In Another Day and Age
Bloodied, exhausted, and heaving a dismembered body beside him, he wondered how much more he'd have to keep fighting the Water Tribe before he had his way.
Avoiding the severed hands, heads, and unidentifiable body parts of what remained of his soldiers, (of the enemy's soldiers?) he couldn't tell anymore—he carried the other last living soul with heaving pants, shaking knees, and a weakening back to the edge of the battlefield.
With many past battles ending in stalemates, both sides' forces were near to diminished; the higher ranking officers themselves currently taking part in the physical battles. How, of all the other nations, the peaceful Water Tribe, their elemental opposition, would be the one to take control of the rebellion against the Fire Nation's pursuits...and be good at it, was a turn of events no one expected.
Sure they had the advantages of the Avatar at their disposal, but he was at least century old by now, no longer as able and agile to partake in the current battles as he had had in the past. For now, until the current one died, (perhaps he already did and word is being hidden from the Fire Nation?) and the new one born and old enough to learn the elements and take on the responsibilities, (at least 16 years to go), the Water Tribe would have to wait for the most advantageous ally—a Water-elemented Avatar.
Current plan? Defeat the Water Tribe within this such a time span before all future attempts are futile with the new Avatar. How well was it working?
Both sides have suffered severe casualties; leaders and officers are cycled through and replaced from assassinations, suicides, ambushes, traitors, and in the Fire Nation's case, inner civil warring. There was no end.
What one did on the battlefield—fighting to stay alive—one also did on the very streets of one's familiar hometown, now unfamiliar with the forts, ditches, and readily-accessible weapons sold as much of a staple as milk and eggs.
He wanted it to end; he wanted it to be over. But countless meetings, meditations and advisors all came to the same conclusion: defeat them as soon as possible; there is no other alternative; peace is out of the question; think of the millions already sent to the Sun above; end it soon, our people will be safe, the civil war i should /i end.
He had no escape.
The countless battles he fought beside his soldiers "for the cause" were blending together. He no longer remembered their names, of who lived, of who died, of who ran off in cowardly fear: he just knew that at the end of every single one, he suffered the pain of living on when all others died, the pain of yet another victory or loss... "for the cause," when no one else would be left to witness it.
And lo and behold; that last line has proven true, for here in his very arms the other survivor slipped out of the reaches of consciousness, of the nightmare, of the living hell. What a lucky soul.
With no provisions, no men, no idea of where he was—perhaps he was close to the same and blessed fate as well? Giving in to his fatigue and exhaustion, he took comfort in the earth's comforting bed, grass and soil, as he forgot his troubles: everything, hoping to be set free.
And he slept.
And when he opened his eyes, he was granted that which he had been seeking for so long, for there in front of him stood an otherworldly being: a goddess. A glowing and forgiving goddess looked down upon him with open arms. He allowed himself to sink into them, leaving behind everything connected to such a world.
Little to his knowledge, for he slipped in and out of consciousness, a merciful Healer cared for him, dressed his wounds, gave him shelter. She could be killed for helping the enemy, but she was clever enough to cover her tracks in every which way: even from the enemy, and the allies.
Caring for the sickly of her own people in the night; caring for the sickly of her own enemies in the day. Working tirelessly, saving some, losing many. How she continued to have hope, how she continued to press on unhindered by the many complications of her efforts, was unknown.
These are what the other Fire Nation soldiers told Zuko when he came to consciousness in an unfamiliar tent, in an unfamiliar bed, accompanied with the unfamiliar feeling of safety and ... tranquility.
And sure enough, the goddess returned to visit him, only in human form as the merciful Healer. She healed him with some mysterious waterbending techniques, she fed and bathed him: she allowed him to partake in the company of the other wounded soldiers when she finished.
Truly, a blessed goddess in human form.
The men forever spoke of her beauty, of her peace of mind, of her history. Rumor had it that she was actually the daughter of the current Water Tribe's chief-in-command one said. Another, distraught by such news, wondered if perhaps she was part of a sick joke to heal and complete them—only to turn them in for more tortuous and vicious Water Tribe generals seeking information.
He disagreed with that.
With such information, the men became uneasy. With every daily visit of the healer, all expected her to be accompanied with warriors, with weapons, with a new drink full of poison, perhaps. All held their breaths in silence during her ministrations until her departure—silent as she came.
Her silence to them began to raise their suspicions. They began plotting in the night of possible ways to overpower her should the necessity rise. Some plans, understandably, were cruel. Some would feign sickness long after their health returned to watch over the more sickly. Some would practice their bending in the late hours of the night for "just in case" purposes. The other ideas, surely, don't deserve mentioning.
He didn't like it.
The days wore on; their nerves unsettled and completely filled with venomous tales and lies of her plans with them. New wounded soldiers would join them, their minds were easily filled with the suspicions. The lies were becoming part of their daily routines. More plotting. More planning. More...pain.
Was he the only one who had been healed?
Of course they asked the input of the current Fire Lord. Of course they asked what he'd approve, what he'd disapprove. But one could not disagree with so many willingly murderous hearts and hope to live till the next day—Fire Lord or not. He was well aware of the many Fire Lord's before him who were killed under eye brow-raising circumstances: in their sleep, in the barracks, in the baths...all inside jobs. The newly promoted Fire Lords would assure all that the freshly murdered Fire Lord's death would be avenged, that it was all due to some undetected Water Tribe assassins, that all would be safe with their reign...until they made the same mistake.
He went along with their plans, commenting little, approving a lot. He allowed them to do the talking, the planning...the everything. But honestly, he did not want to return to the same life, to the same world. He thought the goddess had saved him from it. And for a brief and blissful few days, she had. But his men were incurable. Their conspiracies insatiable. Her life: in danger.
It was clear what he had to do.
Whether she considered he himself a part of the plans after he filled her in, she never let on. In fact, she still remained silent, never saying so much as a sound. For the many days she cared for them all, she had never spoke a word. He began to think her mute.
But that wasn't important right now.
Stealing away the night before the planned day of the men's "preparations," he pulled her away. He wasn't sure where to go, or if any direction was better than another—he just knew to get as far away as possible from the tent. He just knew that he had to show thanks to the goddess who healed him one way or another. Perhaps in another day and age, in another lifetime, he could've considered alternate plans, happier plans, more thought-out and romanticized plans.
But this was the present. The present was hell. The present had no room for would-be's and happy endings.
It had no room for blessed and giving goddesses.
It had no room for now traitorous young Fire Lords falling for young goddesses.
When there isn't room, it is removed.
They don't know of their futures where she will be charged for treason; and he charged and executed for conspiring the downfall of his nation.
But they both had an inkling of the futures in store for them because of their decisions to save another. To help another. To help the enemy.
And somewhere in between the chaotic past and the doom-filled future, the two relished in the present with the joy of forgetting of it all. With the joy of being free at last. With the joy all instigating from one accidentally on-purpose kiss.
Perhaps in another day and age he said to her.
Perhaps, she replied...the first she's ever spoken to him; but in another day and age, not the last.
