disclaimer. still ain't mine!
author's notes. thank you so much to everyone who's been following along! this one's for all you lovely patient people who've slogged this far in.
as always, feel free to drop a line on tumblr at colourwhirled-writes.
putting up a warning for some heavy content relating to death, in case any of you find this upsetting. please proceed with caution.
i give you...
southern lights
chapter xlix. into the abyss
the heavy weight of mourning
drew each head to face the ground
muscles tight on bearers arms
each body cold and frail
"ashes" / oceanlab
Inside the confines of Ozai's cryptlike throne room, it seems to Mai that time barely passed at all.
Judging from the mildness of the drafts seeping through the walls and fluttering along the curtains of dark red drapery, she surmises that it could be midday, perhaps a few hours past, but no more. The barrier of searing red flames still dances before Ozai's throne, menacing the entirety of his cabinet all gathered before him.
All of them except one are seated around the long, low table stretching across the polished wood floor. The pages scurry back and forth from the room as silently as they can, cowed and keen to avoid any reprimands. Palace attendants flit among them perhaps as silently, replacing the tea and refreshments that sit on the table.
Mai's stomach grumbles as one of them sets another dish of warm bao before her, discreetly removing the untouched plate that had gone cold by now. The aroma of charred meat and fresh steamed dough wafts tantalizingly through the air, begging anyone within smelling distance to take a bite. But only a fool would dare eat in Ozai's presence, especially given the present climate.
She raises an eyebrow as the internal minister, Lord Shuren, babbles on from where he stands at the head of the table. His robes are as immaculately pressed as ever, his black hair greased and slicked back into its shiny topknot. Yet beneath the weight of half a dozen jewel-encrusted rings, his fingers tremble uncontrollably. The gems reflect the firelight, winking into Mai's eyes.
In a reedy quaver, he squawks on about the shocking murder that had greeted the unprepared capital that dawn. Extolling the virtues of the now-late Captain Asaka, swearing bloody vengeance upon the mob who had summarily executed him…
" – why, by Agni himself, if I cannot avenge my dearest friend, then I have no business calling myself the interior minister! And may the Phoenix King himself strike me down!"
He sputters on in an incessant drone, until Mai is no longer able to focus. Her heart hammers rapidly and she has to fold her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking.
When she had given Zuko that mask, she had only wanted him to help break the innocent boy out of prison. Instead, in classic Zuko fashion, he had to go one step further and brought vigilante justice to the butcher captain himself, plunging the already-tense city into a frenzy. And locking her in the longest, most boring council meeting to date.
Which, to Mai, was a completely different game altogether.
I never asked him to rock the boat like this, she complains to herself. But there was no going back now. By helping him, she had somehow crossed the invisible line that existed between the royal siblings again. And now she risked Azula's wrath, if she ever found out…
She sighs deeply and wipes her sweaty palms along the folds of her dark velvet cloak.
"Lord Shuren," Azula finally says coldly, cutting across the man's indignant tirade with a wave of her hand. "You are correct in only one respect. And it is that you no longer have any business calling yourself the interior minister after your failure."
Faint titters erupt among some of the other ministers. Lord Shuren's broad face turns very red as Azula continues, setting her hands down on the table. "You are charged with defense of the interior, are you not? Yet you allowed some commoner in a mask was able to slip in and out of the noble quarters, truss up the captain of the Imperial firebenders, and throw him to an angry mob of unwashed peasants to strip him, kill him, and subject his body to the greatest indignities…all without consequence."
"Your – Your Highness!" Lord Shuren protests, angry blotches of colour rising to his pale cheeks. "I admit this happened under my watch, but – but security has never been tighter! Whoever this Blue Spirit is, he must have some knowledge of the inner city, that is evident –"
"And to top it all off," Azula barrels over him with a voice of steel, "while you and your incompetent staff looked the other way, a high-security prisoner from the harbourfire riots was also able to escape!" Her nostrils flare dangerously, and Mai half-expects bright blue flames to pour forth any minute. "You have turned yourself into a laughingstock among the people...to say nothing of your fellow councillors. If you have an ounce of self-respect left, you will resign from your post this instant, and then find somewhere to hide."
Lord Shuren blinks at her in confusion. Stray hairs fall from his greasy topknot. "I...I beg your pardon, Your Highness?"
"My advice would be somewhere in the countryside," Azula goes on blithely, ignoring the man's stammering with practiced indifference. "Where the locals have no concept of honour...and where you can no longer shame my father with your miserable failures." She runs her fingers smoothly along a strand of hair perfectly framing her face, leaning back comfortably on her haunches.
The man stares at her, his mouth hanging open in shocked dismay. He glances among the gathered councillors for help.
Stupid man, Mai thinks, if he expects any of them to speak up against the princess. Even Zhao avoids his gaze, his fingers digging into his lap and his teeth grinding together in frustration.
At length, Lord Shuren gulps and turns around slowly, to face the curtain of fire separating him from the silent shadow seated on the throne. He drops into a bow, trembling. "Your Radiance," he squeaks, pressing his forehead into the ground, "Phoenix King Ozai, I - I humbly offer my apology for my failure."
But the monarch behind the fire says nothing and the silence draws out expectantly. Mai raises an eyebrow as Zhao clenches a fist in anticipation. Even Lord Shuren raises his head, a hopeful look crossing his face. "I...I promise it will never happen again."
"In that, you are correct," Ozai's voice hisses sibilantly across the room, wiping the budding hope off the man's face. "It will never happen again. Did you not hear my daughter, or are you deaf as well as inept?"
The red flames swell in size, towering over the crouched man and illuminating the triumphant smile playing across Azula's mouth as she sneaks a glance at Zhao's ashen face.
"Leave now," Ozai commands dangerously. The flames flicker warningly. "If you value your life."
Lord Shuren doesn't need telling twice. He scurries out of the throne room, somehow never breaking out of his bow. Mai fights a snicker but doesn't know why she bothers, considering the low laughter emanating from the rest of the council once the disgraced former minister is safely out of earshot.
"What a pitiful fool -"
"And touched in the wits too, apparently! The Blue Spirit? Can you imagine…"
"Such stories are hardly fit for a bedtime story...let alone a member of the highest council of the land!"
But Azula says nothing, remaining seated as tall and immovable as a mountain at the head of the table. The wall of her father's fire illuminates the sharp points of her mantle, the crisp pleats in her deep red robes, and the small golden flame at the base of her perfectly smooth topknot. Mai catches the corners of her mouth lifting fractionally higher, just before her father speaks again.
"Zhao," Ozai commands in a hard voice. "Step forward. Now."
The burly man bites his tongue, before rising to his feet in a deliberate motion. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground as he stalks alongside the length of the table. Finally, he kowtows to the ground next to where Azula sits, at the foot of the dais.
Mai holds her breath and it seems to her like the entire room does too, the silence gathering weight in the sweltering heat beading sweat along her brow.
"You were trusted to place someone of competence in the interior minister's office," Ozai breathes, barely audible over the crackling of the leaping flames. "You have made a mockery of my trust."
"My lord," Zhao sputters, not daring to lift his head from where it presses into the waxed floor. "I didn't - I am your faithful servant -"
"I have no use for a servant who chooses to surround himself with snivelling fools," Ozai cuts him off flatly. "Spare me your excuses and your fanciful tales, Zhao. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Zhao's hands curl into shaking fists, the knuckles white and sticking out sharply under his skin. "Your Radiance," he grits out carefully, knowing any word could be his last, "I share your disappointment in his failure. It is a stain on my honour too. You have but to command me, and I will remove myself from your service if it pleases you."
