Chapter originally published February 17, 2015
Re-posted with more material on April 28, 2015

"Sowing Tears"

"When a woman is in labor, she is in anguish because her hour has arrived; but when she has given birth to a child, she no longer remembers the pain because of her joy that a child has been born into the world. So you also are now in anguish. But I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you." ~ John 16:21-22

Living with a companion—particularly one he has to care for—changes Noatak's outlook on day-to-day life. Traveling alone, he usually ate whenever he was hungry, and slept at night or whenever he found a comfortable place to rest. With Korra, he feels he ought to establish mealtimes and bedtimes. Since she cannot judge how much food and sleep is enough, he makes the effort to ensure she gets enough.

He has to ask her how much she is able to do. He asks her often, "Can you do this, or do you need my help?" Sometimes, to his annoyance, she says she can do something independently, only to retract her words and beg him for assistance.

Stepping outside the apartment is exciting; stepping outside their building is an adventure. He has to take Korra with him to buy groceries and, on the first day, clothes. Everything about the city amazes her. Of course, she is not only young, she has never left the south pole until now. Seeing her marvel at ordinary plants in the park reminds Noatak of his first years away from the home of his childhood. It is good for both of them that she is, so far, enchanted by the city. But it will not take long for her to learn that it has its dark side.

He gets to know her through their shopping trips. He grins when she tells him that she prefers pants to dresses. She is not particularly feminine, at least at this age. She also prefers blue and purple items, but he purchases some neutral tones that will let her blend in without hinting at her nationality. She is unfamiliar with most of the food, and asks him to identify everything.

Noatak buys her a doll, a simple handcrafted item, to be a comfort object as well as a toy. He thinks they are supposed to help children think about what parenting is like. But Korra does not treat the doll like a baby; she talks to it as if it were an equal.

He shows her the public library, and lets her peruse the children's section once a week. Korra pulls out books that have nice pictures, and unfortunately many of these are about characters finding creative uses for bending. Noatak tries to steer her toward alternatives that depict nonbenders. They borrow enough books to have him read a story every night.

He tries to show her how to do chores with him. They hang their laundry on clotheslines set up on the roof. He still wants to keep a low profile, so he tries to time that chore so that they do not run into their neighbors from other apartments in the building.

Noatak keeps a close watch on the newspaper articles, and listens to the news hour every morning and evening. The kidnapping of the little Southern Water Tribe girl is only one story among about a dozen, and he does not know whether the average citizen is taking the news to heart. After all, many people in the Water Tribes have claimed that they found the new Avatar. Korra was only one of many claimants.

Korra loves going on outings, but keeping her entertained inside the apartment requires some thinking. She climbs on their few furniture items, wants to run up and down the stairwell. He shows her the radio, and she enjoys the jazz music that is so popular, but she is rarely content to sit still and listen. Instead she tries to dance to the swinging tempo.

Seeing how energetic she is, Noatak challenges her to exercise. "Do ten jumping jacks. Hm, I bet you can't do five more!"

She is glad to prove him wrong. But she also wants him to join in the fun. She runs around the main room calling, "Can't catch me!"

Of course he can catch her, he is bigger and faster, but he lets her run anyway. She turns the corner into the hallway between their rooms, but then looks back at him expectantly. "Come on, chase me!"

"But you said I couldn't catch you."

"You still have to chase me!"

"All right … you asked for it!"

She squeals as he starts after her, barely speedwalking. He lets her duck around furniture, and humors her by crawling under the table to follow her. Finally, he catches her and holds her fast, laughing in triumph. He lifts her up with enough momentum to throw her into the air, but he holds on to her, not letting go. It is the first time he has heard her laugh. That has to be a good sign—perhaps she is finally moving on.

Noatak did everything he could to make the transition smooth and free of trauma: he made sure she slept through the actual separation. Yet there is still something discontent in her—he cannot identify it.

She does not sleep soundly. She cries out from nightmares almost every night. Noatak wonders if he is part of those nightmares—does she see her as the one who caused such sudden change, or the one who saved her from it?

