disclaimer. ATLA & its denominations are all intellectual property of Bryke. I am just a sad fan trying to dish out the feels.
author's notes. my first attempt at a full-length zutara. a general warning that i have a horrible track record with finishing fanfics (not sure if anyone from the ccs fandom is still around here but if they were, they'd attest to that) and i'd sworn off writing them ever again but this muse drifted into my head almost fully-formed and it wouldn't leave me alone. i have most of it already mapped out and a bunch of the major plot points already written though, so fingers crossed.
i also love reviews. they keep me motivated. they keep me happy. they keep me writing. i am a giant review whore. yes.
shameless plugs aside, i realize this is a rather confusing first chapter, with very little outright exposition. i enjoy character-driven stories and have attempted to make that the focus, but also have quite a bit of political drama going on in the background (which will make its way to the forefront in due course).
update: to those so inclined, a link to the unofficial spotify playlist for this fic is posted to my FFN profile. it includes chaptered song prompts and general mood music used during the writing process.
anyway. i give you...
southern lights.
chapter i. at first glance
and it's like i'm diving into emptiness
but at least there is something beating in my chest
"cult logic"/miike snow
They are out in the arena practicing when she arrives.
The day is like any other, the sun hanging heavy in the sky, the air sweltering hot and bearing a promise of rain, the earth dry and cracked and scorched as the firebenders leap and duck and twist through the air in their airy red uniforms, great plumes of flame drifting in their wake.
Most of them have stripped their shirts off by now. It is mid-afternoon, the hottest part of the day, and the young men of the Special Operations Division of the Fire Empire Army are taking advantage of their break from training in the most ineffective way, or so he thinks to himself dismissively, running a hand through his thick, unkempt hair whilst perched atop one of the remaining columns bordering the arena.
Whatever goes on below him doesn't exactly concern him, as it is mainly a reinforcement of the social order of things. He refuses to participate in such petty displays, instead choosing to figuratively (and in this case, literally) remain above it all. The general, an old friend of his father's, has seen him grow up and has fostered his talents. He has nothing left to prove in this arena of children and sycophants, except maybe the one or two most important things of all.
The boys in the arena tussle with each other, wrestling and shoving, shooting fists and breaths of flame into the air and at each other, in a constant struggle for dominance over each other. Maybe the extra practice is good for the ones who didn't have the luxury of growing up in noble households, but in the end, no commoner with an ounce of sense will risk besting the son of an important man in the arena. In the end, he thinks with a small measure of bitterness, there is no point. They might as well have not have fought.
He briefly contemplates the futility of it all, wondering what the point of any of it is, as he closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.
His own great-grandfather had made the world bow down before his throne, and since then, every living person under the sun has been trying to consolidate that insurmountable power. But his share of the glory will be nominal. This, his father has all but promised him, and after so many years he is still coming to reluctant terms with the fact.
He opens his eyes and glances down at the antics below him.
Chan's been forced to the corner of the battle area by the fishmonger's son, Ryu. It makes for a remarkable duel: the smaller, slighter warrior compensating with quicker, more powerful kicks in the air, forcing the larger bender to give up ground in an impressive display of skill. But just as Ryu catches Chan off-balance and prepares for a roundhouse kick to finish things off for good, Ruon-Jian, who had previously been idly sitting by on the sidelines, jumps in and pushes Ryu to the ground.
"Hey!" Ryu's protest can be heard echoing through the air as he falls to the ground. "That's not –"
Ruon-Jian's snigger is also audible as he towers over the fallen bender.
"Not what, fisher boy?"
Ryu's indignant response is stifled in his mouth as Chan leaps back to his feet and delivers a stinging punch to the boy's face. Ruon-Jian grins and gives him a high-five before they both turn their gazes to the crumpled boy in the dirt.
"Yeah, what were you going to say to me?" Chan joins in on the egging, lumbering slowly up to the hapless, fallen figure struggling to get to its feet. He gives an unnecessarily vicious shove. "Because I didn't appreciate your tone of voice, fisher boy."
Ryu lets out a grunt as he falls back into the earth. It's exacerbated as Ruon-Jian's foot connects with the pit of his bare stomach.
"I said…" he wheezes at last, as Chan draws a fist back, "…that's not a good way to lose. Chan."
Chan, his fist still drawn back in the air, exchanges an impassive glance with Ruon-Jian, and shrugs.
"Good save, fisher boy," he says before punching Ryu in the face again.
Everyone in the vicinity has the good sense to cheer.
It is at this moment that she arrives.
He doesn't notice at first – he's preoccupied with noncommittally following the abashed retreat of the better bender. But the sound of a girl's quiet voice, punctuated with the sniggers of Chan and Ruon-Jian, eventually catches his attention, and he shifts his gaze back to the far end of the arena.