Good riddance, Mai thinks to herself witheringly. And don't let the door hit you on the way out.
But the councillors only exchange glances of disbelief among themselves. As the steady blaze of Ozai's fire stretches into the silence, she spots Azula's frown, ever so slight.
"If it pleases me," Ozai echoes slowly at last. Zhao's shoulders grow rigid with tension. "My daughter, Princess Azula, was correct after all. Perhaps your introduction to domestic affairs occurred too swiftly. You are a man of the military, after all."
To her credit, Azula schools her face to regal indifference. It would be beneath a princess's dignity to gloat, after all. But Mai catches the triumphant gleam in her cold amber eyes, the glow of satisfaction at her father's praise, at Zhao's humiliation. It wasn't every day that the hard lines of her face softened; it wasn't every day that Azula appeared, well, happy.
"Father," she speaks up with a calculated diffidence. "I know it is not my place. But if I may speak?"
"Very well," Ozai allows, his voice suddenly warm and full of the approval she so desperately craved. "What is it that you wish to say, Azula?"
"Only that your wrath at Admiral Zhao's error of judgment is soundly merited," Azula begins with a guileless smile. "To demand his immediate resignation would be just and wise." She pauses to cast a sidelong glance at Zhao, and Mai watches her savour the way he flinches in obvious fear, bracing for her censure.
Then, Azula sniffs haughtily before continuing, "However, he has served you well as a man of the military. Did he not deliver a mighty victory up North in your name? Perhaps he deserves a second chance."
Mai fights to contain her surprise. Azula stares down her nose at Zhao, patiently waiting for her father to speak. Her benevolence keens like a double-edged sword.
"Perhaps," Ozai allows at long last. The line of flames glows brightly before ebbing and shrinking back to their usual size. "You may continue serving as a military consultant, Zhao. But I have no use for you in the governing council. That remains the province of my brilliant daughter."
"Y-Yes, Your Radiance," Zhao rasps through clenched teeth, even as his shoulders sag in relief. "Thank you, Your Radiance. You are too merciful, my lord."
Ozai lets out a cold laugh, and the hairs rise along the back of Mai's neck. "You should thank my daughter, not me, if you truly wish to show your gratitude."
"Y-Yes," Zhao stammers. Azula cocks her head in thinly veiled amusement as he shuffles, bowing deeply to her in a forced show of contrition. "Thank you, Princess Azula. You...are as gracious as you are wise."
Azula narrows her eyes at the last words, flung like a hidden barb that only she truly understood. "You could stand to learn either, Zhao," she warns, staring coldly at the tip of his topknot grazing the floor by her knees. "Now, do as my royal father commanded...and leave."
Zhao stiffens before rising slowly. He locks eyes with Azula for a moment that lingered far too long to be appropriate. His teeth bare into the beginnings of a growl. But the princess only raises an eyebrow, before folding her hands into her lap expectantly. Zhao swallows his mounting rage with no small effort. "Of course," he forces out reluctantly, bobbing his head into a small bow again. "I am yours to command, Your Highness."
Azula picks at the undersides of her sharpened nails in response, already dismissing the disgraced Admiral from her attention.
Mai barely hears the rest of the meeting that continues long after Zhao grudgingly takes his leave But, when Ozai finally dismisses his council, she is surprised to find the princess in unusually high spirits. Azula's smile glows nearly as brightly as the fire lining the base of her father's throne, and she holds her head high as she stalks out of the throne room. The rest of the council parts before her, bowing their heads in reverence as she passes, Mai trailing faithfully at her side.
"That went well," she chances carefully, once out of earshot of the other councillors.
"Hm," Azula sighs in satisfaction. "Not that I believed that fool Shuren's story. But if there is a Blue Spirit, I suppose I ought to thank him." Mai chokes disbelievingly as Azula's smile widens, flashing her teeth like a predator. "He made my morning so much easier. I almost hope he shows his face again...that is, if he wasn't a traitor to Father's rule -"
She breaks off, and Mai pauses in confusion before glancing down the hallway.
Just outside the doors of Azula's suite lurks Zhao. Hunched into a bow, his eyes trained on the battered floor, the red-and-black of his immaculately polished armour blending in with the singed and frayed drapes swaying against the broken walls underneath.
Azula's nostrils flare officiously at the sight of him, but apart from a small sniff, she gives no indication that his presence affected her at all.
"Princess," Zhao calls out as they pass him. Azula reaches for the elaborate door handle, carved in the shape of a dragon's head. "A word, if you please?"
Azula slows in her steps, before stopping altogether. "But it does not please me, Zhao," she says without sparing him a glance. Her fingers trace the ornate edges of the golden dragon's teeth, small and sharp and bared in a snarl. "Stand in my way again, and I will crush you like the grasping insect that you are."
Mai hears the audible grind of Zhao's teeth as he clenches his jaw. Then, Azula pushes through the door and beckons Mai to follow.
They step into the small chamber that served as Azula's study. Shielding her gaze from the bright sunlight pouring through the single east-facing window, Mai picks her way along the bookcases lining the walls from floor to ceiling.
"Well," she makes herself say lightly, settling into one of the comfortable chairs lined across from Azula's ebony desk, meticulously organized and polished to a high shine. "That was something."
"Hm," Azula makes a slightly disparaging sound, seating herself behind her desk and already pouring ink from a bottle into the shallow well. "A mere nuisance. But no matter. I'll deal with Zhao later."
She reaches into one of the drawers, pulling out a scroll of blank paper and stretches it in place with a pair of gleaming golden weights. "In the meantime, Mai, I have a task for you."
"Oh?" Mai fights to keep her voice from shaking as Azula dips a brush into the ink and begins to write. The sharp calligraphy blooms over the page in precise black lines, every brushstroke practiced and deliberate. "And what's that?"
"Fetch your boyfriend's mother for me, would you?" Azula doesn't look up from her writing, but her lips curve slowly into a sly smile. "As of this morning, it appears a position on the governing council just became available."
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 that no one else would - and that was something that her father, with all his power, could never take away...
Katara shivers in the sudden burst of wind, whipping the trailing cloth of her cloak and veil with its cold, cruel bite.
"Here," a voice says close to her ear before someone drapes a heavy fur shawl around her shoulders.
She clutches at it with frozen fingers, instantly thankful for the warmth. "Thanks," she heaves out gratefully, glancing over her shoulder at Tartok, already backing away.
To her surprise, he waves her off, mumbling awkwardly. "Don't mention it."
Then, he turns on his heel and dashes off to join a group of air acolytes standing at the mouth of one of Nutjuitok's darkened streets. With a barked command and a rousing cheer, they charge into it, racing into one building after another searching for survivors and breaking off their chains.
Katara remains frozen in place, the brisk wind chill along the red stripes of paint already melting off her skin. She wipes at her brow, where somehow, her sweat already mingles with the pigments to smear along her fingers.
The clamour and commotion of the skirmishes still breaking out along the borders of the city echo softly in the distance. The bursts of uncontrolled fire, fanned to greater strength by the concerted strikes of the Air Nomads atop their bison, glow faintly in the sky like the ghost of the celestial lights, staining the clouds the deep red of smouldering coals. It illuminates the tracks of soldiers and beasts and vehicles alike, gouged deep into the ice covering the streets and betraying the haste of their flight out of Nutjuitok.
