Disclaimer: All rights belong to Nickelodeon, Bryan Konietzko, Michael Dante DiMartino, and all the men and women that created the A:TLA show, books, and comics. I take no credit, and I do not mean to break any copyright rules. This is simply a work of fiction made for enjoyment. No money is being made.
Rating: T for violence, character death, some implied scenes
Author's Note: This is a Viking AU inspired loosely off the book Sky in the Deep by Adrienne Young. There are some minor spoilers for the book, of course, but I hadn't read the book in a long time when I wrote this, so all I remembered was the vague plotline. Things are (finally) starting to heat up between Katara and Zuko...
804 AD - Norway
Katara feels her father's hand fall heavily on her shoulder as she kneels in the cold, hard dirt. They're at the edge of the village, just in front of the treeline, where all the carved stone memorials from their tribe stand. Around them, Katara is vaguely aware of other families paying respects to their dead.
Her hand reaches out, touches the inscribed runes spelling out her mother's name. She died when Katara was young, almost too young to remember her. Katara still feels the echoes of her loss.
She moves her fingers over to the second stone, tracing her brother's name. Sokka. He died exactly five years ago tomorrow. Katara still remembers the brutality of that day, grief and guilt rising up within her. She was his shield partner and she let him down.
"You'll have your chance to avenge him," her father says, squeezing her shoulder.
Katara nods, though conflicting emotions swirl through her. Her anger isn't directed at the Brann Tribe, whose soldiers took the lives of her mother and Sokka; her anger is directed inwards, at herself, for failing to protect him.
She was too young to be on that battlefield. The Chief shouldn't have let her fight. There's a reason the age for going to war was fifteen. Katara was such a good fighter, the best her tribe had ever seen, that everyone was willing to overlook tradition. Although her skills may have been formidable, no thirteen year old is prepared for the horrors of battle.
Now it's time again. Katara follows her father back to their home, a one-room building with a curtain hanging on one side for her privacy. The young girl whose parents died in the same battle Sokka died in tends to their fire, her eyes filled to the brim with tears. She won't be old enough to fight until the next battle, but Katara knows she's worried about losing them, too. If she and her father die, the poor girl will be all alone again.
Katara knows she should say something, but her own bitterness and grief is making it impossible. She'd only make things worse. Instead, she sits on the cushions laid out on the floor and begins sharpening her sword. Sitting across from her, her father does the same with his axe.
It's a quiet evening dominated by the crackling of the fire. Between rubbing her leather armor and boots with oil and polishing her blade, she watches the shadows dance around the fire. They'll go to bed early tonight and wake up before the sun rises. The march to the Dele, where the traditional battle - the Ofre - is held every five years takes three hours. They'll arrive shortly after sunrise, where the Brann Tribe will be waiting for them.
She still has nightmares about the last Ofre. It was a hard and long winter and the snow was packed down overtop a layer of ice. She remembers men and women slipping around as they tried to fight, killed as easily by the elements as by blade. She remembers fighting near the deep gorge that splits the territories of the Brann Tribe and her tribe, the Vannis. Sokka had been struck and knocked down. He slid across the ice, towards the edge of the abyss. Katara remembers falling on her stomach and reaching out for him.
Their fingers had brushed and then Sokka fell, nothing except a bloody trail across the ice to show that he'd ever been there.
Katara stared in horror after him, but then warriors from the Brann Tribe converged and she was forced to fight for her life. By the end of the day, when the horns sounded and marked the end of the Ofre, Katara knew it was hopeless. Sokka may have survived his injuries, but he wouldn't have survived a fall into the Dele.
She doesn't know if she's ready to return to that cursed battleground. She understands the tradition and history of the Ofre. It's a necessary evil to keep their feuding tribes from raiding and invading each other the way they did for two hundred years before. Both tribes had been nearly destroyed when the Frykt Tribe came.
Even just thinking about the Frykt sends chills through Katara. It's been nearly two centuries since they've been seen, but the stories are still terrifying. They are said to be not quite human, living so far north where humans can barely survive. They came one night without warning and without a sound, killing and destroying without compassion or sense. The Brann and Vannis tribes had barely been able to repel them before they were completely annihilated. The chiefs and shamans at the time met and decided that the feud between them had to be tempered or else they'd risk being wiped out should the Frykt ever return.
And thus the Ofre was born. Every five years, all the warriors from each tribe meet at the Dele and fight each other for one day. There are no winners or losers, just the chance to earn glory and honor and sate the bloodlust of the tribes without risking complete destruction.
Although Katara understands the story, she can't quite reconcile it with her experience. The Ofre seems so wasteful to her. She's never had bloodlust. She hates the Brann because without them, her mother and brother would still be alive; and she fears them, because every year rumors abound that their chief is considering betraying the truce and invading them anyway. But neither of those things makes her want to slaughter a bunch of them every year.
It's a curse, she thinks, to be a good warrior who detests war. Everyone expects her to join in eagerly to prove herself. Katara doesn't want to prove herself by counting her kills and relating the stories of them. All she wants is to protect her people - and if that means participating in the Ofre, then it's a sacrifice she's willing to make.
Katara's father and the orphan girl go to sleep, curling up on mats and furs in front of the fireplace. Katara knows she won't be able to sleep, so she doesn't bother. Instead she mends by the fire, working through the pile of damaged clothing she's been putting off for weeks. It's an easy enough task that requires just enough of her focus to distract her mind. If she doesn't come back tomorrow, at least her father won't have to worry about fixing his own clothes.
When she finally finishes with the task, it's nearly time to wake her father. She wraps a blanket around her shoulders and steps outside. A cold breeze washes over her face, scattered snowflakes sticking to her hair.
It snowed overnight, Katara notes as she trudges through the white-dusted ground. She had hoped it wouldn't snow. The white blanket only accentuates the blood during the Ofre.
She comes to a stop a few paces away from her home and looks up at the sky. The stars stretch out overhead like snowflakes against the night. She closes her eyes, embracing the chill and peace that only the quiet of the night can provide.
She only has a few minutes before she hears her village waking up. She turns back to shake her own father awake. They dress in silence, strapping on leather armor over thick shirts and trousers. Her father doesn't say anything, just holds her arms and then draws her in for a tight embrace. There won't be time for goodbyes once they set out.
They eat hard rolls smeared with butter and cold cheese before joining the rest of the warriors in the village center. The chief walks around, checking to see if everyone is accounted for. A tense but excited undercurrent runs through the warriors. Some of them whisper to each other, stamping their feet in an effort to ward away the cold. Others are silent, hanging back and holding their weapons with white knuckles. A few others are praying.
Katara simply waits patiently, wanting this to be over with already. She's a little nervous, though not fearful. Relief sweeps through her once they start marching.
It starts snowing again and only increases the farther north they trek. By the time they reach the Dele, the dull winter sun just hanging in the air, visibility is nearly nonexistent. Except for upward flurries of wind, she can hardly see the person marching in front of her.
She hasn't yet decided whether it's a good or bad thing when they start to line up on their side of the gorge.
She only gets passing glimpses of the gorge as they wait, but it's still enough to bring back painful memories of watching her brother disappear. The gorge is deep and cuts across the boundary of their two tribal territories. A few wooden bridges have been built to span the divide, including a large one big enough for twenty men abreast and several smaller ones farther down.
Their army arranges itself with their greatest forces in front of that large bridge. Katara's position is along the left flank, near the farthest edge of their warriors. She's supposed to keep watch of the smaller bridges and keep a large group of Brann warriors from sneaking across and flanking their main force.
Both armies wait impatiently while their chiefs deliberate. The weather is less than ideal, but Katara knows it won't make a difference. The excitement is too high and the tradition is too important to delay.
Finally she hears the horn marking the beginning of the fight blare. She grips her sword tightly. It's not so much a sword as a long knife, but Katara never quite got the hang of the axes most of her tribesmen use and her archery skills are only passable.
Her heart races as the ground beneath her trembles, vibrations from both the thundering feet and the rumbling horns travelling through the ground and up into her soles. She repeats the mantra that has been stuck in her head her entire life, though she's not sure where it came from: There is no place for feelings on the battlefield.
Despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a calming, numbing sensation takes over.
A Brann warrior twice her size comes running across the bridge. She doesn't see him until he's nearly on top of her. Only her instincts save her as she throws herself to the ground and rolls, popping back up on his other side and stabbing her knife into his back. She twists it out as he falls and blocks the blade of the next Brann warrior.
Around her she can hear the sounds of fighting, muted strangely by the thick flakes of snow and flurries of wind blasting around them. Sometimes she catches glimpses of her fellow tribesmen and women running past her, battle cries upon their lips.
An hour into the frenzy, the wind picks up. It's nearly a blizzard now. Katara trips over bodies underneath her feet. She holds her shield in front of her, relying on defensive tactics. She remains by the bridges, not crossing over into Brann territory but also not straying too far. She hears a lot of panicked screams - men and women falling into the gorge. She wonders how many are walking straight into the abyss because they don't see it until it's too late.
Katara is at least sure that the casualties aren't going to be as high this year. She, at least, isn't killing as many as she did last year. It's hard to kill someone you can't see.
Then again, they could have a lot more casualties from accidental deaths.
The day passes slowly. Katara encounters a few more Brann warriors, but not many. Most seem disoriented. No one came to fight the elements.
Near the end of the day, the snow begins to clear. It happens in fits and starts until it eventually begins fading away. Everything is covered in a layer of white. Even the bodies on the ground are hard to see. Katara wades through calf-deep snow as she patrols the bridges. She's grateful that she'd reinforced the leather of her boots last night, else she'd have wet feet by now.
It's almost sunset when she sees him. She's looking across the gorge, preparing to head back to the main fray for the last few minutes of the Ofre when she catches sight of his dark hair and his bright blue eyes.
For a moment she thinks she's hallucinating. She must be. But when she squeezes her eyes shut and opens them again, he's still there, staring back at her. As soon as he realizes she's spotted him, he turns and runs deeper into Brann territory.
"Sokka!" Katara calls, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. She doesn't hesitate before giving chase, sprinting across the narrow wooden bridge that separates the territories and following him into the forest.
She's never crossed the bridge before. Most of the warriors from her tribe that do cross it for the fight don't go any farther than just beyond the bridge. Brann territory is dangerous and unknown, especially in weather like this.
Katara isn't thinking about any of that, though. She's busy chasing her dead brother's tracks, wondering how it's possible he survived when she saw him fall to his death and why he's on Brann territory.
"Sokka!" she shouts again when she catches a glimpse of his fleeing back. For a moment she fears that it's not really him - why else would he run away from her? Wouldn't he want to see her again?
Unless he blames her for his death.
When he hears her voice he stops in his tracks and turns around. She also stops, several paces away, the distance feeling like an eternity. Her heart pounds in her chest as they stare at each other.
"You're alive," she whispers. He looks different than she remembers - taller, more muscular, and wearing armor in the style of the Branns. His face is more angular and his hair has grown out a bit. But it's still undoubtedly him.
His eyebrows pull together. "You shouldn't be here," he says. "You need to go back."
"That's it?" Her shock drops, to be replaced by anger. "No explanation? Not even a greeting? No! I'm not going back without you!"
He shakes his head, a frantic look in his eyes. "I can't go back, Katara. It's complicated. You need to go, now, before it's too late."
She shakes her head, trying to ignore the sting of tears in the back of her eyes. "I'm not leaving you again. I did it once and it - " She chokes up. "I'm not doing it again. I'm your shield partner. It's my job to make sure you get home safe."
"You were my shield partner." Sokka's voice hardens. "I don't blame you, Katara, but things have changed. You need to go back for Dad."
"And what am I supposed to tell him? That I found you again and let you go? That I abandoned you to the Branns?"
"You won't tell him anything because it would break his heart." He hesitates, then adds, "The Branns aren't a threat to me anymore. I'm one of them now."
Katara's jaw drops. Her grip on her knife tightens. She's not sure she recognizes her brother anymore. It may be Sokka's body, but he isn't the same. The Sokka she knew would never betray their family and their tribe.
He would never betray her.
Anger rises up inside her in a wave. He may have given up on them, but she hasn't given up on him. She's going to bring him back home even if she has to drag him by the ear.
She tilts her head, raises her knife. "I wish it didn't have to be this way," she says. "You'll thank me later."
Sokka's eyes widen as she lunges, crossing the distance between them in a couple wide bounds and tackling him to the ground. They roll a few times through the snow, grappling with frantic hands, trying to get a grip on each other's armor.
