A/N: I must mention the amazing piece of art coyotelemon made for this story! It's Prince Aang when he hijacked Azula's blue fire and I LOVE it!
Also, as always by beta, flameohotwife is the best! I could not do this without her!
Okay, now on to the repercussions…
….
Azula heard the crack of the whip and a muffled yell from Aang even before she pushed aside the heavy curtain leading to her father's throne room.
Once again the guards at the door did not stop her as she made to enter. However this time when she reached for the curtain, she almost wished that they would. Azula hesitated, not sure that she wanted to go in after all. Why? What was holding her back?
Another snap of the whip, another cry.
Azula entered.
Once inside the room, however, she hesitated again. The scene was not altogether new. She had seen Aang re-educated before. But it had been a long time. And she hadn't felt responsible for it before.
Not to mention how her feelings for Aang had changed since then…
Azula looked to see the burning throne blazing at the front of the room, her father standing atop it, pacing the edge of the dais just behind the flames. Azula observed the great dragon-carved pillars that stood in impeccable rows flanking the center of the room. On the foremost column, the one closest to the front near her father, was Aang, his hands shackled to a chain that fastened high up on the column, his exposed back left bare to the whip.
Azula tried to look away, instead focusing her eyes on her father, who prowled the burning edge of the dais like a tiger-eel, his fiery eyes pinned on the chained Avatar. Not all of Aang's re-education had taken place in the throne room, of course—the Firelord was much too busy to oversee all the little things Aang had needed to be punished for. But for grievous transgressions, Ozai had always required Aang to be brought here, to him. Azula had once wondered aloud why that was. "To have a more active part in his education," her father had answered, his voice paternal. Ozai had told her long ago that 'the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.' Was this his way of keeping his hand "on the cradle?"
Without her permission, Azula's eyes drifted back towards Aang. Although she could see that Aang's feet touched the ground, there was a lazy slackness to them, like he couldn't stand properly to bear his own weight. The limpness in his ankles meant that the entirety of his weight hung from his chained wrists. Aang's head dangled forward, like he had no strength to hold it upright.
Oh, Azula realized all at once, the tranquilizer. Aang's body must still be half-immobilized.
Another crack of the whip and Aang cried out again. Hm, Azula noted, it doesn't appear to dull the pain. For some unaccountable reason this bothered Azula.
To distract herself, Azula moved her eyes to the re-educator: a brutish man in black sleeveless clothes, agni kai armbands above his biceps emphasizing the thick muscles on his bare arms, a black mask covered his face. Azula's eyes dropped to the whip in the torturer's hand; it was made of tightly braided leather. Fire licked down the length of it, burning hot but not consuming the oiled hide.
Azula had once asked her father why they bothered with the physical whip, when any decent firebender could produce one of fire alone. Ozai had replied that fire whips caused wider, less restricted burns that were harder to treat and control, burns that could potentially inhibit movement from the resulting scars. The addition of the leather allowed for more precise burn stripes that could be more cleanly healed. He'd smiled then as he'd added that "the sharp cut of the leather whip also helps the message to… sink in more fully."
The whip cracked again and Aang's body jerked, a hiss of pain was pulled in through his teeth.
Azula's breath stopped. She didn't know why. She'd known what to expect when she'd come here. But somehow the sight of Aang hanging there stirred in her something.
Azula had felt pity before. Even benevolent mercy. But this was something else. A different emotion. Azula realized with unwelcome shock that she felt as though she was experiencing Aang's pain as her own.
It made her stomach churn. It made her want to scream for it to stop!
But of course she didn't.
Ozai nodded to the re-educator and the whip snapped again. Even from this distance Azula could see a new red lash open in the flesh of Aang's back. The once proud blue line of Aang's heritage was now further disrupted, slashed through. For some unaccountable reason the image distressed Azula. She wondered irrationally if perhaps they could pay someone to fix the line! To add more blue color to hide her actions… But she shook away the asinine thoughts almost as quickly as they had come; there was no reason to worry over Aang's barbaric tattoo (nor did she honestly believe that Aang would allow anyone to try to fix it). Regardless, the disquiet she felt over it bothered her.