If he is still awake and she cries out repeatedly, he tries to wait it out; but then she wakes up and shouts for him—or, at any rate, for her father. "Daddy!" He goes to her and tries to soothe her. She lets him hug her, now, and tries to bury her face in his shirt or the crook of his neck. He tries to get her to talk about her nightmares, but she either cannot remember or does not want to discuss them.

He thinks he can make out the words "want Mom and Dad."

He rubs her back, and sifts his fingers through her hair. "I know. They chose me to take care of you, so you wouldn't be alone."

Many nights pass before Korra seems to truly accept his answer. "They're not coming?" she murmurs, just to clarify.

"No. But I'm here for you, Korra. You may not see me as a father, but I'll act as if I were."

She pulls her head back to look him in the eye. "Are you gonna leave me with someone else?"

"No. I promise I won't leave you." To prove his point, Noatak stays with her until she is asleep.

She sometimes falls asleep on him while he is reading to her. He lies for some time afterwards, feeling her breathe on top of him.

He likes this, but he does not yet know if he likes her. He does not know how he feels about her. He is not sure if it is attachment. He does not know if it is love. But he does know that he likes not being alone anymore. He was always good at looking out for people. It is nice to have someone to look out for, on a personal level.

This child is all his, and he starts to like that fact.

Tonraq hates the resignation that he senses from their friends, neighbors, allies, Senna, and even himself. The days immediately following the kidnapping were hectic and horrible, but full of action and determination. Now they are simply waiting, and no longer with their day-to-day agitation mixed with hope.

The only thing they know with any certainty is that Korra is alive. If she had died, there would have been signs, of the kind Sages and other spiritual leaders watch for. This is also how people knew, long ago, that the Air Nomad Avatar had not died; and yet it took a century to find him.

The White Lotus appeal to each of the Nations' leaders to help in the search. Katara vouches for the authenticity of Tonraq and Senna's claim, that Korra is the Avatar, which is enough to convince Fire Lord Zuko to initiate a search in the Fire Nation. Unalaq agrees to use his expansive military to search the Water Tribes as well as the oceans and the coasts of the other nations. Tonraq knows his brother must be more motivated by politics than familial loyalty. They sent word, of course, when Korra was born, but Unalaq took no interest in his niece, until the news of her disappearance, and the purported reason behind it, reached the North.

About a month after the kidnapping, Chief Sokka and Master Katara invite Tonraq and Senna to have tea in the palace while Fire Lord Zuko is visiting. Tonraq first met him when he was the Prince of the Northern Water Tribe; now Zuko wants to offer his condolences and support to the Avatar's parents. Tonraq has felt a kind of kinship with him in the years since his banishment. Zuko, too, was once a disgraced prince banished by his father. But talking about his most recent failure is not something he wants to do, even over tea.

But Zuko surprises them with a story that proves they have another thing in common: they all lost an immediate family member and had to cope with not knowing her fate. While Tonraq lost his child, Zuko lost a parent.

"It is worse than mourning, isn't it?" the old firebender muses. "Death is final; mourning can be followed by healing. Not knowing a loved one's fate is like keeping a wound open, not giving it a chance to heal."

Tonraq nods. "Exactly."

"I don't doubt that Korra will turn up. But when she does, try not to hold any expectations."

"Had your mother changed very much, when you found her?"

"She had a new face, a new husband, and another child, a half-sister I didn't know I had." This begs an explanation, so Zuko indulges them with the full details of how he found his mother. The story temporarily distracts them, but it does not make them feel better about how much Korra may be changing.

"What more can we do?" Senna asks.

Zuko reflects for a moment—he has years of experience and much wisdom as a result. Finally he concludes softly, "Take care of your own needs, and those of the people who still depend on you."

Senna finds comfort in the company of others. She frequently visits Katara, an advocate of hope and healing. Over time she forms genuine friendships with the waterbenders who used to be just celebrities to the young couple.

