A/N: Ta-da, I have finally edited the next chapter. This is a major victory for me, hopefully it will ripple some happiness throughout the fan-verse that I updated.

Disclaimer: It is with much sadness that I must admit that I do not own any rights to Avatar the Last Airbender:(


Katara watches from her balcony an array of light spraying the night with bright colors. The gauzy curtains billow behind her with the gentle evening breezes. The air had become more temperate after the day's heat. Intense hues from above draw fire shapes across the sky, making the night come alive with vibrancy. The heavens barely register the fireworks, before receiving another picture blast decorating the sky.

The sight harkens back to Katara's homeland. The white stars above the snowy tundra are plentiful beacons that line the celestial sphere with their own stories. Though, once a year, the night would glow with dancing colors. The empyrean, the highest of heavens that contain all the mystical elements, would open its doors to the earthly inhabitants below, illuminating the sky with flowing rivers of iridescences. The Southern tribe witnessed the visions in reverent solemnity.

Over time, the natural aurora lights had dwindled to nothingness, before finally vanishing. Katara may be far from her snowy familiarity, but her southern home was disappearing faster than her fading memories. Sokka will sacrifice himself this season for the tribe, but for such a futile reason. Next year, the Southern tribe will be placed in the same predicament, find the money for the tribute or sacrifice another denizen. As it was, the village was dwindling to having more elderly members than round-faced, baby ones. Touching her mother's pendant, nestled at the base of her throat, Katara reflects upon another time, when the lights whirled in magical projections overhead. Everything seemed so simple then, with such endless possibilities and no faceless ones roaming the southern tribe's lands.


Katara's little mitten had fitted securely into her mother's sure grip. Kya's cheeks glowed with the same excitement as her daughter's. Both were entranced by the sky's colorful gift. Sokka was perched upon Hakoda's shoulders. His young stature was finally able to tower above the crowd of excited villagers.

Katara pulled on Kya's hand, whispering fearfully to her mother while half hiding from the display of light colors and yet drawn by its mysterious wonder. "Mom, are the spirits angry with us?"

Kya's blue eyes were alight with fascination. She glanced down at Katara. "No, my sweet daughter, the Spirits aren't angry, but having a joyous celebration in their great hall. A massive banquet is being held with much dancing and fanfare."

Hopping up and down in the snow, Katara's warm boots sunk lower with each jump. Her little toddler imagination conjured up long wooden tables covered in all manner of delicacies and sumptuous delights.

As Katara frantically hailed to the heavens, she debated over what she would gobble first in her sugary greediness. "I want to be invited." She waves at the gamboling lights. "Invite me to your party, great Spirits."

Kya reached down and picked up Katara, "My sweet daughter for us to be invited to the Spirit's table, we have foregone our earthly bodies, having left this world, never to return."

Katara wrapped her arms tightly around her mother's neck, burrowing her face in the soft fur collar. "I take it back. I don't to go up there to the great hall. I want to stay here with you and Dad forever." Katara turned her lips to her mother's ear and whispered, "I wouldn't even want to leave Sokka, but don't tell him I said that."

Kya laughed and shook her head affirmatively, guaranteeing the shared promise, "Our little secret." She held Katara away from her slightly. "The truth is, while it looks like glorious fun. I, too, would never want to leave any of you." Kya tenderly tucked a stray lock of Katara's hair beneath her daughter's fur hood.


The Fire nation fireworks explode, jolting Katara back to the present. She carefully touches her intricately braided hair, the hallmark of a young southern maiden. She hadn't been taught by her mother the ways of womanhood; Kya had been taken from their family. For Katara, she had already sailed into new territory, long before arriving in the Fire nation.

Looking beyond the protective walls of the Imperial palace, Katara's blue eyes beheld another fireworks explosion decorating the sky. The palace's stone and iron wall barrier may encase the noble class from the commoners; but from Katara's vantage point, high above, the only apparent fun seems to be found within the lower city.