Azula's ears were drawn toward Aang as he began to murmur something, words she didn't understand.
"Jīvanakō pēya titō ra mīṭhō cha…" Aang's mumbled words sounded garbled. He tried to lift his head, but it fell forward again bonelessly.
Azula realized that she still stood rooted to her spot at the throne room's entrance; she had not moved a muscle since walking through the curtain. She willed her legs to unmoor themselves and move forward, to bring herself towards the scene she'd been witnessing in frozen unease.
As Azula approached, she could hear more clearly the words Aang mumbled. But that didn't help her understand them any more clearly—"Tyasailē ma yō sabai"—he was speaking the Air Nomad tongue—"dhan'yavādakā sātha pi'unēchu." Whatever he was saying sounded like a chant. Or a prayer perhaps?
The words clearly agitated her father.
"Beat those bloody, heathen words out of him!" The Firelord commanded; the big man brought his whip up and obeyed.
Azula silently cursed Aang's stupidity; he had learned long ago not to speak that uncivilized language here! Why was he doing it now? In front of Father! But the answer came to her almost immediately. Aang's mind must be muddled by the tranquilizer drug! That would explain his uncharacteristic cries as well—the Avatar was usually far more stoic with his pain.
An unexpected and unwelcome dismay began to grow within Azula. The concern she felt for Aang unnerved her. She wasn't supposed to feel pity for him—he had betrayed her! And yet watching him suffer made her feel ill.
Azula continued her walk forward, but even keeping her eyes straight ahead she was unable to block out Aang's chant. "Jīvanakō pēya titō ra mīṭhō cha…" The string of incomprehensible words were only interrupted by moments of stuttered pain when the whip slashed anew.
Azula had thought she would revel in Aang's pain. That she would be glad of it, in the face of his betrayal!
But she wasn't.
The sight of him there, in pain, made her insides writhe. She felt… what? She didn't have the right word for it, but whatever the feeling was it made her desperate for it all to stop!
But Azula made sure to show none of that outwardly when she finally stopped before the Burning Throne. She made sure to keep her attention directed solely towards her father, who at last tore his angry eyes away from Aang to look at her when she addressed him.
"He's gone years without an incident! And now this!" her father burst out angrily. "This new insubordination is unforgivable! After all I've done for him!"
Azula understood her father's anger. She'd felt it too.
"To think that I'd planned to send him to the Earth Kingdom! The worthless traitor."
Concern at her father's words suddenly snapped Azula to attention, unease rising sharply within her.
Ozai continued, "That I had planned to make him a genuine member of the royal family!"
Azula's unease turned to dismay! Father was regretting their engagement! He planned to rescind his edict! And to no longer send Aang with her to the Earth Kingdom! Azula was about to lose Aang…
She simply could not let that happen!
"Not to cut the show off early," Azula said with dripping cynicism—the cynical tone a frantic attempt to mask her genuine dismay—"but I believe this bout of re-education might be unfounded."
"What?!" Ozai spat, his anger turning towards her. "The Avatar committed treason today!"
Azula made a show of examining her fingernails, trying to cover with outward apathy how genuinely shaken she was. "He failed the test. Yes. But there was no treason."
Ozai's brow furrowed. He then held a hasty hand up towards the re-educator, who lowered his whip. "Explain yourself, Azula," he commanded.
"I'm afraid this whole thing has gotten out of hand," she began. "With our wedding next week, and our departure for the Earth Kingdom scheduled for shortly after that, I wanted to test our dear Avatar. I wanted to see how he would fare out there in real combat."
Ozai's eyebrows pulled down in dark disapproval. "What do you mean?"
Azula's heart pounded. Her lie was quick and not as planned out as she would have preferred.
But she was an excellent liar.