Katara ends up on top, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees. "I'm sorry," she says as she raises her fist, preparing to knock him out.
Sudden pain spikes across her back and she falls sideways with a wordless cry. Her cheek presses upon the hard-packed snow as she gasps for air. Each breath only draws another wave of agony.
"Katara!"
She feels Sokka sit up, reach out for her. From the corner of her eye, she can see him turn and say something to someone else. She doesn't comprehend what's being said; the pain in her back is consuming all her attention.
"Katara," Sokka says again, and he's shaking her lightly. She forces herself to look him in the eyes.
"You're killing me," she whispers.
Pain flashes across his face. "No, of course not! It was an accident. He didn't know who you were. He thought you were trying to kill me."
She's about to ask who he's talking about when a deep, rumbling noise splits the air. The horn, announcing the end of the Ofre.
Sokka looks over to the other person, who's out of Katara's line of sight, in panic. "We have to get her back over the gorge."
"There's not enough time," the second voice says. Something about it sounds distantly familiar. Katara doesn't have time to dwell on it.
"Just finish it," she hisses at Sokka.
"What? I'm not going to kill you!"
"You already have." She presses as much bitterness into her voice as possible and closes her eyes to stop the tears. She doesn't want him to see her cry. A traitor like him doesn't deserve it.
There is no place for feelings on the battlefield.
"Is she always this dramatic?" she hears the second voice ask, dripping with sarcasm.
"No. The Ofre brings out the worst in everyone." Sokka's hand presses against her arm. "Katara, I know you're in pain, but you can't lie here forever."
Just leave me, she thinks, but she doesn't have the strength or the willpower to say it. Sokka's betrayal hit her harder than any arrow ever could.
"If we take her back with us, they'll make her a slave," the second guy says.
"And if we leave her here, she'll die. We don't have a choice."
"If it were me, I'd rather be left to die than slapped in chains."
Sokka's voice is laced with frustration. "Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you shot her!"
"She was attacking you. As your brother and shieldmate, I couldn't stand by and do nothing. Or would you rather I bring Suki back your cold body?"
Sokka grumbles under his breath. Then, in a clear voice he says, "We'll figure something out. Let's make sure she survives first."
Katara's eyes blink open as she's pulled up from the cold ground. A fresh wave of pain rolls through her and she can't help the whimper that escapes. She hates herself for it.
"I'm going to get you back home," Sokka promises, touching the side of her face. "I promise."
She pulls back from him, her lips lifting in a snarl. After her mother died, Sokka and her father were all she had. And even as their father retreated into his own grief, it was just her and Sokka relying on each other to survive. She recalls a thousand good memories of running around the village with him, learning to fight with him, and always having his shoulder to cry on.
Then she remembers the grief she felt when she watched him fall. It was like losing a part of herself that she never recovered. She thought he was gone forever. It was a cruel reality, but far less cruel than learning the truth about what he's become.
"I don't want your promises," she replies, her voice cold steel. "I wish you had died that day."
Zuko keeps a close eye on Sokka as they march back to the main Brann village in the deepening twilight. His shoulders are hunched in and he keeps his gaze trained on the ground.
In the five years Zuko has known him, he's never witnessed him be silent for so long. There are many times when Zuko would have killed for him to shut up, but now he worries about him.
He quickens his pace to catch up with him. "You okay?" he asks, though he knows the answer.
"Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"
Zuko has no idea what to say. He's never officially met Sokka's sister. The first time he'd ever seen her was about an hour ago in the woods when he shot her in the back. His only impression of her is pain and anger.
Ironically, those are the two emotions Zuko knows best.
"Siblings can be...complicated," Zuko says. It's not an answer, not really, but he suspects Sokka's question was more rhetorical anyway.
"We were really close growing up. It must have killed her when she thought I died. She's the most caring and thoughtful person you'll ever meet. She feels responsible for everyone she cares about."
That is not the impression Zuko got, but he'll admit that it wasn't exactly a normal circumstance.
"I didn't think I'd see her. I thought she'd be in the main battle. She's one of our tribe's best warriors." Sokka catches himself. "One of my old tribe's best warriors."
Zuko doesn't fault him for the slip. Sokka's only been a part of the Brann tribe for five years now, since he saved Zuko's life at the bottom of the gorge after the last Ofre. He'd been adopted into Zuko's family and quickly adapted to his new tribe, even marrying a Brann girl a year ago. He never talked about his old life, and even Zuko had sometimes forgotten that he was originally their enemy.
Maybe that was their mistake. They all got so comfortable with him being one of them that they forgot he had another, previous life.
"Have you figured out what you're going to do with her?" Zuko looks over at him. "If you release her, they'll banish you - or even execute you as a traitor."
"No one knows we're related except for you," Sokka replies, lowering his voice so no one overhears. "I could make up a story, say she bested me and escaped."
Zuko shoots him a sideways glance. "You two look way too much alike. People will figure out the truth quickly. You shouldn't go anywhere near her."
Sokka frowns. They walk for a few minutes in silence. Then he raises his head, and his eyes sparkle with a look Zuko knows all too well.
"You have an idea."
Sokka glances over at him, an apologetic smile on his face. "You're not going to like it."
Zuko sighs. "Do I ever like your ideas?"
"No," Sokka cheerfully concedes. "But you always go along with them."
"And I regret it every time." Zuko looks up at the darkening sky, wondering not for the first time why the gods didn't just let him die in the gorge. Some days he's not sure his adopted brother is worth the trouble. Especially not now, with his sister involved. "What do I have to do?"
"You're going to take Katara."
"I can't do for her what I did for you. The only reason the tribe accepted it was because you saved my life."
Sokka shakes his head. "I know. But you can take her as your slave, since you shot her. You have a claim on her."
"I would prefer not to be murdered in my own bed."
"She wouldn't!" A moment of silence stretches out between them. "At least, I don't think she would."
"And then what, assuming that we both survive?"
"I haven't gotten that far," Sokka admits. "But at least she'll be safe with your family."
Zuko rubs his face with his hand. If Sokka was any less important to him, if he didn't owe him a life debt, he wouldn't even entertain this madness. As it is, this is the least Zuko can do for him. Sokka brought him back to his family; Zuko can help him reunite his.
"Fine. But if she kills me, it's on you."
The Brann village isn't much different than the village Katara grew up in.
There's a thick layer of snow on the ground, no doubt from the clouds passing overhead the last few days. The sun has long since set by the time they reach the village, but the Brann who are not warriors - farmers, craftsmen, pregnant or nursing women, and young children - gather around with torches and tend a central fire. A yellow glow seems to surround them.
This, too, is similar to the Vannis tribe: the exclamations of happiness as families reunite, the wails of those who must wait until the next life to be reunited, and the general disgust leveled at Katara and the other two captured Vannis warriors.
Katara doesn't recognize the others, and based on their tattoos they appear to have come from the outlying Vannis villages. They're both young men, one older than her by a few years and one younger. The same age as Sokka when he disappeared, she thinks sadly, before her anger at his betrayal rises up again.
The two Vannis men had been chained to the wagon carrying the injured Brann and had stumbled through the snow. Katara had been allowed to sit on the edge of the wagon since she was injured, but the Brann had still chained her hands to the side. A healer had briefly attended to her, though he hadn't done more than tightly wrap a bandage around the injury to help stem the bleeding. Each jostle along the way had only contributed to her pain, and she'd briefly lost consciousness several times.
Most of the wounded Brann either limp off with the help of their friends and families or are carried away in stretchers. Katara and the other Vannis are left chained, the cold slowly seeping into their bones until their teeth are chattering uncontrollably and their chained hands are shaking.
Whenever Katara gets too cold, she reminds herself of what Sokka did and her anger brings a rush of heat within her. It's only temporary, and it probably takes more energy than it's worth, but either the Brann are going to move them inside eventually or they're going to leave them to die outside anyway.
It's not until the gathered crowds have started drifting away, some Brann returning to their home villages and others taking shelter in the homes of fellow tribesmen until the next day, that the prisoners are remembered. Two large warriors, one with missing teeth and another with tattoos creeping up his neck and over his jaw, approach them and undo the chains holding them to the cart.
The older Vannis prisoner takes his chances. Katara watches, sad but not surprised, as he's struck down with an axe before he can make it five steps. She wishes she were as brave as he.
"Let that be a lesson," the tattooed Brann tells her and the younger Vannis boy. "You try to run and we will hunt you down. And if we find you, your death will be a lot slower than his."
Katara wishes she could claim the Vannis treat their Brann slaves better, but she would be lying. With as much history and rivalry as there is between their tribes, it's only inevitable. The Ofre allows them the chance to wet their taste for each other's blood once every five years; slaves allow them to taunt and torment their enemy every day.
She knows what kind of treatment to expect as a slave. Sokka knows, too, which is why she would have rather he killed her by the Dele. It would have been kinder.
But what else should she expect from a traitor?
The two Brann warriors escort them to the blacksmith's. Katara recognizes it by the smoke rising up and the ringing sound of a hammer against steel. The warrior with missing teeth pushes the Vannis boy inside. A minute later they return, and Katara sees a thin metal chain soldered around his neck - the mark of a slave.
Deep down, she knew it would happen. But it's the kind of terrible thing that exists in distant thoughts, too horrible to be realized by the active mind until it's upon you.
"No." Katara shakes her head, tries to step away as the tattooed Brann holding the end of her chains steps forward.
He gives a sharp yank and she stumbles forward. The action strains her back injury and her vision blots with a black deeper than the night sky.
She blinks and she's inside the blacksmith's tent. It's blessedly warm, but a warmth she can't enjoy. The Brann warrior holds her arms, keeping her steady while the blacksmith and his apprentice snap the metal ring around her neck.
The apprentice, a boy no older than Katara had been when she fought in her first Ofre, catches her eyes. He looks incredibly sorry as his master solders the ends of the ring together. The heat is enough to singe Katara's skin, though the metal doesn't touch her directly.
Tears drip down her face as the metal sizzles and converges. There are tears of grief, for her freedom and her life and her father, who she will never see again; but mostly, there are tears of anger, the only way in which she can express her rage.
Katara had never understood the depth of hatred many of the Vannis had for the Brann. She had a surface level hatred for the loss of her mother and brother, but it was hard to transmute into a corporeal object that she could grasp onto and project such violent emotions. After all, wasn't death the way of the Ofre? They went to war knowing their friends and family would die, and in return they killed the Branns' family and friends.
It was never personal to her until now.
Now the Brann have proven to do much worse than kill her family. They turned her brother against her. They molded chains on her and made her their property. They've turned her into the object of their scorn and hatred. She's the face of the enemy to them.
Katara hates them all. She hates her brother and she hates the man that shot her and she hates the warrior holding her chains and she hates the blacksmith for sealing her fate and she hates the young boy who looked upon her with pity.
There's no place for that emotion to go except the tears still falling from her eyes. She doesn't want to cry in front of them, but if she doesn't cry she's not sure what else she'll do. Katara wants to survive, if only to burn down this entire village and exact revenge on all those that have wronged her.
That's when she sees him for the first time.
He's still wearing his armor and weapons from the Ofre, including the bow that had driven the arrow into her back. His dark hair just reaches his shoulders, the front part braided back to free his face. Even in the darkness she can see his golden eyes shining through. The left side of his face is smeared in blood.
Her first reaction is blistering hate. He's the one who shot her, her injured her without being merciful enough to end her misery.
He's the one who Sokka replaced her with.
He turns to her and his eyes meet hers. Every muscle in her body freezes; she's held captive by a sudden, overpowering longing. It's even stronger than the force that drove her to chase after Sokka during the Ofre.
Then she remembers his crimes and that longing turns to disgust - both at herself, for having any positive feelings towards him, let alone wanting, and at him. Her hands ball into fists at her sides.
The tattooed Brann warrior glares at him. "What do you want, Zuko?"
Zuko meets his gaze calmly. "I came for her."
"What do you want with her?" The Brann warrior glances at her, then tilts his head to the side. "Nevermind. I get it. But you can't have her. She belongs to the tribe."
"She belongs to the one who took her captive, if they want her. I'm the one who shot her and brought her in."
Katara glares at him, hoping he can sense how she feels. If he thinks she won't fight him for every step, every second...she'll make him wish he had a more deadly aim.
The Brann man shrugs and hands him the chain. "Good luck," he says, glancing over at her. Then he nods to the warrior with the other Vannis slave and they disappear into the night.
Zuko waits until they're gone before he speaks to her. "Katara, right?"
She stares pointedly into the distance to the left of him and says nothing. He sighs and rubs his hand with his face.
