FICKLE FORTUNES

I: Awakening

"What's meant to be will always find a way."
― Trisha Yearwood

Today was not Katara's day.

Frustrated at the netting that she struggled to untie, and at her brother who had dumped her with this ridiculous task while he insisted on going spear fishing with the younger boys, Katara muttered empty threats on what she would like to do to her lazy brother when he came back.

In the hut, she had taken off her parka as the thick ice walls trapped in the heat from the central fire pit. It blazed almost as furious as Katara as she fought back the urge to throw the net into the flames.

But then she'd have to weave a new net – well of course it wouldn't be Sokka doing it, who would dismiss it as "women's work" – and that would take considerably longer. Although, maybe she could just cut it and repair it instead…

She pulled out a small bone knife, and was about to start cutting through the pesky knots, when her grandmother began to cough weakly on the other side.

On her feet at an instant and net forgotten, Katara rushed to her side and helped her sit up as she clutched at her chest. After a few more dry hacks, the coughing ceased as she let out a wheeze while she tried to regain her breath.

"Gran-Gran, how are you feeling? Can I get you something?" Katara continued to fuss over her, feeling the high temperature of her grandmother's sweaty brow. "Some sea prunes?"

The older woman shook her head, and Katara frowned. She hadn't eaten yesterday, either. They'd tried tea made from pearlwort, tiger-seal bile, but nothing seemed to work on breaking the fever, or clearing the cough that plagued her.

"Here, have some water," Katara reached for the waterskin and uncorked it with her free hand before offering it to Gran-Gran. She managed a few mouthfuls before pushing it away suddenly as another round of coughing hit. Katara rubbed her back reassuringly before re-capping the waterskin.

Some water had splashed onto the blankets. With a gesture reminiscent to the push and pull of tides, the liquid lifted from the fabric and covered Katara's hand. As the lone waterbender of the village, she'd done enough laundry to learn how to extract it. Occasionally Sokka let her join him for the fishing trips, though he was less fond of her using her "magic water". She laid her coated palm against Gran-Gran's feverish skin.

"Yugoda…" her grandmother smiled gratefully. After an initial falter, Katara smiled back. The fever was making her delirious, and Katara didn't quite know what to do. She didn't even know who this Yugoda was, or why Gran-Gran referred to her as such.

Soon Gran-Gran was asleep again, and Katara sat back on her ankles.

It was clear this was no minor illness, and perhaps she was particularly suffering because of her old age. Katara knew all too well of death, and how some weren't even as lucky as her grandmother to reach such a ripe old age, but she couldn't stand losing her. Not after losing her mother to a monster in Fire Nation armour. Losing her father to a hundred-year war.

How would she let her dad know of Gran-Gran's illness? He hadn't returned in years, since he took the last batch of suitably matured boys. Sokka had been of-age for the past two years, and yet the warriors were yet to come home. The tribe had stopped discussing when they thought the Chief would next return.

And still Sokka refused to take up the mantle of Chief. She thought that maybe he had already come to terms with the notion of their father's death, but did not want to dash Katara's hope that he was still alive. She loved him for that.

Katara sighed and returned to the nets, carefully picking at the knots as the bone dagger and her anger lay forgotten by the fire.

A few hours later, Sokka had returned with the boys. Their haul was better than the last time they had all gone spear fishing; the younger ones were improving. Katara cleaned the fish without complaint, though she requested Sokka sit with her and help.

"Really, Katara?" he complained. "But my hands, they're just so worn out from the—"

He was silenced by the look and diligently started on the fish.

"How's Gran-Gran?" Sokka asked. For someone who could be intensely dense at times, he never failed to pick up when something was upsetting her.

Katara shook her head as she tried to formulate the right words. She yearned to be positive, keep hope that whatever plagued their grandmother would pass and she would recover… but even she knew it was foolish. The siblings continued their work in silence. It was summer, and the days were long. Though the sky was still light, by the time they finished most of the village had returned to their homes.

After checking on their grandmother, who was fast asleep, Katara brought them out two bowls of suaasat.

The communal firepit was now embers with no one there to tend to it but it seemed unnecessary to relight it now as they sat side by side. Katara delicately ate her soup while Sokka gladly spoke with his mouth full, informing her of how the younger boys were progressing with all sense of decorum lost, if he had it in the first place.

In line with their usual routine, Katara tidied their bowls away while Sokka clambered to the top of the ice tower she had built months ago. The last one had collapsed after a month but this one had remained structurally sound for much longer; she was getting better.