"I wanted to see if he could win against a genuine threat, something more than just a spar with a handful of benders. Aang knew the fight was arranged. And I knew. But the soldiers didn't. I didn't want them to pull their punches, if you know what I mean."
Ozai's eyes flickered. Like he was caught between anger and approval. Ozai cared little for his subjects beyond how they could serve him, so Azula knew that concern for his soldiers during this little test would likely not be a factor in his judgement of her actions.
"Counselor Zhao mentioned nothing of this test when he brought the Avatar here today," Ozai said skeptically.
"He didn't know about it, of course," Azula said with nonchalance. "Zhao was part of the test, naturally. You know how he is, if he hadn't genuinely believed Aang was a threat, he never would have allowed the archers to 'try their best' against his favorite little pupil."
Ozai looked at her, his approval or condemnation of her alleged actions still pending. So Azula continued.
"And the Avatar did remarkably well. He was a true force to be reckoned with! You should have seen him, Father. He would have won…" Azula knew her father relished in Aang's abilities. So she was sure to highlight his power. She could see the glint of greed in her father's golden eyes.
"But alas, as I said, he ultimately failed…" Azula said, sighing in dramatic but disconnected disappointment. "The tribal girl stabbed the Avatar with a tranquilizer dart while his back was turned…" Azula laughed. "We should teach our dear Aang never to trust a triber."
A whimper came from Aang's limp, bloodied body. He tried to stand on his feet, but his knees gave way and he slunk heavily on the chains again. Azula tried to ignore how much she wanted to hurry to him, to get him down. She was unaccustomed to another's pain causing her this kind of discomfort. She felt an impatient twitch in her neck.
But Azula kept her eyes trained on her father. Father's verdict must come first. She knew that if he saw through her lie, or disapproved of her actions, the results could be disastrous for both her and Aang.
"Your actions were reckless, Azula," Ozai chastened. The long pause that followed these words made Azula feel like she was teetering on the edge of a deadly precipice, unsure if she would fall over the edge or not. "You should have cleared your wishes with me in advance. But I don't begrudge you your reasoning."
Azula breathed a silent sigh of relief. But her father continued, "Why then did Aang mention nothing of this to me when I questioned him?"
"The tranquilizer, Father," Azula interjected quickly. "The drug has left him barely able to move, let alone able to form any coherent defense for himself."
Ozai grunted in acceptance of her reasoning. The Firelord looked at the Avatar, his chosen son, for another long moment before he barked at the guards nearby to get him down. A terrible rush of relief broke within Azula when the guards released Aang's hands and propped his drooping body up on their shoulders.
"Take him to the physician straightaway," Ozai commanded. "The time is short, and there is still much for the Avatar to accomplish. We need him recovered as soon as possible if our plans are to proceed without delay."
The princess smiled knowing that she had been victorious again. Aang had been punished for his actions, but she would still be granted her desires. She hadn't been wrong to turn him over for re-education, and she hadn't been wrong to lie to Father either. Things could not have turned out better!
But Azula's triumph soured when she heard Aang groan on his way out. She tried not to look at him. Or at her father. Instead she worked to eliminate the gnawing disquiet that for some reason persisted inside of her.
Aang deserved this! She told herself. And yet her smile faltered. And Father could still trust her. Azula felt her conviction falter.
Azula was an excellent liar. But lying to herself?
All excellence has its limits.
…
"Come now, young Aang, drink this."
Aang heard Physician Yoroh's words through his own blaring pain. Although Aang's eyes were squeezed tight shut, he felt the old man bring a small bowl close to his lips, the herbal smell of it so familiar. Aang was in the familiar physician's wing. In his familiar room. With a familiar searing pain at his back. The familiarity of it all brought a resigned sigh to Aang's chest: he'd been a fool to think that his life would ever be much more than this.
Aang tried to lift himself up from where he lay face-down on the examination bed. He managed to move his arms up under his chest, but when he tried to lift himself he found his arms were not yet able to support his weight, and the movement pulled on his burned back torturously. Aang's forehead fell back onto the bed in defeat, his breathing labored from the heroic effort of simply holding his head up.
