ZW 2015 Day 7: Maelstrom

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Sublimation

Sequel to Melancholy: When the whispers start, the whispers that she's as cold as the ice she came from, she finds that the little hole in her heart tears wider with each word.

They make do, just the two of them. After ten years of marriage, they've settled into a comfortable routine together, and she's managed to convince the cooks to try making sea prune stew and dried seal meat. Zuko has found space for a practice arena big enough for both of them in the east wing of the palace, stocked with enough water to flood it twice over. The people seem to be happy; the rebellions have wound down to little skirmishes on town borders and some colonial unrest, and Zuko has stopped visiting his father's cell late at night.

It's as idyllic as ruling a nation can be.

And, despite the little niggle in her heart when she sees the children chase one another down the roads on their way to school, or the babies strapped to their mothers when she sneaks down to the market, Katara is happy.

"Are you?" Zuko asks, struggling through a bowl of sea prunes.

"Of course," she says, a little too quickly.

He eyes her skeptically. "You'd tell me if you weren't."

She sips on some water, keeping her eyelids down. "I'm happy enough."

Zuko looks away and fiddles with his spoon.

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A thing that seemed so simple, so straightforward, is now a conversational minefield. There was a time when she tried to talk about all of the disadvantages of children, all the little annoyances, but she's long fallen silent. And really, it's not so bad being just the two of them. Really.

Except that as the years have passed, the noblemen's wives have started to whisper, to bring their daughters to the palace, to find excuses to introduce the daughters to the Fire Lord. They think she doesn't hear their little titters about Snow Queens and Ice Princesses, and well, the Fire Lord was betrothed to that Mai once, wasn't he? He has a type.

She wonders if he hears them too.

She wonders if he can feel the frustration build in her heart, one snide comment at a time, building to a tsunami. What happens if they never have a child? Katara can't bark that Zuko has been secretly working with a noble family on the matter of succession, a family ravaged by the costs of true nobility in wartime. Can't reassure them that there will be no civil war someday. She must not be attracted to him-that scar is awful. Those are the ones that burn her, make the vein in her forehead an angry purple line that makes her grateful for face powder.

"She's a coward," a woman mutters, twirling a chopstick in her hand at a formal state dinner, a state dinner Katara has painstakingly organized year after year to keep a finger on the pulse of things. "Water woman can't just close her eyes and do her duty."

Katara clenches her fingers around her soup spoon. Under the table, Zuko rests a warm palm on her thigh and squeezes gently. The room has gone quiet, and the woman flushes crimson when she realizes every eye in the room, wide and unblinking, is staring at her.

"Forgive me," she whimpers, jumping from her seat and throwing herself to the floor.

Zuko says nothing, only looks down at her with something bordering on resignation, and Katara realizes he does hear the whispers. And he believes them.

The thought sends all the frustration, the anger, the hurt, everything, surging out. Katara reaches for the water in the room, the drops of miso soup, the water, the sake, the little droplets in the flowers, and pulls it close to her in a muddy colored maelstrom. It hovers over the woman, not a drop escaping, and Katara's hands shake with either fury or strain.

"Run."

She does as she's told, but she's no match for the sweeping tide that follows her and deposits the sodden courtesan outside the room. Pulling the water back, Katara sweeps her robes behind her, not sparing a glance at the guests, and they do not see her again that night.

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Zuko approaches quietly, a little tentatively. "Katara?"

She rolls over in bed to face him, reaching out with one hand.

The mattress sinks a bit as he sits next to her. He brushes a few strands of hair away from her face, lightly, as if he hardly dares touch her. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Everything."

"It's not your fault."

"It was my decision not to have children. You're being punished because of me."

Katara sighs deeply. "It's still not your fault."

"Maybe we should?"

Katara stares at him and toys with the sheets. "Should what?"

"Have a child. I know I'm not the best person, all the time, and I know I've made some bad choices, and my family is full of terrible people, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It would have you."

This is too much, too much for one day, one week, one month. "Zuko."

He's staring at the sheets where she's worried them. "Yeah."

"Why are you saying this?"

He shifts a bit, pulling his legs up on the bed, and leans back against the headboard to stare at the ceiling. "You deserve to be a mother. You deserve to be respected and loved by my people. I'm holding you back."

Katara scoots closer to him to rest her head on his shoulder. "That's not a good enough reason, Zuko. If you don't want this, it's not fair to the child."

"This isn't fair to you."

She kisses his cheek. "It's too fresh now. Let's talk about it in the morning, okay?"

He looks down at her dubiously. "The Zian family might not be happy about it, anyway."

"You picked them because they're famous for being reasonable people. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"And if you don't want to, that's fine." He brushes his scar with one hand. "I understand."

Katara pulls him down to her and kisses him hard. "No you don't. I said we'll talk about it in the morning.

As long as she can manage not to throw water at anyone else, anyway.

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A/N: Thank you to all readers and reviewers. Appreciate you, as always. I'm told that Zuko deciding not to have children is impossible, which I respect, but there are plenty of examples in history when infertility has caused issues in royal lineages, so frankly, as long as they didn't tell anyone it was intentional, I think it could be gotten away with. I could be wrong though.