"I'm doing this for Sokka, alright? I owe him."
"Don't bother." Katara keeps her voice flat and bitter. "He's not someone you can trust."
"And I'm supposed to trust you?"
The edge of her lip curls up. "I wouldn't advise it."
"I knew it," Zuko mutters. "To be clear, I hate this as much as you do."
"I promise you don't."
"I told Sokka I'd keep an eye out for you, but I'm putting myself or my family at risk if you do something stupid. Sokka's working on a plan to get you back home, but if you try to escape on your own before that, I may have to shoot you again."
"Promise?"
Zuko doesn't answer. Instead he looks around at the quiet village. "Let's go. It's getting cold."
She reluctantly follows him, only because she knows she won't survive the night without shelter. She's still too weak from her injury to try and fight him, not to mention tired from the long, exhausting day.
She'll bide her time until she has the opportunity to get her revenge. Until then, she'll play along.
Zuko can feel Katara's gaze boring straight through him the entire walk to the edge of the village, where his family's house is.
He can't blame her for being angry. Even he's a little mad at Sokka, and he wasn't even the one who was betrayed. But he is intimidated by her. Two feelings of equal strength war within him: on one hand, there's a strange familiarity about her that draws him closer, that reassures him that she could never harm him. He has no idea where that comes from, and he's not sure he believes it. On the other hand, he has the itching, creeping sense that she could - and would - kill him. Right now, he's leaning more towards that one.
Although he isn't exactly eager to meet the gods, it's not even his own death that he really fears. He's more worried about his family. He knows Sokka loves his mother and little sister as much as he does and wouldn't put them in danger, but he's worried that his love for Katara is clouding his judgement. Sokka hasn't seen Katara in five years. She's obviously been weighed down and transformed by her grief over his loss. Her perceived betrayal has just sent her over the edge.
She isn't the same person Sokka knew.
Part of Zuko wants to plead with her, to ask her to not take her anger at Sokka and him out on his family. The other part of him is afraid that asking her will only make things worse, turn them into targets. So he doesn't say anything.
His house comes into sight at last. It's situated just far enough from the rest of the village that it's out of sight, backed up against the treeline of the forest. There are a few houses even farther than theirs, those belonging to the farmers, also out of sight.
Only the light of the moon reflecting off the freshly fallen snow illuminates their path. He can see the warm glow of the fire through the windows. Even though he's well past youth, his mother still leaves the curtains tied back until he returns home each night. He always protests to her about it, but secretly he loves it.
"Zuko!" His younger sister, Kiyi, runs through the snow in unfastened boots. He catches her as she jumps at him and lifts her in the air. She, along with his mother and Suki, had been in the village to greet him and Sokka when they first came back with the other soldiers. He'd stayed behind to check on some of his friends and then retrieve Katara while they'd headed home.
It's not until he sets her down that Kiyi notices Katara. She stares unabashedly at the other girl for a long moment. "Who is this?" she asks in a loud whisper.
"This is Katara. She's going to stay with us for awhile."
Kiyi smiles widely and approaches Katara. "Hello! I'm Kiyi, Zuko's sister. It's nice to meet you."
Katara doesn't respond. Her gaze flickers over to Zuko before quickly back to the ground. Kiyi's smile falters.
"Is that fresh bread I'm smelling?" Zuko asks to distract his sister. "I'm starving. Let's go in."
He follows her inside the one-room house. There's a fire set into one wall and an open space in front of it where they lay out sleeping mats and blankets at night. Along the right side is a long table with a bench on either side. On the opposite side of the fireplace are all their tools, clothes, and projects-in-progress. There's also a rack for his armor and weapons.
His mother, a tall and slender woman with long, black hair braided back, is standing at one end of the table, cutting through a fresh loaf of bread. Platters of dried meat, cheese, and hard butter are set out on the table along with a jug of water and honeyed mead.
She lifts her head and smiles at him. "Just in time," she says. Then her gaze moves to Katara and she pauses.
Zuko doesn't have a good explanation for her. He figures it's inevitable that she finds out the truth about Katara, but he also knows it's dangerous for her to know. If anything happens, he doesn't want her to be held accountable for his and Sokka's harebrained scheme.
"This is Katara," he says lamely. Then, although he doesn't think Katara particularly cares, he introduces his family to her: "This is my mother, Ursa, and my sister, Kiyi. You'll mostly be helping them around the property."
"Let's not worry about that for now," Ursa says, forcing a smile. "I'm sure you're both hungry. Wash up first, and then come eat with us."
Zuko moves to the side of the room with the tools, where there's a basin of cool water. He knows he's disgusting after a day of fighting and marching, but he won't have time to properly bathe in the river until tomorrow. He splashes water across his face a few times and then washes his hands before wiping his face off with a scrap of cloth that used to be a shirt.
Katara stands to the side, looking unsure. She has a spattering of blood across her face, two mirrored streaks from her tears. Zuko realizes that her hands are still shackled together in front of her, and a flash of shame goes through him. He takes a step towards her and she instantly backs away, her eyes guarded.
"I'm just going to free your hands," he says, trying to keep his tone gentle. As irritated as he is with this entire situation, it's not fair to take it out on her.
"You're not worried?" she asks quietly, a dangerous edge to her voice.
"Not right now. Not with your injury. Even my little sister could take you out."
Katara raises her chin. "And when I heal?"
"Hopefully you'll be gone by then."
They stare at each other for a minute, coming to a silent agreement. For the first time since being with Katara, Zuko feels a bit of his fear seep away. He reaches out and snaps her shackles off. There isn't much he can do about the iron ring soldered around her neck, but at least her movements aren't restricted anymore.
She washes her face and hands and they join his mother and sister at the table. Ursa gives both he and Katara double portions, which they both devour ravenously. Katara seems nervous at first, but then her hunger seems to get the better of her.
"I'm assuming Sokka and Suki are headed back to their village already," Zuko says between bites.
Ursa nods. "He seemed in a hurry to leave. I don't quite understand why. I think it was hard for him, being back there."
There meaning the Dele. Her guess is right, although not for the reasons she thinks it is.
Kiyi only half-listens to their conversation, her focus on Katara. "Are you Vannis?" she asks.
Katara glances over at her, nods once.
"Like Sokka," Kiyi says. Katara freezes. Luckily, Ursa jumps in.
"Yes, but we don't talk about Sokka's past, remember?"
"Why not?" Kiyi demands.
She's old enough to know about the Ofre, but not old enough to understand the depth of the rivalry nor the political implications that come with it. Zuko knows that it's complicated for her; she was only three when Sokka came to live with them, so her major association with the Vannis is of her adopted brother - a positive one, not a negative one.
"Because we don't," Ursa answers. "You'll understand when you're older."
Kiyi turns back to Katara, not dissuaded. "Why do you have that around your neck?" she asks, pointing to the metal collar.
Katara's eyes flash with both anger and sorrow. Zuko wishes there was something he could have done to prevent it, but it's part of the ruse. If she was seen by any Brann without that collar, she'd be killed on sight.
"I think it's time for bed," Ursa says, standing and ruffling Kiyi's hair. "It's late."
Kiyi protests lightly, but follows as Ursa lays out the mats and blankets in front of the fire. Zuko shucks off his armor and hangs it on the racks. He hesitates to hang up his weapon and decides to keep it with him tonight. Although he was pretty sure he and Katara had a mutual agreement, he's protective enough of his family not to risk putting them in danger.
Ursa sets out a mat and set of blankets for Katara a little ways from the fire and their own. She pauses by the girl, looking at her sympathetically. Zuko knows she wants to do more to help her but is afraid of scaring her.
Katara accepts the sleeping place wordlessly. She starts unlacing her leather armor but stops short of taking it off. Zuko realizes she can't lift her arms above her head because of her back injury. He feels a pang of regret.
She glares at the ground angrily. He knows she must be feeling beyond helpless in this moment. He understands. He remembers feeling the same way when Sokka saved his life. He didn't want a Vannis man's help at first, and tried to reject it. But Sokka didn't give up on him and they ended up becoming brothers by the end of their journey.
Zuko doesn't think she would accept his help, though. She's in a much worse place than he was, and it doesn't help that Zuko is the one who injured her in the first place.
Once again Ursa comes to her aid, not saying a word but helping her out of the blood and gore caked outerwear. She raises a hand to look at Katara's injury, but the girl turns away and slips under the blankets, pulling them up and over her head. Ursa presses her lips together and shoots a concerned look over at Zuko.
There's nothing he can do tonight. Hopefully some of Katara's anger will fade away and she'll be more amenable to accepting help tomorrow. Beyond that, there's nothing Zuko can do, even if his fingers itch to go over and help her.
He doesn't know where that strange desire comes from, but it's powerful. Powerful enough to scare him. He clasps his hands together and ducks under his own covers.
Despite his exhaustion, he doesn't fall asleep. He lays in the darkness, the only light from the small fire, the only sound the steady breathing of his mother and sister.
And then he hears it. At first it's just ragged breathing, and then a smothered sob. He feels his chest restrict painfully. The desire to go to Katara washes over him again. The only thing that stops him is the knowledge that he's the last person she wants to be comforted by.
Somehow that realization is more painful than the wound that nearly killed him five years ago.
Katara wakes up to the sound of movement. Her eyes are crusted together, her back aches, and there's a strange coolness and sharp discomfort around her neck. It isn't until her fingertips feel along the roughly soldered edge of her collar that she remembers where she is.
The anger and betrayal from the previous night return, but she's surprised to find that they're a lot weaker. She doesn't know if it's because the wound isn't as fresh or because she's too tired to summon up the energy to care as much.
She wipes her eyes, disappearing all traces of her tears. She resolves not to cry again. She's mourned her situation enough; now it's time to do something about it. For now, that means playing along. Apparently Sokka is trying to think of a way to get her back home, but she's learned her lesson about relying on him. She'll have to spend all her free time brainstorming her own way out.
Katara shoves off the fur blankets and sits up. The house is empty save for Zuko's mother, Ursa, who is wiping the bread crumbs off the plates from their dinner last night. The remaining half loaf of bread is sitting on the counter along with a jar of fruit preserves.
Katara's stomach rumbles. Ursa turns back and smiles. "Good morning. Help yourself to something to eat, then we'll find you some proper clothes."
"Proper clothes" turns out to be one of Ursa's old dresses. Luckily Katara is about the same size and height, so it fits well. The style is similar to what she wore at home, with a slightly different cut. Before she puts it on completely, Ursa offers to redress her injury. Although the thought of being touched by a Brann again makes Katara grit her teeth, she knows she has no other option. It's not an injury she can treat herself nor leave alone and hope for the best.
Kiyi and Zuko come back after Katara has been dressed. She notices that Zuko is also in different clothes, but his face is what really draws her attention. In the light of day, she realizes that what she had mistaken for smeared blood on his face last night is actually a pink burn scar around his left eye and stretching back to his ear. Something about it is familiar.
She shakes the thought away. She doesn't want to think about him.
"Can I do your hair?"
Katara feels a tug on her sleeve and looks down to see Kiyi staring up at her with soft golden eyes. The girl seems to be about eight or nine, as beautiful as her mother already. She reminds Katara of the orphan girl that moved in with her and her father after the Ofre that claimed Sokka's life.
Maybe that's why Katara nods before she can think better of it. Kiyi smiles widely, and Katara can't bring herself to refuse.
Using the remains of the water from last night in the basin, Kiyi cleans her hair first and then combs it out, her hands gentle. Katara remembers when she was Kiyi's age and Sokka used to do her hair. Then she'd turn around and braid his for him. In the Vannis tribe, braiding each other's hair was a symbol of intimacy and closeness. Katara wonders if it's the same here. Based on the surprised reaction of both Ursa and Zuko at her answer, she'd guess so.
After Kiyi does her hair, Ursa collects a large basket of laundry, including Katara and Zuko's battle clothes, and leads her to the river a few minute's walk from their home. They spend the rest of the afternoon washing them. Katara has to work slow to avoid aggravating her back, but Ursa doesn't seem to begrudge her for it.
The days begin to follow a similar pattern. At first they do their chores in silence, but eventually Ursa begins telling her stories, both real and fictional alike, as they work. Occasionally Katara tells her one in return, which Ursa seems to enjoy. Mostly, though, Katara listens. Ursa speaks a lot about Zuko and Sokka, though the exact story of how they met and how Sokka became part of their family is still a mystery. As angry as Katara still is as Sokka, she yearns to hear more about the five years he was missing. Among other things, she learns that he fell in love with a girl from the next village over during a festival and they were married last year.