The physician tsked, and helped Aang turn on his side, bringing his hand around the back of Aang's head to support it while he helped him drink the contents of the bowl.
As he drank the medicine Aang glanced at the doctor; his lips were pressed together in a tight line. He disapproved. Aang had heard Physician Yoroh rail on the guards who had carried Aang in, berating and scolding them for Aang's current state (even though the doctor knew these guards were in no way culpable for it). Aang had heard Physician Yoroh mutter angry curses about archers and whips and Ozai as he bustled about the room gathering his supplies. His mutterings were punctuated by furious threats about what the doctor planned to do to those responsible.
But the threats were hollow, of course.
Because Aang had deserved this. It was his own fault that he found himself here with a back full of fresh stripes. No one else could really be blamed.
Aang had wanted to blame someone else—Azula, the Archers, Katara—but at the end of the day, he knew this had been his choice. Frankly he didn't know why he'd expected anything else, because fighting back always ended up with him back here.
Aang felt the familiar warmth from the medicine begin to spread throughout his limbs. He knew that soon the scalding pain in his back would dull to a manageable throb while the doctor went about stitching any deep lashes, and spreading his special salve onto all of them. But for now, Aang just counted his breaths while he waited for relief to come.
But he wasn't really sure if relief would come, this time. From the pain, sure. He was confident that Physician Yoroh could help his back to heal in time. But what about the other ways he'd been hurt? Aang was not sure that he would ever recover…
Aang quickly redirected his thoughts. He wasn't ready to face that pain. The pain of Katara…
So instead he turned his mind elsewhere. To Azula.
Azula had started all of this.
She'd commanded the archers to shoot Katara. For a moment Aang's heart lurched just as it had in that moment! Why?! Aang thought angrily. Why had Azula done that?
But his anger was doused almost as quickly as it had come. Realization came to Aang with chilling clarity, answering his own question. Deep shame replaced his anger, knowing that once again it was his fault. Wasn't he engaged to Azula? Wasn't he supposed to marry her next week? And still he had recklessly professed his love to another woman, right there in front of Azula! He'd thought she couldn't hear… but how stupid, how rash could he be?! He already knew what kind of person Azula was—that she was cruel and unyielding and decisive—so what had he expected?! Might as well expect a porcupine-badger not to sting if you pet it.
Aang lifted and dropped his head back onto the examination bed with a thud, as if he could knock some sense into his stupid head!
Then his mind turned to what Azula had said in the throne room during his 're-education'. Aang hadn't been strong enough to hold himself up, and although his thoughts had been muddled and cloudy, he had heard what she'd said. How she had lied to the Firelord. To protect him. Aang knew he had her to thank for the fact that he was no longer being beaten to a bloody pulp right now. The Firelord had been extraordinarily furious! And understandably so. Aang wasn't sure if perhaps he owed Azula for more than just a lighter punishment—he very well might owe her his life. Or at the very least, his freedom.
The thought of being dragged back to prison filled Aang's gut, as it always did, with a paralyzing fear. His hands struggled to rub at his newly raw wrists—he could still feel the cold metal chains cutting into the skin—but in this position prone on the bed, he couldn't get his hands together. So instead, the anxiety just filled him. He had to remind himself, over and over that he wasn't going back to prison. I'm still free. I'm still free. I'm still free.
But he didn't feel free.
The doctor ran a damp cloth across Aang's forehead soothingly. "Shhhh, my boy, it will be alright. The medicine will kick in soon. Deep breaths, son… no need to work yourself into a fret. I'll take care of this, like always…"
Physician Yoroh moved around the bed to better examine Aang's semi-turned back. "It's not so bad, Aang." Aang could tell the doctor was trying to sound optimistic for his sake. "Just two lashes deep enough to need stitching. The rest should heal nicely with the salve…"
But Aang wasn't thinking about his back. The medicine was kicking in—already he could feel his muscles begin to numb, almost as though they were detaching from him. He felt Physician Yoroh's hand touch him, but the touch felt muffled and far away. Aang felt little more than pricks as the good doctor began his work.