She can still hear their screams, though they grew fainter with every passing moment as they abandoned the haunted city to flee back to their stronghold of Aujuittuq. While Iroh and Gyatso led a two-pronged offense against the remnants of Admiral Chan's soldiers before shoring up defense of the city, Tartok and the rest of the waterbenders were going around liberating everyone they could find. Even in the dark of night, before dawn touched the horizon with its bleakest of light, the cheers were starting to go around the streets. Free, they cried from the houses, from every window and corner, free, Nutjuitok is free…
A tear spills onto Katara's cheek and she wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand, making an even bigger mess of her makeup. We did it, she thinks blankly, closing her eyes. Zuko, we did it.
We freed Nutjuitok and I didn't even need my bending. All I had were your stories. Turns out, that was enough.
A bleary grumble rings out from somewhere above her. She glances up, momentarily distracted by Appa landing a few feet in front of her. Aang jumps down from his perch atop his furry head, while Toph leans over the side of his saddle, her face tinted visibly green even in the scarce light.
"All clear," Aang declares, leaping down to land lightly on the ice. "Looks like those Fire Navy jerks are clearing out for good."
"And looks like Grandpa and the rest're convincing the stragglers to pick up the pace," Toph supplies, clambering onto Appa's back and sliding down the long shaggy fur lining one of his long legs. She lands on the ice with a thump, her face relaxing with relief. "Oh sweet badgermole-whiskers, land. I never get tired of it."
"Even when it's covered with ice?" Aang asks, smirking.
"Hey. You can't have everything in life, now can you?"
Katara breathes deeply, smiling wryly as her friends' bantering washes over her. A pang hits her then, the instinctive sensing of the missing fourth part of their group, and how much she wanted him there, standing on the ice beside her.
Instead, he was far away, probably facing his fate back in the capital by now. The thought of it sends fear cascading like icewater into her chest, and no amount of careful breathing could control it. Zuko was alone and they were here, and who even knew if he was even still alive?
She cuts off that treacherous train of thought with no small effort. For all that they had heard no news about Zuko since his capture, General Iroh had spoken sense when he said that the death of his only heir would not go unmarked. Word would spread like wildfire, even to their remote corner of the earth. While we suffer this silence, he said earlier, back at the encampment with a heavy heart, he suffers to live another day.
She nearly finishes composing herself by the time Iroh himself arrives, seated on the back of Gyatso's sky bison and landing next to Appa. The two beasts grumble at each other in their animal tongue, while Iroh and Gyatso dismount steadily.
Katara's mouth drops when she spots former chief Arnook rise unsteadily and climb down the side of Gyatso's sky bison.
"The city is secure," Iroh states shortly, his amber eyes roving between Katara, Toph, and Aang. "We rounded up the last of the soldiers and sent them ahead with a message for Admiral Chan."
"A message?" Aang asks uncertainly.
Katara feels as though a bolt of lightning jolts through her stomach as Iroh meets her surly gaze. "Yes," he answers steadily. "To abandon this course of wanton cruelty and choose the honourable path forward."
"You think this guy's going to give up when he's still winning?" Toph asks skeptically.
Iroh shakes his head. "No. I do not. Admiral Chan is an honourable man...but he is also proud and stubborn." He rubs at his chin thoughtfully. "I have never known him to be cruel, however. Unless there are other pressures driving him. Only time will tell."
Arnook sighs heavily. "To think that within a single moon of our defeat, Nutjuitok is already free of those monsters. I never thought to see this day so soon." He bows his head gratefully to Iroh and Gyatso. "I cannot thank you enough for your help in our direst need."
Iroh raises a hand to stem Arnook's praise. "I'm afraid you are thanking the wrong person." He clears his throat awkwardly, lowering his gaze. "After all, it was Sifu Katara's idea to use the folklore of my people against them."
Katara opens her mouth, but finds herself speechless in the face of Iroh's toneless praise. If he was trying to compliment her to regain her favour, that was one thing. But he had said it almost as though she wasn't standing there at all. As though her presence had no bearing on what he meant to say, or the sincerity of it.
The old guilts wells in her chest. "It worked to liberate Nutjuitok," she says, staring at Iroh carefully. "But retaking Aujuittuq won't be so easy, will it?"
Iroh's face is drawn as he raises it to meet her gaze. "No," he agrees flatly.
"It's been almost a moon since the North fell. We're almost a full moon into spring," she points out, her mind already racing with trepidation. "From here on, the days will only grow longer. We'll have fewer and fewer opportunities to strike and retreat under cover of night." She rubs at her temples in frustration.
"She's right," Arnook admits reluctantly, folding his arms. "The season advances whether the firebenders are here or not. It may be the coldest spring in living memory, but summer is still coming. And with it, the midnight sun."
"And the melt," Katara reminds him, a chill running down her spine. "When the weather finally warms, how will the cities remain standing without any waterbenders to keep it frozen?"
Arnook's gaze flits from her to Iroh. He shrugs helplessly. "I'm afraid we will just have to pray for a chilly summer, then."
"We have bigger problems facing us," Iroh warns. "If we are to try retake Aujuittuq before summer's end, we must remember that the bulk of the invasion force is situated there. Chan's men will have set up multiple bases around the city to defend it. They patrol the streets armed to the teeth, equipped with tanks and armoured rhinos. And they will be veterans of combat, not so easily swayed or fooled by the spirits."
An uncomfortable silence settles over their small group, even as the cheers of the freed Water Tribe people rise up in the distance.
"Do you think there's a chance that Admiral Chan will try seize this city again?" Arnook asks softly.
Iroh sighs again heavily. "I'm not sure," he confesses. "This is a small city on the far side of the polar ice cap. Apart from its harbour, it is not exactly strategically important." He shrugs haplessly. "If I were him, I would choose to concentrate my forces on the crown jewel of my domain, rather than spread myself too thin and risk my quarry slipping through the cracks."
"But we have to do something," Katara hears herself argue, perhaps out of stubborn habit if nothing else. "We can't just sit here and hide."
An unsteady silence trails after her outburst. Toph crosses her arms and Aang runs a hand through Appa's shaggy fur, but the three old men exchange uncertain glances with each other. Some unspoken communication flits rapidly between them before Iroh turns back to meet her defiant gaze.
"I did not say we do nothing, Sifu Katara," he replies patiently, carefully, as though he thought she was just some temperamental wild creature he was trying to soothe. "I was just pointing out that we must take pains not to risk capture -"
"Our friends are out there," Katara barrels over him, pointing somewhere in the distance vaguely, where beyond their sight or reach, Aujuittuq lay, a walled fortress skulking in wait. "The band chiefs, Yue, they're - they're holding them somewhere out there! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"She's my daughter," Arnook speaks softly, his voice thick and broken. "I would do almost anything to get her back."
Katara stares at him pleadingly, willing him to understand. "Then do something."
"Without the moon, our ability to attack is greatly diminished," Iroh reminds her sharply, and Katara's irritation grows with every maddeningly logical thing he says. "We have no waterbenders, and even our firebending is strangely temperamental now -"
"Maybe you're not as good as you think you are," she interjects nastily.
"Katara, see reason -"
"I didn't need my bending to put the fear of the spirits back into those soldiers!" Katara pushes back hotly.
