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Flamewater Rose: Arc 1, Chapter 2

A clattering of her dinner plate alerted Zuko that the girl was awake. He turned to face her, keeping the upper half of his face concealed in shadows.

"You know where the Avatar is. Why do you let him hurt you?" He asked.

"He's not, 'the Avatar.' He's my friend. If Zhao will do this to me, what do you think he will do to my friend?" she answered with a question.

"He'll kill you."

She sighed. "Maybe. Better me than A... my friend."

"He means that much to you?"

"He means that much to us all," she said quietly. "I'll do anything to keep them all safe."

"Even die?"

"There are worse things that Zhao can do to me than kill me. What are you in here for?"

"I'm asking the questions. Don't change the subject," he replied. His tone was tense and irritated. "Do you have a name, or should I keep calling you, 'water peasant?'"

"Katara."

It was a nice name. It suited her. It flowed off the tongue like a waterfall. It had a hard edge to it, a fierceness, as well. This girl was willing to die at Zhao's hands to protect her friends. For a moment, Zuko wondered at her loyalty. Her friends were her greatest weakness, and her strength. Without knowing it, she had claimed a very hard-won inch of respect in the Fire Prince's eyes.

"Why did you offer me your help?" he continued his questioning. His golden eyes scanned her form for additional hints to the mystery she presented.

"It seemed like the right thing to do," she whispered. She rolled over on her cot until her back was turned to him. She reached one hand around her neck and began absently rubbing a muscle at the base of her neck.

"The right thing to do," he scoffed, "I'm a firebender. You're Water Tribe. We're enemies. You don't help your enemies."

"We're both human," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "You don't deserve to be treated like an animal."

Here they were, a man and a woman, mortal enemies, forced into chains, forced to dress and go about all the other daily necessities with nothing but the shadows to hide themselves from each other and possibly other inmates in the brig, and she was concerned about his dignity? The mystery deepened.

"Why do you care?"

"I have to. If I stop caring, I stop being me, and he wins."

"Zhao?"

"Zhao. Prince Zuko. The Fire Lord. All of them. I can't let them win," she choked off a sob.

Her words stung. Why would he care if she stopped being herself? He didn't give a damn about Zhao, or the war, or her tribe, or the Avatar. He just wanted to be allowed to go home. To hell with her and pity. He laid down on his cot and closed his eyes.

He didn't speak to her again for nearly a week. The daily routine continued. After they woke, Zhao or one of his lieutenants would drag Katara out of her cell and keep her out until after the daily meal. When they returned, she would curl up in a ball on her cot for hours. If she slept at all, it was a fitful sleep, and more than once she called out in her sleep and woke up every resident of the brig.

She, on the other hand, offered every night to help him with his meal. An offer that he merely ignored, much like the rest of her presence. If she sobbed, he would continue meditating or roll over in his cot, giving her his back.

What was it about the Avatar that inspired such loyalty in the girl? She was willing to spend the rest of her days, however many there were, taking horrendously painful wounds for that boy. Some days, when she returned from her interrogations, she was unable to sit in certain positions, or lie on one side. A wistful part of him wondered, if he had known her two years ago, would things have been different? What would he give to have someone with no bond of blood so loyal to him?

In that moment, he hated the Avatar. Hated him for having her friendship. Hated him for having her loyalty.

Looking back on it all, he wondered how he could have not known. How he had been so blinded by the stories of his nation's honor and valor, that he couldn't have seen the truth. He had already once seen Zhao dishonor himself, but Zuko didn't realize the depths to which Admiral Zhao had sunk.

As always, Zhao entered Katara's cell with four other guards, right after she woke.

Zhao grabbed her roughly by the wrists and pulled a length of heavy twine from his coat pocket. Frantically, Katara glanced around to the other cells, the abject terror in her eyes obvious to anyone who was awake.

Zhao was visibly amused by her fear. "Now, now, water witch. Since you won't tell us in private where we can find the Avatar, maybe it's time we tried a new tactic."

Katara fixed her wide-eyed gaze on Zhao. He wrapped the twine around her wrists and pulled it tight. Zuko saw her wince and bite her lower lip as the twine cut into her wrists. Zhao tied the other end off to her cot.

"Maybe this time, we'll let your neighbors join in the fun," Zhao cackled.

"No..." Katara whispered.

Zuko couldn't believe his ears. Refused to believe his ears.

"What do you think, Prince Zuko?" Zhao sneered, "Would you like a go at her?"

Katara froze beneath Zhao's weight. She slowly turned her head to face Zuko.