However, as the pain from Aang's lashing dulled, the true agony of what had happened seemed to only increase.
Of course Aang didn't regret saving Katara—he would do that again in a heartbeat, no matter the consequences to himself—but hadn't it been his fault she'd been targeted? Katara's connection to him is what had put her in danger in the first place. He'd been selfish; he never should have let her get close to him.
As though she ever really had, Aang thought bitterly. Turns out that had all been a lie anyway.
Aang squeezed his eyes shut against the memory.
But it didn't help. For when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Katara. Beautiful Katara with her hand stretched out towards him, her touch—a touch that had filled his soul with new joy, new hope—was now the sharp sting of a tranquilizer dart. He'd wanted to save her! To set her free and send her far away from here!
But in the end his efforts had earned him a stab in the back.
Now Aang knew that he had truly lost Katara. When he had gotten engaged Aang had lost the future with her that he'd hoped for; but at least he had been able to hold onto the hope that she still loved him. He'd believed that she still loved him. But now…
Katara tranquilizing him effectively killed any hope he had that she still cared for him now.
Aang felt tears burn in his eyes. He tried to fight them, blinking furiously, but still he felt two fat wet drops race down his face. Then more. A stifled sob shook him.
The doctor's practiced old hands paused their work.
"Come now, Aang, don't cry. It's not becoming. I've seen you manage through much worse."
Physician Yoroh's words gently chastised him, but Aang knew of the genuine kindness underneath. It was something the physician always tried to hide. Aang wondered why. Why would someone wish to hide the best part of themself?
But the question struck a more personal nerve. Because didn't he hide some of the best parts of himself as well?
Aang tried to gain control, but his tears still flowed. He couldn't stop them.
"I'll get you more medicine, Aang." The old man's hand brushed a stray hair out of Aang's eyes carefully. "It won't take more than a minute."
Aang heard the physician bark an impatient order to his assistant, to hurry back with more herbs. Aang turned his face away. He let the old man believe his tears were because of the pain. It was simpler that way.
But Aang knew his tears had nothing to do with the whipping. They were because of Katara. Because he had believed that she'd loved him back. But maybe that had been a lie all along.
"Would you like me to summon the waterbender?" Physician Yoroh asked quietly, his withered hand stroking Aang's neck tenderly. "Perhaps she could help you to heal quicker?" Aang recognized the humility it took for Physician Yoroh to offer this, and somewhere beyond the blaring betrayal in the forefront of his mind, Aang was touched that the doctor would humble himself for his sake.
For a brief, aching moment, Aang wanted nothing more than to agree to the physician's offer. He wanted nothing more than for Katara to come and heal him with her gentle, compassionate hands.
But Aang was sure that he could not accept.
Aang's thoughts turned to the monks. To a principle they had taught about hope. That it was a distraction.
Maybe Katara had done him a favor in destroying his hope. Because hope was not going to make his impending marriage disappear, nor give him the freedom to love who he wanted. Maybe he needed to focus on what his life was rather than what he wished it was.
Just as the medicine dulled his body to the pain, these thoughts began to numb his heart. Aang felt the tears suddenly dry in his eyes.
"No. Your methods are all I need right now, Physician Yoroh." Aang answered, a new detached steadiness in his voice. "They have healed me in the past, and I'm sure they will do so now. Thank you."
Aang took a deep breath and stashed the memory of Katara's betrayal away deep within him. He hid it away with the dead airbenders and the loss of his blissful childhood. He tucked it far away between the terror of waking up a murderer and Ozai's impending order to kill his banished son. Aang put Katara's betrayal there alongside all the other pain he was not strong enough to face.
"Jīvanakō pēya titō ra mīṭhō cha…"
"What?" Physician Yoroh asked confused.