"No," Iroh counters softly. "Instead you relied on that of your friends there, at great risk. And it will only get harder from here."
She lets out a frustrated huff before turning away from him, from everyone else. The excited bustle and breaking chains of the people in the newly-freed city rings hollowly in her ears.
It felt impossible, she thinks furiously, crossing her arms. No matter that they had somehow miraculously retaken Nutjuitok and dealt Zhao's men an unexpected blow with little more than smoke and mirrors. Finding Yue and the others, retaking the rest of the North, driving out the rest of the Fire Navy soldiers...all remained impossibly out of reach, a mockery of their victorious accomplishment.
And even if they managed all that, it still wouldn't bring the moon back. It still wouldn't get them any closer to saving Zuko.
It was hopeless.
"It's not fair," she chokes out, her throat tightening. "They have every advantage in this fight. All we have left is our will."
Her voice wobbles dangerously and she curses inwardly. Far overhead, the stars and the vast darkness of the night sky slowly begins to recede to the pale glow of dawn. But the impenetrable black void where the moon used to be still remains, unblemished.
She closes her eyes, shivering with disquiet. Then, heavy footsteps crunch loudly behind her before a warm hand rests on her shoulder.
"That is only a matter of perspective," Iroh replies hoarsely. "No matter how brightly the single flame burns, it will never outshine all the stars in the sky. And yet…what more is needed to keep that vast darkness at bay?"
Instinctively, she pulls the fur shawl tighter around herself, as though to dispel the cold dread washing over her. She glances at Iroh's hand still firm on her shoulder, its warmth a strangely reassuring weight in spite of everything he had done.
His eyes soften, the creases in his weary face making him appear old and familiar at the same time. "I am here," he tells her gently. "I am on your side. And I am not going anywhere this time."
She gapes at him, struggling to speak. Her bottom lip quivers dangerously, the lump in the back of her throat closing up tightly. She draws in a shuddering breath, her eyes growing suddenly hot with tears.
It was, after all, almost everything she had needed to hear from him. And everything she had never been ready to accept, until now.
Iroh's eyes widen in surprise as she spins around on her heel. "Sifu Katara," he begins, but never finishes as, to her intense mortification, she presses her face into his chest and breaks down sobbing.
He holds her like he might have held Zuko, or his own late son. The way her own father might have held her, if he had been allowed to live.
"I'm - I'm sorry," she chokes out, hiccuping through her tears. "Iroh, I'm s-so sorry -"
"I am sorry too," he answers sadly. "You were right. I should have taken responsibility for my mistakes. Instead, I turned away and allowed my burdens to fall on young shoulders such as yours. This...this hopeless situation...it is my creation, too."
She sniffs loudly, her entire body shuddering with the force of her emotions. "H-How do we get out of it?" she stammers thickly. "You said it. We're outnumbered and we have no bending and Zuko...Zuko…" The tears fall harder, making it almost impossible to speak.
"We will find a way," Iroh assures her. "I know we will." He tilts her head up to wipe away at the mess of tears and smeared red paint on her face. "You will overcome this, and so will Zuko. And before you know it, we will all be together again. Somehow." His eyes squeeze shut, his jaw tightening implacably as he whispers, "I believe it with all my heart. This too will pass."
She falls silent, except for the small sounds that still well in her throat. Hastily, she wipes her face with the back of her hand.
Overhead, the sky glows dull blue, the weak light finally banishing the dark shroud of night. The stars fade from view and even the black patch where the moon had been torn away yields to the march of the sun.
Katara looks up and breathes in the morning air, its brisk taste sharp on her tongue. "It'll be light soon," she hears herself say. "The day is coming."
Iroh breaks away to glance at Arnook, standing a small distance away. The former chief's craggy face crumples with incipient grief and suddenly, instinctively, Katara knew what they had to do next.
The day dawns bright and clear, the clouds and shadows all but vanished. Sunlight streams down, bravely illuminating the snow-covered buildings of Nutjuitok and the scars left by the fires. It dances off the gleaming surfaces of shining ice and warms the air with its gentle heat.
Katara sheds her thick parka, sweating from exertion and the mildness of arctic spring. By now, the paint has been washed from her skin and her hair has been braided back away from her face. If the folk of Nutjuitok gave her funny looks, she ignores them, focusing on the important task at hand instead.
"Just in the nick of time," Tartok admits reluctantly. "Otherwise the rot would start to set in with this heat."
Katara says nothing, only reaching up to grab one of the many corpses by its boots. With a heave and a grunt, the two of them drag it from one of the several piles lining the street of the healing huts, now already dwindling in size. A fair distance away, Toph and Aang are carrying another body between them, nearly buckling under the dead weight.
She pauses, shifting to better adjust the dead man's feet. Glancing briefly at his face, the curious numbing sense of purpose blanketing the rest of her senses as she takes it in. A sturdy man in his prime and powerfully built. Silver already starts to frost the dark hair at his temples, the planes of his face proud and strong. A handsome man, she reflects, a warrior, perhaps a husband or a father.
"Come on," she says blankly to Tartok, supporting the man by his shoulders. "Let's go."
In a charged silence, the two of them maneuver their way along the path cleared for them, winding through the busy streets and leading to the burial grounds lying on the outskirts of the city. A handful of women were busy at work, setting up graves from the pile of rocks Toph had pulled up for them earlier in the day. Others helped identify the bodies and find their families, the entire city banding together to make sure their loved ones were finally laid to rest.
The distant wail of song rises faintly from the burial grounds, and prickles crawl along Katara's skin. Tartok says nothing to her, the somber setting perhaps exacerbating his own fears about his father, his brother, whether he would ever see them again or if he would have to carry their bodies to their graves in this same way. Katara supposes she should sympathize, but a weight presses down heavily on the empty space in her chest.
She had never gotten the chance to lay her parents to rest. She didn't know where their bodies were, what had happened to them. At least the people of Nutjuitok had that closure, at least she could help give them that.
Together, she and Tartok lay the body down on the ground, stretching it out at the end of a row of the dead.
"That's Tonraq," someone speaks, pointing to the man sprawled out before Katara's feet. "H-he and his wife were expecting their first child." A pause, thick with grief. "He was so happy. He always wanted a little girl."
"He was a good man," Tartok says harshly. "He didn't deserve to die."
"None of them did," Katara agrees.
She walks back along the path leading back to Nutjuitok. Along the edge of the sprawling burial ground, she passes small groups of people laying the bodies atop the ice and placing stones around them to protect them from the elements. Their families, building graves, telling stories, placing small tokens alongside the body - belongings that the deceased had loved and cherished.
Tearing her eyes away from the scene, she slows in her tracks as Arnook and Iroh approach, struggling to carry another body between them toward the burial ground. The familiar guilt wells in her chest as Iroh nods his head at her in acknowledgment. Perhaps he was too tired from the physical labour to speak to her, or perhaps he also felt the awkwardness heavy in the air between them. After so much hostility, it would take a while for things to settle comfortably.
Like the grueling ordeal of laying the dead to rest and mourn them, it would take time for the wounds to heal.
But the sun rises to its zenith, drowning out the shadows and painting the grieving city with liquid gold light. And when it sets, Iroh and the rest of his soldiers light countless little fires, their dancing light dispelling the darkness with their shining brave hearts.
Katara sits by its warm glow, exhausted from the work of the day and her ears full of the mourning songs piercing the night air with their heart-rending sorrow. Toph and Aang sit with her, as silent and introspective as she feels, as though the harrowing day had bound them all.