He discerns a slight, dark figure dressed in blue, with a pack slung over its shoulder, standing straight-backed and impassive as the two spoiled brats tower overhead.
"…be sure to tell the General that you stopped by!"
"Why, do you have a gift for him?"
"A gift that keeps on giving?"
"Haha, good one, Chan!"
At length, the stranger replies.
"I was told to speak with General Shinu, if you could direct me to him, please."
Her voice is flat and controlled, and though she is technically asking a question, her tone is without inflection. The two bullies bristle visibly and saunter up to her, crowding her space. She doesn't shrink away.
"You don't seem to show a lot of respect for a colonial peasant."
"Yeah, you're talking to two of the most important teenagers in the whole Fire Nation! You should be honoured." A pause. "I could think of a few ways you could honour us. Maybe tonight, after you're done with the General –"
Rolling his eyes, he lets out an irritable exhale before somersaulting off his column and landing neatly in the middle of the arena. Walking toward where Chan and Ruon-Jian surround the stranger, he notices the small crowd of spectators forming around them.
"What's going on?" he demands, directing his irritation to the two spoiled sons of his father's peers. "Don't you two have anything better to do, besides bullying peasants and little girls?"
They glare at him mutinously, but at the same time, their faces turn red with embarrassment.
"Yeah, real threatening, the both of you. Maybe next time, I'll actually break a sweat fighting both of you with my hands behind my back."
They accept their dismissal and walk away, muttering thunderously and throwing acerbic glances back at him. He ignores them, instead pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly, and then turning around to face the new arrival.
"Thanks," the girl – a Water tribe girl? – says to him in that same flat voice, meeting his curious gaze with the bluest eyes in the world, and to his surprise, she doesn't flinch at the scar on his face, not once. "I'm not a little girl, though. I was told to find General Shinu when I got here, do you know where –"
"Second row to the left," he replies automatically, pointing in the direction of the encampment, "it's the biggest pavilion so you won't miss it."
She nods shortly, straightens her pack over her shoulder, and walks off in the direction he's pointed out.
He'd heard General Shinu mention that they were recruiting a new waterbender, that there was one arriving from one of the colonial military schools who'd shown a lot of promise. Apart from that, he hadn't known what to expect, and he certainly hadn't expected her.
At any rate, it's early evening when he is summoned to the practice arena and sees her again, this time bereft of her large pack and traveling robe. She's dressed instead in hide leggings and an oversized blue tunic that looks like it belonged to a man twice her size, with two waterskins strapped to her hip, and her long dark hair braided away from her face.
The top five firebenders in the regiment are lined up in a row, himself included. The resident firebending master, Jeong-Jeong, oversees everything, and has explained both the test exercise and the logic behind it to her. In battle, he says, we must exercise a well-rounded strategy, else our offensive will quickly grow old and stale. Your specific role will be to counterbalance the attack of our firebenders.
It had been his uncle's idea, of course. Earth balances air, and water balances fire. Now that the damage to the Water Tribes was essentially done, it was high time to start integrating more waterbenders into their attack units, which already boasted a healthy representation of firebenders and earthbenders, and more than a few airbenders, whenever the Air Nomads troubled to lift themselves out of isolation.
Jeong-Jeong calls her first opponent forward. Chan swaggers forward, the smirk on his face suggesting he is all too eager to make up for his loss of face earlier in the day.
Her expression doesn't change. Instead, she merely uncorks her skins and leans into what looks like a defensive stance.
To be honest, he's never seen a waterbender before. He hasn't even seen a Water Tribesman in person until today – only the grossly exaggerated illustrations in Fire Nation propaganda flyers and texts. So he resolves to watch and study her movements, all the better to anticipate and maybe learn, but the duel starts and –
Where firebending is sharp and forceful and aggressive, the waterbender's movements are unlike anything he's ever seen before. She checks her opponent's strikes with a sinuous, flowing grace, bounding and leaping effortlessly as though it's just a dance to her instead of a fight – the water moves as though it's just another limb of hers – a dynamic, powerful, exploding limb with the power to expand, contract, quench flame, and knock egotistical little firebenders off their feet and onto the flats of their rears where they belong.
There is a smattering of applause as Chan gets to his feet, rubbing his arse and shooting a vicious glare at the unperturbed waterbender, who bends her water back into her skins and assumes a neutral stance.