Katara rests her cheek in her right palm, running her free hand along the brass balustrade. It doesn't seem fair that she is forced to stay within the confines of the court. Since her family's arrival, even the servants have made it blatantly clear that the Southern tribe doesn't belong anywhere near the royal family or on the palace's grounds. Sighing again, Katara alternates her supporting hand and rests her cheek in her other palm. She admonishes herself over moping about the festival. It is rather petty and selfish, considering Hakoda's strict edict. Katara's guilt tries to rationalize her desires, but recalling her father's sorrowful features she feels even more contrite for wanting to attend the celebrations.

The fireworks boom reds, oranges, greens, and blues, which simultaneously zoom across the sky, flashing starburst formations. Suddenly, a dragon bursts through the raining color drops. Its head rears back and breathes fire. Katara gasps and stands upright. Wings flap and the red serpent's barbed tail whips around in a twisting formation, rising up to the sky's zenith. The dragon shoots out a blast of fire from its opened jaws, before disappearing within the smoky vapor. The haze of grey mist obscures the stars, but allows a final glimpse of red remnants falling back to earth.

It was a glorious end to the fireworks show. Katara begins to clap her appreciation from her balcony setting. As she brings her hands together, her left arm is yanked behind her. She stumbles off balance and falls to her side, landing against the railing. Her feet instantly widen her stance. The soft material of her dress shifts, allowing for her counter defensive. She twists free her captured wrist, releasing her arm and simultaneously landing a swift kick to her assailant's shin. The shadows obscure her aggressor's face, a grunt from her attacker and then a quick stumble into the curtains. The light escapes her bedroom, illuminating her brother's face.

Katara drops her fists. "Nice try, Sokka."

Sokka grins with victory. "I really snuck up on you this time." Bent over, he casts an irritated look at his sister, rubbing his sore shin. "Did you have to kick me so hard?"

Katara changes into a relaxed stance, but is mentally poised in case Sokka makes any sudden moves. Ignoring the encroaching culpability over her instinctual fighter's response, she defends her attack. "I didn't realize that it was you at first." She rubs her sore hip that had hit the balustrade. "It isn't like you were the most gallant assailant; I landed hard on that railing."

"Who else would attack you in your private apartment, but your big bro?" Sokka straightens, shaking his leg one more time to eradicate the final ache from his shin.

The glass doors of her room are more open, flushing the balcony with a yellow glow. Katara leans against the railing. "Frankly, it could have been anyone. I have been nervous the moment we arrived at port. It wasn't like we got the most welcoming of welcomes from the palace."

Sokka joins his sister against the railing. "I have to agree. Prince Scarface is pretty intimidating.

"Even after all the radio reports I wasn't prepared for that scar." Katara knew decorum dictated she shouldn't stare at the prince, but she had been compelled to look upon the disfigurement. While the radio reports were plentiful, the exact nature of the prince's injury had never been disclosed. Staring at the prince, she had felt anything but pity; Zuko conducted himself as if nothing set him apart physically or otherwise from the royal family.

"I don't think we need to worry about Prince Zuko too much; I'm not sure how good of a fighter he could be, since it looks like he already got in the wrong end of a dispute." Sokka states flatly with a slight grimace. "The rest of them I wouldn't trust, their loyalties shift like the wind."

"Prince Lu Ten and Crown Prince Iroh seemed nice." Katara thought of how gallant the Prince had conducted himself with her. The Crown Prince wrote poetry; no one could compose such musical words without tenderness within their soul.

"Nice vanishes the moment power comes into a remote grasp." Sokka didn't need to side with his father out of familial loyalty about certain members of the royal family. Archduke Ozai was a braying rear end of a pig-donkey, and no one manifested a spoiled seaslug disposition more aptly than Princess Azula. "One thing for sure, Miss High and Mighty Stuck-up Princess wouldn't get her hands dirty in a battle. We don't have to worry about her."

