and Ahnah thought it could be taught as a natural extension of healing."

"Hmm." Hei leans back on her haunches, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "It would be a lot easier to heal certain injuries if you could physically manipulate the blood around it," she muses. "But I could see it going south pretty quickly."

"I agree," Aujak cuts in, looking around nervously to make sure the matriarchal were well out of earshot. "It sounds too violent. My husband would probably think it sounds like waterbending, in a sense."

Katara fights the urge to roll her eyes at the unsolicited opinions of both Aujak and her husband. "Well...Princess Yue and Nerrivik both dropped by, and they didn't see a problem with it."

"Nerrivik was okay with it?" Hei asks skeptically, before shaking her head with a laugh. "Quick, somebody pinch me." Lusa leans over and pinches her forearm. "Ow! I didn't mean literally!"

"Sorry," Lusa quips, but her green eyes still glimmer teasingly. "Still though. Who'd have thought that old witch would be okay with whatever you crazy folks cooked up back in Sivusiktok?"

Katara pauses uncomfortably. "So...do you want to learn?" she chances. "So far, we've just been limiting the lessons to the healing apprentices, but Hei, you're a fully trained healer and you should have a chance to learn it if you want."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Katara," Hei replies primly, a faraway look misting her eyes. "I'll have to think about it."

"What about you?" Katara turns to Lusa as Hei bends over the tiny tunic she was stitching together.

"Me?" Lusa flounders haplessly. "I'm not a healer."

"No," Katara allows before lowering her voice. "But you can still waterbend, right? Just because you can't heal doesn't mean you can't try your hand at bloodbending."

"I…" Lusa glances down at her feet, at the pile of worn-out socks demanding her attention. Then she looks at Aujak, leaning back into a pile of furs to accommodate the growing child in her belly, content and glowing in the firelight. At Hei, barely visible under the rolls of cloth, her ink black hair fastidiously arranged into a beaded braided knot piled atop her head.

She bites her lip, clearly more tempted than she expected by the prospect, before reluctantly shaking her head. "I don't think so," she answers haltingly. "It...it wouldn't be right."

"Lusa -"

"If I was meant to bend, the spirits would have gifted me with the ability to heal," she continues, sounding as though she had recited this many times over the course of her life. She gives Katara a strained smile. "But they didn't. Best not risk their wrath."

A host of arguments well hotly in the back of Katara's throat. But as Lusa lets out a shaking sigh and turns back to her mending, she bites them back reluctantly instead.

"And what have we here?" The uncomfortable silence shatters as Kirima, one of the fearsome matriarchs, pauses during her walkabouts of the communal tents. "Too much gossip distracting you from your work? Look at the size of that pile!"

"But Kirima," Lusa answers, sounding like she was soothing a wild animal, "we've been so busy with the sewing, and Denigi only gave us this extra mending an hour ago -"

"An hour's plenty time for a woman with focus, Lusa," Kirima counters, jamming her hands on her hips. Her nose twitches distastefully. "But perhaps all you Southern girls need help with that. Should we split you up?"

"No, Kirima." Lusa's voice softens meekly as she hangs her head penitently. "We'll be good."

"The next time I come back, that mending had better be done!" Kirima barks, before moving on. Her grumbling trails in the air behind her. "Southern girls, think they're better than us, hmph - "

Katara's hands shake with repressed indignation, but Lusa only gives her a sympathetic smile before returning to her work in complete, cowed silence.


"...I'd want a hunter, of course! They'd have to be up at the crack of dawn, but at least we'd have the evenings together!"

"Me, I prefer someone scholarly. I'd lose my mind with worry if I wed a warrior. So many things could go wrong!"

"I want to marry someone from a powerful family. A chief, or close enough in kind -"

"Ugh! You're too much, Koko! You never want to marry a chief!"

"But then I could be a powerful matriarch, and then I'd be the one supervising and harassing the girls instead of sitting here working until my hands fall off!"

"But would it be worth it? You'd have to leave your home and move to his village, and you'd be alone most of the time anyway. You'd never see your husband, and spirits help you if you couldn't produce a son -"

"Shhh, keep your voices down! Nerrivik's coming!"

