Howdy. There's some graphic content this chapter, so proceed with caution.
"Well, Prince Zuko," his uncle rumbled gleefully, "is this the young lady you had a disagreement with earlier?"
"Wha—no! I mean, yes, but—not like you were thinking, Uncle, I swear…" Zuko darted a glance at the girl and felt his voice crack and die in his throat with hideous embarrassment. He could feel color spreading across his pale skin like spilled tea into cloth.
But Katara wasn't looking at him.
"...You're his uncle?" she mumbled, hand coming up to yank agitatedly at a strand of her hair that used to form one of her tribal loops, before her braid had been cut off to send as a message. "That means you're the Fire Lord's brother, doesn't it?"
Iroh's face slid into someone more solemn, someone who Zuko had become increasingly familiar with in the past few days. "Yes, Miss Katara, I am."
"Then you're. . . you're the Dragon of the West."
Iroh said nothing, but the tilt of his head carried the weight of war. He looked older than Zuko had ever seen him.
The Water Tribe girl's lips trembled, but her eyes were scorching, and her voice was more so. "Then you're a liar. You're not sorry. You don't care about my m-mom." She scrubbed fruitlessly at her eyes with her forearm, and a part of Zuko wondered how someone so short and bony had room for so much water inside her. "You're just another monster."
His uncle recoiled as if the Waterbender had reached out and slapped him.
"How dare you," someone shrieked, and Zuko jolted in surprise. Ro had not heeded his earlier warning about eavesdropping, and was now storming over to the girl's bed. "You are stupid enough to insult a general of the Fire Nation as if you're anything more than the dirt under our boots, you ice rat whore?" She raised a closed fist, and he had to keep himself from jumping between them when Katara flinched—
But his uncle did not. He gently caught Ro's wrist, and said, "Please refrain from using such language in the presence of royalty."
Ro gaped up at him, flabbergasted, then sank to her knees. "My deepest apologies, General Iroh, this servant only meant to defend your honor from this little savage. I will pick my words more carefully in the future."
"I am more than capable of defending my own honor, thank you." Iroh pulled her from the floor and released her arm. "You may go."
Ro scurried out of the room, looking back only to glare at Katara. She didn't seem to notice—her eyes were still screwed shut in anticipation of a blow or a burn. Zuko had never seen her look so scared before, not even when she fought Azula.
Katara was terrified. Of Uncle.
The words burst from his mouth without conscious thought. "I'm so sorry, Uncle, she doesn't understand etiquette because I've been too easy on her, she's just a savage so she doesn't know any better—"
Iroh just held up a hand, cutting him off. The Waterbender was still hunched in fear, but she opened her eyes and met his gaze defiantly.
She was trembling. Zuko wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.
Iroh did nothing. His uncle just watched her, his face lined with something Zuko couldn't read.
The door slid open, breaking the silence that had settled over the infirmary, and Ro marched in with two guards behind her, her painted mouth twisted in triumph.
"I thought I dismissed you," Iroh said disapprovingly, breaking his staring contest with the Waterbender and sitting heavily on one of the plush beds across from her. Zuko hovered between the two, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.
"My apologies, General Iroh, but orders from the Fire Lord mandate that the prisoner be taken to him."
Zuko tensed, shifting minutely closer to the Waterbender's sickbed. She had gone almost white, her eyes so wide that her sclera were visible all the way around her blue irises. Across the aisle, Iroh went deathly still.
His voice was steady when he said, "May I ask why?"
One of the guards moved forward, stepping between the royals and their prisoner. "Fire Lord Ozai says she is to be executed."
Katara allowed herself to be yanked out of bed without a fight. She didn't even feel Ro vindictively rip off her bandage, though she heard someone (maybe the Prince) make a noise at the sight of the large, shiny scar on her hip, still an angry red.
Should've done more for it when I had the chance, she thought numbly. Her vision grayed out for a second.
