Title: Honor: The Ties That Bind
Author: XArienX
Rating: T(PG-13) for violence, blood and adult themes.
Summary: Almost twenty years have past since the Avatar and Fire Lord met in battle and since then radical changes have shaken the very foundations of the Avatar world. Aang and his friends have found themselves caught in this endless web of love, lust, politics and betrayal, whose end shall conclude the history books of a tumultuous era.
Disclaimer: This is the completely useless part of every fan-fiction. Obviously I don't own Avatar, otherwise I wouldn't have to write about it!
Author's Note: IMPORTANT !PLEASE READ! I am going out of my traditional style of writing by labeling each sub-part of the chapter. This episode is divided up into memories, and in order to keep confusion minimal, these divisions are past memories in chronological order. The beginning and end are the modern parts of the story.
Chapter 4: Survival
Blood again. The bitter tonic was familiar but hardly savored. Much like the working man grows accustom to the sweat on his brow, he accepted the vile liquid in his mouth as the familiar companion to an aching body.
The far-off hoots and hollers of the marauderous gang were already fading; their clamor became one with the hum of distant machines and ocean tides. A perpetual miasma of coal and brimstone, akin to the cigar smoke of the pubs, seeped its way into the man's lungs, only to be violently rejected by heaving muscles. His convulsing motions caused a broken bottle to roll from its owner's blackened fingers, a testimony to the meager comfort it had provided. Somewhere in the distance a lonely dog howled.
Previously rich boots showed the ware and tear of travel, stained with the mud of many lands. Fatigue overcame his normal wariness, like a solider laying down his arm for a moment's rest. But there would be no sleep for the weary. No matter how long he ran or to what shores he came, the Great War always followed. Its memory ever festered in peaceful hearts, with the stamina to last until every trace of recollection was destroyed. Ten years had faded the battle scars, not the wounds.
The moon scantily illuminated the man's dark visage, needing to overcome many a shadow in the vulgar surroundings. Even if that night's pale sliver of opaque had been lucky enough to overcome the daunting darkness, unruly tassels of hair created a trickier barrier for the celestial body. His nightly companion, she helplessly watched the violent theater of his life wax and wane.
With a particularly vehement throb, his soar muscles caused him to shift, finally allowing in the moon's counsel. The facial trademark which had coerced him into this sullied alley, and many others for that matter, was now thrust brazenly into the light.
Memory #1
Zuko limped away into the night, a characteristic exit to his plots. It was a deliberately slow process, as his path was littered with bodies; their corpses not yet disfigured beyond recognition. An ocean of rigor mortis stricken limbs seemed to momentarily reanimate and grasp at his receding ankles, vainly attempted to ferry his soul down with theirs.
Perhaps he should have succumb to their advances, should have joined his countrymen in their heroes' brigade toward the Spirit World.
He hadn't really thought beyond the delirious mission or about his role in the world after. In fact, Zuko had convinced himself that his life would be sacrificed within the process, a failure which left him in a position of complication. Then again, this was no different than his other failures, all of which left him in the same disillusion. He thought death in combat was the only other conceivable way to salvage his elusive honor. He no longer labored to gain his father's affections, those feeble hopes swept into the corners of darker nights. The void was filled instead by an insatiable lust to find some greater purpose, a value. Stripped of everything, name, birth rite, and title, the goal to retain the last of any identity never ceased to scourge a bloody path across his heart. He fought to be born and he would fight to the death, just like his mother had said. And somewhere along that path, greatness lay in wait. He was sure of it.
Zuko tore away from those hampering thoughts; right now they didn't matter. He just had to get as far away from here (and her) as possible.
Memory #2
Lizards didn't care what your status had been; trees showed no interest in politics. The sun was only a temporary companion and the moon usually hidden.