Katara fights a wry smile as the group of chattering young girls seated around her fall immediately silent. As Nerrivik walks by, studying them sharply for a whiff of distraction, the girls put their heads down, appearing the very picture of domestic competence. With a sniff of satisfaction, the matriarch passes them by.

The silence lingers over them comfortingly, an invisible shawl of safety. Instead of joining the other Southern girls in the communal tents that afternoon as usual, Katara and the other apprentices had been thrown into the kitchens, where the tribal matriarchs put them quickly to work. Left alone to their own devices in the back tent, the circle of young girls promptly found ways to entertain themselves while cleaning foraged mushrooms and picking seeds out of fuzzy pods. All to help prepare for the lavish feast to be held in honour of Yue's wedding to Hahn, which would take place the following evening on midwinter's day, when polar night finally drew to a close and proper daylight returned.

"Anyway," young Koko continues, picking up the conversation once Nerrivik was out of earshot, "I'd rather have Nerrivik's job and be married to a chief, than have to deal with the stress of being wed to a hunter or a warrior!"

"Koko, you can't marry a chief if you can't handle stress!" pretty Shila quips with a laugh, shaking her head. Strands of her perfectly arranged hair settle about her face like a halo, gleaming in the firelight.

"What about you? Do you think Imnek is going to carve you a betrothal necklace soon?"

"Oh, I hope so!" Shila sighs dreamily. "He's so handsome, and humble, and polite -"

"Imnek?" someone cuts in disbelievingly. "You mean Tartok's brother, Imnek?"

"That's the one." Shila nods enthusiastically. "And he's nothing like his brother, he's ever so wonderful -"

"You're wasting your time pining over that one," Woka tells her with a knowing smirk. "I heard a rumour that he skates on the other side of the ice, if you know what I mean."

Shila pouts as everyone around her snickers. "That's just hearsay, Woka, and it's unkind. Anyway, it can't be true -"

"Are you sure?" interjects Bunik, raising an eyebrow. "I've never seen him with a girl. I don't think anyone ever has."

"That's because he's very proper," Shila insists, her olive cheeks turning a deep red.

"And clean," Woka continues, her smirk widening so much that firelight gleams off the piercing in her tongue. "And well-groomed, too! He puts some of us girls to shame, doesn't he?" She runs a hand along the shaven side of her head, before winking.

"What's wrong with a man who takes pride in his appearance?"

"And spends most of his time surrounded by other men," adds another girl called Miki. She fiddles with the mangled remains of a fuzzy seed pod, its sticky sap clinging to her fingertips. "You know, he and Sangilak are practically inseparable -"

"That's because they're best friends," Shila says exasperatedly.

"Uh huh." Bunik flings a handful of seed pods into the large shell basket in the middle of their circle. "Friends. You know, Sangilak only ever speaks when Imnek's around him, right?"

"Sangilak can speak?" Woka asks dryly. "And here I thought all that muscle left no room for a brain in there!" She knocks at the side of her head to illustrate her point.

"You guys," Shila whines, clearly upset by the direction the conversation had taken. "You're all being really rude."

"We're just looking out for you," Bunik tells her in her characteristic dry voice. "Don't come sulking to us when he mysteriously refuses to share your bed."

The circle of girls erupts in another round of snickers before they finally drop the subject.

Katara sighs, not knowing what to make of the gossip but enjoying it all as harmless entertainment. That is, until Shila turns to her, her pale blue eyes sparkling. "What about you, Katara?"

"What about me?" she asks, more preoccupied with scrubbing dirt off the spongy mushrooms.

"Oh you know. Got your eye on anyone?"

Katara freezes, before glancing up at the pretty girl and then the dozens of curious stares that suddenly land upon her. "Um," she says as casually as she can, "not really…"

"Oh, come on!" Woka exclaims with a grin. "There must be someone."

"She's blushing! Look at her, of course there's someone!"

Katara clears her throat uncomfortably. "You've got it all wrong," she deflects weakly, even as a part of her wonders wildly what the girls would think if they ever discovered the truth. "No one in the tribe's really caught my eye," she confesses, the only part of the truth she could really bring herself to admit.

