….

Firelord Ozai looked down from his place on the highest level of the Avatar's training facility. The Avatar was sparring with a squad of eight benders: five fire, three earth. Although benders besides fire were harder to come by, Ozai prided himself on his resourcefulness. Prisoners from the other nations could all be persuaded; all that was needed was the right leverage (promises of worldly comforts, or to be spared tortures, or perhaps threats to a loved one?). His experience had shown him that all people had a price they were ultimately willing to accept.

The boy was something to behold — bending the elements as easily as if they were toys in the hands of a child.

Firelord Ozai smiled as he watched the Avatar bend — his movements fluid and effortless, and yet so powerful. Perhaps if Ozai had not known there was more — the god-like Avatar State — perhaps he could have been satisfied with the powerhouse Aang was already.

But Ozai was not satisfied. And as time wore on, the Rebellion became a larger nuisance, his bloody son even more of a thorn in his side than when he lived in the palace! Ozai lusted more than ever for the full power of the Avatar. With the power of the Avatar State, Ozai knew that he could simply send Aang in to fly down on the Rebellion and blow them all to nothingness. A force of nature, an act of god. And in so doing Ozai could finally be rid of his disgraced offspring. And Aang would solidify his place as Ozai's only son.

News of this kind of power would benefit the war on all fronts. It would crush the heathen nations. Ozai knew that when the Earth and Water Nations heard of the kind of devastation the Avatar could unleash in a moment, their final measly efforts to resist would fold.

The war would be won. One hundred percent. And the whole world would belong to Ozai.

As Ozai watched the Avatar easily blow an opponent off his feet he pondered on what was holding the boy back. Surely it was Aang's waterbending that was preventing him from accessing the Avatar State. Aang was already highly proficient in Earth (although getting there had taken far longer than what Ozai considered acceptable). And his Fire bending was exceptional. Only the cold fire – lightning bending – was outside his wheelhouse. (Of course that was intentional. Only a fool would teach a potential enemy all that he knew. Lightning would remain a closely guarded secret. A trump card if ever the boy were to forget his loyalties.)

Ozai leaned forward for a better view. Three opponents already lay on the ground, out of the fight. Currently the Avatar held off all three remaining firebenders together, batting their flames to the sides as he steadily moved closer to them with each redirection. The firebenders moved in tandem in an attempt to surround the Avatar, but once Aang was in the center of them, he slammed both fist into the ground, creating a simultaneous explosion of rock and air that flung them all forcefully backward.

Wind from the explosion ruffled Ozai's hair as he peered approvingly down at the fallen opponents. Ozai could hear one of the firebender's moans even from here. But he felt nothing for the man.

Incompetence deserved defeat.

Firelord Ozai watched carefully as one of the earthbenders took an opportunity to hurl a jagged bolder at the Avatar's turned back; but somehow the Avatar seemed to sense the stone flying through the air, and turned sideways just in time for the rock to skim past him a half-inch from his back. Ozai smiled minutely when, as though in one fluid motion, the Avatar followed this evasion with an immediate offensive, leaping toward the offending earthbender with a plume of fire funneling from his kick. The fire sent the brute stumbling backward, and a low sweeping air strike from the Avatar's leg broke the earthbender's foundation completely, sending him crashing down with an audible thwack. Internally, Ozai smiled in approval; impressed that even from this distance he could hear the man's skull strike rock.

For a moment, the Avatar wavered; he turned to face the rest of the arena, but then hesitated again, turning his gaze back toward the fallen earthbender. The man lay without moving. The Avatar made as though he would approach him, but he stopped himself, glancing up toward's Ozai's booth like a guilty child.

Ozai frowned.

In the boy's instance of hesitation, rock pulled upward suddenly from the ground grabbing the Avatar's right foot, cementing him to the floor. The last remaining earthbender began barraging the grounded Avatar with rocks. Although the boy dodged or broke most of the projectiles, the edge of a jagged stone clipped his head, opening a bleeding cut on his forehead. As his hand went up to cup the wound, another larger stone hit him in the back, bludgeoning him to the ground. The Avatar cried out as his leg twisted painfully in its stone shackle.

Ozai's frown deepened. The Avatar lacked in focus.

Power could never make up for weakness in character.