Nights were cold in the desert and days crippled by heat. Zuko's earlier despondency was soon replaced by the primal will to live. Time had ceased to exist, every passing landscape fading into the next. Faces and voices lost recognition as he became one with the parched earth and kin to the beasts at foot. It seemed so long ago since he had left the battle for power and become part of the battle for survival.
He knew there was where else to go, but his determined to exist was stronger then his idleness. Once again a cave became his shelter and the occasional cactus his quencher. When it rained, he left. He hated the rain.
Memory #3
On the horizon lay the distant glimmer of civilization, its foreign illumination drawing Zuko ever closer like a captivated moth flying blindly into the sun; unable to look away or turn his feet in the other direction. Something more selfish than human companionship compelled the fire within his blood and soul to reach that village. An indescribable and almost guttural impulse urged him to connect with the source of his enchantment. It was only when Zuko drew closer that the previously enthralling radiance took a more sinister hue.
Fire. The village had become a fury of flames and it was clear when his hand scraped a barely visible line across a soot covered marker that the inhabitants were in even great danger.
Fire benders balanced upon a hazardously fine line of control over fire; the slightest slip could mean the difference between power and peril. Zuko could attest first hand to the fickle fury of the element he controlled; he would probably be as bold as to say he knew its pain the most. Those who grasped their bending abilities well could wield almost unmatchable skill, but those who made mistakes, paid a hefty price.
As the flames continued to escalate and Zuko stepped through the faltering gates, he knew however, that the village contained no benders.
Almost in reaction to his entrance, a scream pierced the inferno's roaring crackle and an accompanying wave of heat nearly blistered Zuko's face. The image in front of him materialized all the horrors of many an unshakable nightmare. The Fire Nation seemed to be going up in flames.
Here and there Zuko caught the glimpse of a shadow or the crash of a window, but it was obvious that his arrival had been too late. Blood and bodies were illuminated by a supernatural aura, an occasionally moan distinguishing a faceless man's last breath of life from beaten bones. Crippled limbs and scraps of cloth stuck out oddly from fallen timber and corroding stone, while articles of possession cluttered door ways and back alleys. Now and then, Zuko was disturbed by the cave in of a building or snapping of structural supports. Eventually nothing but rubbish and ruin would be left of the once quaint civilization. As if embodying the massacre, a red sun backdrop set quickly into a starless night.
Whatever group of guerillas had committed this crime, their path of destruction viciously desecrated the meager town. An eerie stillness, unnerving and bone-chilling, swept down from the fluorescent sky, causing Zuko to feel the grappling fingers of death clutching his throat. Even if he had wanted to cry out, the psychological grasp muted his lips.
But the war was over! His mind screamed. It had ended ten years ago! Who was still killing? Zuko brimmed with an insuppressible rage at the sight of his countrymen so abused. Though he had abandoned their leader in the heat of battle, he had always remained loyal to the people. Zuko, like all Fire Nation citizens, had believed that fire was the superior element, that the Fire Nation was destined to rule over all others. They were the ultimate race, promised by legend, to conquer. Every child had read the scriptures, who would dare question the gods who had written them?
These hypocrisies, similar to so many other things in Zuko's life, were crushed with age. But old beliefs die hard. Like it or not, the villagers were his kin, his family, pieces of who he was. If Zuko had learned one thing in his life, it was to never forget yourself. The Fire Nation was Zuko, and Zuko was the Fire Nation. Both were being burned away that night.
The race which had once dominated nearly every corner of the globe was facing the retaliation of their rein. Genocide just happened to be the method of choice.
Zuko's careful stalk became a sprint when another scream shattered the silence. The echo's reverberation seemed to dislodge a gutter from the building overhead. Dodging the falling hazard, Zuko shielded his eyes from the shower of embers which proceeded to rain down. Only after their glow had faded did he behold the final slaughter.