He's last in line and so has the added advantage of watching her cross the remaining three benders before him. But it doesn't take her long before she's worked her way through the line of her opponents –
"And last but not least," says Master Jeong-Jeong, "our best firebender, now this should be quite a show –"
Jeong-Jeong beckons to him, and he steps forward, directly across from the young waterbender. Up close, she really does look like a little girl, despite her earlier protests to the contrary, with sharp skinny features protruding from an oval face, gangling thin limbs, and eyes that seem almost too large for her face. But she wears a look of fierce determination as she faces him, and he knows that in her mind, she's already won.
She waits for him to take the offensive, bending her water out of her skins and into a shield around her. He starts with the basic techniques his uncle taught him, breathing his fire and channeling it out through his fists, his feet, his mouth –
She counters each time, before swinging a long, heavy whip of water at him – he recognizes this attack of hers from earlier and jumps out of the way, bending a hot blast toward her that causes her to take a step backward.
Landing on both feet, he takes advantage of her unsure footing by channeling a series of wide arcs of flame at her, driving her back inch by inch – until she resists by throwing up a wall of water, drowning his fire and reaching out with a thick tendril of water to grab him by the leg and pulling –
He falls, but braces his weight on his arms, jettisoning a blast of fire at her through his feet – she ducks and evades the blow, letting go of his foot – and both regain their footing, breathing slowly.
They may be fighting, but to him, it feels like a dance.
How long they continue, he doesn't know, but at a certain point, he knows he's no longer using basic techniques and he's conjuring everything he knows, including some moves he made up, and he's seen the uncertainty in her eyes, seen her jump out of the way just in time, and yet both are giving it everything they have in them to give and just when it feels like they've been going at it for hours and his muscles are in agony and he's breathing sharply through his mouth – he delivers what he's sure will be the final blow as he knocks her over –
And like a rolling wave she turns his energy against him, knocking his feet out from under him and pinning him to the ground in one smooth, decisive, liquid movement.
There's a stunned silence as they fight for breath, realizing the duel is over for now. Without a word, she releases him and he gasps for air, rolling over onto his stomach soaking wet and spread-eagled on the ground in exhaustion.
"That will be enough," commands Jeong-Jeong, approaching the young waterbender. There is an expression of fierce admiration on the master's hard, scarred face. "What I have seen of your abilities pleases me. Not that I would doubt Pakku's word, oh no…"
She presses her fist into the heel of her hand and dips shortly, giving a picture-perfect Fire Nation bow.
"…and yet, parts of his letter were incredibly difficult to believe! Especially – how long did it take you to master waterbending again?"
The girl shrugs.
"Six months," she says impassively.
"Unheard of! A true prodigy, to be sure!"
"Yeah right," Chan whispers, next to him, as Jeong-Jeong continues to talk with the Water tribe girl. "There's no way that peasant mastered waterbending in six months."
"Maybe she mastered Pakku in six months instead," Ruon-Jian retorts with a snicker. "And he bumped her up a grade."
"Chan, Ruon-Jian," he says wearily, stretching his screaming muscles and wiping sweat out of his face, "you're mediocre benders at best, so you should at least try a bit harder to be clever."
They glare at him but know better than to talk back, so they walk away slowly.
Jeong-Jeong's already left by the time the two of them approach the young waterbender. She's in the middle of stretching her right leg when Ruon-Jian deliberately and forcefully shoves her as he walks by. She teeters but regains balance quickly enough.
"Can I help you?" she asks. Her face and voice are still, somehow, incredibly, without emotion.
"The water tribe peasant girl just asked if she could help us!" Ruon-Jian crows at Chan. "Who does this – this pole girl think she is and just where does she get off thinking so highly of herself?"
"Yeah, who do you think you are, pole girl?"
He winces. Pole girl? Is that really the best they could think up?
"Katara."
Her quiet, solemn answer catches everyone off guard.
"What was that?" Chan asked, trying to sound threatening but only appearing confused.
"My name is Katara," the girl replies, before resuming her stretches.
Another confused silence ensues.
"Well…we didn't want to know your name!" Ruon-Jian protests hotly.
"Yeah, we just were going to say that next time, we won't go easy on you."
He knows he's eavesdropping on this conversation but he can't mask the loud snort that slips out of his mouth.
"That's okay," the girl – Katara – says evenly, now stretching her left leg. "Neither will I."
The indignation on both their faces rises, but it just makes them look constipated and ridiculous.
"Watch your back, peasant," mutters Ruon-Jian viciously, before he and Chan loftily stalk off, presumably toward their barracks.
The girl shakes her head slightly before resuming her stretches, this time of her arms and shoulders.
He glances around. The sun has sunk below the horizon by now, they'd dueled right into the sunset, and now the sky glows with bands of lavender and orange and pale blue. The arena is deserted, now everyone is probably tidying their bunks or quickly showering off the day's sweat and dust.