Aang thought of the prayer he'd spoken in the throne room, words he hadn't uttered in years. The drink of life is bitter and sweet… It was a mantra the monks had chanted, a mantra of acceptance. So I will drink it all with thankfulness.
"Nothing," Aang answered. He opened his dry eyes and turned his head towards the physician. "I don't need more medicine. I'm fine now."
Physician Yoroh watched him carefully for a moment, before nodding slightly, and resuming his work on Aang's back. "Very well."
Aang closed his eyes again and concentrated on the numbed prick of Physician Yoroh's needle traveling in and out of the flesh on his back. Normally under these circumstances, Aang tried to think of anything else. But right now, he wanted to feel the pain. Because the physical pain of his injury was so much simpler, so much more straight forward.
It was pain he could deal with.
The drink of life is bitter and sweet… Aang chanted to himself in his mind.
If everything he ever tried to do to change his life always resulted with him here, face down on this examination table, then maybe he needed to work on acceptance instead.
… I will drink it all with thankfulness.
…
"It would appear that the topic of your life has been the hot debate today, Master Katara."
Katara sat on the edge of her bed in her cell, her back ramrod straight as she stared at the wall across from her. Her hands sat in her lap in chains—chains that had not been taken off since the incident yesterday. She purposely did not look at Zhao who stood leaning a shoulder casually on the bars of her cell, the carved wooden door that usually afforded her some privacy having been left open.
Katara was so sick with worry—about Aang, about Sokka—that she could hardly muster much passion for Zhao's taunt.
"Oh?" she asked absently, a bit of bite in her voice. "Did you discuss what to do with my life over lunch then?"
"No," Zhao answered with cutting wryness. "It was over tea."
Katara's stomach dropped. As much as she wanted to appear apathetic, Katara felt her face pale, and she swallowed thickly. It was terrifying to have the question of whether she lived or died solely in the hands of people who despised her.
Zhao waited outside the bars, saying nothing and letting Katara's apprehension grow.
Katara's pride wanted her to simply sit there stoic and silent, as though she couldn't care less what Zhao had to say. But she couldn't stand not knowing. "So did you come to a decision after just one cup? Or did it take two?"
"Three, actually." Zhao answered drolly as he started a small fire in his palm and watched the flame absently. "It was a long debate. It would appear that the Crown Princess is keen to have you executed."
Katara thought of the calm smile on Azula's red lips as the arrows had rained down, seeking to end Katara's life. A shiver of fear ran down Katara's straight spine.
"But luckily I intervened in your behalf," Zhao said magnanimously.
"How generous of you." Katara said sarcastically. "I'm sure it was all out of the goodness of your heart." She knew she ought to hold her tongue. This was no time to bite the hand that was keeping her alive.
"Tsk, tsk, waterbender. I'd be more careful with your tone. You owe me your life today." Zhao looked at her then, the light from his flame dancing devilishly on his smiling face. "I can think of a few ways you could show me… your appreciation."
"I'd rather die, Zhao." Katara growled through gritted teeth, eyes still trained on the wall straight ahead of her.
"That would not be hard to arrange," Zhao said flippantly, pushing off the wall and extinguishing his flame. "But for now, I am still in need of your services to finish training the Avatar."
What?! Katara's face finally snapped toward Zhao, dumbfounded. She could hardly believe that they would ever allow her to continue teaching Aang!
And this meant that…! That Aang was okay! Katara had literally been sick with worry about Aang; worried about what his actions—and hers—meant for him. She'd been unable to eat, unable to sleep beyond a few fretful, nightmare-plagued snippets; nightmares of a terrified Aang in chains that he could never rub off his arms.
Katara had only hoped that Aang's position, his value to the Firelord, had kept him safe. But the fearful anxiety she'd held for him the last twenty-four hours had been just barely short to full-blown panic. Abandoning all pretext of stoic apathy, Katara let out a tremendous shuddering sigh of relief and dropped her face into her shaking hands.