But to her dismay, the girls pounce on the small offering like mooselions tearing apart their prey. "So it's someone outside the tribe then?"

"Ooh, what a rebel!"

"What would you expect from Katara? Rules are just suggestions to her, right?"

"Is it someone from the Fire Nation? Is that why you're too embarrassed to tell us?"

Someone gasps. "Oh, that would be scandalous! Especially after what they did to her tribe!"

"But you know what they say about firebenders, they make great lovers -"

"I'll bet it's the prince, he's really handsome for a Fire Nation guy -"

"Okay, everybody calm down." Katara hurls her thoroughly-scrubbed mushrooms into the basket. Her heart hammers frantically at how easily they had blundered into the truth. "No, it's not someone from outside the tribe. It's…it's... "Quickly, she casts about in her head, trying to find some way to control the damage. "It's kind of embarrassing, actually. It's, um…"

"Is it Tartok?" Woka asks with a dramatic gasp. "Is that why you two keep having all those duels in front of everyone? Secretly, can you two just not control your passion for each other?"

Katara blinks, taken aback by the suggestion, and horrified by it, even if it was an easy way out of this dreadful conversation. "Yes," she says stiffly, kicking herself with instant regret. "I have...an uncontrollable passion...for Tartok."

A blank silence grips the girls, as their excitement abruptly withers.

"You're right," Bunik remarks tonelessly. "That is embarrassing."

"He's such a jerk, what do you even see in him?"

"How disappointing! At least a firebender would be exciting!"

"Nope," Katara says slowly, with an unhappy sigh of relief. "I just have...really...really bad taste, I guess." She lowers her head, reaching for another mushroom with mud-stained fingers. "So please, please don't tell anyone."

"There's nothing to tell," says Ulva, the silent young widow sitting by herself just outside of the circle. She frowns severely, even as the rest of the young girls shrink from her in fear. "You silly girls with your hopes and your passions. Just you wait. When the time comes, she'll be matched with whoever the village elders deem appropriate, and she'll be grateful for it. Just like the rest of you. Got it?"

Something wrings violently in Katara's chest and it surprises her. But Ulva only glares at the rest of the girls before turning back to the pile of soggy mushrooms heaped by her feet.

"Spoilsport," Woka mutters mutinously, glaring at the widow's back. "Just because she ruined her own marriage doesn't mean she gets a monopoly on suffering."

"Don't worry Katara. We won't tell a soul," Shila promises, before her face splits into an excited smile. "But look on the bright side! When I'm married to Imnek and you're married to Tartok, we can be sisters! It'll be so much fun…"


Zuko's chin droops from where it rests against his palm. His fingers drum idly against the edge of the worn wooden table, square and low and taking up most of the small chamber tucked in behind the band chiefs' grand hall. He gazes dully at the intricate sculptures carved along the gleaming ice walls, at the richly painted wooden statues towering in the corners, the brightly patterned rug covering most of the ground, its weave coarse and scratchy against his knees.

He pays less attention to the giant map occupying most of the tabletop, detailing the movements of their forces, their allies' forces, even what they could guess of their enemy's forces, with increasing numbers of brightly coloured pins crawling across its surface like flies atop a corpse. To the people kneeling around its four long edges: his uncle's men interspersed with the Air Nomad elders and a handful of acolytes. And lining opposite sides, staring down the breadth of the map as though it was a battle line drawn in the snow, were what Zuko recognized by now as the two opposing factions of the Northern tribe's band chiefs.

On one side was Chief Arnook, surrounded by the men who he relied on for support. Cannily diplomatic Atanek, who had welcomed them and brought them safely into the city when they arrived. Mallik, a surly, sour-faced man with grey threading his dark hair, and his bullish nephew, Unnuk, seated by his side. Onartok, an ancient man with skin like weathered oak, who was strangely regarded by the others because he had left his home village in the care of his only daughter. Suluk, a fearsome giant who spoke little but observed much with keen, beady dark eyes, and his equally intimidating son, Sangilak.

And on the other was his son-in-law to-be, Hahn, with his troupe. Natok, his wily father. Keelut and his elder son, the silent and physically unimpressive Imnek. Ancient Tupilek, with his seamed blind eye and stubborn adherence to tradition.