"The stars are so clear tonight," Aang remarks, tapping his glider against his foot. "Is that the north star up there?"
Katara squints at where he points, the bright white spot glittering directly above the liberated city. "It used to be," she answers. "Nutjuitok was named for it. But the last time the tilt of the earth changed, so did the bearing for true north." She shrugs. "Now the real north star hangs over Tomken. Right over the spirit oasis, I think."
"Wow." Aang's eyes widen as he cranes his head upward, staring directly into the sky. "There are so many of them! It almost looks like another world out there!"
"That's what my grandmother used to say," Katara tells him, smiling wistfully. "When I was little, she'd tell us so many stories about the spirit world, hiding somewhere between the stars and the southern lights."
"Do you think that's true?" Aang inquires, his eyes still fixed upon the stars. "That there's a whole other world somewhere out there?"
"I always thought they were just stories," Katara confesses, chewing her lip. "But the moon spirit was real. Maybe the rest of them are too."
They lapse into a thoughtful silence, grateful for the warmth and crackle of the fire.
"I'm glad you were here," Katara says at last, surprising everyone. "Really."
Aang smiles weakly at her. "We're glad you're here too." His big grey eyes reflect the amber light of the fire burning between them. "It wasn't so long ago when we were scared you'd never be with us again."
She lowers her head, the regret mingling with her grief and threatening to swallow her up. "I really am sorry about that," she breathes. "I - I don't know what I was thinking."
"You thought you had your home back," Toph replies bluntly. "I think if any of us had that chance...I'm not sure we wouldn't take it too."
"But it wasn't my home," Katara answers darkly. The flames leap in front of her, nearly blinding her with their bright golden glow. "I wished it was, but my home is gone. And I didn't want to admit that...until Hahn gave me no choice."
"That's not exactly true," Aang points out kindly. "If there's one thing the Air Nomads taught me...it's that home isn't a place." He places a hand over his chest, over the spot where the Dai Li had crushed his ribs with a rock and Katara had fought to heal it. So long ago. "It's a feeling, and you bring it with you, everywhere you go. You can't ever really lose it, no matter what they take from you."
Katara closes her eyes, the firelight still appearing a red glow behind her eyelids. "I could have left at any time," she whispers. "But I didn't. I couldn't see the way out of it, even though it was right in front of me." She clutches at her chest the way Aang had. "Even though you all were right in front of me. I guess that makes me a pretty terrible friend."
A loaded silence follows her words.
"It wasn't your best moment," Toph agrees. "You've definitely had better ones."
Katara nods, still afraid to open her eyes.
"But…" Toph trails off, thinking hard. "You've also come a long way."
Somehow, in spite of the day they had just shared, Katara still manages to smile. "You guys might not be from the Water Tribes...but you're part of my tribe," she whispers, the truth of it resonating in her chest with a power that surprises her. "I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize that."
"Hey," Toph says lightly, but the firelight illuminates the corners of her mouth uplifting into a smirk. "We're happy to be part of your tribe too."
She says nothing of the blank space between them, the missing fourth person in their group. But she didn't have to. As Aang had said, home was a feeling, and Zuko's loss was one they all still felt, viscerally.
But, as General Iroh had said, they had to believe in him to survive. They had to believe they could get him back someday, somehow.
Whatever it takes, Katara swears silently. I'll find you again, Zuko. I'll find you and I'll tell you...I'll tell you...
The light of the setting sun streams through the knifelike slit of window in the far corner of Zuko's cell, painting a rectangle of burnished gold on the cold stone tiles. He stares at it blankly, the brightness making his eyes water and deepening the shadows wavering around him.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He blinks, his eyes flitting from the ground to the dazzling bands of fuchsia and pale blue striping the small patch of sky. "What?" he asks absently, his mouth parched dry.
Mai makes an impatient sound, barely visible in the gloom of his squat, dank prison cell. If he looked away from the window, he could almost make out her pale face in the corner, a glowing white apparition seeming to hover disembodied, as the black of her dress blended seamlessly with the darkness. But the bright colourful light calls him and he finds himself unable to look away, his attention fixed on it instead of the constant hissing emanating from Mai's mouth.
"I said, that was totally irresponsible and stupid!" she continues, fighting to keep her voice quiet, though he still hears the anger thinly veiled in it. "What were you thinking, anyway? Going after Asaka like that?"
"I thought you wanted me to," he answers dully, licking his shrivelled, chapped lips. The canteen of water lies overturned on his meal tray, drained to its dregs long ago. "Didn't you say I was the only one who could actually take matters into my own hands?"
"Not like that!" Mai snaps, her teeth clenching in fear. "Scare some guards, fine, rescue some innocent prisoners, maybe, but getting a man lynched to death?"
"Of course," Zuko retorts under his breath sarcastically. "Agni forbid I actually do something that makes a difference around here."
"There's a time and place, Zuko. Have you even thought about the consequences?"
He pretends to think about it. "Sure," he answers seriously. "Maybe they'll lock me up and threaten to kill me and take my bending away with poison - oh wait."
"You're out of your mind," Mai seethes, shaking her head furiously. "Taking a stand against your dad is fine, but courting discovery is dangerous -"
"Because I'm so safe here?" he scoffs. "Open your eyes, Mai! If you didn't want me to do anything, then why did you even come here to begin with?"
"I wish I knew," she fires back. "Why did I help such an idiot? What am I supposed to do now?"
He glares at her. But as the dying light of dusk wanes and slowly plunges the rest of his cell back into its familiar darkness, he finds himself better able to see the lines scoring her face. The shadows of sleeplessness, the extreme pallour of fear. She wasn't angry at him, he realizes, she was petrified of the consequences of finally taking a stand.
His face softens before he turns away from her. "I suggest you find some good alibis," he answers evenly. "And stay as far away from me as you can."
He hears her swallow nervously as he jiggles the loose block in the wall. "What are you planning to do next?" she asks reluctantly.
Zuko grimaces as he reaches for his crumpled black clothes and laughing blue mask, stowed safely in the hidden wall cavity. "It's probably best if you don't know."
She exhales slowly, and he isn't sure if she's disappointed, relieved, or a combination of the two. "It's probably too late for me to tell you stop all this, isn't it?"
He pauses, already halfway through donning the scraps of black. To stop all this, his mind whispers tantalizingly. To embrace safety, and spend the remainder of whatever days he had left fearfully waiting for the end. To abandon the only chance he had, no matter how slight, of finally showing his father and Azula exactly what he thought of them.
"I can't," he answers quietly, his fingers tightening on the belt around his waist. "Not now." Because he was a dead man either way. But now that he had finally tasted the thrill of rebellion, no matter how dangerous it was, it was impossible to stop.
Besides...it was what Katara would do if she were in his shoes. And if she could find a way to pick herself up and fight back, time and time again, then so could he.
"You're crazy," Mai disparages from her corner, watching him slip the tight-fitting black hood over his head.
"It must run in the family," he sighs, flattening the cloth over his ears and the scratchy patches of stubble lining his scalp in a faint shadow. He hears her shuffle, perhaps preparing to leave and a sudden thought grips him. "Mai? Who are they going to replace Shuren with?"
She pauses. Her white face tilts in amusement. "Kei Ling."
His eyes widen in surprise. "Your boyfriend's mother?" he asks bluntly, the blue mask accidentally slipping from his fingers. The sound of its clatter against the cold prison floor fills his ears. "A strange choice...but a bold one. Whose idea was that?"