Tonraq tries to be there for her for her as well, but he finds more freedom in solitude. He goes hunting or fishing by himself, more out of a desire to get away than out of real necessity. One less person in the family means one less portion of food to make.

He sometimes goes to the cliff where he used to show Korra the ocean. She loved to look at the sea, big and blue and beautiful, like her eyes, and just as powerful as her. Korra and the ocean were full of untapped mysteries, harboring the potential for something tremendous. He contemplates the horizon, which slowly changes as icebergs shift in the water.

There was so much they wanted to teach her. No—there is so much they want to teach her—they have to believe they will see her in the future. Tonraq still wants to show her how to sail and hunt and fish. Senna wants to show her how to cook, make clothing, and trade homemade materials for imported goods. Both of them could teach her waterbending.

One thing brings them closer after Korra's kidnapping. They still do not know how it happened, and struggle to convince others that they had not had a chance to defend themselves. In spite of this—or perhaps because of it—Senna insists that she needs to improve her waterbending. She received basic training as a child, but she was never interested in combat. Now, however, she is determined to learn how to defend herself and her loved ones.

So Tonraq begins training her, recalling what his father and old masters taught him in the North. At first it is difficult for either of them to waterbend well. Katara explains that they need to work through their tumultuous emotions and allow them to flow like water. It does not help that bending reminds them so much of Korra.

"Turn your grief into determination," Katara counsels. "Not to avenge what you lost, but to protect what you have."

It takes time, but Senna gradually improves, and the activity helps to bond her and Tonraq. It gives them something to do together, something to talk about, something to work for while they wait. And, surprisingly, it makes the days, weeks, and months go by more quickly.

There are bad days, such as when Korra throws tantrums. She argues and tries to negotiate about what she eats, how long she can play, how late she can stay up (like most waterbenders she is most energetic at night). She has a fiery temper, and if Noatak did not block her chi each day, she would probably burst the water pipes, break the cement walls, and cover the apartment with scorch marks.

Noatak wonders if all children are this self-centered, or if it is a result of her parents' coddling their Avatar child. Whatever the reason, it is clear that Korra is not inclined toward discipline.

When she gets sick, and vomits on her clothes and bedsheets, he has to hide his disgust, clean up her mess, and try to nurse her back to health. When he catches it too, he doubts he can take care of the both of them. At times like that, he resents having to tend to her. Sometimes it feels like his entire day consists of setting things up for Korra and cleaning up after her.

Money starts to be a problem for the first time in his life. In the Water Tribe, they made most of their own goods, and traded for what they could not make. As a traveler, he was always able to do odd jobs to earn money. In uninhabited areas he knew how to hunt or gather food. Here, with Korra, he needs even more money for food, clothes, and rent, but he does not trust anyone else to take care of Korra so he can work.

School seems like a natural solution to keep Korra occupied and allow Noatak time to focus on his work. But the two of them have not separated since they started living together, and he does not know how she would cope with being alone among strangers. He also fears that someday she will lose her temper and reveal her bending, perhaps two or three types at once. He has to minimize the chances of anyone discovering her identity. To do that, he has to minimize the amount of time she spends with other people. Homeschooling seems most conducive to that aim.

So he tries to find jobs that will allow him to bring his daughter with him. He is more than qualified to teach martial arts, and that would be a good way to recruit Equalists, but he does not want to run the risk of having a student recognize him as Amon.

Noatak finds the solution at the library. Korra is content to play and look at picture-books in the children's room. He keeps an eye on her while he re-shelves books and scrolls. After his shift is done, they go home and do lessons.

He finds her attitude toward education contradictory and disconcerting: Korra loves learning, and wants to excel, but she is so full of energy she dislikes sitting at a desk and following a lesson. She would rather learn by doing than by listening.

Noatak remembers learning from his father and defending his brother's slow progress. He wants to be patient for her sake, but he makes it clear he will not tolerate a lack of effort.

"Why do I have to learn this stuff?" she grumbles, rolling a bamboo brush on their kitchen table. She would rather doodle freely with pencils than make complicated designs with ink.