A dark haired woman lay sprawled across the village square, her body twisted in unnatural manners. Her pale face was scarred with disfiguring burns and her ashen dress singed to tatters. Looming over her helpless body was a masked insurgent, his burly appearance betraying him as one from the Earth Kingdom. Hardly concealing his miner's garb, the fiend demoralized an otherwise beautiful melancholy watercolor. He was the perfect perpetrator to a tragic rice manuscript; a demonesque creature defiling a woman's beauty.
The ruffian was just about to strike, an already bloodied knife demanding one last draught, one last dip into her soft flesh…when Zuko struck. A hand to the kidney—another other to the head, the bewildered victim was given a fleeting opportunity to match eyes with his killer, before crumpling to the earth.
Instead of gratitude for his action, the trembling woman began to wail; she was unable to recognize the weather-worn prince as friend or foe. Already swimming toward her eyes' crimson edges, all she could do was flinch away from Zuko's lowering presence.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Zuko cooed, kneeling down. "I'm fire bender. They aren't coming back…I promise." His oddly cool hand brushed her burning cheek. She whimpered irrepressibly, busting anew into tears.
Attempting to sooth her conscience, Zuko lowered the encroaching flames and made ready a part of his sleeve for a sling. Her continuous refusal of his aid, however, hampered his efforts considerably, to the point of Zuko being forced to merely sit at her side, with his empty palms open. Unable to save the ailing woman from fate or convince her of his sincerity, Zuko found himself frustrated with her weakness and his helplessness. He wanted answers; he wanted some justification for the slaughter of innocent lives and she was the only survivor left. Without her dying testimony, an entire town would enter un-avenged into eternity.
Zuko winced at her growingly pitiful sobs, his face falling and previous thoughts erased.
Whether an illusion of the heat or a vision from his delirious mind, out of the corner of his eye, Zuko saw the woman's form begin to change. And a pale hand brushed his cheek.
"Do not despair my son," a melodic voice assured, "all will be healed one day."
"How?" A eight year old Zuko begged.
"When we learn how to love." Ebony hair covered the latest bruise.
"Does father love you?" Zuko's innocent eyes found the blackened blemish and his mother paused. She clasped his hand to her heart and smiled.
"All we have is each other Zuko, of course he does."
And then his mother was gone, replaced once again by the dying woman and the burning town.
"All we have is each other." Zuko whispered, finding the hazy eyes of his companion. It was then that he realized a hand was still at his face. It was the woman's. She was no longer crying, her features holding a placid calm where wrinkles had once furrowed.
"Stay…" she croaked suddenly, the effort apparent in the choke which followed the single word.
Showing a tenderness so unaccustomed of the usual charade he played, Zuko cupped her fingers in his, as if savoring her final gesture.
"…with me." She finished, he chest spasming at the release of two more words. Any more would have been too great an effort for her frail frame.
"I won't leave you." Zuko replied softly but firmly, his eyes set firmly upon her. He wouldn't have hesitated to give her any ounce of his life; to draw in her pain, and take it on himself.
Here was the fire goddess, right in front of him! Dangerous and stunning in her tragedy, Zuko believed he had never before seen a more beautiful creature. How could it be that something so immortal, so timeless, could meet its end? The Fire Nation was supposed to live on forever; it was suppose to see the end of all things wonderful! Why then was it dying? Had all things wonderful in the world rotted away? How could he believe that people could learn to love, when hate came easier?
A breeze descended down from the fiery sky, or perhaps up from the tumultuous earth; Zuko couldn't tell, but he knew what it meant. The woman ever so lightly, squeezed his hand, words of gratitude on her lips. She smiled a peaceful, regretless smile, so like the one he had once seen on his mother's face. The breeze whistled loudly past, rushing for a few instants past Zuko's ears, riffling up all the embers and flames into one last spiral of splendor, before it left as quickly as it had come.