"Zhao, you bastard. Where is your Fire Nation honor?" Zuko demanded. He strode forward into the shaft of light that cut through both of their cells from the doorway. He straightened his back to his full height, bringing his distinguishing scar into view, and glared down at the Admiral.

"Honor?" Zhao spat. "Who are you to speak to me of honor? Faithless. Exile. You have no stomach for war. Coward."

Zuko glanced down at Katara's face. Tears had already begun streaming down the sides of her face. Zuko wanted desperately to turn away, but the pleading in her eyes held him there. One by one, each guard Zhao had brought in took a turn at her. The only time she broke eye contact with Zuko was to scream in pain when some a new assault on her flesh was begun.

Zuko didn't know how long he stood there, leaning against the bars of the wall that divided them, holding her gaze. The wardens trailed their cruel laughter behind them as they exited the cell block. It was then that the catcalls began. The other inmates, vile as the ship's bilges, all of them, clattered their tin plates and tin cups against the bars of their cells, hollering obscenities and suggestions in Katara's direction.

She didn't hear any of them. She was crying herself to sleep. For once, Zuko was glad for the darkness, because he thought he might do the same.

Eyes. Glowing, yellow eyes surrounded her on all sides. Everywhere she turned, another pair stared back at her.

Weakling. Peasant.

The golden color of the eyes darkened, deepened to a burnished brown. Where disdain had once been, malice took its place.

Where is the Avatar? Give him to me!

She whirled around in terror and ran. She closed her eyes and fled blindly, her pace quickening with each new demand from the eyes surrounding her.

As suddenly as they started, the demands stopped. And, so did she. She chanced opening one eye to take in her surroundings. Only one pair of eyes remained. Golden and beautiful, they were right in front of her. Facing forward, they occupied nearly all of her vision.

Slowly, she opened the other eye and took a step closer. Wordless thoughts entered her mind with the ease of the tide flowing in and out. Safety. Comfort. Protection. She reached out to touch one of the brilliant orbs. When her fingertips made contact, the eyes disappeared like mist in the wind.

He hadn't moved by the time she awoke. She lay there on her cot for a few moments, only a few feet from one of her greatest enemies. She didn't need to confirm it. She'd spent an hour or more already focused on his face until she memorized every line of his scar, every fleck of gold in his eyes, trying to distance herself from what was being done to her body. It felt strange, owing this debt of gratitude to him. Despite the pain it caused him, he didn't abandon her when she needed him.

He stirred. He went from being completely asleep to completely awake in the space of a breath, and he was staring at her.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?" he asked. His voice sounded like it had aged a year overnight.

"For not turning away."

"They've been doing this all along?"

She didn't speak, she just nodded in reply.

"Can I ask you something?" he leaned a little closer to where her cot rested against the bars.

Again, she nodded.

"Would you," he paused, a moment of uncertainty flashed across his face. "Would you help me with my meal?"

"Why now?" she asked, puzzled by his sudden willingness to accept her help.

"Because, for right now, I don't want you to let me win."

Katara sat up, visibly shocked. Zuko, the insufferable, self-absorbed, pompous Prince of the Fire Nation was asking her for help. Then it sunk in what he had said. I don't want you to let me win, and her words from the week before echoed in her mind.

She nodded. "Thank you, again."

"No, don't thank me. We'll be even."

She climbed off the cot and crawled over to the corner nearest his cell door. Kneeling on both knees, she reached through the bars and grabbed his plate. Hand-over-hand, she brought the plate up until it was at chest level on her where she kneeled.

Zuko rose and walked over to stand opposite Katara on his side of the bars. He knelt on floor in front of her and placed his lips on the edge of the plate, eyeing her carefully. This must be grating on him, she thought. For a moment, she relished the knowledge that the great Prince Zuko was humbled before her. Gently, she tipped the plate toward him, allowing the slop that passed for prisoner food to slide into his mouth.

When she saw that he had a mouthful, she tipped the plate back and offered him the crust of bread he'd been given. He leaned in closer to her to take a bite. The hair on his head had grown out quite a bit. He still had his topknot, but what had once been a smooth, flawless scalp was producing a thick growth of black hair.

"What are you staring at?" he asked.

"I'm sorry. I'm just not used to seeing you with so much... hair," she apologized.

"Don't get used to it. As soon as I'm out of here, it's coming off."

"Why? You look more h..." she caught herself before she could say, "handsome."

"More what?" he narrowed his left eye, making his scar look even more menacing.

"Human. Less like Zhao."

Her answer must have satisfied him. He took another bite of bread. With his mouth full, he motioned to her to bring the plate back up to his lips. In silence, they continued until he had finished his meal.