Edited as of 3/12/2011. Both Zuko's and Katara's tale has been expanded.
Once, there was a banished prince.
Zuko inhales deeply through his nose, holds his breath, and lets the air escape his mouth. Meditating, just as his uncle taught him.
Gradually, the movement becomes rhyhmic, natural. Easy, even. His mind concentrates on the image of the candles burning before him, slowly dissecting the burning flames; the orange glow from the yellow flame, and the blue-white center that burns cleanly.
Beneath its bandage, his left eye itches.
Zuko breathes, and tries very hard not to think. About his eye, his father, the impossible task laid ahead of him.
"Prince Zuko?"
Iroh's voice interrupts concentration. He feels it slip through his hands, like letting go of a net. Instead of the splash of water though, he feels the room heat up as the candles burn brighter.
"What is it, Uncle?" he asks through ground teeth.
"I was worried," Iroh replies. "How is your injury?"
"I'm fine!" Zuko snaps. "Just leave me alone!"
He snorts as the door closes, and shifts his focus back to the candles before him. He concentrates, trying to direct his anger - anger at the injustice heaped upon him, the humiliation, anger at himself and the world - into cold focus.
Capture the Avatar.
That is all he has to do. Capture an ancient, cowardly old man who did nothing to save his people. And he will regain his honour, his throne and birthright, and his father's love.
He remembers his father's voice, sharp and cutting, laced with poison.
Suffering will be your teacher.
It has. It always will be.
Zuko breathes hard, and does his best to forget.
XXXXX
And once, there was a maiden of the water and the moon.
Under the silver light of the full swollen moon, Katara breathes. She watches the black water lap at the edge of the iceberg she stands on.
Push and pull.
She raises her arms and pushes leaning forward as she does so. Obediently, the waters crest into a large wave and move away.
When she closes her eyes, she can almost hear a faint voice singing a song about the moon and the stars. Perhaps it is the ocean spirit.
She pulls, gently tugging it forward towards her, before pushing it back again. She repeats this motion, again and again, until it is as easy and rhythmic as breathing, until Katara and the shifting waters are one.
If only, she thinks.
If I was a better waterbender, maybe mother wouldn't have died.
She closes her eyes, and the train of thought goes on and on and on.
If I was better, maybe father would have taken me with him to fight in the war. If I was better, maybe father wouldn't have needed to leave at all. If I was better, maybe I could help end this stupid war.
If I was better -
Too many what ifs, too many maybes. As she moves the icy waters beneath her feet, Katara drowns in an ocean of grief.
"Katara?"
Sokka's voice breaks her dark thoughts. Her concentration slips, and the water splashes back down into the sea.
He lays a hand on her shoulder. "Spirits," he mutters. "You're freezing. How long have you been out here?"
And his voice, edged with concern and worry is like a lifeline. She's not choking or drowning anymore but is instead, being slowly pulled towards the surface and to land.
"Thank you," she whispers.
He is confused. "You've obviously been out here too long. C'mon."
He takes her hand and pulls her along, and Katara follows him home.