At the outset of deliberations, Zuko had expected the Northerners to put up a united front. But, to his surprise, once they had secured an alliance, the group of chiefs had fractured almost instantly along old political divisions.

He ignores most of the dialogue crisscrossing along the table, where on one side, his uncle tries with the help of his officers to guess the positions of Zhao's approaching fleet by poring over the text of intercepted messages. Gyatso and Sutra suggest defensive tactics, while their air acolytes bend small air currents of wind, blowing the small coloured pins into place along the map.

"Prince Zuko, what do you think?"

"Huh?" Zuko starts from his distraction, meeting his uncle's stern gaze sheepishly.

"I said," Uncle Iroh begins with a bite of impatience, "how do you feel about the Chugiak plains?"

Zuko blinks, still not understanding.

"As a defensive position," his uncle supplies. "For Team Avatar?"

"Oh." Zuko mentally smacks himself, before glancing back at the map with renewed attention. "Um. The Chugiak plains." He studies the indicated spot before frowning. "It's fine, I guess. But I thought we were supposed to guard the mouth of the Adlartok Bay, to shore up the defense of the southwestern harbour."

"That was the plan when Team Avatar was at peak efficiency," Jeong-Jeong informs him, taking over for his uncle. "But given the current situation -"

"Don't blame my son for this!" Chieftain Keelut interrupts indignantly. "If you wouldn't let your blind favouritism get in the way of his training, you wouldn't even notice the difference between the two!"

"Oh, of course. Blame the other side for your son's failings, as usual," Chieftain Mallik comments sourly, with a contemptuous twitch of his nose. "If he spent less time picking fights with women, and losing to them, he might have made some use of the opportunity that was gifted to him."

"Whatever the reason," Jeong-Jeong continues diplomatically, running a finger along the line of the river winding inland to Aujuittuq. "In its current state, we thought the Qopuk river, where it meets the Chugiak plains just outside the city."

Zuko stares at the position skeptically. "It's so far inland," he comments, thinking hard. "Do we even expect Zhao's fleet to breach that far?"

"With luck, the defenses along the harbour will hold."

"Then shouldn't we be helping along the harbour? Why keep us so far inland -" But then Zuko falls silent as it hits him. They don't plan to use us in the main defenses at all. We're just a backup, in case the worst happens.

He scowls, but he couldn't disagree with the plan. With their cross-bending practices stuck in a rut and Tartok resisting any form of progress in order to appease his big, dumb ego, Team Avatar was far more likely to go down from infighting than from Zhao's fleet. "It's fine."

"Excellent." His uncle nods as one of his officers places a pin on the corresponding spot on the map. "With the way inland guarded and the last defense held, Zhao will have his work cut out for him. With the bulk of the Northern warriors defending the Northern Sea pass, and Master Sutra leading a squadron of Air Nomads to cut Zhao's supply lines, their siege will hopefully be short-lived -"

"Excellent plan, General Iroh," Chief Arnook comments, rubbing his beard as he stares at the map. "I have no doubt that our collective effort will swiftly repel the enemy from our shores -"

"I agree with Chief Arnook," Natok cuts him off. Zuko closes his eyes, bracing for the inevitable argument. He was not disappointed as the chieftain continues, "However, I still believe the Qeorvik warriors are wasted where they are. I would prefer them to man the shores, and move the Taktuq fighters atop the walls -"

"The Taktuq fighters are specially trained in close-combat fighting, how many times do I have to tell you?" argues Chieftain Mallik, pressing at his temples in frustration. "They would be wasted up on the walls -"

"But the Qeorvik warriors are the finest waterbenders in the land! We cannot insult them by removing them so far from the first line of defense -"

"Oh, so you've entrusted the defenses to the Qeorviks' egos, have you? Well, let's all just pack up and go home, if that's the case..."

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing hard to calm himself as the chiefs' bickering erupts all along the table. A few seats down, Aang appears nearly as listless as he feels. He plays with a stray yellow pin, bending it absently with a small gust of wind. Zuko's eyes follow its progress as it floats aimlessly in the breeze. Next to him, Toph is engrossed with a piece of metal in her hands, folding it into various origami shapes and eagerly showing it off to the air acolytes sitting near her.