Katara laughs, "Yeah, she was a real curoxy. It was hard to not slap her in the face, after the sneering look she gave me for what I am wearing." She held out her skirt to the side, swishing the blue material back and forth. "This dress is much more practical than that elaborate constricting thing Princess Azula wore." A traitorous thought wistfully blew against Southern tribe traditional women's clothing: it would be nice to wear something elegant and not have it be so sensible.

Sokka glances surprisingly at his little sister, shocked over Katara's use of profanity. Recovering from his startlement that his sister even knew an obscenity, Sokka concurs with Katara's well worded summation of Azula. "Princess Stuck Up is one nasty curoxy for sure, I pity her future husband."

"Luckily for her, the nobility like arranged marriages." Katara is glad that her tribe doesn't partake in such matters. Marriages in the Southern tribe are solely derived from love matches. She inwardly scoffs; the royal family considers them the backwoods peasants.

"Exactly, poor baseborn," Sokka adds his own profane sentiment. "He may seriously rethink about taking a vow of chastity and joining the Air Nation's monk existence after five minutes in Princess Azula's presence." He turns around and stares out beyond the walls.

Katara follows her brother's actions. There is a settled moment of quiet between the siblings, as each take in the bobbing lanterns of light and faint sounds of frivolity from the lower city. Katara finally nudges her brother with a movement of her shoulder. "I'm proud that you finally realized saying sneak attack shouldn't precede an actual sneak attack."

"I only ever said that so you would feel like you had a chance of beating your big bro." Sokka drapes his arm over his sister's shoulders.

Katara leans her head against Sokka. "Thanks for always looking after me."

Puffing out his chest, Sokka boasts proudly. "If I didn't impart my brotherly wisdom and fine-honed fighting skills upon my little sister, what kind of older sibling would I be?" Resting his cheek against the top of Katara's head, a melancholy tone weaved its way into Sokka's words. "I won't always be around to protect you. It was important to me that I taught you how to take care of yourself."

Katara squeezes her eyes shut, forcing the tears away. She couldn't trust herself to speak, so she returns her brother's love by wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Sokka hugs Katara back and then pushes her away in a playfully annoyed manner. "Enough of this girliness, we're going to miss the whole festival at this mushy rate."

"The whole festival? How?" Katara stands on her tiptoes, trying to see if that gives a better view of the town below. Her briefly added height doesn't change the scenery, only more glimpses of bobbing lights. "I can't see anything from here?"

"Exactly, which is why, we're going down to the lower city and partake in the fun ourselves."

"But…" Katara sputters in disbelief and then whispers nervously, watching the undulating curtains in case there might be a sudden emergence of their father. "Dad said we weren't to go."

"No, Dad said that he would be disappointed if he knew we went."

"Exactly," Katara folds her arms and assumes a disgruntled mother pose, "we're not suppose to go."

"Little sister," Sokka pulls Katara next to his side and rubs her shoulder in a condescending manner. "Everything in life is simple semantics. If Dad never finds out, then we in fact, did not disobey him."

"But," Katara is swayed by her brother's logic, but knows there is faulty reasoning within his words. "I know Dad meant that we weren't to go."

"Meaning is often lost in the translation, little sister. Now, that you are in the Imperial court, it would be wise of you to listen to what isn't conveyed and work within the parameters of what is said, so you may get what you want."

Katara feels irritated at her brother. One of her brother's strengths is donning an air of a brainless simpleton, which makes people drop their veneers, allowing Sokka to shrewdly analyze any situation. Katara believes things should be approached in an open manner and has a hard time deviating from that moral standpoint. Yet, even though she knows what her father wanted, Katara is compelled to be swayed by Sokka's hazy suppositions. The lower city emits another cry of delight, which enticingly drifts up to her, adding another persuasive argument to Sokka's case.

"Alright then, how do you propose that we will scale these heavily guarded walls without alerting the whole palace?" Katara folds her arms across her chest, smiling with triumph, daring her brother to devise a suitable plan.