Katara is sure Ursa suspects she has a connection to Sokka, considering how much she talks about him and how Katara doesn't hide her interest in the subject, but the older woman never directly asks. Kiyi doesn't know, so far as Katara can tell, but she isn't shy about asking about the Vannis and if Katara knew Sokka whenever her mother isn't around to scold her.
Despite herself, Katara begins to think that maybe this isn't so bad. Of course she'd rather be at home with her father, and she detests the collar around her neck marking her as property and less than human, but all things considered, it could be much worse.
She finds herself struggling to hold onto her hate. The anger still simmers inside of her, but it's hard to hate the Branns when they come in the form of kindness and generosity like Ursa and Kiyi.
Katara isn't so sure of Zuko yet. He's barely around during the day, apparently hunting and fishing with the other men of the village or helping on the neighboring farms. He only comes home at night for the evening meal and to sleep. Katara can't be sure, but it seems like he's gone more than he was before, at least based upon stray comments from Ursa and Kiyi. For some reason, Katara has the feeling he might be avoiding her.
Sometimes, when she isn't paying attention, she finds herself staring at him or wishing he would talk to her. She always instantly chides herself for such thoughts, but she can't help them. They seem to come from somewhere deep inside her. She tries to remind herself that it's his fault she was injured and dragged here as a slave, but the more she uses that excuse the weaker it becomes until it holds no water.
Katara has no real reason to hate him. It wasn't even his fault that Sokka turned; from what she's pieced together, Sokka was the one who saved him and brought him back to the Brann.
And just like that, the anger Katara held towards Zuko transfers itself to Sokka. It's easy to hate someone who isn't around. It's harder to hold onto that enmity when she's around Zuko everyday and he doesn't make a single ill-move or comment towards her.
With her back healing, her new routine beginning to feel normal, and her anger redirected outwards, Katara finds it hard to focus on a plan for escape or a reason to hate the Branns. To her alarm, she's beginning to grow comfortable on this isolated homefront.
So maybe that's why she volunteers to go with Zuko into town one day when Ursa isn't feeling good.
"Absolutely not," Zuko says, shaking his head. His mother is sitting at the table, her head in her hands, an untouched plate of food in front of her. Kiyi sits beside her and Katara is standing across the table, her arms crossed over her chest.
Ursa lifts her head. "Why not?" she asks, her words slurring together slightly. No matter how poorly she feels, she refuses to lay down during the day. Zuko wishes she would accept her limits, but he can't exactly order his mother around.
"Because I don't need her," Zuko replies. "I can go into town and find some stupid herbs by myself."
"Do you even know what herbs to get?" Katara challenges. She's gotten bold in the few weeks she's been living with them. Zuko has done his best to avoid her, partly because of the strange feelings he gets whenever she's around and partly because he knows he's a reminder to her of why she's stuck in this situation. His mother and Kiyi seem to have a much more calming effect on her, and he doesn't believe she'll do them any harm.
Him, on the other hand…
"They're fancy leaves. They can't be that hard to find."
Ursa groans lightly and buries her face in her hands. "Just take her, Zuko. You won't be gone an hour."
"I could take Kiyi," Zuko suggests, grasping at straws. He knows this is a fight he can't win, but it's not in his nature to give up.
"I don't know anything about herbs," Kiyi pipes up unhelpfully. "Mom hasn't taught me yet."
"The longer you stand around fighting, the more my head aches," Ursa says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Just go."
Zuko sighs and gestures vaguely in Katara's direction. She pulls on a coat and they step out into ankle-deep snow, starting the short trudge into town.
Her eyes gleam with victory, her chin tilted up ever so slightly. Even with the collar around her neck, she doesn't look like a slave. If anything, she looks like the one holding the chain.
"Why did you want to come?" Zuko asks, glancing over at her. Her smile falters, turns into a scowl.
They continue on in silence for a few more steps. "The people in town aren't going to treat you well," he warns. "They don't have any positive associations with the Vannis like my family."
"I know." Her voice is quiet.
He recognizes that tone all too well. "That's why you wanted to come, isn't it? You think you've gotten too comfortable. You want to be reminded of your hatred and anger."
The way she glares at the ground is answer enough.
"Sokka was like that, too, at first. It took him the better part of a year to shed his prejudice towards all the Brann. He would seek out the few young men who didn't care that he saved me or was adopted by my family. He'd come home with a swollen lip and black eyes. It's hard to escape fifteen years of conditioning."
"It's not conditioning if it's true," she shoots back.
"And why is it true? Would you have any reason to hate us if not for the Ofre? Would we have any reason to hate the Vannis? Our ancestors conditioned us to carry on this cycle of blood and vengeance."
They take a few more steps before she replies. "You sound like you've thought about this a lot."
"Sokka did more than just save my life." Zuko hesitates, then adds, "My cousin died in the Ofre before I was old enough to fight. My uncle was one of our tribe's fiercest warriors. After losing his only son, he isolated himself for years. When he finally returned, he had changed completely. He's the one who identified the problem. I thought he was a foolish, sappy old man until five years ago. Only then did I understand."
"Maybe he's right," Katara says. "But if you truly believed his words, why did you fight in the Ofre again? Why did Sokka?"
Zuko doesn't know what to say. After a pause, she adds, "It will take a better person than either of us to end this feud."
They arrive at the edge of town then, before Zuko has to answer. Even if their conversation hadn't already come to an end, they would have had to fall silent; no one in the town can know that Katara is anything but a slave, and a slave does not speak to her master casually.
The village is busy, though an invisible shadow still lingers and Zuko can sense the absences of those lost to the Ofre. Only the family is still allowed to mourn, as death in combat is the highest honor a warrior can achieve, but the sense of loss still permeates the village for several months.
That forbidden grief comes out in the form of aggression towards the Vannis slaves. There are a few from previous Ofres, along with Katara and the boy captured this year. Zuko sees an older one loading up a cart with goods to take to one of the outer villages. His back is bent from hard work and he has a heavy chain wrapped around one leg. Zuko glances over at Katara to see her watching him with a look in her eyes that is equal parts of sadness and fear.
He reaches over and takes her elbow gently, steering her away. She jumps at his touch and he releases her immediately.
He leads her to the healer's hut. It's one of the larger buildings in the village, with several rooms. The front has shelves stocked with herbs, remedies, and medicines, drying plants hanging in bundles from the ceiling. The back rooms are curtained off for the injured and sick. Zuko knows they're still full from the Ofre.
The healer, Orykk, looks up when they walk in. He's standing on a stool, securing a fresh bundle to the ceiling. He nods at Zuko and glowers at Katara.
Katara ignores him, moving through the room like it's her own. She picks up a few bottles and dried bunches from the shelves and holds them out to Zuko.
"Is that all?" he asks. She nods.
"How much?" he asks Orykk, reaching into his money pouch around his belt.
"Is it for your mother?"
"Yes."
"Then don't worry about it. I owe her one. Wish her well for me."
Zuko and Katara exit the shop. They haven't gone more than five steps when a woman runs their way, holding a child in her arms. The kid is coughing continuously, hacking deeply. Zuko moves out of the way for her to reach the hut, but Katara is frozen in place.
"We got what we needed," Zuko says. "Let's go."
"That kid needs help," Katara says, turning back towards the open door.
"Orykk will take care of it."
"What will he do?" Katara challenges. "Does he know how to help them?"
"I'm sure he does. It's his job."
But Katara is already turning back to the hut. With a groan, Zuko follows.
Orykk has a table cleared and the child is lying down upon it, his mother on his other side. The kid is still coughing straight up. By the time Zuko enters, both adults are glaring daggers at Katara. The tension in the room is high enough to make Zuko's scalp prickle.
"What are you doing here?" Orykk growls.
"The kid needs help."
"Which is why they came to me, not some dirty Vannis."
Katara ignores the insult. "He has kinkcough."
"I know that."
"You need to turn him on his side, or else he might choke."
Orykk sneers. "Kinkcough goes away on its own. Do you really think I'm going to listen to you? You'd love to kill another one of us, wouldn't you?"
Katara shakes her head. "No, I'm not. I swear. You need to clear out his throat and passageways. I've seen this before."
The child's mother looks over at Zuko. "Get control of your slave!" she demands. "I don't want her anywhere near my child!"
The kid's coughing increases. There's a gurgling sound as he starts choking. Orykk and the mother turn back to him, but neither follows Katara's advice.
"He could die," Katara pleads. "You have to listen to me!"
The child's mother lunges, striking Katara across the face. "Get away from my son!" she screams. "Haven't you taken enough from me already?"
Katara doesn't know that the woman lost her husband in the Ofre, but Zuko does. He feels for the child on the table, but he knows that Katara's presence, however well-meaning, is only escalating the situation. He takes her arm and pulls her out of the hut. She strains against him, her eyes never leaving the suffering child on the table.
There's a small crowd gathered around the entrance to the hut. Zuko pushes past them, dragging Katara a bit ungently. A few of the onlookers spit in her direction and call out insults as Zuko shoves past.
He doesn't stop until they're out of sight of the crowd. He pulls her around the back of a hut and she collapses to the ground, burying her head in her hands.
He stands in front of her, partly to keep an eye out to make sure they weren't followed and partly because he's not sure what to do.
"I just wanted to help that kid," Katara says after a minute, wiping at her eyes. Zuko notices a discolored spot on her cheek, the beginnings of a bruise where the woman hit her. "A woman in our tribe lost her child to it, thinking he just had to get through it. A year later another child had it, and we were able to treat it."
Zuko's heart lurches in his chest. Even after how Katara's been treated by his tribe, she's still willing to put herself in danger to help one of their children. He's seen the depth of her anger and hatred, but she was still willing to put that to the side to help one of them.
She has a huge heart, he realizes. Like Sokka. She's not just a warrior, she's also a healer.
"If it means anything," he says, "I think what you did was brave. Definitely stupid, but brave."
Katara glances up, her eyes sparkling but no tears falling. Her lips twist into a distorted smile.
"That does mean something." She drops her head. "But that kid's life is still at risk and I can't do anything to help him. I feel utterly useless."
Zuko thinks about what Katara said on their walk to the village: It will take a better person than either of us to end this feud. She was wrong. Katara is the better person. At least, she has it within her.
"You can make yourself useful by helping my mother take it easy. I know it's not the same, but it might help you keep your mind off the kid."
Katara begrudgingly acquiesces, accepting the hand he offers. He pulls her to her feet and for a moment they stand next to each other, their bodies only inches apart, their hands clasped together between them. He can't take his eyes off hers for a moment.
Something changes between them then. He can't quite put his finger on what it is, but the silence that stretches out between them as they walk back to his home is lighter than it was earlier.
It's not until later that night, after they're all settling into their blankets in front of the fire, that Zuko realizes.
We don't hate each other any more.
And: Maybe we even like being around each other.
Things are different after Katara's trip to the village with Zuko.
She didn't find the refreshing anger and hate she set out to find. Instead, she found pity: the Branns' fear and hatred of her as a Vannis tribeswoman was so deep they were willing to risk the health of their children to maintain it.
If anything, her comfort in her situation only deepened as a result. Zuko stopped disappearing for the entire day, spending more time doing chores around the house and only going into the village a couple days a week. Katara didn't accompany him there again, but she did help him collect wood outside or check the traps in the woods and in the stream. She also helped Kiyi in the house, taking on some of Ursa's normal chores while she recovered from her mild illness.
They started to feel like a cohesive family. It hits Katara one night at dinner as they're sitting around the table, eating slabs of fresh fish, cooked mushrooms, and a few potatoes from the cold storage. Zuko and Kiyi are arguing about something inconsequential and Katara exchanges an exasperated look with a recovered Ursa.
"Don't act like you're completely innocent," Zuko accuses, seeing the look and pointing at her. "You're the one who taught Kiyi."
"Me?" Katara raises her eyebrows. "Like she didn't just see you doing it and copied."
"No way." Zuko shakes his head. "I know better than to go around swinging knives around my kid sister."
"I'm not a kid," Kiyi protests.
"Yes, you are," Zuko, Katara, and Ursa all reply at the same moment. Then they glance at each other. For a moment, the whole room holds its breath; then everyone laughs a little except for Kiyi, who folds her arm across her chest.
"It's not a bad thing," Katara assures her, reaching an arm around the younger girl's shoulders. "Growing up is overrated."
"Not if I get to be just like you," Kiyi declares.