We're doomed.

"Enough," his uncle finally announces, once both sides have worn themselves out to merely glaring at each other in dislike. "You've...brought up a lot of good points. We will take some more time to consider them before finalizing the defense strategy -"

A chorus of groans greets his pronouncement.

" - however, this does not end with Zhao's siege," his uncle continues in a steely voice. He runs his fingers along the map, away from the Northern tribe's shores, down along the Earth Kingdom's edge to stop at the crescent islands of the Fire Empire's heartland. "Reports of Ozai's improving health continue to arrive. With each day that passes, he grows stronger. His gaze is fixed on us for the moment, but we must not forget what comes afterward."

A chill runs through his blood as his uncle's face turns grim.

"Remember that this coming summer marks a full century after Sozin's conquest," Uncle Iroh warns. "And Sozin's comet returns, to offer immeasurable power to Ozai's forces. I do not know if he has the foresight to plan so far ahead, but Princess Azula and the others advising him certainly do. They will use it to their advantage, to whatever ends he desires."

Zuko's mouth runs dry at the thought. He tries to swallow and fails. Glancing at the map with growing horror, he tries to imagine what Sozin's conquest might have looked like in the absence of restraint. With his father at the helm, he could only imagine one outcome.

A world doused in fire. Ashes, as far as the eye could see.

"It is imperative that we stop Zhao as quickly as we can," his uncle declares in the shell-shocked silence gripping the room. "For the sake of the world, we cannot afford a protracted siege. We must defeat him, and then bring the fight to my brother as quickly as we can manage. We must not allow him the chance of harnessing the comet's power. Otherwise…" He trails off, allowing the remainder to hover unsaid.

It takes a while before Zuko remembers how to breathe properly. For once, everyone gathered around the table falls completely, utterly silent. Even the most belligerent among the Northern band chiefs seem lost for words.

"I believe we can do it," Uncle Iroh says softly, plying everyone in turn with his piercing gaze. "With the combined strength of the Air Nomads, the Northern Tribe, and what men remain loyal to me, this is the best chance we will ever have. Let us not squander any more of the advantages left to us. There are precious few of them as is."

And with that, he returns his focus to the map, running once again through the defensive plan. And this time, to Zuko's amazement, nobody argues with him, not once.


"Do you think the village elders would try to set me up with someone?"

It was late in the evening, long after the crush of young girls had finally been split up by one of the irate matriarchs, dissatisfied with the lack of progress being made. Katara had been grateful to rejoin the other Southern girls as they scrubbed and polished the dishes to a gleaming shine.

And yet, for all that their conversation lacked in the irritating frequency of teenage crushes, what Ulva had said still niggled at her uncomfortably.

Aujak wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "Probably," she admits, before giving her a sly smile. "Why, do you have someone in mind?"

"No," Katara replies quickly, keen to avoid the subject before it blew up out of control again. "No, not like that. I - I was just wondering, I guess…" She puts down the heavy pot for a second, rolling her aching shoulders. "How did it work for you?"

Aujak's face softens sympathetically. "Of course, Katara. You're of that age, it's only natural to be curious." She sighs, setting down her plate among the pile of clean dishes. "I wasn't that much older than you when I first arrived here. At that time, the village elders were keen to pair us Southerners off with any of the youths across the whole tribe who were eligible for marriage. Most of us were split up over the different villages, wherever we could settle." A faint blush colours her cheeks. "I'm not really sure what the elders saw in me or my husband, but they thought we would make a good match."

"Did you get to meet him?" Katara asks, somewhat unnerved by how queasy the whole arrangement made her. "Did you even know if you liked him before you got married?"

Aujak shrugs. "The elders introduced us. We had a conversation. Then, the next thing I knew, he presented me with a carving." She lets out a short laugh. "I guess he had a good feeling about me. Of course, he didn't have to buy me the same way he would a Northern girl."