No point dawdling. He gets to his feet and slowly crosses the arena, wondering if he should say anything to the girl, who seems more than a little taciturn. He can't help but admire her spirit, though. Maybe a little test of the waters…
"Thanks for the shower," he tries to joke, running a hand through his hair.
She freezes, turns her head to regard him curiously, probably sizing him up to figure out whether he's making fun of her or not.
"I was trying to make a joke," he points out, a little crestfallen now. He eases up. "Uh…I guess I meant to say that you gave me a really hard time back there."
"I was just doing my job," replies the girl a little defensively, straightening out of her stretches and meeting his eyes directly.
"I know. I mean, that's good. You're a really good fighter, I was trying to give you a compliment."
Talking with her is like treading barefoot on broken glass, apparently.
"Um…thanks…" she says slowly. "You gave me a tough time too, I guess."
"Thank you. I've never fought against a waterbender before."
"I guess I had an advantage, then," the girl replies. She raises her hands in front of her and before he realizes it, she's bending the water off him and back into her waterskins.
"Thanks," he says again.
"I didn't want to waste it," she answers, corking them. She looks up at him. "Well, I'd better get back to my barracks, so if you don't mind –"
"I can walk you there," he offers.
"No, that's fine, you don't have to –"
"I'm walking that way too, everyone's stationed there. Please."
They stare at each other, before she finally shrugs and walks on. He falls in step with her easily.
"So, you've fought against firebenders before, you mean?" he asks, trying to get a conversation going. Maybe if she realized that not everyone here was going to be like Chan and Ruon-Jian…
She nods shortly.
"In combat?" he continues incredulously. Even if she isn't as young as she looks, there's no way she would have been old enough to fight during the polar invasions –
"No," she answers, somewhat bitterly. "Not exactly."
"Oh," is all he can say, and suddenly recognizing that he may have inadvertently raised a sensitive subject, he changes his line of questioning. "It must feel strange for you to be here."
There's a fleeting hint of surprise on her face following his words, before she quickly masks it.
"Yeah. Strange."
"So why are you here, then?" he asks, curiously.
She shrugs.
"There wasn't much of a choice. Master Pakku trained me until I was ready, and then I was ordered to come here, so I did."
"And before Pakku?"
She closes up instantly, an ill-concealed darkness evident in her eyes.
"I don't want to talk about that," she says in a low voice.
"I'm sorry," he offers tentatively.
She shrugs, but her arms are crossed in front of her as though they're armour.
They've entered the encampment and he can smell the food cooking in the mess hall. It's very close to dinnertime. His stomach rumbles in response. In front of them are three parallel rows of tents, mostly small but one or two are extravagantly large and bearing the large flag of the Fire Empire army, as well as smaller divisional insignia. Beside the encampment are the barracks, a large gated compound of brick and steel with a sloped red roof and small slitted windows.
There's a troubled expression on her face, the closer they get to the building. At first he thinks it's in his imagination but there's no mistaking the disquiet in her eyes. He wonders what it could be, and scans his mind for reasons, for a shred of empathy. Of course, the circumstances under which he joined the army were completely different – he had been driven and motivated and ready to prove himself, and to this day he still felt mostly the same way, if only a little more disillusioned – but still, what could be troubling the young waterbender so?
"Don't worry," he tries to reassure her, "everyone fits in eventually. Chan and Ruon-Jian are losers and nobody likes them anyway. You don't have to worry about them picking on you –"
She startles and gives him a confused look.
"I'm fine," she insists, sounding a little annoyed. "Really."
"Okay." He backs off.
They reach the gates of the compound.
"By the way," he says, "Katara – was it?"
She glances at him and nods uncertainly.
He holds out a hand.
"I don't think I introduced myself. My name is Zuko."
There's a pause following his words.
"Zuko," Katara repeats, the syllables sounding lovely rolling off her tongue. Her brow furrows. She doesn't return his handshake, but glances up at his face again. She looks as though she is thinking hard, putting unexpected pieces together. She takes in the symmetrical planes of his face, the shock of untamed black hair, the ugly, disfiguring scar around his eye, before she meets his gaze piercingly.
"Son of Ozai," she finishes, and now the words sound like an accusation – and a curse.
The bottom of his stomach drops out from under him. Or so it feels.
"And Ursa," he recovers, his mouth dry.
Now she glares at him with all the fury she can muster, and he finds himself quailing under the might of it.
"I can find my own way from here," she says, her voice like ice. "Thanks for showing me around. But do me a favour, and stay away from me."
She spins on her heel and marches into the building, without sparing him a second glance.
Zuko is left standing, bewildered.
What did I do wrong this time?