5. Bound
She doesn't remember the first time she Waterbended. But it was certainly something that set her apart from the rest of her tribe. A celebration, she was told with lingering envy from Sokka, was held on the night she opened a fissure in the family igloo. There were uncertain, half-hoped moments before this—little bubbles in her previously still cup, a frost over the morning stew, a splash of an irregular wave—but her father would always roar at her temper, her spirit, her fire whenever he recalled her little mittened hands cracking solid ice over not being allowed to go on a hunting trip.
"And why should you," Sokka sulked, stabbing at the sea prunes he normally loved so much. "You're just a girl."
Katara stuck out her tongue at him over her own generously-topped bowl.
She's the first Waterbender in many generations. She's grown up hearing stories of brave Waterbenders defending their homes, her home, with incredible feats of power. Her family heaps praise upon her, her village smiles and tries to tell her about some Waterbending forms and relatives, she can stand out from her brother who always brags about being a warrior, and she's allowed to practice her Waterbending, just as long as she doesn't neglect her duties.
Gran Gran always told her that she could do anything, glancing at her mother, her throat where the blue pendant gleamed in the cooking fire's light.
"You're not restricted by anything except yourself, little one," she said to her while Katara was fingering her mother's necklace one day on her lap. Her mother had agreed, kissing her hair, telling her she can rise high if she wants, create a wave that reaches above the clouds. Katara laughs at the image, then tries to pull the water up, up, upwards the next day.
Katara's brother dismisses it and laughs if she drops a water ball she's so carefully tried to keep up for more than ten seconds. Katara would like to have more practice, but her grandmother and mother keep telling her to stop and do some chores. Her father tries to search for teachers, but fails. Katara would love to learn more! She knows she can be great! The tribe can benefit so much! She's heard the stories: pull fish from giant bubbles from the sea, haul more water for cooking and cleaning, help Sokka with hunting with some ice knives, defend home if the Fire Nation attacks. But nothing. The North is a world away. Every day is a struggle to survive. She can't just leave home to become a master and not help the village.
And she does. Katara keeps looking back, and perhaps that's her problem, but she can see the vast leaps of progress she's gained. She's a Waterbending Master in her own right—generous and good-hearted, terrible and tremulous, controlled and confident. And beautiful. She knows the talk, especially now that she has time to listen to the gossip. There are songs about her, for spirit's sake, songs of a lovely Waterbending maiden who can tear down cities or bring the dead to life. There's a small play, not by the Ember Island Players, that tells about her life, though a bit exaggerated (she doesn't remember healing all of the fallen Waterbenders or destroying twelve battleships during the Siege of the North). There's a court position for her, Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe, and a soft smile from Fire Lord Zuko when she sits at his right hand when Aang is not in the palace.
She's free and happy and knows it all, or thinks she does. Home is far away, but she always finds a little piece here and there. News, small things, by messenger hawk. Gran Gran sends her a recipe for sea prunes and scarf that she will never wear. Pakku tells her he has many girl students now, one little girl citing Katara as the reason to join his class. She catches a whiff of penguin meat, which is selling nicely in Fire Nation markets. It doesn't snow in the Fire Nation, but there are monsoons and hurricanes, and she misses blizzards, if that can be believed. Sokka writes to her from the brightly-lit Republic City, telling her that he's thinking about taking up the open chieftain position at the Southern Water Tribe.
She is able to travel freely without bounty hunters or Firebenders at her tail and loves it. She gets to know everything and everyone. She loves her post, her Waterbending, the food, the festivals, the word duels, the Fire Lord. She loves him, and she hasn't felt this way about anyone, truly. Whispers fly around—a powerful woman scheming for a powerful lord and a higher position besides. She pays them no mind, and she and Zuko begin a courtship at the heart of the Fire Nation, whether it is strolling through the gardens or kissing in the library. They sneak smiles and playful touches at meetings, and whenever Katara hears a particularly ignorant or idiotic comment from one of the nobles or ambassadors, Zuko always catches her eye and gives her a sympathetic look or a raised eyebrow. They sometimes stay up all night, holed up in his office with pots of tea and platters of dumplings, trying to find solutions and making trips to the library to uncover law or history scrolls. Contrary to popular gossip, the couple doesn't spend nights in bed, between the sheets—Katara holds to her traditions, and they both find new ways to please each other.
Zuko kisses her as if she's the only girl in the world. He shows her exotic spices in the bazaars and laughs when she eats a whole pepper the vender warned her not to taste. He's at her side, her back, in every function and festival, the latter if he can be persuaded to attend one outside of forced Fire Lord protocol. He holds her and lifts her a little in the hot air balloon so she can get a better look at the ground below. Once she swears she brushes a cloud and laughs, and he looks puzzled but kisses her just the same.
She tells him she loves him, and she does. But every time a hot wind blows uncomfortably against her silk robes, she thinks of the cold, the crunch of snow beneath soft pelt boots, a sting of a snowball. Zuko takes her to picnic on the beach, and she loves the warm tropical waters, blue-green and swaying in time to the palm trees, surrounded by brilliant white sand. But she keeps thinking of rocking ice floes that would bump against the boat, an endless sheet of glittering whiteness, sea prunes that slid down her throat so easily.
She thinks of home, and it isn't the Fire Nation.
She arrives home for an ambassador commute and her feet are solid on the ground and she feels like a part of her was missing but is now in place.
She thinks of a Firebender in the center of a dormant volcano and sighs.