She came back to herself in an unfamiliar hallway, two hulking armored figures on either side of her, their hot hands clamped on her upper arms. Her hands had been chained behind her again — when did that happen? — and she was being pushed unceasingly onwards. She distantly registered the bright crimson and gold tapestries, the smell of smoke and incense from the torches mounted on the pillars, the pair of footsteps trailing behind her (one quick and light, one heavy and slow). She realized, in a distant corner of her mind, that this might be the last thing she saw.
No. NO!
Katara started to struggle, wriggling against the molten iron grips of the guards, heedless of the way the hair on her arms began to smoke in warning. She kicked at the knee of one of them, only to get pulled off her feet entirely and dragged forward. Their pitiless white skull masks reflected the firelight, refusing to even acknowledge her efforts. This, more than anything, incensed her.
"Stop ignoring me! At least look at me if you're taking me to die!" she screamed, and felt one hand losen, saw the other's feet falter, if only for a moment. But still they pressed onwards, and still they refused to look at her.
Someone behind her said "uncle" like it had been ripped out of him, another said "quiet, Zuko" like everything had already been torn from him.
She saw a flash of long, dark hair from the corner of her eye, and turned to meet cold amber eyes that were wide with surprise. Katara bared her teeth and snarled, tears finally spilling from her eyes, and was once again yanked forward.
A moment later, a third set of footsteps joined her little parade, and she thought wildly of her procession into Tsubasa two years ago, of a clean and pretty little girl whose face held only scorn.
They gained more and more spectators the more Katara fought and yelled, and by the time they reached the throne room they were being trailed by a whole gaggle of morbidly curious courtiers, officials, and servants. The heavy iron doors were pulled laboriously open by another pair of skull-faced guards, and Katara felt a wave of heat dry the tear tracks on her face.
The flame-washed face of the Fire Lord turned to meet her, along with the cluster of high-ranking generals cast into shadow below him. His colorless lips twitched in equal amusement and disgust at the sight of her, and his brow furrowed slightly at the sight of so many behind her — including his brother and his children.
"So many come to witness a simple execution," he observed. "My, Princess Katara, you are popular… with my people, if not your own."
The crowd started to murmur, so softly that the individual words were swallowed by the roar of the flames.
"What do you mean?" Katara's voice was hoarse with fear, tears, rage… and a creeping sort of dread.
"Oh, you poor child," he said, in false sympathy, then raised his voice to address them all. "Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe chose to sacrifice his daughter in favor of continuing to fight a doomed war. They are just as bloodthirsty and honorless with their own children as they are with the countless innocent Fire Nation sailors they have murdered and enslaved. It is our duty as a more enlightened people to cure them of their savagery by any means necessary."
"Liar!" Katara shrieked, ignoring the gasps of affront from behind her and the flaring of the fire in front of her. "It's you who are always attacking us! It's you who steal our Waterbenders and melt our villages! It's you who burned my mother!" She heaved a helpless sob, trying in vain to pull her hands from her chains, for all the good it would do her. "My family would never abandon me!"
The Fire Lord flicked a hand in a careless gesture, and the guards holding her up abruptly threw her to the floor. Unable to catch herself, she slammed into the cold, hard tile, and nearly bit through her tongue on impact.
"Listen to how they lie, even to their own children. Listen to how uncouth and simple-minded they are, even among their royalty. It is regrettable, but clearly Hakoda and his men will not listen to reason. Their pride will cost them everything, and now it must cost them their princess." He sighed, as if genuinely aggrieved to be pushed to such measures. "Her body will, of course, be delivered to her tribe so that they may dispose of it according to their own barbaric practices."
Katara lay numbly on the floor, blood pooling in her mouth and creeping into the seam of her lips. She thought of the curse Hama recited every night like a prayer: May Sedna take you, may wolves feast on your bones, may your corpse be buried only by the snow.
The murmurs behind Katara were growing ever louder and more discordant. Most of the military officials in front of her could not bring themselves to look at either her or the crowd, though one general with white hair and a cunning smirk was observing her with distinct satisfaction. She twisted as best she could to look behind her, but most of them avoided her gaze, even as their voices became more and more discontented.