After a single dazed moment, the Avatar seemed to gather his wits and punched fire at the earthbender, sending the hulking man leaping to the side for cover. Aang lay back on the stone tiled floor and struck the ground at his sides forcefully with his fists. The entire sparring courtyard jumped with a tremendous jolt. The jolt sent everyone in the arena into the air for a long suspended moment, before they hit the ground with a resounding whack. Even Ozai had to grab hold of the arms of his gilded chair to keep from slipping out of it.

The stone fetter on the Avatar's foot crumbled, and he kicked out, defying gravity as his body turned a great arching backflip. Mid-flip the Avatar pulled water from the trenches flanking the arena and sent it crashing into the earthbender. As the Avatar floated lightly down onto one foot, he swept his arms crossing in front of his chest, making a punctuated fist at the end. The water around the struggling earthbender froze, locking him in place.

Firelord Ozai surveyed the arena – all the Avatar's opponents lay on the ground in various degrees of defeat. A flash of approval curved at the corner of Ozai's mouth as he observed the Avatar perching steadily on one leg in the middle of them. A stream of blood ran from the cut in his forehead, but the Avatar ignored it. The boy's hands made a wide sweep over his head before he exhaled, bringing his hands down his body to stop near his navel.

Yes. He was powerful.

Ozai's heart joyed to witness it! He had been wise to take the boy in, to make him his son. A son like this would bring him the glory he'd always sought.

But Ozai's satisfaction didn't last long. The Firelord's brows lowered as he watched the boy wipe blood out of his eye and then gingerly rest the toes of his raised foot on the ground. He tried to hobble forward, but cried out at the weight on his leg and fell to the ground. Ozai scowled. The Avatar tired, and failed, to force himself to stand one-footed again. By this time an aid had run to his side, to brace him. Together the two hobbled painfully out of view.

Ozai tsked in disgust, realizing the boy was now coddling an injury. This wouldn't do. There was no time to waste! He didn't want his Weapon injured!

Ozai half turned as he barked an order to Zhao who stood solicitously behind him.

"Fix him!"

…..

Katara picked up the scroll the Avatar had lent her, and began to read. Avatar Aang had since given her three more scrolls to borrow, but this first one was her favorite.

All of the scrolls were about waterbending, but only this one came from her own native South Pole. For no apparent reason, it had also included a folk-story at the end after the depictions of waterbending forms and instruction. Katara loved to study the drawings and descriptions of waterbending katas, but for some reason, she was always drawn back to the story at the end of this scroll.

The story was about a talented young warrior who sought to defeat all the great beasts of the arctic. He fought and killed the buffalo-wolf, the tigerlope, and the cunning seal-fox. He hunted the sabertooth moose-walrus, the polar bear-dog, the swift eel-shark. Against all these foes and more, he prevailed, bringing home their pelts with boasting instead of gratitude, with jeers rather than prayers of thanks for the lives he took.

The Spirit of the Great Black Mountain, Sednaka, was not pleased. She was the One who formed the animals of the arctic, had given them their names and the adaptations that let them live in the unforgiving climate of the deep south pole — the beaver-hare's warm color-changing coat, the penguin-otter's insulated skin, the bear-seal's water-proof fur. She gave all the animals what they needed to survive in the ice and snow.

One day when the warrior was out near the Black Mountain hunting, Sednaka had appeared to him and scolded him for his thankless killing. She did not begrudge him the meat he took home to his family and tribe, but she rebuked him for not thanking the animals for their sacrifice. And for wasting in the kill. The warrior sneered at the spirit, and boasted that he did not need to give thanks. For the animals had not given their lives, but he had taken them — by his skill as a warrior and hunter. The warrior boasted that he could kill any creature Sednaka could create. She warned him not to tempt her, but the warrior had laughed and challenged her to prove him wrong.

The following spring when the chill winter winds gave way to warmer breezes and the grasses again began to grow through the melting snow, a new insect began to appear among the warrior's tribe. It was a mosquito-cricket that jumped and bit. Before long the land was covered in them. They ate the grasses until there were no more, then it ate the village's food stores and the hides they used for tents. The village was forced to flee before the bug, but to no avail, for the mosquito-cricket had covered the land. The bite from the insect caused great welts to swell on the skin of the tribespeople, and brought sickness too. The warrior's mother, his brothers and his wife, all fell victim to the plague. When his young son died as well, the warrior's grief was full.