With a pang, the memories slide into place with a clarity that astonishes her. Among the Water Tribes, there was no concept of dowry. Even back home in the South, it had been customary for a man to "buy" his intended by living with her family for a time and working to serve them. Only then could he marry her. Otherwise, the tribe would never accept their union. Those two will never last, Gran-Gran had remarked once as a pair of newlyweds walked past them. He didn't buy her. A woman who's not properly bought can't rightly count on her husband when she needs him most.

After everything, it surprises her to learn that the Northerners practiced it too. And then shame twists in her gut, for finding it surprising. At the end of the day, the two tribes have more in common than differences, she reminds herself with a heavy sigh.

Perhaps some of her consternation makes its way onto her face, because Aujak smiles at her gently. "Don't worry," she consoles, "even if he doesn't buy you, I'm sure you'll make a great match for someone when the time comes."

Katara chokes out a reply that sounds unintelligible to her ears. In truth, something far more insidious was bothering her, and it had little to do with the prospect of the tidy little future that Aujak and the other girls were dangling before her.

She falls silent, trying to focus more on the endless number of heavy dishes piled up next to them, willing the effort of scouring them all to fill her mind, wishing the exhaustion would make it impossible to think too hard about the hollow sense of inevitability taking root in her chest.

The great fires burn low to the coals and the sliver of moon rises high in the night sky by the time they finish. Most of the women had already retired to their homes for dinner with their families, leaving Katara and Lusa to trudge back to the band chiefs' great hall, their shoulders aching from the stacks of dishes heavy in their arms. Perhaps the older girl could sense Katara's growing disquiet, for she steered their conversations back to safer waters. Instructing her where to set up the plates, remarking on how the empty great hall would be decorated for the wedding feast, remarking about how early she would have to rise to help with all the cooking...

Katara only hears half of it, smiling absently as they finally turn to leave the empty hall, only to stop in their tracks at its entryway.

From another door some way down the hall, a small crowd of men empties out into the corridor, marching past Katara and Lusa where they hover on the periphery. Chief Arnook and Hahn, some of the other band chiefs. And just behind them, the Dragon General at the head of his own retinue.

Katara doesn't realize until she spots Zuko at his uncle's side, tall and broad-shouldered and wearing the parka she had made for him with her own hands, that she has been avoiding trying to think about him for the better part of that afternoon.

She backs away, suddenly unable to look at him as they march past. Her heart quavers traitorously instead. And before she could stop herself, her mind races wildly to the thought she's been trying to suppress all day. A mad, impossible thought of a life where her parents were still alive, where Zuko would have the chance to buy her, what that would even look like.

And then, with the iron control of a bending master, she forces herself to quash that irrational, dangerous thought immediately.

Because it was impossible. It had to be. She had been honest with Zuko from the very start, but perhaps less so with herself when she told him that what they had couldn't go anywhere. She was a woman of the Northern Water Tribe now, and he was a Fire Empire prince. He was no more likely to buy her hand than he was to place her by his side to rule the empire that had destroyed her home.

No, they would both have to part when the inevitable day came. They would both say their goodbyes, make neat, respectable arranged marriages with whoever their elders deemed worthy, and move on with their lives. And that would be the end of it, no matter how they felt.

"Is everything okay?" Lusa asks gently.

"Y - yeah." Katara fights to catch her breath, the slew of hard realizations bringing her no relief at all. She presses a hand to her chest, peering out into the hallway as the last of Iroh's troupe turns the corner out of sight.

"Why didn't you ever marry?"

Lusa tilts her head with a frown. Katara covers her mouth, shocked by the question that had just slipped out of her. "I'm sorry! I don't know where that came from - ignore me, please."

But a strange expression flits over the older girl's face as she stares at Katara. "I don't know," she admits, rubbing the back of her neck. "I guess they never found a good match."

An awkward silence settles between them. "Right," Katara chokes, thoroughly mortified by the whole conversation. Throat closing up tightly, she nods quickly before turning to leave.

"Wait." Lusa's voice stops her. "That's - that's not entirely true."

Katara glances back at her, her curiosity growing. Lusa gazes at the immaculately polished tiles lining the ground, draws aimless shapes in them with the toe of her boot. "I was in love once," she breathes haltingly. Twin spots of red appear on her cheeks. "But the one I wanted wasn't for me."