Even the Dragon of the West had turned away, whispering urgently into his nephew's ear, for all his mouth was twisted downwards and his fists clenched. Katara sought Zuko's gaze with a thread of desperate hope — she had spoken to him, had even agreed to help him, surely he could say something to stop this.
The thread snapped when he looked first to his father, and then to the flames. The Fire Prince bit his lip, looked once more at his father, and then allowed his uncle to tug him away into the crowd.
The Fire Lord was observing the reaction of the crowd, his gaze cold and calculating behind the mask of pained determination on his face. Then his eyes sharpened, and then the last voice Katara had expected to speak up rang out:
"Father," Azula called out, crouched down beside Katara with a fist pressed to her chest, "if I may have permission to speak."
The people in the throne room went silent, tense with anticipation.
Ozai tilted his head, the light catching on the crown in his topknot, and said, "You may."
Katara's gaze was riveted to Azula's proud profile, to the minute nervous tic in her jaw. Even crouching, her voice rang out clear and strong to her subjects.
"We could just send her back to the arena, and wait for her to die there. The citizens of the capital have been looking forward to seeing a Water Tribe royal in action, and our Raiders might be able to learn from observing her." Azula hesitated, then ploughed on. "The Puppetmaster is also… belligerent. She's attached to her. We could use the girl as leverage."
There was a round of approving whispers; apparently a fighting chance, no matter how slim, would make her death more palatable to the general public. Not to mention, an unhappy Puppetmaster led to an uneasy city.
Ozai tilted his head; he had obviously noticed the way the wind was blowing. Even his generals seemed more at ease with Azula's proposal (save the sour-faced old man).
"Very well," he drawled at last. "But she must prove herself first. How can she entertain the people if she has no skill to back her gall? I cannot permit such overconfidence from someone who has no claim to it."
More silence; everyone was waiting with bated breath for how he would test her. Even Azula's face was tense with anticipation.
"Stand up," he ordered, and Katara realized that he was talking to her when Azula made no move to rise. She struggled to stand without her hands; just as titters were beginning to spread, and a mocking smile tugged at Ozai's lips, two small hands came to help her up.
Katara glanced back, just for a moment, and saw Zuko, who was biting anxiously at his lip. The Princess was observing them expressionlessly, for all that Katara had expected a sneer. Iroh's face was tense and worried, but his pushed out chest and squared shoulders almost seemed to indicate pride.
She turned to face the throne, and saw the sneer she had expected from Azula on the Fire Lord's face. Zuko tensed behind her, and melted back into the crowd.
Katara strode forward until the heat singed her eyebrows, teeth bared in a fierce grin like Hama had taught her, for all her legs trembled. She spat excess blood into the fire, drawing a chorus of gasps and exclamations. Ozai's face flickered through a variety of emotions before settling on something that made Katara's blood turn to ice.
"I've been meaning to test the quality of training of palace guards lately; recently I feel they've been slacking." Nervous shifting behind her. "You and a new recruit will fight to the death. Should you win, you will be returned to the arena, where you can die on your own schedule."
"I will die on my own terms," Katara declared, repeating half-remembered, half-understood words from the speech her dad gave the entire Southern Water Tribe when he was elected war chief. For now, she would channel her father's nobility and bravery, for all it hurt to even think about him. "I'll beat whoever you want me to."
When Katara was paraded from the throne room, everyone followed, even Ozai. The semi-enclosed arena they marched her to was a step up from even Azula's courtyard; apparently it was reserved for Firebending duels between nobles.
But she was only a Tribesman, for all they considered her a royal. The observers were treating it more like a match in the freedom duels' arena; like a spectator sport. When the newest recruits filed in, overwhelmed and bewildered, a scattered cheer even went up from the crowd. When Ozai stood and waved for silence, it quickly died.
"Soldiers! You are the next generation of our great nation. You are proud, honorable, and strong; you must be, in order to defend this nation from those who seek to destroy it. The person one of you will face today is one of those people."