One reason is so that if their home is ever investigated, the police or whatever officials come will know he has done his job as a guardian by providing her with an education. But Noatak gives a reason more in line with her interests: "So you can explore more easily." She shoots him a skeptical look. "Just think, Korra: if you know how to read, you can read all the signs on the streets, symbols on the streetcar map, books in the library. You wouldn't need me to read to you."

"I like it when you read." He is good at changing his voice to sound like different characters.

"I'm honored," he says with a smile, "but you can't depend on me to read every word you see."

It takes a few years, but she does learn to read, both calligraphy characters and the newfangled phonetic alphabet that corresponds with Morse Code. Sometimes he even enjoys teaching her. The way she grips a brush and visibly concentrates on getting the strokes right is endearing to watch.

Noatak shows her news articles, but warns her not to fully trust the media, since even nonbender reporters can be paid off to write biased stories. He tells her about the Beifongs who hoard valuable natural resources in Zaofu, a city so remote and fantastical it is nearly legendary. They champion metalbenders and leave nonbenders in the dust. He tells her about how the most violent Avatar, Kyoshi, established the Dai Li to keep the peasantry in line. Though the Earth Kingdom monarchs have been nonbenders for generations, they have always used this earthbender force to censor, oppress, and terrify the people of Ba Sing Se. He teaches her everything he has learned about the wars of the world, and the conclusion he came to long ago: all suffering ultimately stems from bending.

When Korra is seven, she notices the headline, AIRBENDER GIRL BORN. It is then that Noatak explains the genocide. At the library he shows her books about the Air Nomad culture. Half of the information comes from Avatar Aang himself, the other half from professional historians, anthropologists, and scholars. He explains, in no uncertain terms, how the Fire Nation killed the men, women, and children of the Air Nation. He does not gloss over the unpleasant details; she has to understand the world they live in if they are to have any chance of fixing it.

Korra is close to tears as she asks, "Why did they do that?"

He does not tell her the real reason, To find the Avatar. Instead he tells her part of the truth: "The Fire Lords wanted to do the same thing to the other nations. They almost wiped out the Southern Water Tribe. The war ended on the day Fire Lord Ozai tried to burn the entire Earth Kingdom."

"How did it end?"

Noatak deliberates for a moment, creasing and smoothing out a corner of the newspaper between his fingers. "You know that big statue in the bay? That's the man who ended the war."

"What's his name again?"

"Aang. He was the only airbender who survived the genocide. He is the grandfather of the new airbender." He refolds the newspaper, clicking his tongue. "That child will grow up spoiled, just like her father."

"Wha'd'you mean?"

"The airbenders think they're special because they have a famous ancestor and rare abilities. Their bending is nothing to be proud of."

"I think it's kind of cool," Korra says. "They could use gliders to fly."

"They could also suffocate people, if they had the stomach for it. It's a good thing few of them did."

She cannot tell if he is joking or not. "What if I was a bender?"

Noatak has to steel himself against uneasiness. Is this still her child's imagination at work, or does she suspect—can she even remember, after three years? "You're not, so it's a moot question." Before she can ask, he defines, "That means there's no point in asking it."

"Would you hate me?"

That question startles him. "No, Korra. I wouldn't hate you."

"You'd still love me?"

He hesitates, because neither of them have mentioned love before, but he says, "Yes."

Moot or otherwise, he hopes his answer is true.

Two of Korra's birthdays have passed, each of them a bleak reminder of how much they lost. Senna wrote a letter to Korra on each of those days, and locked them in a box Tonraq carved from bone. When they are reunited, the box and letters will be gifts to make up for the celebrations they could not share. Of course it cannot make up for the separation, but Senna wants to give Korra evidence that they were thinking of her all along.

It becomes difficult to remember how it felt not to hurt when thinking of Korra. The pain has simply become a part of who they are.

When they experience something that would usually make them happy, they feel guilty for feeling that way when Korra might be unhappy. Normalcy seems like a sacrilege. Sometimes they can almost take their minds off of their pain, but (to use Zuko's metaphor) the wound remains open.