Katara gapes at her. She had expected Lusa to deflect, not this. She musters her courage, wary of the answer even as she asks her next question. "What happened?"

Lusa sighs, crossing her arms around herself. "The elders married her off to someone else."

Katara blinks in surprise. "Oh," she offers lamely, unsure of what to say.

They linger in the empty hall, bound by their uncertainty and the shadows of what might have been. Only the sound of water spilling down the walls and into the moat ringing around the periphery fills the air.

And then, Lusa smiles sadly at her.

"I know you probably feel a lot right now," she says, not unkindly. "I know you probably think you'll feel like this forever, only you won't." Katara stares at Lusa blankly as she runs a hand through her glossy mane of chestnut braids, the beads jingling helplessly along her fingers. "These feelings that impassion you, they're just like the wind, driving you this way and that way until you're hopelessly lost at sea. Surrounded on all sides with no path forward."

Katara swallows hesitantly, feeling suddenly very small and safe in the older girl's presence. Her voice, when she finds it, is no more than a whisper. "So how do you find your way again?"

"Duty," answers Lusa. Katara looks up at her in surprise, but Lusa's green eyes are unyielding, staring at the space in the hallway where Zuko had been. As though she knew. "It prevails when all else runs dry. Let it be your north star, and let it guide you back home. Here, where you belong." Her hand finds Katara's shoulder, its consoling grip as hard and brittle as iron. "Everything else is just a beautiful memory, Katara. That's all it can be."


Midwinter day dawns bright and cheerful, the sun finally rising high above the horizon and illuminating the city in glowing pink and gold. Katara glares at it, stomping down the now-familiar road to the healing house that morning. She hadn't slept well at all, Lusa's words clawing away at the traitorous threads knotted tightly in her chest.

A thrilling flurry of activity grips the city in the early morning. The communal tent bustles with noise, its inhabitants treading a steady path to and from the band chiefs' hall. The smell of cooking thick in the air, as the cooks churned out their finest for the long-anticipated wedding feast of Princess Yue to Hahn of Angiyok.

The whole affair strikes Katara as somewhat odd. Marriages in the Water Tribes were understated and private, compared to the spectacle of those in the other nations. The concept of a wedding feast felt almost as alien to her as another nation's traditions. And yet, she sensed that the lavish feast being thrown that night was meant to serve the same purpose as Lu Ten's ill-fated wedding: to distract a rapidly-dividing crowd from its tensions for one night.

Good luck with that, she thinks darkly. Shaking her head, she slips into the healing house.

To her surprise, everyone crowds around the middle of the room. Low conversations buzz among the girls, the atmosphere of the room heavy, a far cry from its usual soothing energy.

"What's going on?" she mutters, straining to see over the heads and shoulders of the girls crowded in front of her.

"It's Ikkuma," Bunik whispers back, squinting on tip-toes to get a better view. "She attacked her husband last night."

"What?" Katara exclaims. But the girls in front turn around to shush her. As though by some unspoken command, the crowd thins out and the low murmurings die down so that Katara can witness the commotion unfolding at the center of the ring.

Auburn-haired Ikkuma hunches in on herself, shaking and pale-faced, her thick furs tattered to reveal all the dark bruises blooming along her wrists. Yugoda holds her by the shoulders, her kind face unusually and chillingly grim, even as Denigi chastises her in a red-faced fury.

"...knew we couldn't be trusted with this! Nerrivik was right, you've brought us all to shame! What were you thinking?"

"Enough," Yugoda cuts her off in a low voice, holding Ikkuma tighter as though to shield her with her embrace. "This is a serious matter. You are not helping."

"Helping?" The woman points at Ikkuma with a shaking finger. "We're beyond help now! What are we going to do when Noatak wakes up? She's brought the wrath of the spirits down upon us -"

"I don't care!" Ikkuma bursts out, and Katara is shocked to hear the tears shaking in her voice. "Burn the spirits and the rest of them, I can't take it anymore!" She raises her hands and Katara's stomach churns in sickened understanding as the bright sunlight shines along her fresh bruises. "What about me? Don't I deserve more than this?"