Later, Zuko found her wedding sash, held tightly in her other fist; only the state of death was able to release the sacred object from the grasp of its owner. Zuko would never learn of the fate which had befallen her newly wed spouse, and he suspected he wouldn't. It must have seemed unfair that her last moments on earth were spent with him, rather than with her lover. But Zuko wouldn't forget her, or the village. They would remain a part of him to his dying day, and he swore to their avenge.
Wrapping the intricately embroidered cloth around his forehead, Zuko tied back his unruly black hair with the promise to never again let his eyes be clouded.
Memory #4
He came upon a poster that day in the forest. Only a simple piece of parchment really, plastered messily to a tree. A quick sketch was drawn upon it and a hefty reward for the capture of its subject, dead or alive. Zuko had seen them before; he had even watched his father issue them.
The only difference now was his own immobile face starring back at him, and the Avatar's signature at the bottom.
Memory #5
Frolicking flames danced out from the warm hearth, playing unabated on the shadows of his scar. They no longer mocked him and his shame, and instead bathed him in a halo of security. This comfortable chair before the fire had become his nightly retreat. The floor also serving him occasionally, the real attraction was the crackling fire. Drawn in by the light and heat, he was never haggled about his choice in location.
Glancing across the room, Zuko starred emotionlessly on a sleeping form whose breaths were ragged and heavy. Every once and a while, snores or snorts would erupt from the bed, accompanied by a shifting in position. He had grown accustom to these nightly noises but he never ceased to find it amusing.
It was a cold evening and snow had fallen the day before. His companion's blankets had floated down and bare shoulders shuddered involuntarily. Rising silently, Zuko padded across the room, his bare feet making prints in the dirt floor. Almost fatherly, he tucked the covers back over the sleeper's body, lingering for a moment, before returning to his perch by the fire.
It seemed so long ago since he had arrived at this doorstep and had taken up residence with its inhabitant. He remembered vividly the morning he had been caught in the garden, pockets and mouth brimming with whatever produce his hands could reap. It must have been quite comical to see a young man who was suppose to be the stealthy Blue Spirit, caught red handed by an elderly blind woman.
Whether it had been her forgiving soul, or his carefully placed words, the widow had allowed him to repent his thievery by tending to her chores. Zuko knew he could have left at any time. By gods, she was blind and nearly cripple with her white and wrinkled age. It was almost pathetic how much faith she put in him and how gratefully she greeted him each morning.
Nothing would have stopped him from leaving that night, vanishing into the snow along with any of her meager trinkets. Nothing…but him.
Zuko knew he needed this woman and she needed him: She needed help around her home and he needed a place to lay low. He needed food and she needed supplies from the town. She was the motherly figure he had lost in childhood, and he was the son she had lost to the war. They both needed each other's companionship.
Eventually Zuko would leave; but it would be spring and she would be tending to the flowers.
A loud crash summoned Zuko back from his day dreams, they alley, the foul smell, and the brutalities of reality all flooding back. He suddenly wished for more from his empty bottle, reluctant to the returning pain, but even less to the possibility of dozing into more memories.
He knew then it was too late to have accurately assessed the two men who now stood before him. They must have known the character of his nature, because they displayed a more cautious approach then the average bandit. It occurred to Zuko that they were dressed in red robes and that their faces were darkened by hoods. They meant business, and the already beaten man was going to have to listen to their proposal. He knew his strengths and weaknesses, which is why he didn't struggle when a cloak was pulled over his eyes.
A/N: I did not plan for this to be another cliff hanger! I actually split this and the next chapter from one manuscript. This means that Ch. 6 will be shorter but will be a definite continuation of what is happening here.
I also want to apologize for the looming confusion with all these cliffhangers and odd plot bunnies. I want to answer all of your questions and I want to clarify things, but I can't. Soon, soon is all I can say.
I'd like to thank Isaia for creating one of her 'older Zuko' fan arts, which I am trying to envision in some of the scenes. I would just like to thank her for being a phenomenal artist in bringing all of our imaginations to life.
Read, review and enjoy!
Arien