The warrior repented of his challenge to the Black Mountain Spirit, and he returned to the Black Mountain a broken man, begging Sednaka to take away the scouring insects, and to restore his family to him. At first his pleas fell on deaf ears, but at long last, Sednaka's heart stirred towards the grieving warrior. For he regretted his challenge to her, his pride and his thankless hunting.

Sednaka took pity on the warrior and his tribe, and sent great schools of horned frog-fish out of the deep to consume the rampant mosquito-crickets. And although Sednaka could not restore the warrior's family to him, she promised to give their souls rebirth in her creations.

From then on when the warrior hunted for food, he did so with great gravity in his heart, thanking his prey for the life it had given so that he and his fellow villagers could survive. He knew that any of the beasts he hunted could very well be the soul of his mother, his brothers, his wife, his son. No longer did the warrior hunt with boasting and waste.

The warrior's humility pleased Sednaka. As a balm for the warrior's sorrow, she formed the Aurora in the southern night skies. The shimmering waves of color acted as a reminder of the mercy the Mountain Spirit had extended. Every night the warrior would look to the skies and remember. Sometimes he could even see the smiles of his son in the ever-changing colors, knowing that his spirit lived on.

Katara sighed as she finished reading the scroll in her hands. She had heard portions of this story told when she was a child — she knew of Sednaka, the Black Mountain Spirit, and had heard of the Mosquito-cricket scourge — but she had not heard the warrior's story in full.

The men of her village had always given thanks to the soul of any prey they killed; it was one of her people's most important rites. This story added new depth to that practice — the idea that the souls of the animals could be your kin.

Katara thought of the departed souls of her people. Could it be that her mother now ran free across the tundra as a wild rein-bear? Or her Gran Gran swam the wide oceans, a orca-ray? Her friends flying free as arctic-finchcranes?

What would Sokka become? No. Not Sokka. He could never be anything but her dear, maddening older brother. Even now, she knew he could not be anything else. She had to believe that. Or all was for nothing.

Katara looked up at the sound of the outer door to her room being unlocked. She quickly rolled and tied the scroll, storing it safely in the small shelf above the desk as the elaborately carved inner door swung open.

A soldier entered her room, chains swinging with a clink in his left hand. Chains meant for her of course.

Katara crossed her arms defiantly. "I don't believe I'm scheduled to teach the Avatar until later this afternoon. You're disturbing my studies."

Which wasn't really true. To be honest, Katara was pretty tired of reading the four scrolls she had. Beyond the daily forms she practiced each morning in her room and her lessons with the Avatar, there was little to occupy Katara's active mind. Most of the time she did little more than stare out her barred window at the birds in the quaint little courtyard outside.

Of course, she also spent plenty of time imagining the ways she could escape from her "quarters." True, the room was comfortable, finely decorated and well lit. It was lavish for a prison cell, but it was a prison nonetheless — locked doors, bars on every window, guards stationed outside. Katara was far from free to come and go as she wished. In fact she never left this room without first being handcuffed in chains.

Katara was grateful, she supposed, that she didn't have to wear the cuffs inside her room. Nor while training the Avatar. She supposed things could be worse. What had she been expecting after all—when she'd shown up in the Fire Nation volunteering to teach the Avatar? Would Zuko have warned her not to come (if she had bothered to tell him she was going)? No, Katara was here for personal reasons, and the less Zuko knew about it the better. It was safer for everyone that way. Knowing too much could be a heavy burden.

The soldier jangled the chains. "Come on, don't make this difficult. Counselor Zhao has requested your presence." Katara recognized the solider as one who was frequently stationed outside her cell. He was young, and not unkind. But Katara was wary of anything Counselor Zhao was requesting.

"What does he want?" Katara didn't trust Zhao—his veiled threats and lecherous eyes still fresh in her mind.

The young soldier glanced over his shoulder at his fellow guards waiting outside her room and then lowered his voice. "Listen, I don't know, okay? I was just told to bring you to the Royal Physician's wing."

"The Royal Physician?"