"You must be stronger than this!" Denigi snaps coldly, even as Ikkuma's face crumples and her hands tremble viciously. "How can you not understand? This is what strength means when you're a woman."

"No."

Everyone startles at the unexpected interruption. To Katara's surprise, steel-eyed Ulva, who had been widowed under suspicious circumstances and thoroughly shunned by everyone ever since, steps forward to place a hand on Ikkuma's shaking shoulder. She glares ferociously at Denigi, who flinches under the intensity of her gaze. "Cowering under the will of a weak, drunk man isn't what strength means. But what would you know?"

Denigi's mouth works uselessly before she is able to find her voice again. "Oh, so we have fallen so low that we must now accept life advice from a cold-blooded murderer!" Her lip curls contemptuously. "Spirits save us all."

But Ulva's eyes blaze with unrestrained defiance; Katara feels her own heart pounding at the sight of it. "It's easy to preach about strength when you've never had to be strong," she spits. "What would an ignorant woman like you know? You've never been hidden away, kept to the whims of a weak man, knowing that if any day he decided to do away with you, nobody in the world would lift a finger to help you, because that's what they deem correct." Her nostrils flare and in that moment, Katara swears the girl could breathe fire if she tried. "The natural way of things."

Ikkuma shivers but doesn't look away as Ulva turns to her and her voice softens. "You have nothing to apologize for," she says with a kindness that belies the harsh lines scoring her young face. "The justice you crave in this world won't come from anyone else. All the strength and courage you need is already within you."

But Ikkuma only hangs her head. "I don't feel strong at all," she whispers piteously. "I could have done it - it was the middle of the night, and he was drunk, as usual and - " her voice breaks as she trails off. "But I couldn't. When the moment came, I was weak."

And in that moment, Katara understands.

She remembers a night under the light of the full moon, with the Fire Nation palace crumbling around her and Ozai's blood thrumming in her grasp. A failure that brought too many complicated feelings that she couldn't bear to face. And while the others had accepted it, nobody truly understood how she felt, or so she thought.

Until now.

"You aren't weak," she says, stepping forward, and as Ikkuma's eyes widen, she isn't sure if she's speaking to the battered housewife or to the lingering wounds of her own spirit. "Using bloodbending on another person...you had to use whatever you had to survive. He forced you into a situation where you had to take life or death into your own hands." She stops and takes a hold of Ikkuma's trembling, bruised hands within her own. "The biggest lie up here is that you can either be a healer or a fighter. I can't believe that. Sometimes, you have to be both."

"But I don't want to be a fighter," Ikkuma breathes, tearfully meeting Katara's eyes with her own. "I just wanted a peaceful life as a healer."

"I wanted a husband who wasn't a controlling heap of garbage," Ulva retorts dryly, her mouth twisting in distaste.

Bunik steps forward, her fingers twisting together uncertainly. "I wanted to be my father's heir," she says plainly, with a shrug. "If I was a boy, I would be. But I'm a girl, so I'm stuck here while my idiot cousin Unnuk gets groomed to take my father's place."

To Katara's surprise, even old blind Ahnah rises to her feet. "I wanted to be a great waterbending master and command the respect of my tribe," she says simply. "But that was forbidden, and so here I am. Stuck in these huts until the day I die, and with nothing to excite me until young Katara stepped in here and showed us how to bend blood."

Katara chokes on her own breath as everyone's gaze settles upon her. A curious sense of purpose rattles through her, the sense of finding herself. That after months of being confused and lost, for the first time in perhaps her entire life, she stood exactly where she needed to be.

"I want more," she replies in the expectant silence that follows. She raises her chin defiantly. "We deserve more."

Nobody argues, not even the housewife who had been chastising Ikkuma. Instead, amid a scattering of nods and a strange new sense of companionship, everyone slowly turns their focus to the situation at hand, and how to best keep Ikkuma protected from the inevitable wrath of her drunken husband.

But the strange fire blazing through Katara's veins only flares in response. Because even though everyone around her had trodden different paths, they were still woven from the same threads.

They knew what it meant to fight for the dignity everyone else took for granted as a right.