Even Tonraq's hunting trips, originally an excuse to mourn in privacy, have become routine. He stares at the sea out of habit. He tries to remember exactly how Korra looked, but his mental pictures are becoming blurred.

When he returns home with a turtle-seal on his sled, he finds the house empty. Senna is not there.

Tonraq feels uneasy, though he knows his fear is somewhat irrational. Senna is not housebound while he is away. She could have gone to the town, or the coast, or the healing hut. And yet, they are both so protective of each other, she would surely tell him if she was planning to go out while he was away.

He cleans the carcass by himself, something they would normally do together. By the time he is washing his hands clean, Senna enters the house. "Tonraq!" She is startled to see him, and does not come to him right away. "I didn't think you'd be back by now."

"I finished early." He stands up to look at her. "Are you all right?" She bows her head, and does not answer. Her hesitation concerns him. "Where were you?"

"I went to see Katara and Kya."

This is not unusual. The previous Avatar's female relatives have been a great source of comfort to Senna. On the other hand, they are also the ones most sought after for healing and remedies. "Was this a social visit, or a practical errand?"

"In a way, both."

Tonraq goes to her, touches her shoulder. "Are you not well?" Up close now, he sees that the skin under her eyes is swollen, as though she has been crying or rubbing her eyes. "Senna, what's wrong?" Could she be seriously sick? He cannot lose her too, at this point she is his only source of happiness—if you can call it that, in this twilit existence.

"Something's happened."

That much is obvious. But maybe it has nothing to do with health. Maybe it is news, something the elders told her. Tonraq grasps her forearm. "Is is something to do with Korra?"

At that, the tears begin to fall. She shakes her head, then stops. "No … and yes."

"Senna, just say it."

She wipes her cheeks, manages to meet his eyes, just briefly, but long enough to say, "I'm pregnant."

She spoke those words to him once before. They once wanted a fairly large family. It was only when they found out Korra was the Avatar that they agreed they should wait, or perhaps not have any more children. Tonraq knew how toxic sibling rivalry could be, especially when there was a clear difference of status between siblings. Any sibling of the Avatar may grow jealous of her power and inevitable fame. And in any case, they knew parenting the Avatar would likely take up most of their time and energy, and they did not want to short-change any other children.

After Korra was taken, they did not speak of having other children, barely dared to consider it. But they did not close themselves off to the possibility; they did not take measures to prevent it. They turned to each other for comfort, and though it took some time after the heartbreak, they gave in to their mutual desire for each other. They still love each other, partly because no one else understands the way they have been suffering.

Senna seems to take Tonraq's silent immobility as horror. She turns away, looking ashamed, but he takes her by the shoulder. "Senna … I'm not up … oh, love …" There are no words; or rather, there are too many to say, too many to think. So he pulls her close against him, and holds her as she shakes and sobs. He understands, now, that there are so many reasons to cry, as many for joy as for sorrow. They should be joyful, and yet joy itself seems like a betrayal, like laughing at a funeral.

Korra should be there—he imagines Senna's stomach growing, and Korra feeling the swollen flesh, surprised to feel her brother or sister kick from inside. By now she would be—must be—big enough to hold an infant in her arms.

He guides her to their bed, a piece of furniture he built with his own hands. It is where they consummated their marriage, conceived and gave birth to Korra, spoke their hopes and fears regarding the future, mourned Korra's disappearance, and conceived this unborn child. He holds her close, kisses her hair even as his tears fall on it.

They have not cried together like this since the first few nights after the kidnapping. At that time they were gripped with fear and anxiety, leading search efforts in the day, waiting agitatedly for news at night. Tonraq tried to be strong for Senna, but he cried too, even when insisting that Korra would be found, that all would be well. Their tears almost abated as the absence became part of their lives, but then doubled when they realized it might be a long time before Korra returned, if indeed she did return.

After periods of silence, Senna voices the fears that she accumulated in his absence, asking questions for which they can only make apprehensive guesses.