"Yeah, something about the Avatar being hurt, or something." Katara's heart jolted in unbidden concern. The guard took another step forward, raising the chains. "Listen, I'm not really supposed to know. I'm just supposed to bring you there. So can I put these on you already?"

Katara lifted her hands compliantly, her mind a buzz. The Avatar had trained with her while injured in the past; this must be more serious or they would not make a fuss. As much as she didn't want to, Katara worried for the Avatar. She thought of his back full of scars, and wondered what kind of injury she would be asked to heal: an accident? or a punishment?

Katara was led the usual way, as though going to the Avatar's training arena, but instead of going left down into the gardens, they went strait to another building within the palace complex. The Physician's wing, she assumed.

As they entered the high-ceilinged outer vestibule Katara could hear a conversation around the corner, a somewhat heated conversation she judged by the adamant way the two men were attempting to yell in whispers.

"Six weeks is absolutely unacceptable!"

"I said six weeks at the least! It could easily take much longer—"

"There is no way the Avatar can be out of commission for so long!" Ah, Counselor Zhao is here, Katara noted, recognizing the arrogant sneer in his voice.

"Were you born yesterday, Counselor Zhao?! Bodies take time to heal—"

"Six weeks is way beyond what we can afford right now. The pressure is greater than it's ever been to—"

"He has a twist fracture! Broken in at least ten places! You can't expect to break him and then—"

"Don't you dare accuse me of being cavalier with the Avatar's safet—"

"I've been the boy's physician since he was twelve years old; don't you think I know what his body is capable of—"

At this point the two men were simply battling to speak over one another.

"The Avatar blundered during the fight. In front of the Firelord no less! His injury is due to his own—"

"Oh sure, blame the boy! I'm tired of cleaning up Ozai's sons when he burns them—"

"How DARE you?!"

"I've been here since long before Ozai was even born, Counselor. I delivered him for crying out loud! And his brother Iroh too. The Princess. Prince Zuko—"

"But if you think, that you can blaspheme against the Firelor—"

"Tell Ozai to touch that boy one more time and I will personally—"

Katara had wanted to hear more, but her solider escort walked her forward around the corner into the outer receiving room where the two men bickered. The two men saw her and stopped their conversation abruptly.

Katara recognized Counselor Zhao, of course, his large sideburns and puffed up chest hard to mistake. The other man was taller than Zhao, but slim, and very old. The man looked impeccably angular, like he'd been sharpened at the edges. And no part of him sharper than his alert golden eyes, which he turned on her immediately.

"Who is this?" the man asked crisply. "I am not seeing anyone else at the moment as I'm occupied with urgent Royal Family matters."

Zhao turned toward Katara with an overly friendly smile, faking amiability between him and her as he said loudly, "Ah, Master Katara! I'm delighted you could make it."

The Physician eyed Katara skeptically, his perceptive eyes noting her clothing, her skin, her chains.

"A Water Triber? Here? Why?" he asked Zhao flatly. Katara's eyes narrowed at the old man.

Zhao approached Katara, took the keys from the soldier and began unlocking her handcuffs. Overconfidence once more oozed from his voice as he addressed the Physician, "Master Katara is a master waterbender, Physician Yoroh. And a master of water healing, which I'm sure you are well aware can have some quite miraculous results."

Katara could see the Physician scowl behind Zhao. "No one treats the Avatar without my supervision!"

Zhao handed the soldier Katara's cuffs and turned back around to face the older man. "Then supervise away! Perhaps Master Katara can improve upon your six-week recovery estimate."

The old man glared daggers at Counselor Zhao for another minute before turning with a huff, leading Katara stiffly down the hallway. The Physician stopped at the end of the hall, out of ear-shot of Counselor Zhao. He spoke quietly, but coldly to Katara. "Avatar Aang is in no condition to be tampered with. If I suspect your heathen healing practices of causing him any additional harm, I will be sure to use every influence in my power to make sure your suffering becomes worse than his." Then with a duplicity only the aristocracy can manage, Physician Yoroh smiled amiably and entered the room on their left.

Katara scowled at his back, but followed him without further question.

Inside the dimmed room, the Avatar lay on his back, his right leg heavily bandaged and elevated. He had a white bandage above his left eye. When the two of them entered, he turned his face to toward them and smiled broadly.