Katara freezes. Without thinking about it, her hand sneaks up to the metal collar around her neck. As kind as Zuko's family is, as easily as it is to slip into temporary happiness, she can never quite forget that she's not here by choice and that outside these walls, she's not free.
"No, you don't want that," she replies quietly.
After they finish eating, Katara excuses herself. She slips outside, to the darkening sky. She holds her arms around herself, breathing in the cold air and watching it float away in the chilly wind. It's times like that dinner that she briefly forgets about her father far away, who is living with the grief of having lost both his children and his wife; and she forgets about her anger at her brother, who betrayed them and brought her here; and her own guilt that she's actually enjoying her time here and not actively trying to escape anymore.
In fact, as much as she dreams about returning home and being reunited with her father, there's now an accompanying sadness at the thought of never seeing Ursa or Kiyi or even Zuko again. There's a palpable sense of home here that she's never felt anywhere else, even when her family was together. It's like she was meant to be here.
A shiver runs through her. She hears footsteps crunching through the crispy snow underfoot and turns to see Zuko approaching, holding a fur cover in his hands.
"I noticed you ran out without a coat," he says, draping it over her shoulders. Katara takes the front ends and holds it tightly around her. She tries to ignore the way her heart pounds at the thought of him noticing her.
"Am I crazy?" she asks, looking at the faint stars rather than him. "For starting to feel at home here?"
She meant it as a rhetorical question, but Zuko's answer is serious. "Sokka asked me the same thing once. He never meant to stay here forever. He wanted to return to the Vannis tribe. But by the time he earned the freedom to return, he found he couldn't. He couldn't bear the thought of facing us in a few years in the Ofre. He figured he'd be interrupting your life by returning, thought you'd already grieved his death and moved on."
"Yeah, well, he's stupid."
Zuko laughs lightly. "He can be," he agrees. "That stupidity is what saved my life."
She looks over at him now. "I've never heard the full story."
Zuko shrugs. "There isn't much to it. I was injured pretty bad in the Ofre and fell down the gorge. It's not as deep as it appears from above, and there was already a layer of bodies that softened my fall. I still would have died, but Sokka fell from above and landed on my legs. We laid there throughout the night, both of us too weak and exhausted to move. I figured we were both going to die, but the next day I awoke to find Sokka leaning over me, trying to patch me up."
Katara can't resist letting out a snort. "Can't imagine he was much good at it. Healing was never his specialty."
"No," Zuko agrees. "But it was enough to keep me alive. I tried to fight him off, at first, but I was too weak to do any damage and Sokka easily disarmed me. Then he dragged me to the edge, out of the pile of bodies."
Zuko pauses, a slight shudder running through him. Katara can't even begin to imagine how awful that experience must have been - spending a night surrounded by the dead.
"He disappeared for a while and returned, having found a path up and out of the gorge. Most of what happened after that is a blur, mostly because I kept dipping in and out of unconsciousness, but he forced me to keep moving until we emerged on the Brann side of the Dele. From there, we followed the tracks back here. My mother was so grateful that she invited him to stay. He had some injuries of his own as well, so he agreed to stay long enough to recover."
"And then he never left," Katara finishes softly.
"He became part of our family." Zuko hesitates. "Like you," he adds, softly.
Katara sighs and pulls the fur covering around her shoulders more tightly. "Like me," she agrees.
They sit in silence for a while, the stars growing brighter as the darkness deepens around them. Katara's eyes are constantly fixed upon the stars. She isn't quite sure what her obsession with them is, nor is she quite sure what she's searching for, but she's constantly drawn towards them.
"Do you still hate him?" Zuko asks.
A bitter laugh escapes her lips. "I never hated him. Even when I wanted to."
"So what happens now?"
"I don't know."
A few weeks later, Ursa receives a message from her sister in another village requesting her help. She's pregnant and needs help around the home and during the delivery. That day, Ursa packs a bag for herself and one for Kiyi.
Katara is prepared to go with them, but Ursa hesitates.
"It's not that I don't want you to come," she assures her. "It's just that...well, my sister lost both of her parents to the Ofre. She's not even really friendly towards Sokka."
Katara gets the idea: she's not welcome. She tries not to take it personally. "Yeah, I get it."
"Besides, I was hoping you could keep up with the chores around here," Ursa says, offering a smile. "It will make things a lot easier for us upon our return, and there's a lot of work for Zuko to do alone."
The realization that she's going to be left alone with Zuko for a couple weeks shocks her. Ursa senses her discomfort and misinterprets it for fear.
"Zuko won't hurt you," she says, touching Katara's arm gently. "He's grown just as fond as you as he is of Sokka. And even if he wasn't, he would never do anything to hurt Sokka."
Katara nods, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "I'm not worried," she forces out. "Have a safe trip."
The first couple days, Katara and Zuko are busy with work around the house. Katara spends most of her time indoors and Zuko outside, so they really only see each other for meals. Even though there's more free space in front of the fire now, Katara still sleeps in the furthest spot, where she's grown accustomed to the cold drafts sneaking in through the window.
About a week into their new schedule, there's a knock on their door. Katara freezes at the table, where she's kneading dough for a fresh loaf of bread.
Luckily Zuko is inside the house, washing his hands after bringing in a fresh pile of firewood, and he answers the door. Katara stays out of sight, only catching bits and pieces of the ensuing conversation. It sounds like there's some disagreement, the undertones of a mild argument, and when the visitor finally disappears, Zuko closes the door and leans heavily against it.
"What is it?" Katara asks, wiping her hands on her skirt.
"Tomorrow is Gudsdag," Zuko says, slowly looking up.
She looks at him blankly.
"It's our biggest holiday," he explains. "We have a massive feast in the village."
"That doesn't sound so awful."
Zuko tilts his head from side to side. "It's okay. But the village needs help with it. They expect you to work at it."
She crosses her arms. "Can't you just tell them no? I'm your slave. Just tell them that you need me here."
"I tried." He runs his hand through his hair. Katara tries not to stare at his hand; part of her is jealous that she can't be the one running her hand through it.
She quickly banishes that thought.
"They were insistent," Zuko continues, completely oblivious. "Apparently the chief thinks it's symbolic of our tribe's strength and power to have our enemies serve us or whatever. You and the other Vannis slaves are expected to serve the entire tribe."
Katara's hand traces the rim of the metal collar around her neck. The thought of being treated like a slave shames her. She's grown accustomed to being treated as one of them. She's not a slave, she's a warrior and daughter and an independent Vannis woman.
Except this ring says otherwise.
"Fine." She tries to keep her tone free of bitterness and fails. "It's one night."
Zuko grimaces. "The feast lasts for two days."
"Two nights." She waves her hand dismissively, trying to ignore the blow to her pride. "Whatever. It'll be done and over with."
He pushes off from the door, starts walking towards her. "I'm really sorry, Katara."
Her heart pounds at hearing him say her name. She doesn't think she's ever heard him say it to her before - and definitely not like that.
She turns away, trying to hide the flush in her cheeks. "It is what it is. I'll survive."
"I don't just mean for the festival."
Katara bunches her hands in her skirt. Does he have any idea what he's doing to her? He's not making this any easier.
"Like I said." She turns and offers him a tight-lipped smile. "So far I haven't encountered anything I haven't survived."
Serving at the festival is just as humiliating as Katara expected.
The older slaves are stuck in the kitchens, out of sight and doing the more undesirable chores. The younger ones, her included, are tasked with refilling mead flaggons, collecting used dishes, and running other various errands.
While the Brann enjoy entertainment, including music, plays, and shows of talent, and simply conversing loudly and boisterously, Katara hustles around. The job itself wouldn't be too bad except the Brann are taking every opportunity to lord her position in her face. The women sneer at her as she tries to skirt around them, her arms full; occasionally they "accidently" bump into her side or step on the hem of her skirt. When she stumbles into the sharp side of a table or drops what she's carrying, they snicker at her.
Although all the slaves are treated in such a manner, Katara knows she has it the worst because she's young and beautiful. Many of the men take pleasure in grabbing her as she passes by or making lewd comments as she leans down to refill their cups or whisk away their finished plates. She tries to ignore it all, shoving her anger and shame deep down.
People from several nearby villages have come to celebrate, and in the dense crowds she rarely sees Zuko. She'll catch sight of him now and again. He mostly hangs out around the edges of the celebrations, sometimes with other men his age and sometimes awkwardly in the middle of at least one or two young and flirty women. Katara shouldn't be taken by surprise: he is young and attractive and single. Still, she feels her chest constrict painfully every time.
It's stupid, she knows, but for some reason she has the impression that Zuko is hers. Not necessarily in a romantic way - though she can never completely dismiss that thought, no matter how hard she tries - but in a protective way. Zuko has become her friend and part of her family. She doesn't want anyone else taking him away from her or interfering with their relationship.
It's completely irrational and almost as embarrassing as her serving position during the feast. She loathes herself for it a little, but try as she might, she can't stop that instinct from rising up.
She's exhausted and fed up, both by herself and the Branns, by the second night of the festival. When one of the supervisors, a broad, middle-aged Brann woman, calls for someone to fetch another barrel of mead from the storage shed on the other side of the village, Katara eagerly volunteers.
She enjoys the instant quiet and calm in the night as she leaves the feast behind. There are occasional people standing around and smoking in front of small fires, also getting a breath of fresh air from the party, but they barely pay her any attention. By the time she reaches the cellar, she hasn't seen anyone in a few minutes.
Katara hadn't had time to throw on her coat, and there are shivers running up and down her arms, covered by only the sleeves of her dress. She quickly ducks into the shed and moves to the end, where the mead barrels are stored. A small wheeled cart sits in front of the row of barrels for easy transport.
She's just slid a barrel off the shelf and into the cart when she hears the sound of someone else entering the shed. The footsteps are heavy and uneven, accompanied by ragged breathing. Katara's heart speeds up in her chest and a spike of fear like she's never felt before goes through her chest.
"I know you're in here," a man's slurring voice reaches her. "You 'an't hide from me."
Katara glances around, realizing there's nowhere for her to run. She balls her hands into fists and prepares to fight.
The man reaches her. He's twice her size and drunk out of his mind. When he tries to grab for her, Katara knocks his hand away and delivers a sharp uppercut.
It doesn't seem to faze him much. He growls and reaches for her, grabbing a chunk of her hair in his fist. She cries out as he jerks her neck back sharply, sending tendrils of pain shooting through her.
"You think you're better than me?" he hisses, slamming against the shelf of barrels. Pain explodes around the crown of her head and blurring her vision.
As he grabs her shoulder with his other hand, she desperately kicks at him. His grip on her tightens as her boot makes contact with soft flesh.
"You stupid Vannis bitch!" His fist connects with her stomach, driving the air of her lungs. She's forced to stumble along as he drags her by her hair out of the storage shed and into the cold night. Unbidden tears spring to her eyes from the pressure on her scalp.
He pulls her closer, his alcohol-drenched breath blowing across her face. "I'm goin' to kill you, just like I killed your friends at the Ofre. Except they met their end much quicker."
Katara tries to call out for help, but he clamps his other hand over her mouth before she can squeak out a sound. She's half dragged through the snow to the treeline at the edge of the village and beyond.
Her heart races faster the farther they go as she realizes her changes of being discovered and saved are reduced with every step. He's going to kill her in the middle of nowhere. They probably won't even find her body before wild animals do.
She vaguely wonders if being killed while resisting counts as a combat death. Will she receive any honors in the afterlife?
The man slams her back against a thick tree trunk. She doesn't know where he got the rope - maybe grabbed from the hooks on the storage shed - but he uses it to lash her against it, jerking it tightly enough to constrict her breathing. He rips off one of her sleeves and ties it tightly around her mouth as a make-shift gag.
"I hope the wolves find you first," he hisses, leaning his face close to hers. "They're real hungry this time of the year. But if they don't, you'll freeze to death by mornin'."
He grabs her jaw and squeezes tightly, laughing drunkenly before shoving away and staggering back towards the village. Katara ignores her pain and struggles against the bonds, hoping that perhaps in his frenzy he tied them poorly.
No luck. She fights for what feels like hours but probably is closer to half of one. Despite her exertions, the cold is seeping in through her bones. In the distance, she can hear the howling of wolves.
She fights until she no longer has the strength. Only then does to start to think that maybe this is the end.
Hopelessness sinks in as shivers rack through her body, fighting to keep her alive even when she's given up.
She thinks of her father, who she always counted on seeing again; she thinks of her brother, who will remember her last words as those of rage and hatred; she thinks of Ursa and Kiyi, who will no doubt feel responsible even though it's not at all their fault. Most of all, she thinks of Zuko, a deep regret rising in her that she never told him how she felt, no matter how foolish it might be.