As if on cue, a massive trough requisitioned from the komodo rhino stables was heaved into place at one end of the arena. Servants waiting with full jugs began to fill it; the splash of water called to Katara like siren song. A few of the recruits were already paling, as if the mere presence of that much water in the heart of the palace would summon the Puppetmaster to wreak bloody revenge.
"One of you must face the Puppetmaster's student, the Princess of the Southern Water Tribe, in single combat; once you kill her, you will be richly rewarded." This seemed to bring back the color to a few recruits' faces.
But when she was escorted out, and freed from her chains, even more moved away from her; Katara must have looked just as wild and enraged as she felt. She itched to surround herself in water and attack the Fire Lord head on, but she knew she would die before getting anywhere near him; the guards had guaranteed it before unchaining her.
Eventually, one boy stepped forward. He looked a little younger than Bao, her friend in the arena. That is, if Bao was even still alive.
He grinned cockily at her after bowing deeply to the Fire Lord; he was one of the few that hadn't been at all unsettled by her. Katara snarled, with blood between her teeth; his smile dropped.
The battle that followed was quick, dirty, and brutal; Katara was too injured and weak for anything else.
She blitzed him with a sudden wave, holding her breath and running along inside of it to protect herself from his initial blast of flame. It was so hot that the water started to boil around her, but she grit her teeth and kept going. She tackled him with the wave, using their combined weight to knock him down, then froze the joints and gaps in his armor, and sat on his chest. He tried to breathe fire at her, but she had winded him, and she was able to ignore the weak gout of flames that blistered her skin, grabbing his face.
Katara took a deep breath, ignoring the way his armor was rapidly heating up beneath her, and froze his eyeballs solid.
His scream was horrible, and his convulsions of pain managed to dislodge her. Katara had to scramble to avoid his blind blasts of fire; to his credit, he was already back on his feet, even if he wouldn't stop screeching about his eyes.
She tried dodging for a while, waiting for him to tire himself out, but when she stumbled and nearly barbecued a foot she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she had to kill him as fast as possible.
So she gathered up a long stream of water, and directed it straight into his screaming mouth.
It wasn't very efficient; he kept hacking and choking it back up until Katara thought of freezing it while it was still in his mouth, throat, and lungs.
He got quiet just in time for her to hear the way his ribs cracked from the sudden pressure from the inside. His neck visibly thickened; his face warped grotesquely from his abruptly overstuffed sinuses. If there hadn't been ice plugging his orifices he would have been bleeding from them; she could feel the newly-freed fluid practically begging her to use it. His nostrils had already split around a large pair of icicles like overripe fruit.
Remember, Katara, Hama had once said, water expands when you freeze it. You can break almost anything as long as you can get water inside it first.
The recruit took a long time to die. Every muffled sound of fear and pain made it harder for Katara to resist the urge to heal him, and even after he lost consciousness he kept jerking and twitching.
At least he wasn't screaming anymore. At least his eyes were frozen, so he couldn't cry. Katara couldn't either; all she could do was sit and stare at him, trying to think about something, anything, else.
She distracted herself by looking at the audience. Most of them were watching either her or the dying boy with horrified, morbid curiosity. The old general seemed especially interested. A few of the other new recruits were crying for their fallen comrade. Iroh's face was a hard, blank mask; his eyes were disgusted, but she wasn't sure at what. Or who. Ozai was even harder to read, but he was definitely paying attention. Azula looked fascinated; her eyes never left Katara.
Zuko was nowhere to be seen.
I warned you!
The old creepy general is the guy Zuko called out at the war meeting. He's a real sadistic asshole, so I figured he would enjoy this situation.
What did you guys think? Too dark? Not dark enough? Just right? Let me know!
Edit: Full disclosure, I posted this while extremely sleep-deprived, so I went back to make a few changes so that it flowed better, so that Katara acted more her age, etc. I also added some more gore! Special thanks to Phoenix 7.49 for letting me know all the things that could happen to the recruit after Katara pulled her little bloodsicle stick stunt with him.