"Doc!" the Avatar exclaimed, "You're back from your trip! Did you have a good holiday?"

The proper old man smiled slightly. "Yes, Aang, yes, yes. And how is your pain now?"

The Avatar snorted a very undignified laugh. "I don't feel a thing! Is my foot still there?"

The doctor looked soberly down at the Avatar's heavily bandaged leg. "Yes of course. Although I'm afraid I'll need to work on that leg to get things all straightened out."

The Avatar snorted again as though the doctor had told a funny joke. "Hehe… straightened out…"

Aang's deliriously medicated gaze swept lazily over to Katara, and he brightened as though he was just now noticing a dear friend. "Master Katara! You came! I knew you would come." A red blush rose to his cheeks, "At least I wanted you to come…"

Physician Yoroh spared an annoyed look her way.

"Uh… hi, Avatar Aang," Katara said, unsure how to respond to his bizarre, overly-friendly behavior.

The Avatar smiled at her and sighed wistfully. "You're pretty."

Katara blushed and shifted uncomfortably. Physician Yoroh cleared his throat. "You will have to forgive our Avatar at the moment, young lady. I have given him a large dose of medication for his pain. Some side-effects include delirium, compromised spacial awareness and a um… a loose tongue."

Aang smiled and nodded in agreement; Katara stifled a laugh.

Physician Yoroh took a seat near the Avatar's bandaged leg and carefully began removing the temporary bandages. The Avatar sucked air in through his teeth, "Oh! Yup. My leg is still there!" he winced painfully.

When the covering was removed, Katara sucked in her own breath: the Avatar's leg below the knee was one swollen discolored mess, the foot twisting unnaturally inward. Any idiot could see that it was horribly broken. Sweat broke out on the Avatar's face and his chest rose and fell in labored breaths.

The Physician cursed under his breath and barked to a woman standing nearby to get more medicine. Katara watched as the stiff old man then bent over Avatar Aang and gently stroked some stray hairs out of his face, his normally sharp features softening. "There, there young Aang. This too shall pass, this too shall pass." Another bark at an attendant to procure his tools. "This is no different; it always passes, my boy."

The attendant returned with a canvas roll full of medical tools that he quickly unrolled on a small table beside the bed. The woman returned with a mortar and pistil, crushing something in the small wooden bowl. "Here! Give it here," Physician Yoroh waved his hand impatiently. He took the mortar and tapped the contents into a small tea bowl of black liquid and stirred it deftly. He then carefully lifted the Avatar's head and helped him to drink the stuff. "This will help, Aang. Drink it all. There you go."

The Avatar was laid back, still breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut, the sheet gripped vice like in his blue-arrowed fists. For a time he seemed to concentrate all his efforts on his breaths. Eventually calm serenity came over his countenance.

The Doctor all the while busied himself with his tools. Katara looked at the tools and shuddered: sharp knives of various sizes, clamps, pliers, long strips of thin metal. Katara had no experience with this type of healing herself, but it didn't take much to imagine what the physician planned to do.

"Sir?"

The old man spared her no more than an irritated look.

"Sir?" she tried again. "I think I can help…"

"We have no need of inferior nations and their inferior medical practices here, Triber."

Katara bristled. But the Avatar's hand came up and gently touched the doctor on the arm. "Please, Doc. Let Master Katara see what she can do." Then with another drug-induced dopy smile at her he said, "Katara has magic hands…"

Katara wasn't quite sure why, but heat rose to her face, perhaps at the way that comment could be misinterpreted. The doctor looked at her with a judgmental narrowing of his golden eyes.

In response Katara lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. She was not going to let this old bigot shame her!

She walked over to the Avatar's leg and sat down where the doctor had sat earlier. She pulled water to her hands from a large wash basin in the corner of the room. Closing her eyes she brought her water-encased hands down to touch the Avatar's mangled leg. She heard him suck in another breath. The doctor protested but was cut off by the Avatar. "No. Just… agh!… just give her a minute…"

A glow. Warmth. A heavy exhale.

Katara could feel the angry heat from the damaged flesh begin to defuse, to siphon away. She could sense the bone shards inside quiver. But the damage was bad. This was going to take more time.