The howling of the wolves grows closer and Katara closes her eyes, submitting herself to the will of the gods.
Zuko only notices that Katara is missing when he hears the woman supervising the slaves cursing about a missing girl and a flagon of mead as he passes by the kitchen. Mostly she's cussing out the Vannis for their incompetence and lamenting the missing drink.
His first thought is that Katara made a run for it. Whether she ran to his house or back to her home, he's not sure.
He'd seen her now and then at the party. He tried to keep an eye on her, but his temper kept flaring up every time she was shoved or elbowed or grabbed at. Eventually he banished himself to the edges, trying to keep himself from punching his own tribesmen.
Now he wanders out of the main festival building, searching the surrounding village. He doesn't her anywhere and the few people he asks either haven't seen her or point in the direction of the storage shed.
He realizes there's a good chance she's hiding out in there - which he totally wouldn't blame her for - so he makes his way across the village. His house is just over the ridge from the shed, and he considers just sneaking her back home. The festival is nearly over, and most people are too drunk to notice. He can always claim he needed her to help walk him back to his house because he drank too much.
"Katara?" he calls, peeking into the storage shed. There's no answer. He wanders in. Through the darkness, he can see that there's no one in here. He's about to turn around and leave when he notices two things: the first being the barrel of mead in the cart but not moved and the second being a dark smear across the planks of the barrels on the shelves. He steps closer and touches it with his finger. It's sticky but too thick to be mead.
Blood, he realizes as the metallic smell registers in his mind.
Without hesitation he turns and runs out. He searches the snow in the light of the full moon for tracks. Luckily there's no trail of blood, but he can see a disturbance in the snow leading towards the woods.
It's too dark to see the tracks clearly and it takes him longer than he would like. When he finally sees the dark form, he's not sure whether to be relieved or worried more.
"Katara?" he calls out, rushing to her. She's hanging limpy, tied sloppily yet tightly to a tree. One of her sleeves is missing and her hair is messy.
His heart clenches in his chest, a mix of anger and anguish clashing inside of him. He reaches out and lifts her chin gently. Her eyes lazily blink open as he pulls the gag out of her mouth.
"Zuko?" she whispers, her voice hoarse. "Is that really you?"
"Yes," he chokes out, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"I want to go home." Her voice cracks mid-sentence.
Zuko is too busy slashing through the ropes binding her to respond. She immediately falls against him as the ropes release. His arms go around her to catch her and he notices how frigid her skin is.
With a sweeping motion, he lifts her in his arms. She doesn't protest, just reaches up a shaking hand and clutches at the front of his coat and leans her head against his chest.
He carries her home. Though it's only a few minutes, it seems to last forever. He can't seem to move fast enough.
Inside the house, the fire has died, only glowing embers remaining. He curses and sets her down on the mats directly in front of the fire, throwing a blanket over her while he shoves more wood on the embers and blows it back to life.
He grabs the basin of water and a clean rag and kneels in front of her. Katara tries to push herself into a sitting position, and he helps. In the light of the glowing fire, he can see the gash at her hairline. It's not bleeding heavily anymore, one benefit of the cold.
His hands are shaking as he wets the rag and tries to clean it without hurting her any further.
"Who did this to you?" he asks, his voice barely controlled.
"Don't know," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. "Doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"It could have been anyone."
Zuko wants to protest that not all Brann would do such a thing, but the defense gets stuck in his throat. He doesn't know that. The enmity against the Vannis are high, and with alcohol in the mix…
He shoves the basin of water away, the injury at her head cleaned as best as he can. Now the biggest threat to her is the cold. She's still shaking, her lips nearly as blue as her eyes.
Her dress is wet in some places from the snow and nearly as frozen as the ice hanging off the eaves of the hut. He hesitates, but despite Katara's shock, her medical knowledge seems to kick in. Without him saying anything, she begins to fumble with the buttons and ties.
He turns away to give her privacy, rooting through the lumps in the room until he finds something else for her to wear. It's an old undershirt of thick wool. Not attractive, but it'll be warm and soft. He tosses it over to her and doesn't turn around until he hears the sound of her old dress being tossed away.
Zuko takes his own coat off in the meantime. It's no warmer than her old clothes were, and saturated in some places. He also shucks off his boots, which are caked with snow. His last stop is the fire, where he throws on enough big logs to last through the night.
When he turns back to Katara, she's wearing the old shirt, the hem of which only reaches down to about mid-thigh. She's fumbling with the oversized sleeves, trying to roll them up with shaking fingers.
Zuko reaches over and does it for her. When he finishes and looks back over at her, he realizes for the first time how close they are. The firelight flickers around the room, casting everything in fiery shades of red and orange.
It's not fair for someone to be so beautiful after such a harrowing experience, he thinks, his eyes lingering on her long, dark eyelashes and her bright blue eyes and her full lips. Anything but her bare legs, which are close enough for him to touch without reaching.
Katara reaches out, her fingertips brushing along the front of his shirt lightly. "I thought I was going to die," she says quietly.
"I'm lucky I found you in time." Zuko's voice is darker, more gravelly than normal. The weight of his worry and relief is finally setting in, now that he's sure she's okay.
"It wasn't luck." Katara swallows, drops her eyes. "Have you ever thought…" She trails off, shakes her head slightly. "No, it's stupid. Nevermind."
"Hey." He lifts one hand to the edge of her chin, tilts her head up until her eyes reach his again. They're guarded, edged with anticipation. "It's not stupid. Tell me."
"I was thinking of you. Of us. I think…"
His breath catches.
"I think we might have been meant to find each other."
She felt it, too. That strange pull between them, even from the first time they met. Maybe that's why Zuko's shot wasn't deadly. Fate intervened.
His hand moves to curl around the edge of her jaw. A million responses flood his mind, but none escape his lips.
"Am I crazy?" she whispers, her eyes searching his, full of desperation in all the best ways possible.
Zuko's heart both falls and soars at the same time. "No," he says. "Unless I am, too."
He leans forward slowly, brushing his lips against hers softly before backing away a breadth. Her fingers tangle in the front of his shirt and she pulls him back, her lips opening up as she kisses him again, this one more proper.
There's something that feels so right about this, something that feels good far beyond the way a kiss does. Zuko's kissed other girls before; none of those even compare to this. It's like an ache disappearing that he hadn't realized was hurting him until it's gone, leaving an exhilarated elation behind in its place.
He's about to move in to kiss her again when a shiver runs through her. She sighs, resting her forehead against his. He reaches out and sweeps her hair behind her ear.
"You're still freezing," he says, worry tingeing his voice. "Come on."
He moves behind her so that she's directly facing the fire. Then he hesitates for a minute, debating. He's not sure what all this means yet. He decides it's equal parts selfish desire and practicality as he curls up directly behind her, pulling a stack of blankets over them. Her skin is frigid enough to be uncomfortable, which he decides is probably for the best on his part.
Still, as he presses against her, much closer than is proper for two unmarried persons, he asks, "Is this okay?"
"Yeah," she whispers back, her voice thick with exhaustion. "This is okay."
For all Zuko's worries about getting too close to Katara, it turns out that tonight isn't the first night they've spent alone together. Not even close, in fact.
Both of their dreams are filled with vivid images of each other. There are images in which they're fighting, both with weapons or just arguing. Sometimes it ends in the worst way possible, in death or in betrayal much worse than anything Sokka has done. Other times it ends in pure tragedy.
But even though the endings aren't happy, there are a lot of good moments in between. There are meals shared, laughter, fighting side-by-side, stolen smiles, moments of closeness that are never quite close enough.
Mostly there's frustration. It's never the right time, or place, or there are other circumstances getting in the way of them. Neither of them quite make it work.
Until now. They've slowly made progress throughout all their lives, and they've finally found an opportunity to be together. The flood of memories don't fix all their problems - they don't take the metal collar off Katara's neck or solve the centuries-long dispute between their tribes that tear at Katara's heart or change the expectations that Zuko's tribe has of him - but they make them seem quite insignificant.
Surely a journey that spans centuries, constantly bringing them back to each other, was meant to end a certain way. Everything else is just confetti.
When Katara awakes, she doesn't remember where she is at first. The last thing she remembers from her vivid dreams is a life not unlike this one, though the land around her was nothing like she's seen before in this life. She didn't have a brother in that life, and her mother had also died young, and it was just her and her father.
And Zuko. Zuko was an important part of that life, even after she said goodbye, even decades after she'd seen him for the last time.
With the distance ache in her body and the warmth around her, she thinks for a moment that she's back in the tent at the bottom of the canyon, waiting for the High Commander's signal - or death, whichever comes first.
Then she feels the cool metal of the collar around her neck and remembers that she's no heroic military commander in this life. She's just a slave, a warrior caught injured on the wrong side of Dele.
But she has Zuko, and after the pain of losing him in the past two lives, it's a worthwhile trade-off.
She shifts under the mound of blankets that wasn't warm enough last night but is nearly stifling now, turning to face Zuko. He's still sleeping, the scarred side of his face buried. Katara remembers now how he got the scar - she can't believe she ever forgot, the pain of that day deep enough to transcend a million lifetimes.
With the visible reminder hidden, she can almost pretend that she's in an alternate universe of their second life when she was a temple acolyte and he was a world-renowned warrior. She wishes they weren't enemies in that life, that her cousin hadn't killed his and he hadn't killed hers in retaliation. If they knew then what they know now, their experience would have been completely different.
It was all part of the journey, she supposes. Katara isn't sure if their path from enemies to lovers was part of their fate or an act of defiance against their fate, but whatever the case, she's thankful they're coming out on top.
She reaches over and runs her fingers through Zuko's dark hair, pushing it out of his face. He stirs slightly, as if attempting to borrow deeper under the blankets. Maybe he's used to being this warm, but Katara has spent the last several weeks adjusting to sleeping much further away from the fire and with less blankets. She feels like she's on fire.
"Sorry," she whispers, throwing off the thick layer of blankets.
He mumbles something unintelligible and rolls onto his back, his hands rubbing his face. Katara props herself up on one elbow, watching him with a smile.
He drops his hands and looks over at her. "What?"
"Nothing." Her smile falters, and her heart skips a beat - what if he doesn't remember? He remembered before she did in their last life. What if it's the opposite this time?
"It's not nothing," he says, sitting up and facing her. His golden eyes scan over her face slowly, finally settling on her eyes, his lip curling up slightly. "That's what we've been telling ourselves for far too many lives."
She knows in that moment that he does remember, and her heart soars within her. She throws her arms around him, resting her forehead against his shoulder. For a moment they're travelling back to their last life, to that painful goodbye that wasn't quite a goodbye.
"I told you we'd find each other in the next life," Katara whispers into his shoulder.
"I believed you," he replies, running his hand up her back, careful to avoid the sore spot where he'd shot her. "And I waited. I didn't know why, but I knew I had to wait. Why do you think I'm so old and still single?"
Katara draws back enough to give him a side-glance. "You're not old. Not even close."
"Try telling my mother that," he replies dryly. Katara smiles. She settles back against her heels, his arms still holding her close, and traces the edge of his scar with her fingertips. He shivers under her touch.
"I still can't believe you lied to me for three years," she says.
He raises an eyebrow. "And I still can't believe you killed me. Twice."
"So we're even?" she asks in a teasing tone.
"Not even close." He pulls her closer and kisses her, sending a tingling feeling all the way down to her toes. Simply kissing someone shouldn't feel like such a novelty, yet here they are. "But I can think of a way you can make it up to me."
"You're way too forgiving," she murmurs. "I'd hold it against you for at least one life."
A laugh works its way through Zuko. "Me? Too forgiving? Have you already forgotten our last life?"
"I prefer to remember the good parts."
"There weren't too many of them." He traces her lower lip with his thumb. "Not like this."
And then he's kissing her again. Katara realizes how little she's actually wearing as his hands hold her waist, yet it still seems like too much. She leans back, pulling Zuko with her as she lays down.
"Are you sure?" he breathes into her ear. Katara's heart is pounding in her chest, so loud that she can barely hear him.
"I've been sure since I was the queen of Egypt."
"And you never said anything," he teases between kisses.
"If I said anything, we would have both been assassinated in Rome."
"It would have been worth it."
Katara can't deny that. If she had known what kissing Zuko would be like, she would have thrown all caution to the wind and leapt into his arms. Although she's sure she had her reasons for restraint in the past, it's hard for her to fathom them now, when he's kissing her breathless and his hand is tracing down her hips and his silky hair is tangled between her fingers.