Sokka grins and strokes his chin beard, "By simply walking through the palace gates." Holding up his hand, Sokka raises his eyebrow to interrupt his sister's protestations. "This isn't my first time visiting the Imperial city. If I hadn't paid attention to more important matters, I would have never had any fun here;" Sokka's face darkened. "And if there was ever a need, I wanted to make sure we had a viable escape." He faced his sister as a mischievous glint came into his eyes. "The palace is operated by the careful hands of servants, who live in the lower city. There are constant shift changes, a place this big cannot operate with the same few people. Concealed doors are scattered along the palace's hallways. The secret entrances are always marked by a particular vase. We enter through those entrances and will sneak down to the servants' quarters. When a shift change occurs, we leave, too."

"It seems reasonable, but what happens if we get caught?"

"Katara, I'm not planning on getting caught." Sokka touches his sister's shoulder, seeing hesitancy weigh upon Katara's face. "Please go, for me."

Katara rushes out before sanity prevails. "Alright, let's go, now, before I rethink this madness."

Clasping Katara to him, Sokka hugs her, choking back his gratitude. He lets her go and grabs her hand. "Follow me towards adventure and food."

Katara shakes her head, "I can't believe you are still hungry after eating most of the dinner."

"So much food and so little time to eat it," Sokka pats his flat belly. "It is a difficult life to be given such an appetite."

Sokka leads Katara out of her bedroom and carefully through the sitting room. Their feet glide across the rich carpet. Both siblings watch Hakoda's door, as they warily creep pass. Every stealthy movement seems amplified to their ears, potentially alerting their father of their intended escape. After an interminable period of mere seconds, they twist the main door's knob and exit the apartment.

The siblings run through several long corridors. Sokka is guiding Katara through the hallways twists and turns. Katara follows closely upon her brother's heels. She dashes by all manner of vases, it seems impossible to discern which one is the correct secret servants' entrance. Lanterns magically alight as Katara and Sokka approach, and then dim to nothing after they race past. As Katara dashes past, she chances a wistful glance at the waning light but suppresses her instinct to marvel over the Fire Nation's ingenuity.

Approaching a rather tall vase with an elongated neck, Sokka slows down. The slender urn is milky white, painted with blue scenes of a lone tiller cultivating several fields of flames. The blue blazes almost resemble rows of wheat. The vase is elegantly made, but doesn't have the rich inlaid attention that the other urns scattered about the palace contain. A quick furtive look down both sides of the hallway, Sokka moves behind the vase and taps the wall five times. A door, not previously visible, slides open, revealing a dark passageway.

"I can't believe it worked." Katara whispers. The entrance has an ominous quality, seeming even blacker as they stand in the lighted hallway. "How did you know to knock five times?"

Sokka points to the fields of flames. "The secret code is indicated on the vases. The number of rows of fire show how many knocks to make upon the wall, and the placement of the farmer in the fields shows where to knock." He points to the bent worker digging with his hoe. "The farmer is located in the middle, so that means you must tap the wall directly behind the urn. If he was at the beginning or end, it would be left or right of the vase."

"I'm impressed that you could discern all that from watching some servants enter and exit."

"The servants are to be hidden. They never do it in public, but I'm sneakier." Sokka replies dryly, "I'm glad you have such strong faith in your bro."

"More like skeptical optimism." Katara pushes her brother toward the secret entrance. "I'm getting nervous that we're inviting someone to find us." The palace has a decided air of being quiet and settled, but Katara feels a mounting sense of dread at what they are attempting.

Taking one more careful look down the hallway, Sokka jerks his head toward the passageway. "You're right, let's get in there before someone notices us mucking about."

The two siblings enter the dark hallway. The door slides shut as soon as they are both inside. The hallway is completely black. Katara begins to panic, but the moment of utter darkness is chased away with the blinking of soft lights. There are no obvious lanterns, and yet the hallway is plainly lit.

Sokka leads them down a hallway which is the seemingly only the width of their shoulders. It is impossible to think that servants could fit trays of food or anything beyond a slender person through the secret passageway. Yet, when Katara begins to stick out her arms, the hallway immediately accommodates her enlarged action.