Katara opened her eyes and discarded the water back into the basin. Already, the Avatar's leg looked leaps and bounds better than before. But the flesh was still discolored and the strange twist in his ankle was still there. "I'm going to need more water," Katara said to the room at large. "And more time."

Glancing at Physician Yoroh, Katara was gratified to see open surprise in his golden eyes. "I'd heard," he murmured to himself, "but I'd never…"

Avatar Aang was smiling broadly at her, open admiration on his face. "See!" he said enthusiastically, "Isn't she amazing?!"

For the next several hours, Katara worked to heal the Avatar's leg. The doctor supervised her for some time, until, satisfied that her efforts were indeed helping, he excused himself. The medical aids came and went, bringing fresh water and clearing away the old. The Avatar slept.

Evening was approaching when Katara at last felt the last bone shards knit together inside the Avatar's ankle. She sighed and wiped her forehead, her body more tired than she had realized. As she began to stand up, Katara was surprised to feel the Avatar's warm hand on her arm. She hadn't realized he was awake. He sat up on the edge of the bed facing her. His eyes were dilated in the darkening room, but when he spoke his voice was clear, no slurred words or signs of delirium like before.

"Thank you, Master Katara. It really is a miracle what you can do." His words held a strong hint of envy.

Katara nodded. "Of course."

Avatar Aang looked down at the floor. "I wish that I could learn it. I don't know why… I just can't seem to."

"Not every waterbender can heal," Katara replied. "Perhaps it's just… outside your capabilities."

"Figures."

Katara cocked her head questioningly.

"The one thing I've seen that seems wholly good, something that could only be used to benefit people… that maybe could have changed things, if I'd been there…" He laughed once without mirth. "And I can't do it. I'm only really good at fighting, at destroying things."

Katara had seen the Avatar fight; and she couldn't deny that he was indeed good at it. Terrifyingly good at it.

It was scary to imagine him fighting against her people, against the rebellion. She didn't imagine that resistance could hold out long against him. Katara felt a familiar guilt expand in her chest; for she was helping to train this Weapon.

For a moment, like so many times before, Katara questioned her reasons for being here. Rebellions and conquest and honor all seemed so lofty. When at the end of the day, Katara knew that people ultimately made selfish choices. She had. And she prayed it would not all be for naught.

"Here," she said, scooting inward and reaching for the bandage on his forehead. "Let me help with that too." Bringing water to her hands, she held her palm over the cut on his forehead. A shimmering moment later, she felt new smooth skin under her palm.

He watched her soberly, his dark eyes somehow holding a depth of unmeasured years, defying his youth. She brought her hand down slowly, but didn't break his gaze.

"Being able to heal doesn't fix your problems." She found herself saying. "It all comes down to what choices you make."

Aang's eyes looked pained. "And what if you made a wrong choice?" He looked away, shame coloring his face. "Or if the choice is made for you?"

"I don't… Do you feel that you…?" Katara couldn't finish her questions. A heavy silence fell between them. Katara wanted to say something, to lift the thickness in the air; but she couldn't seem to form any thoughts.

Eventually Aang laughed lightly, breaking through the heaviness. "Listen to me! I must still have a drug-muddled head!" He laughed, but Katara could hear the lie in his words. He was sober, and they both knew it.

Just then the door opened and Counselor Zhao entered, Physician Yoroh right behind him. Katara and Aang both stood and faced them.

"Ah, Aang!" Counselor Zhao exclaimed, "It is relief to see you on your feet again! Looks like our dear waterbender has quite the healing touch!" Katara got the feeling that the praise was more for Physician Yoroh's ears than for hers. "It would appear that our six-week healing period was grossly overestimated." Katara saw the doctor scowl, but he said nothing.

Zhao clapped his hands together and turned toward the door. "Well Master Katara, it is getting late, we best be escorting you back to your apartment."

Avatar Aang asked her, "Do you live far from here?"

Zhao glanced at her. He looked uncomfortable.

"No. Not far." Katara replied evenly. "The Firelord has arranged accommodations for me just outside the palace gates."

"I hope it's comfortable?"

Katara thought of her prison cell. Zhao gave her a warning look. Katara smiled a bitter, fake smile. "It is. Quite."