Despite the warmth of the smoldering embers and the heat emanating off Zuko's body, Katara still shivers as his fingers run up her bare thigh, pushing the hem of her borrowed shirt up higher.
The door to the hut opens and a voice filters in. Katara and Zuko freeze.
"What the hell?"
With a groan, Zuko rolls off her. Katara sighs deeply, throwing an arm over her face.
This is the last thing she wants to deal with now. Especially when she wants nothing more than to be alone with Zuko.
There's no point in putting this confrontation off, so she pushes up into a sitting position, tugging the edge of her shirt down, and faces her brother.
Sokka is standing in the doorway of the house, staring at her with a face that is equal parts shocked and furious. She wonders if that's how she looked at him when she learned about his betrayal.
Behind him she can see another figure standing. Probably his wife Suki. From what Ursa has told Katara about her, Suki seems like the kind of person to hang back and let the others deal with their own problems. Considering what Katara knows about her brother, it seems like a necessary trait for his partner to have.
"What are you doing here, Sokka?" she asks, her voice calm. Had this happened before she gained back her memories from her other lives, she would have been mortified; but she isn't quite the same Katara who grew up with Sokka. After everything she's lived through in her past four lives, the issues of this life seem almost insignificant and distant.
"I came to check on you," Sokka replies, his voice barely held in check. "Maybe I should have come sooner."
Katara rolls her eyes. "Sokka - "
He raises his hand, pointing past her and directly at Zuko. "We need to talk. Now."
She suppresses a smile as Sokka turns and disappears out the door, Zuko trailing behind him. He greets Suki quickly before the door closes behind him.
Katara runs a hand through her messy hair. Suki crosses the room and sits beside her.
"It's nice to finally meet you," she says. She has blueish gray eyes and dark brown hair with a red undertone. Although she has a small frame and calm voice, Katara gets the impression that she's actually quite tough. "Sokka talks about you all the time."
"I wish it were under better circumstances," Katara says, offering her a dry smile.
"I don't think there are better circumstances for our messed up family," Suki replies with a light laugh. "Sokka will get over it. He's just been really worried about you. This was the last thing he expected."
"I can't blame him for that."
Katara isn't mad at Sokka. Not about this, not about his betrayal. She's spent so much of her lives angry or filled with grief or fighting. She's tired of all that. Life is too short to hold onto those destructive feelings - even if you get several chances.
Besides, the last time Sokka saw her, she was raging at both him and Zuko. He has no idea that she and Zuko were never really strangers, nor that she would get over her anger so quickly.
From outside, Katara can vaguely hear Sokka's raised voice. Poor Zuko. She's fought with Sokka enough times to know it isn't pleasant to be on the receiving end of that.
"He'll be fine," Suki assures her. "Sokka loves him too much to stay angry at him, either. He just needs to get it out of his system." She dips her head towards Katara. "It might be better if you're actually wearing clothes when they come back in, though."
Katara finds an extra dress and pulls it on. Her body is still sore from her fight with that man in the shed last night, a slight bump at her hairline. Suki offers to do her hair, and she's careful to not pull too hard.
By the time Katara looks presentable, Sokka and Zuko shuffle back in. Sokka' face is still pinched in displeasure, although it's not quite as bright red as before. Zuko has his head ducked in reprimand, but when he turns his eyes to her, she can see amusement in them. It's hard for her not to smile in return.
Katara follows Sokka outside. It reminds her of when her father used to take them out individually as kids to lecture them for getting into trouble. Even after being gone for five years, Sokka still is in many ways his father's son.
"Suki seems nice," Katara offers. Sokka glares at her.
"I don't get it," he says, throwing his hands up in the air. Katara knows he isn't talking about Suki. "What happened to you?"
Even though this disagreement seems petty in light of all Katara's lives, her brother still has the power to rile her up. She crosses her arms defensively. "What happened to you," she challenges, not so much a question as a statement and answer.
Sokka studies her closely and seems to notice her injuries for the first time. "Did Zuko do that?" he asks.
"No. In fact, he saved me." She pauses. "But you know he would never do such a thing."
"You're right." Sokka paces in front of her. He's always been full of energy with nowhere to go, constantly on the move. It's something she'd forgotten about until he's in front of her again. "Actually, I was more worried about you hurting him."
"I wanted to, at first. I blamed him for your betrayal. But after spending time with Ursa and Kiyi, I realized the truth."
"They're good people," Sokka agrees. "Too good."
A short silence falls between them. Then, he says, "Is it real? Between you and Zuko? He said he loved you."
Katara's heart skips a beat. Of course she knew that Zuko loved her, but he's never said it out loud to her - not in such direct terms, at least. They've never had that luxury before.
She lifts her chin. "It's real."
"I just - you've only known each other for a few weeks! How can you be sure?"
"The same way I'm sure you knew about Suki."
"But we knew each other for months before we started courting, and we were never enemies."
Obviously Zuko didn't tell Sokka the truth about his and Katara's relationship, so she doesn't want to get into the whole past-lives thing. Yet, how does she explain her and Zuko's relationship without speaking of it? Each life they've had has played an instrumental role in getting them where they are today and it's shaped every interaction and every feeling they've had about each other.
"Do you believe in fate, or destiny?" Katara asks.
Sokka shakes his head. "No. We make our own choices and our lives result from our actions."
Of course. Sokka has never been one to believe in the mystical. Still, she presses. "Well, I do. I believe that Zuko and I were meant to find each other. I've always felt like something was missing in my life until I met him."
Sokka rubs his hand with his face and cusses under his breath. "Zuko said the same thing."
"I know it's difficult for you. Zuko and I are still figuring it out ourselves. All I'm asking is for you to not judge us and to accept our decisions. We're both adults."
"I know that," he protests. "That's not - that's not even the major issue. It's about you, Katara, and about Dad. It's about Ursa and Kiyi and Zuko. You have to pick a side. Either way, someone is going to be left alone."
Now her anger flares up a bit. He's telling the truth, but grossly overstepping a large aspect of it. "Yeah? And what about you? You were the one who started this."
"But I'm in too deep now. I'm married. I can't just leave. You can. You don't even have a life here outside this home! Literally!" he exclaims, pointing to the bump on her head. "Are you content to be shut up in this house for the rest of your life with a slave's collar around your neck?"
"No. Yes. I don't know!"
Katara turns away, trying to even out her breathing. She's had it bad in her past lives before, but she was never a slave. She was a priestess and the niece of the king, a queen, and a high-ranking general when she was with Zuko in her past lives. Meeting him always elevated her status, or at least allowed her to maintain it. This is the first life where choosing to be with him ruins her options.
Part of her screams that yes, it's worth it to be with him under any conditions. But being a slave - even if she's not treated as one by him or his family - is intolerable. She's literally a piece of property. The royal part of her and the warrior part together rebels and revolts inside of her. She has to prioritize herself and her own wellbeing before she can even think of being in a relationship with someone else.
Then she remembers the pain of her last life. It wasn't until her father died that the pain really set it. She had nothing aside from a moderate sum of money and her honor - two things that she's come to learn mean nothing without the right people to share them with. She would have given it all up to be with Zuko. If it wasn't for all her friends that gave their lives for peace, she would have run away with him when he asked.
She still would, except now she has a brother and father who she cares very much about, and Zuko has Ursa and Kiyi and Sokka. They can't just run away to a place where they aren't Brann and Vannis, violent enemies. Not without leaving huge parts of themselves behind.
They wouldn't be truly happy, even with each other.
"We have time," she finally says, turning back to face Sokka. "We can figure this out together."
He only looks sad. "If there's one thing I've learned in life, Katara, it's that we can never have everything. There's always a sacrifice."
Katara's hands ball into fists. She won't sacrifice Zuko. Not again. But if she also won't sacrifice her father, who is all alone now, and Zuko won't sacrifice his family, then where are they left? With Katara sacrificing herself? That's also unacceptable.
"There has to be a solution," she repeats. "I'm going to find it. I'm not leaving him."
Nothing feels quite real yet.
This morning had been an absolute dream. He'd imagined what it would feel like to have Katara in his arms for several lifetimes now and it still didn't come even close to the reality.
Of course, he wished it hadn't come on the heels of Katara almost being killed - but looking back, they've never not been in the midst of a war or conflict. Perhaps they're meant for these stolen moments, taking love where rightfully love shouldn't be found.
So of course they'd been interrupted. By Katara's brother, no less - and, in a strange way (though not the strangest way possible), Zuko's brother.
Zuko accepted Sokka's anger. If anything, he welcomed it, because it means that Sokka truly cares about Katara. Once Sokka had gotten through his yelling, Zuko explained in the simplest terms possible that Katara was important to him - that he loved her.
There was something freeing about saying those words aloud. He could see Sokka's eyebrows pull together as he realized that Zuko was telling the truth. Zuko has never lied to Sokka before - never about anything that really mattered.
His happiness had been shattered by Sokka's softly-spoken yet hard-hitting questions: what about Katara? What about her future? What about Zuko's future?
Zuko and Katara hadn't had the chance to actually talk about what happened last night - not about her being attacked, and not about them and their future. All they wanted was to finally be together, to finally do the things they'd been imagining doing for lifetimes.
After the years of denying each other, especially during their last life when they were so close to making it, Zuko supposes they just assumed everything would work out. They are destined for each other, right? It has to work, somehow.
It wasn't until Sokka left to speak with Katara that Zuko remembered the object at the center of all their trouble: the turquoise stone. It's been the one constant in all their lives besides each other, the center of their curse. Until he willingly gives it back to Katara - and she accepts it - they'll just keep coming back at different points and places in time.
Except Zuko hasn't seen the stone. He wonders if Katara has. Maybe the curse isn't just that they'll keep coming back. Maybe it's that they'll have a tragic ending until the original wrong has been righted.
He has a hard time believing that the simple act of returning the stone to her will fix all their problems, but it's a good place to start.
By the time Sokka and Katara return indoors, Suki and Zuko have prepared a light breakfast. They all sit down around the table, Suki and Zuko on one side and Sokka and Katara on the other. A tense silence falls over the group, despite Suki's attempts at compromising small talk. Zuko hates this space between them. As much as he normally enjoys Sokka and Suki's visits, he really wishes they weren't here right now. He and Katara have a lot to talk about - among other things.
She catches his eye enough to offer him a weak smile and nod, as if to assure him that everything's okay. He can read her better than that. She's conflicted. Sokka's questions have struck her equally hard. She occasionally reaches up and tugs at the metal collar around her neck. Zuko's chest constricts with anger every time he sees it. The only metal she should be wearing is a crown atop her head.
Finally Zuko makes an excuse about needing to attend to outside chores. A few minutes later, Katara sneaks out and joins him in the woods, out of sight and earshot of the house.
Zuko immediately holds out his arms and pulls her close, pressing his lips against her hair. He's never going to take having the ability to hold her for granted. That breakfast had been awful, being so close to her yet unable to touch her.
"We'll figure it out," he murmurs. "I promise."
"How?" Her fingers tighten against his back. "We can't stay. We can't leave."
"I have an idea."
She pushes away so she can look him in the eye and listens as he explains his theory about the stone. Her eyes brighten with hope as he speaks.
"There's just one problem," she says when he finishes. "I haven't seen the stone, either."
"One of us must have. The stone is always with one of us, or around us."
"What if…" She trails off.
"What?"
"What if we're being punished? You tried to give it to me three times, and I rejected it each time. What if our punishment is that we have to find it now?"
"Like another layer to the curse?" He can't quite hide the disbelief in his voice.
She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. Do you have a better explanation?"
"No," he admits. "Where would we even begin looking? It could be anywhere, couldn't it?"
Katara bites her lip, staring into the distance as she thinks. Zuko hears a voice in the distance and Suki comes running towards them.
"Zuko!" she yells, stumbling to a stop a few paces away. "They're back!"
"Who?" Based on Suki's expression, something is horribly wrong. His thoughts immediately jump to his sister and mother, although they aren't supposed to be back yet.
She shakes her head, breathing hard. "The Frykt. They attacked a village a few leagues north of here last night. There were no survivors."
Fear races through Zuko. He glances over at Katara to see it reflected on her face.
"It's been over a hundred years," Katara says. "Why are they back now?"
Suki doesn't have an answer for them. Zuko can't help but think that somehow it's because of him and Katara - tied to their curse. He has no basis for that, of course, but it's a gut feeling deep inside of him.
"We have to find the stone," he tells Katara.