"Sokka, did you see that?" Katara gasps, watching in amazement as she brings in her arms the hallway shrinks back to shoulder width.

"Katara, be serious and pay attention." Sokka pretends to be annoyed, but was as surprised as his sister about the mysterious mechanics of the passage the first time he had ventured down the dark hallway.

A general glow ahead starts small, but grows as they near it. Sokka pauses, holding back his arm. Katara tries to peak over her brother's shoulder and can get a tiny glimpse of a series of lockers. Sudden voices have Sokka whip his head around and pointedly glare at Katara to not stir. She returns his fierce look with one that clearly states she isn't a complete seal-otter baby. She thinks moodily to herself that if she didn't have her own sneaky ways she wouldn't have gotten any secret helpings of Gran Gran's famous chocolate cream dessert.

A gruff voice became clearer. "Did you make it to Madame's Fire Sprites last evening?"

"Make it," a nasal male voice replied, "I spent all my allotment there, but it was worth it. I paid a mint but got into the room of the seven veils."

A swift-intake of surprise, "That is only reserved for the prestigious levels. What was it like?"

"I was placed in my own box and seven curtains began to move. It was like they were fire flames darting here and there. A heat began within me, something I can presume only the most skilled of firebenders experience. Slowly a veil was lifted allowing a further glimpse of her. I could only pay for one to be lifted, but it was still worth every penny to see her writhing and dancing before me."

"How can you be sure it was a her? There are shims in the lower city."

"No shim could possess those curves. The fire sprite would dance closer. The material ran against her like it wasn't even there, but a mere film of flame. She caressed her nipples till they were so pert that I thought I would grow mad from being so hard."

The gruff voice seemed to almost groan out his question. "Did you touch yourself?"

"I strained and was desperate to stroke myself, especially when she pleasured her lower regions. Her head was thrown back in such ecstasy. It was agony, but it was expressly forbidden." Nasal voice dips and both Katara and Sokka lean in closer. "There are eyes and ear everywhere." Both siblings press back into the shadows, guilt and fear cloaking them again. The nasal voice wheezes, "It will take me two cycles, but I will go again. It was worth every fire farthing."

"I will save my money and go home, plowing my wife extra hard tonight instead. I often pretend there is a veil over her face." Both voices guffaw loudly in unison. "Come on, shift change, soon."

After the footsteps recede, Sokka peers out carefully, stepping toward a line of lockers. He looks about and then motions to Katara to join him by a locker. He leans in closely and listens while picking the lock.

"Sokka, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting us some clothes. We can't wear our Southern Tribe clothes and exit without alerting everyone." Sokka's fingers nimbly open the lock, and the door swings open.

Katara hisses, "We can't steal someone else's clothes either." Gran Gran admonishes a sing-song chastisement within Katara about how foolish it was to even attempt this exploit.

"We aren't stealing. We're borrowing. Besides, we will be back before these people will miss them " Sokka reaches into the locker and grabs some clothes. He inspects them, tosses a shirt to Katara. "Put this on. The shift change has happened. People are expected to be at that their stations already." Sokka takes the jacket, threading his arms into the sleeves. "Come on, take off your dress and put on that shirt. We don't have all day. We will be late for change through."

"I don't have any pants to wear?"

As Sokka crams the hat on his head, he motions for Katara to get dressed. "Your pantaloons are boring enough to not bring any attention."

"What am I suppose to do with my dress?" Katara lifts up her dress and inspects her leggings self consciously. She always thought they were quite pretty.

Sokka rolls his eyes and tries to maintain his temper. "Use it to wrap your hair. Those hair loopies give you away as being not Fire Nation."

Katara touches her braids with a frown and mumbles, "It's my best dress. It will get all wrinkly."

Sokka grins. "It is still your best dress, just on your head."

Katara glares at him and begins to yank her shift over her head. She quickly puts on the shirt. The fear over potentially getting caught in only her bindings, make her fingers nimble with dressing. She gulps and tries to avoid the sick feeling in her stomach at taking her best dress and tying it into knots as she makes a head-wrapping.