"Maybe I could walk you home?" Aang asked, a nervous blush climbing up his cheeks. He turned towards Counselor Zhao and asked, "If that's okay with you, that is? I won't go anywhere else. It shouldn't take longer than a few minutes, right?"

Katara turned towards the Counselor as well, an amused smug smile on her face. "What do you think about that, Counselor Zhao?"

Zhao paused before answering, "I'm afraid, Aang, that that wouldn't be advisable. It's been a challenging day and you need your rest."

"I feel great—"

"Besides, you know your safety demands you don't leave Palace grounds unaccompanied."

"The guards could accompany us—"

Zhao cut him off definitively, "I said it's not advisable, Aang. End of story."

Katara watched the Avatar deflate and resign. She then followed Counselor Zhao out. Out and down the hall.

To where her chains awaited her.

…

"I know that I must look incredibly old to your eyes, young Aang," Physician Yoroh said after Master Katara and Counselor Zhao left. "But believe it or not, I remember what it was like to be young."

Aang looked questioning at the good doctor.

"What I mean, Aang, is that I can see that you are… enamored with the waterbender. She is quite lovely, in her own foreign way."

Aang sensed a "but" coming.

"But,"—there it was—"the… mixing of nations… is not right. Better to uphold the purity of our people."

Aang's brow lowered. "You do remember I'm not Fire Nation, right?"

Physician Yoroh looked at him sympathetically, as if sorry that some things couldn't be helped. "But you are in every way that counts, Aang."

Why did he say that like a consolation; as though it would be better? Aang was proud to be an Air Nomad. He just didn't know how to be one in this world, all alone.

Aang looked at the old doctor, this sharp old man who had always shown him extraordinary kindness. This man had treated his wounds from his first days in the palace—carefully spreading burn ointments of his own making on the whip stripes Aang had so frequently earned back then. And he had done so kindly (even if in his own brisk way); offering Aang comfort at a time when he was sure there simply wasn't any.

Aang knew it was possible to love someone, even if you hated what they believed.

"I'm feeling a bit tired, Physician Yoroh," Aang said. "Could I perhaps lay down here for a little while? Before I go back to my room?"

The old doctor smiled. "Yes of course, my boy. You rest and I will have someone accompany you home when you are ready."

The physician then dimmed the burning lamp lights with a wave of his hand and shut the door on his way out.

Aang waited several long moments listening to the old doctor's footsteps retreat, before he got up quickly and went to the window. Looking out he could see that his room opened over a small, peaceful courtyard down below. Above him was the red tiled rooftop, peaked at the edges in typical Fire Nation fashion. Making sure the coast was clear (in both the room and the courtyard) Aang hopped easily onto the windowsill. Then, with the help of a little airbending, he jump-ran from windowsill to windowsill until he reached the corner of the courtyard where he used the adjacent wall as a springboard to launch himself onto the rooftop.

He paused for a moment, listening if anyone had seen him. Then he was off, jumping lightly across the roof tiles to the front of the hospital wing. Once there, he swung himself under the peeked overhang.

Like many of the finer buildings in the Fire Nation, the vestibule of the hospital wing left an open space between the high vaulted ceiling and the outer walls, to allow for natural airflow in the hot and humid climate of Caldera City. Aang settled himself on a support beam outside and peeked over the top of the wall.

Below him he could see Counselor Zhao and Master Katara; they exchanged words, but Aang didn't hear exactly what was said. Then a soldier approached, with a length of chain in his hands.

Aang's eyes opened wide when he saw Master Katara extend her hands and the soldier lock metal cuffs onto her wrists! Wha—? Why was she?!

His first impulse was to jump down there, to tear the restraints off of Katara and demand an explanation! But he stopped himself mid-movement, noting the way Katara raised her hands to meet the chains; the way she squared her shoulders with dignity amidst her chains— this was not her first time. She's clearly worn these before. Many times before.

Master Katara was a prisoner. And she was used to it.

More than anything, Aang recognized himself in her.

Aang watched dumbfounded as Katara walked with the soldier, body erect and proud out the front door. Counselor Zhao watched her go, his eyes lingering lewdly on her backside.