The sun was finally starting to set. Katara returned to her hut and burrowed into her sleeping bag while she listened to Gran-Gran's laboured breathing and tried to think of nothing but sleep. She managed, for an hour or two perhaps, but then her anxious energy was becoming harder to ignore. She could feel her pulse in her temples, could hear her own blood rushing around her system. Only one thing could make her feel better.

Sokka had no reason to look behind their village walls, so stealth was not a concern as she approached the kayaks. She did not bother with the paddle, and idly guided the boat with no particular direction in mind as she focused on the pulling and pushing motions of the water. After a while, she allowed it to follow the current while she made thin streams of water leap over her head and intertwine as twin dancing eels.

She didn't know how many hours had passed, but the sun had been up for some time when Katara moved on to practising freezing and unfreezing the streams, then shaping the ice. She made a perfectly spherical ball then a fish, adding details of shining scales, delicate gills and glassy eyes. The lack of sleep had finally caught up to her, but she wanted to get it perfect before she returned. No doubt the children would enjoy it.

At first, she didn't notice the snow. Of course she vaguely noted it was snowing, but it was only when the frozen fish changed from a clean ice blue to a dirty grey that she looked up and tasted ash.

Dawn.

The early morning rays peeking through the cabin window would have awoken Prince Zuko, if he was not already up. Sat in front of one lone candle, he tried to calm the pumping blood in his veins as it thrummed with energy, breathing in and out slowly, carefully, patiently.

The anticipation – the hope, something he hadn't entertained for the longest time– was almost too much to bear. He knew he was close to his goal that he had been chasing for the slow five years he had been at sea, could feel it within his grasp.

"Prince Zuko," his uncle's voice penetrated the fragile peace as he opened the door without knocking. Not for the first time and unlikely to be the last. "Ah – is this a bad time?" He gestured to the candle flaring wildly and threatening to set one of the red and black banners alight.

Zuko unclenched his fists and let loose the breath he had unwittingly been holding. The candle's flame dimmed and Iroh's smile returned.

"Tea?" the retired general offered as he waved one of the crew in carrying an ornate pewter tea set. The soldier set it down, lit the tealight that warmed the teapot and bowed before a quick escape. No doubt the prince's foul mood at being disturbed was palpable.

"No thank you," Zuko ground out as he rose to his feet, hoping Uncle would follow the crewmember's lead.

"Come on, Prince Zuko," encouraged Iroh, seemingly oblivious to his nephew's emotional state. "This blend of oolong and ginger I find particularly warming in such a climate, especially if you intend to step on the ice today."

Zuko ignored him. The concept of a firebender needing a drink to keep him warm was absurd. He shrugged out of his red silk robe and took a black undershirt from his dresser. Extra layers would not hurt, even if today he would be wearing armour.

Iroh sighed. "Zuko, do you really think—"

"Save it, Uncle," Zuko interrupted. "I've heard enough of your advice. Five years of it. Today I will claim what is rightfully mine; today I begin my journey home."

"I'm telling you, she is a hack."

"Uncle," Zuko warned, his mood already sour. His fingernails dug into his palms as the candle and the tealight both blazed furiously. He was beyond the same old argument they'd been having the last several weeks at sea, ever since he had travelled from the fortune teller's hut with the greatest lead he'd had all this time on a seemingly fruitless journey to regain his honour. A destination. A person. A lifeline.

"A desperate man will even hold onto a knife edge," Iroh said as he sat down to pour tea. Two cups, despite Zuko's earlier protests.

It was apt, and maybe three years ago Zuko would have scoffed at the woman as well, but his uncle had not been in the room with Zuko, had not heard all the things she surely shouldn't have known.

"We still have a few hours before we will arrive at the South Pole. Please, sit with me for a moment. If you are right, and today is such a momentous day, then we should savour each second."

Zuko nodded and kneeled opposite, accepting the small cup Uncle had offered him and taking a small sip. He welcomed the sharp taste of ginger as his pulse continued to thrum. Today was the day.

The helmsman had somewhat miscalculated the speed of their ship when it sliced through the ice like a warm knife through butter and breached the snow barrier. Zuko gripped the metal railing as he observed from the deck. He hadn't wanted to miss a second of their approach, though he begrudgingly noted there wasn't much to miss.

The settlement was smaller than any he had ever seen, smaller even than any Fire Nation outposts he had visited. He felt conflicted between disappointment – thiswas where the Avatar was hiding? – and relief. At least it would be easier to find his target.

