AN: So I became aware while rereading my prompts that the previous was meant to be a belching contest with Borra's son. Oops. Sorry about that. I just always imagined a little girl, so that's how it came out. My deepest apologies. I can't say I regret it too much because she was pretty adorable, just like her parents.

Anyway, I've had a time of it today because I kept looking over my prompts and coming up completely blank. I finished FMA: Brotherhood last night and it left me in a creative funk. I mean, how does one measure up to shit like that? I digress.

I just decided to pick one and write. I really make no promises that today's drabble will be any good because I'm just really out of it.

Requested by Jokermask18

Yakone lives

Snow came down in a constant torrent. Flakes of it stuck to his lashes, even beyond the macabre mask fashioned from Republic City. It was more of a hindrance than ever in this cold climate. The air was vaguely breathable on the mountain, but he knew it wasn't smart to reveal his true face just yet. He had to be alone with him first. Party to the villagers escorting him, he couldn't risk showing his true identity. People talked, after all.

"There, sir." One of the villagers called through the blizzard. Wrapped in traditional water tribe coats, he pointed to the hut at the edge of the mountain. It was nearly buried in snow, the only light coming from a small opening in it's surface. Smoke rose and disappeared from a chimney on the roof.

The man called Amon nodded. "Thank you for your hospitality. I need no more assistance from here." He waved the man and his two sons off. His sons were two boys in their mid teens. They reminded him of someone else, but he didn't care to think about who too much. These boys were non benders. Warriors. Fishermen. Hunters. Irrelevant.

"Don't hesitate to call on us any time if you ever need anything!" The man called from below as Amon mounted the hill. His voice was nearly lost in the whistle of the wind. Amon had already forgotten his name.

He reached the crest of the hill in no time at all. Standing at the mouth of the little house, he hesitated. His fist clenched, the snow beneath him crystallizing into ice before melting and pooling around his feet. He felt none of the cold.

He bowed and proceeded through the entrance of the hut, letting his eyes adjust to the bright light of the fire at it's center. A man, smaller than an otter-penguin, huddled next to a cot across the room. He was preparing medicine of some sort on a small makeshift table. On the cot was the muddle of bones Amon had come to see. His skin was stretched tight and old, hair thinned and falling about the pillow on which he rested. His eyes were dull and distant, his lips cracked and raw. He wasn't half the man he'd once known. Just a shadow. Just the bones.

"May I speak with your master?" Amon muttered tonelessly to the small man working diligently beside the elder one. He looked up, surprised at Amon's presence. His eyes were wide behind thick-rimmed glasses but his hands continued to move expertly with the herbs on the table.

"And who might you be?" The healer was surprised but fearless. He stood and held his work deftly in big sprawling hands.

"That is none of your concern. Ask your master if he will see me."

"Now just wait a minute-." The healer was silenced with a weak wave of the elder man's hand. The old man sat up on his elbows and waved his servant away.

"Do not worry, Karo. I will see him. Leave us." He rolled roughly onto his side to face Amon, his distant eyes aged but intelligent.

The healer looked skeptical, as if he might argue, but left dutifully beyond Amon. Amon moved forward and sat before the older man, waiting.

"I shouldn't know that voice, but I do. Tell me, is your face as mysteriously recognizable as your voice?" The old man challenged, pointing weakly at the mask Amon wore.

"As recognizable as yours always was, father." Amon muttered, throwing back his hood and removing the mask. Beneath the facade gleamed Noatak, as angry as the day he'd left. "It took me a long time to find you. I was surprised you allowed mother to believe you were dead." He paused, reconsidering his words. "Well, no, I guess that's not entirely true. You always wanted to disappear, properly, didn't you?"

"A genetic trait, no doubt." Yakone replied with a sly smile. He glanced pointedly at the mask in Noatak's hands.

"Does my brother know you live?"

"Does he know that you live?"

Noatak did not answer. A muscle in his jaw worked, but he did not move.

"So did you come to kill me at long last, my son?" Yakone laid back on the cot, staring up at the ceiling with milk eyes.

Noatak considered this proposal and shook his head. "No. I considered it. But I do not wish to kill. I want you to see that I am better than you ever were. I only wish for the tyranny of bending to cease. Killing is... Inelegant."

"Theft is also inelegant. I hope you know that what is stolen can always be returned by one means or another. I was arrogant once. I believed I was stronger than the Avatar. I hope you do not make the same mistake I did, my son." Yakone's smile was bemused.

Noatak scoffed, a flicker of annoyance running across his face. "I am not so arrogant as you, father. I know my capabilities. My curse. I cannot save myself. But I can save others from their own destruction." He stood, making to leave. He pulled the hood up over his head.

"Noatak. Just know that if you trifle with the spirits they will strike you down." Yakone's words were powerful, even beyond the tremble in his throat. Noatak paused mid stride, considering.

Then he laced the mask around his face and disappeared back into the blizzard.