Aang was stunned. He never expected… that Master Katara was… Even his brain didn't seem to know how to complete the thoughts.

Someone called Counselor Zhao's name and the man turned as Physician Yoroh approached. The two exchanged words (not particularly nice words, from what he could tell) and then the doctor motioned behind him to the hallway. Aang heard the words "Avatar" and "resting." Zhao's voice echoed upward "take him home" before he pushed past the old man toward the room Aang had been treated in.

Aang scrambled backward on the beam and swung himself onto the rooftop. With three great running leaps he launched himself to the back of the building and swung hastily back into his room. He landed on the floor inside the window just as Counselor Zhao opened the door.

"Ah, Aang. I'm glad to see you up. I'm here to accompany you back to the palace."

Aang worked to minimize his heavy breathing, flashing a charming smile. "Sure!"

Aang felt his right leg stiffened beneath him. Perhaps I'm expecting too much from this so-recently-injured body. Maybe I ought to leave leaping over buildings for tomorrow, he thought wryly.

Zhao noticed his stiffness. "That leg alright? I hope our dear Master Katara has done her work up to expectations. You have a full schedule tomorrow after all."

"It's fine." And answered hastily. "Master Katara is a miracle worker!"

An idea suddenly came to Aang and he was talking before he'd even stopped to question it. "You know, she's a… really pretty too." He glanced up at Counselor Zhao, noting his questioning eyebrow.

"Yes, I suppose she is…"

Lying was one of the few skills Aang had excelled at at the Air Temple that transferred well to his life here at the fire palace. Granted his lying before had been benign: efforts to cover for blatant naughty behavior at worst. Here, it was a basic skill for survival. But right now Aang decided to employ his lying skills for personal gain.

"I'd like to… you know, 'get to know her' a little better."

Zhao's brow lowered. "I don't know that that would be a good idea, Aang. She's your teacher. Things between you ought to remain a professional relationship."

As a kid here in the palace Aang had once asked if he could make a fruit pie. Counselor Zhao had thought it a tremendous waste of energy and time. He'd said it showed that Aang wasn't working hard enough on his fire bending, and, as a result, Aang had been given extra firebending classes each afternoon… A month later, Aang told Counselor Zhao that he needed to practice a high level airbending technique, one requiring a high degree of control and precision. He was afraid he might be losing the skill. He told Zhao that he needed certain ingredients and access to the kitchen to perform it. Zhao had made all the arrangements, and by the end of the day, Aang had stuffed himself silly on fruit pie.

Aang has learned not that he can't ask for things he might want, but that he must ask in a way that gives off the right impression.

"I desire her, Counselor," he said, letting innuendo coat his words.

To Aang's surprise, Counselor Zhao smiled. "Understandably, young pupil. But Aang, she is your waterbending master, someone to be respected." He said the last word like it had the opposite meaning.

Aang scoffed, being sure his false arrogance was firmly in place in his demeanor. "No need to keep up pretenses with me, Counselor. I already know she is a slave, just like all the rest of them."

Zhao's surprise was vivid. "How do you…? Who..?!"

Aang laughed, "I know some things, Counselor. I just don't see why her 'obligations' to me shouldn't... extend into... other arenas." As skilled a liar as Aang had become, it didn't stop this lie from tasting rancid. "I desire her. And I don't see any reason why I shouldn't have her."

Zhao chuckled, a sound that made Aang's insides writhe. "Yes she is beautiful. For a Tribal." The look on Zhao's face made Aang fairly certain that Zhao had considered Katara in this lewd way already. It made Aang's blood boil. But he held patient.

"You've always declined such 'services' in the past…" Zhao looked him over, seeming to evaluate the situation.

Aang knew that it was in Zhao's best interest to grant favors to Aang when he could; to have the Avatar in his debt was an excellent way to retain his loyalty.

"That was then," Aang said smoothly. "And this is now."

Counselor Zhao thought it over for another moment, before smiling widely. "Well, perhaps something can be arranged. Perhaps a little vigorous nighttime activity will leave you refreshed and ready to work harder the next day, eh?"

Zhao clapped Aang affectionately on the back and led him toward the door. "I'll see if I can arrange things for tomorrow evening."

Aang's stomach turned, but he put on his best smile.

"I can't wait."

…