Sokka closes the locker. "We're not out in the clear yet."

Katara follows her brother from the locker area to a massive hallway. It is a teaming thoroughfare. Servants are rushing quickly back and forth, transporting all manner of items. The temperature is significantly higher than the inner room. Katara's senses are extra sensitive. Smells barrage her; she can almost taste a variety of spices upon her tongue as a huge tray of food glides past her. She narrowly misses colliding with it. Everyone is a moving blur. Yet, her body feels sluggish, except for her senses. Her ears ring with a cacophony of sounds and conversations snatch in and out of comprehension. The combined effects of being bombarded make her feel almost dizzy.

Sokka beckons Katara to follow him. They rush down the transport alley. Sokka is focused upon a laundry cart being pushed toward the main exit. He had brought along a supply of materials. His father had taught him to always be wary of outsiders. Knowing the perils that could await Sokka's family in Imperial City, he wanted to make sure he was ready for anything. Reaching into his pocket, he tosses a small object at the heels of the servant. Tribesmen often toss a slug ball, upon contact, it explodes silently and instantly induces a person to slip and fall.

Running up to the tripped servant, Sokka reaches into his pocket again. Removing his hand, he rubs his thumb and index finger together.

"Let me help you." Sokka quickly swipes his two fingers across the man's brows and under his nose. The ointment is a favorite device, derived from the Saxifrage bloom. Like many things from the tundra, it can be utilized in a variety of ways. The flower can be crushed through a press and the oil seeping out between the wooden boards is collected, boiled down and made into a concentrated sleeping draught.

"You look hot," Sokka carries the limping servant toward the side wall.

"Thank you," slurs from the drooping mouth of the swiftly becoming unconscious servant.

Sokka indicates that Katara should hop into the laundry cart. She jumps in and hides beneath the stack of dirty linens. There is a musty smell that immediately assails her. She pushes down her nausea and calms her senses. The cart and herself lurch forward. Katara braces herself against the cart's walls and prays to Yue they make it out without discovery.

The laundry cart was pushed through a tunnel. Sokka was normally quick witted, but he was always extra insightful whenever he entered the main alley of the servant's wing. He knew exactly what to do as soon as he saw the laundry cart. He hadn't wanted to admit to Katara that he didn't have a plan, beyond knowing the location of the passageway.

As Sokka neared the exit, the air seemed more fluid. His brain didn't have an extra speed of ingenuity flooding it. Catching up with the disappearing line of exiting servants, Sokka assumes a submissive attitude beneath the guards' careful gazes.

Shoulders stooped, Sokka maintains his gaze in the typical humble servant manner, downcast. His heart almost stopped in fear when a guard spontaneously inspected a servant's basket of wares in front of him. After the cursory examination, the servant was shoved beyond the gate with the helpful assist from the muzzle of the guard's rifle. Sokka hurried after the stumbling man and his basket, out of the last gate check-point.

It was relief when Sokka pushed the cart onto the cobble street and quickly turned down a side alley. He moved the cart behind a large fire-rose bush. Lifting up a clump of the dirty linens, Sokka pokes at his sister's bowed shoulder.

Katara glanced up from her huddled position with slight trepidation. "Are we safe?"

"Safe?" Sokka thought about all that could still go wrong, but refrained from mentioning it. "Yes, we made it beyond the walls." As he helped his sister out of the cart, Sokka hoped the rest of the evening would be without trouble and that he hadn't toyed with Tui and La's goodwill by playing fluid with Hakoda's directives.

"I can't believe we made it." Katara hugged her brother. "What should we do first?"

"Eat of course," Sokka's stomach concurs with the first item upon the itinerary. He pats his tight abs in promised encouragement.

Katara laughs, shaking her head. She is suddenly glad that she is spending this rare moment of true freedom with her brother. Together, they run toward the lights and sounds of the festival merriment.


A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. Leave the standard and most honored of payments in reviews, favorites or follows. I leave you now my sweet fans wherever you may be.