Waves of relief washed over her body. A spark of hope flashed in her heart at the possibility of being allowed to see Aang again! Even so, it was followed immediately by a guilty dread sinking deep into the pit of her insides. She had betrayed Aang after all. When he had offered to help her escape. What could she possibly say to him when she saw him?
"So Aang is… okay…?" She half told herself, half asked out loud.
Zhao chuckled. "You could say that. He's far better than he could have been, I assure you. I've given the Avatar the day off to… recover."
Katara looked sharply up at Zhao, understanding startling her like a hot lash. A sick churning in her stomach followed, making her grateful she hadn't been able to eat anything.
"What… what happened to him?" She both dreaded the answer and desperately needed to know.
"Nothing he didn't deserve." Katara could hear the cold anger in Zhao's voice. But Zhao's expression changed as he looked more closely at Katara. "Or maybe he didn't deserve it?"
Katara raised her eyebrows in question.
"Apparently, according to the princess, the Avatar wasn't fighting against us yesterday. Princess Azula has told the Firelord that the whole thing had been arranged, a farce to test the Avatar's abilities against our own soldiers. Princess Azula maintains that Aang had been in on the charade all along."
Katara's brow furrowed. There was no way that was true. She was positive that those arrows had been meant to kill; she'd seen how close they had come! It had been no farce. And Aang had been fighting for real—there was no way he had been acting!
"Ah," Zhao's voice intoned, "I see you don't believe that either. Well, that makes two of us then."
Katara tried to school her expression, annoyed at herself for letting her thoughts show so plainly on her face.
"But we must take our wins where we can, wouldn't you agree, Master Katara?" Zhao continued. "For it is much harder for the princess to insist on your death if the whole thing had been merely an elaborate exercise. Especially given your fabulous, show-stopping finale! Stabbing the Avatar when his back was turned!?"
Katara turned her attention back to the wall in front of her, wishing she could tune out Zhao's words. Words that struck her like blows.
But Zhao's infuriating drawl continued. "I must commend you—for having been dealt a losing hand, you played your cards astonishingly well! But poor Aang's look of utter betrayal was heart-wrenching, was it not?"
Katara's eyes stung, but she forced them to remain dry.
"I suppose that's what he deserves for being naive enough to trust a whore."
There was nothing Katara could say. So she continued to stare unseeing at the wall, her back straight and her heart breaking. Is that what Aang will have learned from her? That no one can be trusted? That all people will betray him in the end? That her love had been a lie…? The thoughts filled her with shame.
Zhao observed the silent Katara closely for another long moment, before continuing his discourse. "Well, it would appear that your actions have provided a very convincing illusion of you loyalties, enough to dispel any major doubts concerning you. However, I of course know your true motives. And luckily for you, I want you alive."
Katara's mind turned to Sokka, and the power this man held over him.
Zhao spoke again, "I've taken into account your actions, Master Katara, and they have earned your brother's continued anonymity; only I know of his connection to you. So for now, Sokka remains unharmed. I expect he will continue so, if…"—the small word loomed larger and larger in the suspended silence—"you do as I require."
Katara swallowed thickly. "And what is that?" She hated how small her voice sounded.
Zhao brought his face close to the bars, fire flaring in his eyes and his voice hard as flint. "I want the Avatar to become a full Waterbending Master by next week! Before his wedding! Do you understand me!?"
A week?! Katara's eyes blew wide at the absurdly short deadline! And also at the cold realization that nothing had changed—Aang would still be married next week as planned.
But she quickly steeled herself, gulping down her apprehension. She would do everything in her power to keep Sokka from harm. Aang was a quick learner—he was approaching master level already—perhaps he was even nearly there, if he would stop holding himself back?
She knew the lessons would be difficult. Not due to the teaching content. Just… being with Aang.
But she put those thoughts out of her mind, focussing instead on what she needed to do. On who she needed to protect.
"I'll do my best."
"Oh no," Zhao said, a chilling threat in his voice. "You will do better!"
And Katara knew that he was right. What other choice did she have?
…..