"Get up."
The man's voice is rough and throaty, almost painful to listen to. She looks up and shoots him a glare, watching his beady eyes narrow at her angry blue ones. His greasy black hair is scraped away from his face and tied in a top knot, its darkness making his skin look almost translucent.
"I said get up!" He orders, louder this time. She only deepens her glare and blows her dark hair out of her face.
"How am I supposed to get up when my ankles and wrists are covered in rock?"
Growling through his teeth, he turns and grabs a piece of scrap metal left by one of the workers and slams it into the rock that binds her ankles, shards of stone flying wildly and cutting into her legs. Glancing down, she sees that her ankles are red and purple, bruised and stained with blood and inflammation. She clenches her jaw and stands up, shaking slightly at the pain that shoots through her legs as her injured ankles move position and her fresh cuts spill even more blood. She grits her teeth and follows the man up the stairs and out of the engine room, her flesh stinging with every step. Once they reach the ship's deck, harsh daylight floods her senses, fresh air tingling on her skin and the scent of the sea filling her nostrils. They pass an animated girl dressed in pink and her friend with bored, slanted eyes and glossy black hair; she remembers them as Azula's companions, and avoids eye contact.
She continues walking until the man stops abruptly. Azula stands in front of them, her head held high, and glances at the man as if he were nothing; an insect that she could crush with the heel of her shoe at any moment. Katara supposes this is how royalty looks at everyone below them, and feels like urge to waterbend Azula into the surrounding ocean, or perhaps just slap her across the face.
"I've brought the girl, Princess." The man bows his head to the teenager, his voice sickly sweet with loyalty.
Azula's sharp eyes flicker to Katara, passing over her burnt, filthy frame. She downturns her lips in disgust.
"Cover her mouth again and make sure she is watched at all times." The princess says, returning her stare to the man.
"Of course, Princess." He nods, his voice cracking on the last word in a pathetic way that Azula probably relishes in. Katara finds that she almost pities him. Almost.
"Leave."
He bows and scutters away, grabbing Katara roughly by her arm to pull her into a smaller room. He covers her mouth with a stained, filthy piece of cloth and she feels bile gather in her throat at the foul taste; she swallows and digs her fingernails into the palms of her hands, following the man once again. She wants to run more than anything, attempt to escape her future of filthy prison cells and bloodied flesh, but there are hundreds of people on this ship, and even if there weren't eyes watching her around every corner, she wouldn't make it far with her injured ankles and bound wrists.
Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Zuko, his features tense and beads of sweat dripping down his face. What could he be so nervous about? He obviously wanted to return to the Fire Nation and restore his precious honour, or he wouldn't have done what he did in the Crystal Catacombs.
Why should she care, anyway? Whatever worries the Fire Prince does not affect her. Besides, if he does feel regret at coming back, he deserves to - he betrayed her and his uncle, and threw all his supposed change out the window. She has no doubt that he lied about losing his mother and about the disgrace his scar holds, as well as his realisation that he is free to determine his own destiny. If her hands were not tied, she would slap herself for ever trusting him after everything he has done - and everything he continues to do.
She shakes her head. He is not worth her thoughts.
She glances up and is met with bright light; she shouldn't have gotten so lost in thought. Blinking a few times, she realises that the bright light is the sun, and there is a vast landscape in front of her.
They have arrived in the Fire Nation.
.
She is not able to take in the view. Pale sand spreads to the horizon and melds with a cloudless blue sky, but it all goes past in a blur of cream and cobalt. The man practically shoves her off the ship, leaving her no time to rebalance herself before he begins walking. She follows him and sand rubs against her bruised ankles, attacking her fresh cuts mercilessly.
She does not know how long they trudge on for, the pain in her ankles numbing to a dull, burning ache and her legs moving forward without any thought. She occasionally catches sight of Zuko and Azula in their paladin and wonders why they are travelling along the same winding, desolate route as her - she would not expect the Royal siblings to be hidden away from their nation on their return.
Finally, they stop in front of a large, guarded building. A tall, heavily armed guard strides over to the pair and sweeps his muddy brown eyes over them.
"Who's the girl?" He questions. He speaks loudly and clearly, a refreshing sound compared to the hoarseness of the other man's voice.
"Prisoner of Princess Azula."
It only takes those four words for the guard to give a firm nod and grab Katara's arm, walking her along the echoing hallways. They reach an empty cell and he unlocks it, his keys jangling as they turn in the keyhole. Not forgetting the rock that binds her wrists, the guard slams his fist against the stone, breaking the cuffs and bloodying his knuckles.
"I don't know why the Princess brought a water peasant with her," the guards begins as he unties Katara's gag. "but if you can do the pathetic splashing that your people call bending, don't try using it here. Because we will catch you, and when we catch you, your punishment will be much worse than death - trust me."
With that, he shoves her into the cell and walks away, leaving her to huddle in the far corner of her cell and accept that this filthy ground and these rusting bars are her home now.
—
They are not to be seen by the public. Not yet. He will be reintroduced to the Fire Nation tomorrow, maybe even later. Today he will enter the palace, become reminded of the elaborate passages and intricately designed walls that he was once accustomed to walking past.
He may see his father.
The Firelord did not make any direct appearances to him after their Agni Kai. He saw glimpses of dark hair and pointed shoes, but never his face. The last time his father looked at him was standing over him, malice etched into his features and golden eyes burning with disgust. This will be the first time in three years that those amber eyes bore into him.
Zuko shakes his head, clearing his mind of the memories. It is stupid, now, to be thinking of past events. He should be thinking of the future, when he will finally be prince again, his honour restored.