"Weirdly enough," Mai answers tentatively, "it was Azula's."
Zuko staggers, nearly losing his balance. He had expected many things of his sister. But risking their father's wrath by appointing one of his most vocal enemies to his cabinet was a move that truly floored him. "What is she planning?" he mutters, before shaking his head. It didn't matter. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. "At least she didn't replace one brainless brute with another."
"Yeah," Mai admits, before lapsing into a thoughtful silence. "Interesting, isn't it?"
He exhales slowly, before reaching over and picking up the mask from where it lay by his feet. "Dangerous, more like." The exaggerated smile leaps out at him in the darkness permeating the cell. "You should go now, before the guards find you here."
"As if they could," Mai sniffs, sounding insulted. She turns to leave, but glances at him over her shoulder. "Try not to get killed out there, yeah?"
He snorts, strapping the mask onto his face. "I make no promises," he retorts dryly.
But only silence greets his words, and when he finally turns around to face her, he finds his cell silent and empty, as though she had never been there.
Zuko sighs, reaching into his pocket for the slim blade she had given him the night before. It's better this way, he tells himself firmly. Mai had come through for him in a way that went against t nature. And even though it had surprised him, he couldn't ask any more of her. It was one thing to jump into the dragon's mouth when you were already falling off the edge of a cliff. But to involve Mai further was to invite the hammer of Azula's wrath upon her. Telling her to stay away was the kindest thing he could do for her now.
The lock in the grille snaps open with a sharp click.
So Asaka's gone, Shuren's been banished from the capital, and Zhao's been demoted. Not bad for one night's work. I wonder what I could do tonight. After all, cut off the head and the body dies...
A sudden calm settles over him as he scrambles out the window and perches in a shadowed corner. He turns to face the palace, its spires gleaming at the other edge of the caldera.
It all started and ended with his father. If he could only find a way to sneak into the palace grounds, past the walls and guards and other fortifications that had doubtless been erected since Lu Ten's death…
But his mind draws a blank, the sheer scale of all the obstacles overwhelming him. Even if he did manage, even if he could somehow get past all the defenses and slip into the royal quarters, there would still be Ozai himself to contend with. There would still be Azula.
Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply as his uncle had taught him. But the paths of chi in his body lie dormant and unresponsive, his inner fire quenched and completely inaccessible. Even with the unexpected freedom the mask bestowed upon him, he was no fool. His father wouldn't be brought down by sneak attacks and broadswords. Zuko had faced him twice now, and had been lucky to escape with his life both times. Without his bending, he didn't stand a chance.
No, his father lay squarely out of reach, and so did Azula. But the rest of their men – all the ministers and councillors and advisors and deputies…
I might not be able to cut off the head. But if I go for the arms and legs…
A slow smile works across his face.
The late afternoon sky shines cold and grey, the same dreary colour of the worn stone lining the immaculate streets of Gaoling.
Lee whistles under his breath, fighting the urge to stare in every direction at the prim, pristine city neatly tucked between the Oyong mountains and the foggy swamp. A strange chill passes through him at the thought of the boggy expanse lurking just out of sight of the low circular walls bordering the city. Their route from the resistance stronghold outside of Ba Sing Se had taken them through the forests and mountains occupying the heart of the Earth continent, thankfully bypassing the murky quagmire altogether. He rubs his palms together, trying to ease the sudden clamminess of his hands, but the unease persists, like the memory of the uncanny swamp pervading his nightmares, always lingering at the edge, longing to swallow him whole.
"Lee, quit dawdling and hurry up!" barks Yao, pausing in his strenuous paces at the head of their group to glare at him over his shoulder.
"Right! Coming!" he retorts, scrambling to catch up. He shakes his head violently, falling in line with the rear of the small team of resistance fighters tasked to retake Gaoling before it became another haven for the retreating Dai Li.
There was Master Iio, Yao, their navigator, and General Wen, a burly man of short stature and even shorter temper, who was a member of King Bumi's Council of Five and had been charged to lead their mission. Haru and a wiry village guy called Sentsu rounded out the remainder of the earthbenders that the resistance could afford to spare.
Trailing somewhat behind them, and appearing nearly as confused by their presence in the group as everyone else was, were Arrluk and a few others of his brethren, who had finally shed their Dai Li uniforms for the inconspicuous earthy attire and black cloaks of the resistance. Maguyuk, an older man with wrinkled skin the colour of oak, and built just as powerfully. A labret studded his bottom lip, flashing whenever he spoke, and a shining whalestooth club dangled from his belt. It thumps purposefully against the side of his leg with every step.
Then there were Iluak and Ruska, a brother and sister who Lee recognized instantly as the pair who had tortured and failed to save Jun. They marched ahead of him in unison, tall and willowy and nearly indistinguishable from each other, sharing the same straight black hair and hard, angular features. Even their weapons matched, both sporting identical serrated knives strapped to their backs.
"How does a Water Tribe woman like you know how to wield a knife anyway?" he'd grunted earlier, watching Ruska sharpen her blade with a twinging resentment.
But she hadn't been able to face him, whether out of guilt or shame or something more, he couldn't tell. Her cheeks and ears flushed dark red as, with her eyes fixed upon the whetstone, she mumbled something about receiving a warrior's upbringing with her twin brother.
Lee had raised an eyebrow at that. Based on what little knowledge of the Water Tribes he had gleaned from his acquaintance with Pakku, he thought they adhered to rigidly defined gender roles. Perhaps in their time of crisis, the Southern refugees had decided there were more important things than tradition in order to survive.
But then Yao draws to a halt and Lee absently bumps into the large warrior in front of him. "We're here," the earthbender grumbles, rolling up his map and tucking it into his pocket.
"Right," General Wen grumbles, gesturing to the opulent estate sprawling before them. Its gated doors gleam to a polished shine, proudly displaying an elaborately-wrought flying boar. "Step lively and mind your manners, all of you. The Beifongs are upper-class people, and we need them on our side if we have a hope of winning this fight."
"I still don't understand why we have to put on airs," Sentsu complains as Lee rubs his head gingerly. "We know the Dai Li are falling back here, why can't we just ambush them and take them out?"
General Wen lets out a groan, pressing his fingers into his temples. "How many times do I have to explain?" he snaps. "We need money, not just manpower. The Dai Li have years of tributes behind them...not to mention the support of the Empire! But Lao Beifong is the richest man in the world, and if he decides to throw his support to us, it changes the game." He crosses his arms stubbornly. "Now, will you play along or do I have to leave you out here on guard duty?"
"I wouldn't mind that," Sentsu mutters, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably. "Leave the talking to someone smart."
The general rolls his eyes. "Right," he bites out impatiently, "I wouldn't want to mistake you for one of those, now."
"Hey." Sentsu raises his big hands defensively. "At least I know what I'm good for. I'll call you if I see any heads that need crushing."
"Fine by me," Wen declares, cracking his thick knuckles decisively. "Sentsu, Maguyuk, you two stand guard outside. The rest of you, in with me." He waves an impatient hand. "Now."
Lee catches Arrluk's quizzical stare before shaking his head and following the General toward the well-manicured gardens surrounding the Beifong estate.
To his surprise, the gates swing open noiselessly, beckoning them inside.