"What will she think of us? Of … him or her?"

Any young child might feel rivalry toward a new sibling. But if—when—Korra learns that her parents had a child in her absence, will she think they meant to replace her? The idea is ridiculous to them: Korra is irreplaceable, not because of her Avatar identity, but because of who she is—bright, energetic, curious, tenacious, petulant, talented, proud. But, in all likelihood, she will probably not remember how much they cherished her during the first four years of her life.

Tonraq tries, as Senna must have tried, to imagine another child reaching each of the milestones Korra passed: learning to crawl, walk, talk, run, perhaps waterbend. Everything the child does will remind them of the first time Korra did it. But then—what if Korra is still gone when this new child surpasses the age she was when they lost her? That will be a journey into unknown territory.

"What will people think of us?"

It is a strange question, at least to him. "I always thought you didn't care what other people think." That was why he had trusted her enough to marry her: she did not care about the honor of his heritage, nor about the disgrace of his banishment. She loved him for all his strengths and weaknesses.

And yet, it is something to think about. One of the reasons Senna has grown so close to Avatar Aang's family is that they do not look down on the couple. The reason for Tonraq's banishment, though not a secret to begin with, was reinforced in people's minds when the news of Korra's disappearance spread. In spite of all his waterbending prowess, he had failed to protect his daughter, just as he failed to protect his tribe years before. After weeks of organizing search parties and giving meals and condolences, support from the community faded. Now Tonraq and Senna are known as the couple who claimed to be the Avatar's parents and lost their only child. Will people judge them for daring to move on, to forget about their firstborn enough to focus on the newborn? Will they expect yet another failure from the parents?

"Are you afraid?" Tonraq asks. Is that the real reason for her anxiety? Not just pain and longing, but the possibility of loving and losing again?

"Yes." Senna sniffs, shuddering as she catches her breath. "We failed, Tonraq." They have both thought this, but never dared to verbalize it until now. Their elder friends urged them not to blame themselves, but now almost two years' suppressed guilt is bubbling up. "We failed to protect her and now we're going to have another chance to fail."

"This time will be different. Senna, that—that man—" He wants to call him monster, but that would only upset Senna further. "He wanted the Avatar. He made sure she was the Avatar, remember? But this child will be normal. No one will want to hurt it or take it away from us."

"I could miscarry, or the birth could go badly—anything could happen. Can you really tell me you're not afraid?"

"I don't know yet." Maybe he will feel afraid after he has finished processing what this news means. "What did Katara say while you were there? She's always talking about hope." The old master grew up waiting for the return of the Avatar and the end of a war, and in her adulthood she lived in hope of having children and grandchildren to repopulate the Air Nomads.

"She said we have to choose between hope and fear. Or else find a balance between them. I think that may be the best way."

"That … sounds wise." Hoping for the best, but preparing themselves for the worst, will help them accept whatever comes to pass.

Senna looks around their bedroom, and then down at her body, pressing a hand against her flat stomach. Before long she will be able to feel their child enough enough to discern its movements. They both remember the anticipation they experienced during her pregnancy with Korra. "Tonraq … is it wrong for us to be … happy, about this? Part of me wants to be … even though it hurts, I still …" She breaks off, choking up again.

"Senna, look at me." She does, and Tonraq pauses to wipe away her tears. "This is a blessing. Korra may not be able to enjoy it now, but she will someday. And … just because she can't doesn't mean that we shouldn't. Do you understand me? Do you agree?"

Senna nods affirmative to both questions.

"I swear on whatever honor I have left, I will never let anyone hurt our family again." He puts one hand on her stomach, and holds her hand in the other. "We will see Korra again." Tonraq said that the night Korra disappeared, and since then both of them have kept it, in their minds and on their lips, as a mantra when they came close to despair. Now he adds a second one:

"She will meet this child."

Music: "Sowing Tears" by Nathan Tasker, who lost his first two children, twins, to miscarriage. I think he took the language and imagery from Psalm 126:5-6.