"What stone?" Suki asks.
"We have no idea where to even start looking. How are we going to find it in a day?"
"We don't know that the Frykt will attack here tonight."
"If they follow the same pattern they did last time, then they will."
Suki is glancing back and forth between them. "What stone?" she repeats.
"It doesn't matter." Katara shakes her head. "We have to unite the tribes again. That's the only way we have a chance."
"Without the stone, we don't have a chance anyway."
"That's your theory," Katara shoots back. "We don't know for sure. I need to go back to the Vannis."
"Are you sure they'll come?" Suki asks, a doubtful look on her face. "The Ofre was just a few weeks ago."
"They will if I go." Katara glances over at Zuko. "You should come, too."
"Me? They'll kill me on sight!"
"We have to prove that our tribes can work together." Katara turns to Suki. "You and Sokka have to convince the Brann to accept the Vannis' help."
"The rivalry runs deep," Suki warns.
"Not as deep as the fear and hatred of the Frykt." Katara draws herself up in a way that Zuko remembers when she was queen of Egypt. This is the look she gets when she's about to make a tough decision. "Sokka and I are the bridges between the tribes. We're the proof that we can work together. Suki, you and Zuko are as well. We'll have to work together, separately. We have less than a full day."
Suki presses her lips together tightly and nods. "Okay. I'll tell Sokka. You guys better go, or else you won't have time to make it back before sundown."
She disappears, heading back towards the house and town. Katara turns to Zuko. His chest constricts as he sees the hard look in her eyes. She used to look like that before every battle. She looked like that when she said goodbye to him for the last time in their previous life.
"I'll protect you," she promises. "No matter what. My father has a lot of influence in our village, second to the Chief."
He nods. He wants to believe her. But even if they shoot him on sight, at least he'll have spent his last few hours with her. That's all he can ask for now.
They turn and start jogging towards the Dele - and towards the forbidden Vannis land that Zuko has never been permitted to enter.
Zuko is quiet their entire journey. Part of it is from the quick pace they're setting, Katara knows, but she also suspects a lot of it has to do with the prospect of putting himself in danger. Or perhaps he's overanalyzing their curse and the stone.
Whatever the case, she's still glad to have him by her side.
They cross the bridges at the Dele when the sun is at the highest point in the sky. It's early afternoon when the smoke from the fires of her village come into sight.
Katara's feet are killing her and she's breathing heavily from the long run, but she doesn't slow down as the buildings come into sight. Zuko lags slightly behind her, letting her take the lead.
A few Vannis tribe members working outside recognize her and wave, calling out in surprise. Katara adjusts the scarf around her neck, hoping they can't see the metal collar underneath it. She waves back but doesn't slow down to answer their questions.
A small crowd has gathered in the middle of her village as she stumbles past, the news of her return preceding her. A few warriors, dressed not in armor but holding their tools as weapons, fix their eyes on Zuko as they pass. Luckily, none of them stop her.
Katara doesn't stop until she reaches her house on the edge of the village. Her father is outside, splitting wood.
"Dad!"
He turns, dropping the axe handle at the sight of her. A smile breaks out across her face at the sight of him and he runs to meet her, sweeping her up in his thick arms, holding her tightly enough to crush her ribs. She doesn't care.
"Katara," he says, his voice cracking. "I thought you were dead. I thought - "
"I'm not," she assures him. "And neither is Sokka."
Her dad sets her down immediately and looks her in the eyes. "What?"
"Sokka is still alive," Katara explains, smiling tentatively. "He's with the Brann right now."
"Is he - "
Katara shakes his head. "He's okay, Dad. He's part of their tribe now. Even married a Brann girl. You'd love her."
Confusion crosses her father's face, feuding between his disgust at the Brann and his joy at hearing that his son is still alive.
"Katara," Zuko says behind her, and she remembers why she's really here. She turns to glance at Zuko and sees that a bunch of the villagers have gathered just far enough back to give her and her father some privacy. Some of them are clutching weapons.
"Who's this?" her father asks, his voice hardening. "Is he - ?"
"This is Zuko." Katara steps back. After a moment's internal debate, she takes his hand. "He's Brann. But he saved my life. And Sokka saved his five years ago."
She doesn't bother going into the whole story of how he actually shot her first. It's not important. What is important is that the Frykt are back and they'll kill everyone Katara and Zuko care about if she can't convince her tribe to go to the Brann's aid.
That confusion once again flashes across his face. Anger looks like it's about to emerge, so Katara quickly changes the subject.
"I came back to warn you." She half-turns to the gathered crowd and raises her voice so all can hear. "The Frykt have returned. They attacked a Brann village and left no survivors."
The murmurs explode into shouts of exclamation and heated words. Katara's father's eyes widen with shock. Katara waits until they've quieted some to speak again.
"We have to go and fight them. They're going to attack again tonight, and we if we don't stand with the Brann, they'll destroy us village by village, one by one. Our only chance of fending them off is if we stand together!"
Arguments break out. People gesture with hands and weapons as they fight with their neighbors. Zuko squeezes Katara's hand, and she looks over at him. They have to convince them. They have everything at stake.
"I say let them destroy the Brann!" one man shouts, his voice rising over the din. "One less problem for us to worry about!"
"Until the Frykt come for us next!" a woman argues.
"How do we know they'll even come for us? Maybe they'll be satisfied with killing the Brann."
"What if this is all a Brann ruse to lure us into their trap?"
Katara steps forward, fingers clenched into fists at her side. "You think I'm making this all up?" she exclaims. "You think I ran all the way just to lie? I'm one of you! I've been one of you all my life! I've killed more Brann than some of you!"
"And yet you still came here with one!"
Katara feels her father's heavy hand fall on her shoulder. There's a troubled expression painted on his features.
"Let me speak with the Chief," he says quietly. "The mob doesn't make decisions for our tribe."
"You believe me?"
"Of course I do." He touches her cheek. "You wouldn't lie to me about Sokka."
He walks past her and through the crowd. Katara leads Zuko away, walking around to slip into the small house. Katara notices the orphan girl isn't at home, but the smell of fresh-baked bread fills the house. She finds the loaf and a block of goat cheese and rips off half of each for her and Zuko.
Zuko glances around the one-room house as they eat. "This is where you and Sokka grew up?" he asks.
"This is home," she answers, though she's looking more at him than the four walls.
"If your tribe won't come to fight, I still have to go back," Zuko says, turning to look at her. "I can't abandon them."
Katara nods. "I know."
"You don't have to come. I would understand if you don't."
She crosses over to stand right in front of him. "Where you go, I go. I'm not letting you leave me again."
He reaches out and cups her cheek with a hand. She leans into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. He leans down and kisses her, slowly and softly. Though she loves any kiss from him, she can't help but feel bitter about this. It feels too much like a goodbye. She wants the passion from this morning, when they thought that it was just the beginning and not the end.
"This isn't the end," she says when he pulls away, grabbing his hand. "No matter what happens, we'll find each other again."
"We'll always find each other," he promises. "With or without that stupid stone."
She leans up to kiss him again. The door to the house opens and her father steps in. Katara breaks away from Zuko, but stays next to him.
Her father looks between them as if he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head. Prioritizing, as he's always been good at.
"The warriors are getting ready to leave," he says. "The Chief is going, but he's making it voluntary. Only about half of our warriors have agreed to go."
"That's not enough," Zuko says, his voice tight.
"The others refuse. With such short notice, there's no way the Chief can force them or find a compromise." Katara's father crosses his room, picking up the folded pile of armor. "We'll borrow armor for you both. There probably won't be any time to spare when we get to the Brann."
He stands up straight after he's gathered the pile in his arms and pauses. "I really hope for all our sakes that the Brann don't see our coming as an attack." He looks at Katara as he speaks, but she knows he's talking more to Zuko.
"Sokka is talking to the Brann," Katara says. "They'll be ready."
"Or they'll get over their objections once the Frykt show up," Zuko adds.
Within the hour, the Vannis warriors that volunteered are ready to go. Katara monitors the sky as they set off at a quick but still frustratingly slow pace. They won't make it to the Brann until after dark. There's no promise that they won't arrive in a smoking, slaughtered village.
The Brann just have to hold off the Frykt until they arrive. Katara doesn't know if their meager force is enough to drive away the Frykt, but she has to believe they can. Otherwise, she's led her village to their death.
Not that the others will be spared. If the Brann fall, the Vannis will fall shortly after.
Zuko sees the orange blaze and hears the sounds of clashing metal and screams a league away.
The entire Vannis force breaks out into a run, the taste of blood already upon them. He and Katara run next to each other, outpacing the others. They have a much more personal stake in the fighting than the others.
The village is on fire when Zuko and Katara stumble in. There are dead bodies all around them, blood staining the snow a dark crimson. Bodies are clashing all around them, the white-clad Frykt ascending upon the fur and leather - clad Brann. He can't quite pick out any faces in the chaos.
The Vannis rush in with a battle cry that rallies the Brann forces. They push back with increased energy.
Although Zuko has been to war countless times, he's still stunned by the efficiency and deadliness of the Frykt. He wouldn't go so far as to call them supernatural, but they're definitely a well-oiled fighting machine, better even than the legions of Rome that he once commanded.
With a quick glance around he can tell that they have superior weapons and armor. They fight in small groups, protecting each other's backs. They fight in a style unlike any Zuko has ever seen before - and he's encountered many different fighting styles in his four lives.
At his side, Katara is coming to the same conclusions. When she looks over at him, he sees an undercurrent of fear in her eyes. It's the same look she had when she made her speech to the men at the bottom of that canyon. It's the expression that says there is no hope of victory.
But Katara has never given up before, and she's not about to give up now. They jump into the fray together, fighting side-by-side and back-to-back.
Fighting has become second-nature to Zuko by now. With his restored memories, he also recalls different fighting techniques. Beside him, Katara seems to be having the same experience. The Frykt, no matter how well conditioned and trained, don't stand a chance against them.
If only there weren't so many of them. That's the other problem, Zuko realizes as the night wears on. For every Frykt they kill, three take their place. The Vannis and Brann forces are outnumbered by an indeterminable amount, but undoubtedly so.
As a former commander in all four of his lives, Zuko has picked up the skill of reading a battle even while being in the midst of it. As the moon rises to its zenith and begins to fall, he can sense that the tide of the battle is slowly turning in the Frykt's favor. Occasionally smaller bands of Brann from outer villages arrive as reinforcements, but even they aren't enough.
It isn't until Zuko and Katara quite accidentally stumble into Sokka and Suki that the hopelessness settles in. Sokka is clutching at his side with one arm, unsuccessfully holding back a crimson wave at bay while trying to fight off the ever-approaching Frykt with the sword in his other hand. Suki is limping, a large gash in her leg that gushes fresh blood every time she puts weight on it.
Zuko and Katara push away the immediate danger. Sokka almost instantly collapses, Suki sliding down to catch him on the ground.
"We're not going to make it," Sokka mumbles. Suki looks over at Katara and Zuko, her eyes filled with tears even though her expression is one of fierce determination.
"Then we'll go down fighting." Katara hefts her long knife. She looks over at Zuko, and he can read in her eyes that this doesn't surprise her. She and him have avoided battlefield death enough times that it was inevitable to get them eventually.
"This time tomorrow, we'll be feasting with the gods," Suki says. She hefts herself to her feet and then holds out her hand for Sokka. He winces, then accepts it and staggers upwards.
"I saw Dad," Sokka tells Katara. "It was a short reunion, but better than none."
"Mom and Kiyi didn't come back, did they?" Zuko asks.
Sokka shakes his head. "I haven't seen them. But they might already be…"
"Yeah." Zuko swallows. If they aren't already dead, they will be within the week, along with all the other Brann and Vannis.
He never even got to say goodbye to them. Not a real goodbye, at least.
He won't make that mistake again.
Zuko turns to Sokka and reaches out, clasping his arm. They hold eye contact for a long moment.
"I still don't know why you saved my life," he says, "but I'm glad you did. I'm glad to call you brother."
Sokka clutches his arm tightly in response. "I would do it again. I don't regret a single second of it."
Zuko releases him and turns to Suki. Behind him, he can hear Katara and Sokka saying goodbye. He gathers Suki into a hug.
Then it's just Katara. What to say to her? Words fail to describe the journey they've been on, the progress they've made, the feelings they have for each other.
"This isn't the end," she promises.
"I'll always find you," he swears, kissing her quickly. They don't have time for anything more. The battle is pressing towards them again.
The four of them exchange determined looks, then charge into the fray for the last time.