For someone who mainly frequented the secret hideouts and underground lairs of King Bumi's resistance, the opulence of Lao Beifong's audience room dazzles him. And even from what little he could glean of his barely-remembered previous life, Lee doesn't imagine he had been well-acquainted with such wealth either.
He blinks, trying to clear his sight of the blinding flash of gold from nearly every surface. Coating the walls, decorating every surface in jewel-encrusted vases and statues and those weird branches that rich people left out to prove that they were rich. Plating every inch of the man's chair, which looked far more like a throne than whatever King Bumi sat on.
Lord Beifong lounges upon it, his chin resting on his hand as his gaze wanders elsewhere, scarcely listening to the drawn-out and frankly boring speech General Wen had prepared for him. A thin man on the generous end of his middle years, the brilliant gold brocade of his heavy robes competes with the glittering gems lining every one of his fingers, which all somehow managed to make his complexion appear even more sallow. Lee stares at the headpiece adorning the man's prim topknot, dimly wondering how his slim neck didn't snap under the weight of it.
"So," General Wen concludes a quarter of an hour into their audience, squaring his shoulders proudly, "we believe the time is now to turn the tide in this conflict. As a notably well-esteemed citizen of the Earth continent, your support would be invaluable, Lord Beifong."
But the man only continues staring at the wall, saying nothing and giving no indication that he had heard anything the General had said to him.
An awkward silence descends upon the small group. Lee catches Haru's eye, before making a face at him. The young earthbender shrugs fractionally in return, before turning back to face Lord Beifong respectfully.
"Of course," Master Iio interjects diplomatically after a round of quiet coughs and cleared throats fail to grab the man's attention, "once the resistance establishes control over the region, we would not forget those who helped us in our hour of need. Such a... magnanimous benefactor would be well rewarded in the event of a regime change -"
"I hardly need any more money," Lord Beifong speaks up suddenly, straightening in his seat and plying Iio with a disdainful glance. "I have nothing to gain from your pathetic resistance."
"With all due respect," Iio tries again, "once we oust the Dai Li, you would be in the position to considerably influence the new government -"
"I'm the richest man in the world," Lord Beifong cuts her off, sounding bored. "I already considerably influence the government."
"R-Right," General Wen stammers, his face turning unusually red, "but - but think of how unstable our land has become under the Dai Li's leadership! Surely that can't be good for business!"
"And taking a stand in these domestic disputes is?" Lord Beifong counters softly, idly twirling a giant sapphire ring on his index finger. "No, Captain Win, this unrest will blow over, as it usually does. And there is no doubt in my mind that the Dai Li will end up in control again."
"Perhaps. But perhaps not," General Wen says, pointing to the small group behind him. "In a stroke of good fortune, we have demolished the seat of the Dai Li's power. A small team of our own fighters infiltrated their fortress under Lake Laogai and ended their covert operations to exert their influence over the people!"
Lord Beifong chuckles quietly, before shaking his head. "Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe."
"It's true," General Wen argues. "Why, standing behind me are not only the men who dismantled the Laogai operation, but some of the bloodbenders who were in on it!" He glances impatiently over his shoulder, beckoning at Lee to step forward. "Tell him, Lee!"
"Uh," Lee stammers as the man's disinterested gaze sweeps over him like a searchlight, "he - he's right. We found out that Long Feng and his men were using an army of bloodbenders - Water Tribe war prisoners - to, uh…" he wavers, now feeling more stupid by the moment as Lord Beifong raises a skeptical eyebrow, before finishing lamely, "to brainwash their dissidents and turn them into sleepers."
Mentally smacking himself for his unconvincing delivery, he isn't surprised at all when the man laughs again, harder this time. "What a story!" he declares, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "I must hand it to you rebels, you certainly didn't get where you are for any lack of imagination!"
"But it's true!" Haru protests, adding his voice indignantly. He points to Arrluk and the twins, hovering just behind him in their inconspicuous brown robes. "See, they were actually part of the Dai Li conspiracy! Tell him - tell him the truth!"
"With respect," Ruska speaks up, dropping into a deep bow as Lord Beifong's gaze settles on her, "I know it must be incredibly difficult to believe. And yet...sometimes the most outlandish tales are those that nobody would think to fabricate, unless they must be true." She presses a hand to her chest, staring up in earnest. "My countrymen and I were misled and duped by Long Feng to use our abilities to sow misinformation and distrust among your people. But when this - this Lee infiltrated our base, he made us realize the error of our ways." A shadow passes over her face. "He showed us the truth, and we have pledged ourselves to his cause, to the rebels' cause -"
"What kind of abilities?"
Ruska flounders, caught off guard by Lord Beifong's question. "I - I beg your pardon?"
But Lord Beifong leans forward in his seat, his eyes glimmering with thinly disguised interest for the first time since the whole conversation had started. "You said Long Feng used your abilities to sow misinformation. What kind of abilities?"
"Uh…" Ruska exchanges an uncomfortable glance with her twin brother, who nods at her encouragingly to continue, "to...to bend blood. Sir."
Discomfort coils in Lee's stomach as the man on the throne steeples his fingers in his lap. The jewels encrusting his hand wink and flash in the golden room. "Go on."
But Ruska hangs her head, her braids of hair shielding her face in a dark curtain. "We discovered how to control all the pathways in the living body, Sir. How to control movements, reflexes, instincts, thoughts..." She swallows hard before continuing raggedly. "Personalities."
Lord Beifong straightens in his seat, staring at Ruska with rapt, undivided attention. "Personalities?" he echoes, his voice dropping to a hush. "What do you mean?"
"That was the heart of the Dai Li sleeper operation," Ruska whispers, shaking her head. The sound of all her beads clacking together seem to echo in Lee's ears, and he glares at her trembling shoulders. "We believed we were taking Empire spies and reprogramming them with new personalities, to forget who they were, to prepare them for a lifetime of peace." She spits the word out in disgust. "Only that wasn't true at all, Long Feng actually had us manipulating the minds of innocent people -"
"You mean you have the power to change someone's entire personality?" Lord Beifong demands, his jaw hanging wide with disbelief. "Anyone's?"
"Um…" Ruska glances at General Wen for help, but he only raises his eyebrows meaningfully at her, motioning for her to continue. "Well...technically yes. But - but stronger minds were more difficult -"
"But not impossible," Lord Beifong interrupts, his eyes gleaming with a cold shrewdness that makes Lee feel uneasy to his core. "You could take someone who was a...a complete and utter rebel through and through, and then turn them docile." His voice lowers as his face turns strangely soft. "Gentle. Placable. Obedient."
Ruska's head jerks into a nod. "Y-Yes," she breathes, placing her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. "That was exactly what we used to do."
"Hmm." Lord Beifong strokes his thin beard for a moment, before his face grows unexpectedly attentive. "Very well. You've intrigued me. I will support your little resistance with any financial assistance you require."
A disbelieving smile splits across Ruska's face as relieved laughter erupts around her.
"But," Lord Beifong intones, raising a hand. Silence blankets the room, as suddenly as it had lifted. "I have a condition."
"Name it," General Wen declares, dropping to his knees gratefully. "Anything you want, my lord, and we will make it happen. You won't regret supporting us...not for a single moment!"
But chills run down Lee's spine as Lord Beifong's face hardens. "I want you to turn someone for me," he says softly, twisting the sapphire on his finger round and round. "Someone who harbours delusions of being the greatest earthbender in the world, when she's merely blind and frail and helpless. Someone who keeps refusing to let us help her... who thinks she can't be contained, not by spies or bounty hunters, or even a room made entirely of metal."