The steel ramp was lowered and Zuko strode down it, every inch the nobility he was, fully decked in his polished armour.

It was inevitable that the tribesmen would have seen their huge naval ship advancing towards their home so they could not benefit from the element of surprise. However, he doubted even his small crew would have issues with any foolishly brave warriors.

Speaking of foolish… Zuko easily dodged the projectile thrown by a man wearing animal skins and facepaint. Several of his soldiers grabbed the tribesman and forced him face first into the ground with his arms held behind his back. The warrior struggled in vain then craned his neck to the side to spit out the mouthful of snow he had inadvertently eaten. The slush had wiped away some of the markings and it suddenly occurred to Zuko that they were probably close in age.

Just as Zuko was about to commence his interrogation, he heard the whistle of something travelling fast towards him. He glanced to the frightened villagers – no, nothing in front – then saw stars as he staggered forwards.

In fact, he couldn't see anything. Oh, the helmet.

Angrily righting his headgear, Zuko glared daggers at the smirking water tribesman. Even his crew were struggling to look him in the eye, obviously holding back snickers.

The weapon – a metal boomerang – had landed in front of him. He picked it up and inspected the edge. It was lucky he was wearing his helmet, as he wasn't sure he would still have his head. It was well crafted and hadn't warped at all.

"Hey!" the warrior shouted indignantly like a petulant child, "That's mine!"

"Maybe I will," Zuko said as he thumbed the still-sharp edge, "If you give me what I'm looking for." He nodded to the soldiers, who allowed the tribesman to his knees now that his arms were restrained with chains. The captive continued to struggle fruitlessly as he tried to reach the bone-club he had in a leg holster. This only accomplished yet another confiscation and now the man was pouting.

"Well unless you're looking for a day of penguin sledding then I'm afraid you're all out of luck, Fire Nation." Though his tone had started sarcastic, the maliciousness that accompanied it was unmistakeable. Obviously he had encountered Zuko's people before.

"I'm looking for—" Zuko stopped himself before he continued. He needed to be subtle about this. In the middle of nowhere, maybe these savages didn't even know who the Avatar was? "—a female bender."

If he were not as observant, he might have missed the momentary panic that crossed his captive's eyes before it returned to hate.

But he didn't.

The warrior had now decided to go down the silent route, however it was of no consequence to him. Zuko had gotten what he wanted out of him. He turned his attentions to the remainder of the Water Tribe – women and children – huddled together in fear. None of them seemed old enough.

"Search the huts," he ordered. "Bring out anyone that matches the description." The description being any female that demonstrated bending abilities. Most likely to be close to a hundred years old.

As expected, the search did not take long.

"Prince Zuko," one of his officers called as he stood by the largest ice-hut in the village. Pushing aside thick animal pelts that blocked the entryway, Zuko entered the hut. Inside, it was surprisingly warm, considering it was made of ice but his focus was drawn to the elderly woman lying on a cot. She was clearly very ill. Most likely dying.

Zuko grit his teeth. Of course this is how the universe would reward him for his relentless searching. He would find The Avatar, only for her to diebefore he could show her to his father to regain his honour and earn his rightful place.

He felt so angry that the longer he stayed in this hut the more likely he would melt the whole thing.

"Grab her," he barked as he went to storm out before bitterly adding "Carefully."

That fortuneteller knew he would find this? Damn woman. His Uncle had been right about her being a waste of time. He could always go back for another reading. Maybe he would even take her, to ensure she told him the full story. Maybe he'd burn her village to the ground to show what he thought of her withholding information.

The Water Tribesman was still struggling against his chains, shouting pointless threats and what Zuko assumed were obscenities native to his tongue. He paid him no mind as he continued towards his ship.

He glanced back to see second officer Muzi holding the woman in his arms as if she weighed nothing, though he suddenly paused and looked down in confusion. Zuko followed his gaze to his feet, which were encased in ice halfway up his calves. The elderly woman hadn't moved, how had she—

A blast of icy water bowled him off his feet; now the prince was the one eating snow. Ice crystals grew up to his shoulders as it trapped him in place.

The culprit quickly made herself known, surfing in on the snow as she stood protectively in between Zuko, and the Avatar. Who he had thought was the Avatar.

"Found you," he smirked.

A/N: So originally I conceived this as a funny story like hey wouldn't it be funny if Zuko was a dumb-dumb and thought Katara was the Avatar? And then it got all serious. Will it get lighter? Will it get darker? WHO KNOWS?

I haven't written in a while but instead of rewriting it again and again I just wanted to get it out. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.