But the future still terrifies him, just as much as the past does. And so, he chooses to focus his mind on the present instead, concentrating on the little bumps in the path and the warm breeze whistling through the trees.
He wonders what he will focus on when the future becomes the present.
.
A tall, opulent building looms in front of him, stained deep crimson and adorned with gold. He takes a deep breath and lets warm air fill his lungs, before following the guards into the royal palace.
His deep breath was futile, for the memories that flood his mind at the sight of the palace's interior immediately knock the air from his lungs. They walk along the passages that he and Azula used to run through, past the rooms that old men would stand, serious faced and stroking their beards, past the intricate tapestries of his ancestors that he once gazed at, wishing for nothing more than to become like them.
They halt at a doorway that he remembers as the entrance to his room, and he walks inside, servants trailing behind him and unpacking his things as he sits on his bed, attempting superiority. He does not know how long it takes them to unpack, nor does he know how long he stays in the same position, alternating between thinking about everything and nothing at all. Minutes melt into hours before a sharp knock sends a hoarse "come in," rolling from his tongue.
"Prince Zuko, the Firelord requests your presence."
His stomach drops and for a moment, he thinks he might vomit, or collapse, or burst into tears. Instead, he forces himself to stand up and gives the servant at his door a tight nod, digging his fingernails into his hands to hide their shaking.
"Please, come this way, Prince Zuko. The Firelord expects the highest of appearances for anyone in his presence."
He lays on a velvety, reclined chair as the servants busy themselves with clipping his nails, washing his feet, tying his hair into a topknot. A bowl of perfectly formed cherries rests at his side, glistening in the light that pours through the windows. He eats none of them. Finally, they seem convinced that he looks like the heir to the throne and lead him through the hallways of the palace once more, stopping outside a large, lavishly decorated curtain, its deep red all too similar to blood. This is it, he thinks - it feels terrifying and anticlimactic all at once. Taking a deep breath, he pushes away the heavy material and enters the Firelord's throne room.
He kneels almost automatically, glancing to his side to find that Azula is here as well, her form in the same position. The wall of fire that surrounds the throne warms Zuko's skin, but the Firelord is not sitting there; he strides around the two teenagers, as if he is a predator circling its prey, his click of his pointed shoes echoing throughout the room.
"Zuko, you have been away for a long time. I see the weight of your travels has changed you." He says, his voice loud but calm, as if holding back its true force. He pauses and Zuko holds his breath. "My son, you may look at me. I am proud of you."
Zuko looks up to find the face of his father, unchanged after three years, his sharp features and golden eyes as harsh as ever, but with words leaving his lips that he thought he might never hear from him. Zuko almost allows himself to smile.
"I am proud of you, because you have slain the avatar. You have restored your honour and your birthright, Prince Zuko."
Zuko almost jumps, his eyes widening for a moment before he gains his composure. And slowly, all of the joy and relief and gratitude he had felt dissipates, his stomach sinking with the realisation that this was all part of a plan - that Azula had only wanted him to join her in case something went wrong in the Crystal Catacombs, and more pressingly, something had gone wrong.
"Azula," his father turns to his sister, "I am proud of you, for assisting Zuko in his slaying of the avatar and helping to end the avatar cycle for good."
He can almost feel Azula's malicious smirk, the upturn of her lips when she knows that she is one step ahead.
"Father, the avatar was not killed in the avatar state."
The Firelord's eyes go alight with fury, the force in his voice that seemed to be held back now revealing itself. "Do you mean to say that a new avatar has been born in one of the water tribes?"
"Yes, father. I apologise."
"Do not apologise! This is not your fault - it is Zuko's! He failed to kill the avatar in the avatar state; he must pay for his mistake!"
Zuko forces his stare back to the floor, his heart pounding in his head. Perhaps he will be thrown in prison and left to rot, or sent back to the Earth Kingdom and marked as an enemy to his homeland again, or given another scar, another mark of shame and disgrace and disappointment-
"You have not regained your honour - you are no prince. You must prove your worth, since you have failed me with the airbending avatar." The Firelord spits venomously, "you will find the new avatar in one of the water tribes, and you will kill it in the avatar state. Until then, you are banished, and no son of mine."
He feels as if he is sinking, crumbling, turning to dust. He feels numb, as if he doesn't quite exist; he is sure that the anger, the pain, the self-hatred, will flood him once he leaves this room, but right now, there is nothing but a distant feeling of loss as everything he has fought for over the past three years - his home, his honour, his future - slip away with every word dropped from his father's lips.
Out of the corner of his eye, though, Azula furrows her eyebrows. "But father, won't people know that Zuko has returned?"
"Only guards and servants know of his return, and I will make sure they do not tell a soul. There will be a small crew on the ship; it will be discreet, quiet. No one else will ever know."
"But- but how will navigate his way through the water tribes?"
Zuko wonders why Azula is speaking out against their father's decision; she has always loved seeing Zuko fail. But he suddenly remembers her plan, of finding the new avatar and killing it - with Zuko doing this instead of her, she can no longer use it to impress their father.
"The new prisoner you brought is a water peasant, correct?" The Firelord asks.
Azula nods. "Yes, father."
"Well, then Zuko will not need to navigate his way through the water tribes. The girl will join him on his journey."
—
AN: oooohhhhh, the plot thickens! I don't know if you guys were expecting this, but I felt so clever when I thought of the idea lol
The pro bending circuit (by allysialui) is starting tomorrow and I'm SO excited! I'm on makapu moose lions, and I'll be posting my entries on this account.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed! It really means the world to me when people like my stories.