Lee's mouth drops at the man's vehement declaration. Even General Wen shuffles uncomfortably at the thought of an entirely metal room. "Who is it, my lord?" he asks weakly, even as he grows pale. "A prisoner?"
"No." A sudden, implacable anger burns in his eyes; his fingers dig into the stiff golden brocade pooling in his lap. "The most important person to me in the world. And she's been gone from home for far too long." Lord Beifong inhales deeply, before turning to meet Ruska's wilting gaze with his own. "Accept my help...and you will do this for me when I ask. That is my condition."
"Way to go," Lee hisses under his breath once they file out of Lord Beifong's audience room and out of earshot. "And when exactly do you plan on telling Lord Buttfong that you can't bend anymore?"
Ruska keeps her eyes trained ahead, even as they glimmer with a mild panic. "That...is a later problem," she answers delicately. "Right now, our sole mission was to enlist Lord Beifong's support, and I did that -"
"By lying to him!" Lee nearly explodes, trying to contain his indignation. "And by promising him a neat little mind-wiped zombie whenever he asks for one! How is that any better than what Long Feng asked you to do?"
"Enough!" General Wen rebukes sharply, whirling on him with a swish of his cloak. "Ruska is right. There are bigger things at stake here. We can worry about Lord Beifong once we oust the Dai Li -"
"Right," Lee snarks, balling his fists. "Because planning to get on Lord Beifong's bad side is a real recipe for success. Good one!"
"Do you have any better ideas?" General Wen demands, stepping so close to him that they are almost nose to nose. "Your last mission led you straight into a Dai Li trap! If it wasn't for the miraculous destruction of the moon, you would still be languishing in a prison cell under the lake, waiting for Long Feng to crack you like an overripe tree nut!" He exhales sharply through his nose, glaring at Lee ferociously. "You will follow your orders without complaint. Or, you can march straight back into whatever hovel you crawled out from and wait for the Dai Li to find you again. Your choice."
Lee opens his mouth wordlessly, the sting of the General's words crashing over him. He tries to speak, but suddenly, Jun's lifeless body is all he can see. A small, choking sound escapes him instead.
General Wen frowns down at him unblinkingly. "I thought so," he says with a contemptuous curl of his lip, before turning away. "We will proceed according to plan, without objections."
He manages to keep his mouth mutinously shut on the way back to their shelter on the edge of the city. Rage simmers under his skin, crawling with every word Ruska and her brother exchange softly between themselves. It takes all his effort to bite back his retorts, a million justifications spinning in his mind and dying on his lips.
Because when it came down to it, the General was right. He had failed, and Jun's death was all his fault.
"You okay?" Haru mutters out the corner of his mouth, falling in step with him.
Lee glances at him sharply, before nodding curtly.
The young earthbender's face softens sympathetically, and it makes his skin crawl. "He was pretty harsh back there," Haru agrees quietly, gesturing at the General marching stolidly ahead of them, too focused on his conversation with Master Iio to pay them any heed. "I hope you realize that none of us blame you for what happened in Lake Laogai. Not really."
Lee snorts with disbelief, thinking of Jun's lifeless body, unmoving and listless in his arms.
"I mean it," Haru continues earnestly. "Me, Ty Lee, Suki - we all know a bad situation when we see one."
"Right," he scoffs, the kindness in Haru's voice somehow rankling harder than General Wen's reprimand had. "Thanks for the cuddlefest. But you don't have to do that."
"Do what?"
"Lie to me," Lee spits out, stopping in his tracks. The world spins around him and the others press on, oblivious to his mounting distress. He cares for none of it. "I put you all in danger. You can admit it. I screwed up and I accept that." His nails dig into his palms sharply. "I've got no business acting like my ideas are worth anything. And if you've got a working brain under all that hair, you should probably just stay away from me."
"Lee -" Haru starts, but he hears no more of it as he turns on his heel. "Hey! Lee!"
His calls fade into the wind screaming against his ears as he breaks into a run. The pristine streets of the small city whiz past him, its citizens pausing in their tracks to stare at him curiously as he dashes past them.
Water gathers in his eyes, blurring the path ahead. He wipes at them furiously with a darkened sleeve. After everything he had done, after everything he had failed to do, tears were a luxury he didn't deserve.
He runs aimlessly, his feet carrying him through the maze of streets and alleys of Gaoling, past rows of identical houses and the bustling marketplace. It didn't matter where he went or how fast he ran. He could never outrun his guilt.
Jun's lifeless body. Suki limping on her broken leg, resentfully waiting back in the resistance hideout when she should have been a part of this mission too. Haru, whose misplaced faith in him had landed him not once, but twice into the Dai Li's clutches. No wonder the young earthbender was the only one who thought anything of him - he must have sustained some serious brain damage. It was the only logical explanation.
And beyond that, a life he could barely remember, but which haunted him nonetheless. A life as a boy of the Southern Water Tribes, who had lost his family and left his sister behind. Her face rises up in front of him, smiling at him like she had in his dream, staring at him in undisguised anguish back during the battle of the Sun Warriors Isle…
You can't let go of your last link to who you really are, Suki whispers accusingly in his ear, because you're one of them, aren't you?
A strangled yell dies in his throat. He grabs at his head, now pounding and fit to burst. If only he could pull the treacherous thoughts out with his fingers, if only he could…
Go...I'm right behind you! Run!
Run and stay low, and don't look back...
Panting for breath, his entire body aching and spent, he finally slows to a stop. Doubling over, he gasps, placing his head between his knees, in a desperate bid to stop all the thoughts from spinning out of control.
But it didn't matter. The waterbenders from Lake Laogai had the opportunity to atone for their actions, but he could never. He didn't even know what he had done wrong, or how to find his long lost sister. All he could do was wander, tormented by the memories of the life he had lost, and make sure nobody else could be sucked into the cursed vortex that was his company.
When at last the world stops spinning around him and he's finally able to breathe again, he raises his tear-stained face. Then, he stiffens in confusion.
The walls of the small city and the peaks of the mountains loom in the distance behind him. He blinks, staring at the thick clouds of fog cascading down the dark green brush lining the ground ahead. It obscures the murky pools of muddy, sucking water, reaching for him in curling fingerlike tendrils.
He swallows hard, taking a tentative step forward. The mud squishes beneath his foot, soft and wet and hungry for him. In the distance, a shrill human scream shatters the preternatural silence.
Freezing in his tracks, his heart pounding loud in his ears, he scans his surroundings in a frenzy. "Who's there?" he calls, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
But the only answer is his own echo, swirling all around him until it fades away.
He gulps, torn between turning back and plunging forward. The mists billow around him, shrouding everything in a haze of pale grey. Light and dark suffuse together, a soft veil descending over him, cutting him off from the rest of the world.
A sudden motion captures his attention. He squints, wondering if it was a trick of the light or someone racing through the mists, deeper into the folds of damp rotting vegetation. If it was a trick of his imagination, or whether he could actually hear something in its depths, calling to him.
He isn't aware of deciding, of moving at all. Only the sound of mud squishing under his feet growing louder, the stunted plants and vines drawing ever nearer.
The swamp beckons. He wanders into its embrace, lost to the siren-song of its longing. Above him, the greenery stretches out for miles in a murky canopy, dimming the grey light of the sky until it too vanishes from sight.