ARC 2: A War Divides Their People
DAY 10: Legend
There's not much to do.
A storm rages outside, wind howling and screaming and shouting. Katara has been tucked into an empty tent, a thick canvas piled tent with a thick carpeted floor and a little fire in the center. She's not guarded, because her tent connects to a larger one (she's imprisoned in the Prince's private tent and that's a little concerning, all things considered). Only an idiot would sneak out into a raging storm with broken limbs and a lousy cold (one of her legs is tied to the thickest tent pole because she's already managed to prove her idiocy).
With all that said, there is literally nothing to do.
She's been in this tent for almost a day now, judging from the meals and the bending suppressant they forced down her throat again (its potency seems to last the better part of a day and that's something she hopes to take advantage of at some point). Each day they keep her here is another that her last waterbender is free. Unless they've already caught him. Katara won't think about that.
She doesn't know why they haven't questioned her yet. There has been food, healing, and solitude, but no torture, hurt, or questioning. Maybe they're trying the isolating angel (the psychological battle is half of extracting information from enemy agents). Katara finds this funny. Maybe they'll keep this up for another day and give her a chance to escape. She reconsiders this and decides that she feels funny.
Really funny.
In a bad way.
It's been a steady, creeping feeling. Achiness in her bones, easily attributed to the rigors of battle and capture; fever, she assumed it was a cold. Sometimes colds got worse. Worse than just bad.
Katara had a feeling this was one of those cases.
The next few days are blurry. There are a series of faint impressions. Gold eyes. A healer's warm hands. Shouting. Sweat, and spirits it's too hot, stop! Chills. Strong arms lifting her against a broad chest, the smell of smoke and spice, and his voice in her ear whispering comforts. She's plunged into icy water and the blue light blocks everything out. Katara surrenders to it, sinks into a deep, comforting sleep.
She's pleasantly warm, cocooned in soft blankets. The smell of fire and smoke and sweat makes her think of home. Katara sighs. She opens her eyes, expecting Gran-gran and finds Prince Zuko instead.
She tenses.
"I won't hurt you." He says as if she is a small animal.
The fire flickers behind them. Katara feels weak and small, considers rolling over and ignoring him.
"You've been sick for a long time." He tells her.
This interests her. Voice hoarse, she asks him how long.
"You had a terrible fever for the better part of a week," he explains, "It was so bad the healer expected you to die."
She takes a mental count of herself. Both arms work, both legs, and hands, and everything. Her body is achy from the illness, but she's been healed. Katara narrows her eyes (only one of her healers could have fixed her).
"We put you in a tub of water and you healed yourself. The fever broke that night," Zuko says as he pokes at the fire, "It appeared that one of your wounds had been infected."
She sags with relief. If she healed herself, then that means her one surviving waterbender is safe. Gone. Free.
"He's out of your reach," she whispers as her eyes close, "He's safe."
Calloused, warm hands stroke her hair. Her head rests on another's knees, her nose is clouded with the smell of spice and smoke. A low, raspy voice whispers a story she once heard from a prince's mother.
"And they say, that when the time is right and the stage is set, the Avatar will return to the world."
"Do you think the Avatar will return?" she whispers.
She opens her eyes and finds her head in prince Zuko's lap. She should be surprised, she should jerk away, but Katara sighs softly. His hand hesitates for a moment, but the prince continues stroking her hair as she is his lover and not his enemy.
"I think the Avatar is gone." he admits, softly.
"Sokka believes that," she says, "But I hope that one day….he'll return and save the world."
There is a silence as Zuko considers his words.
"What if we don't need the Avatar," he says, "What if the Fire Nation is supposed to rule the world?"
Katara sighs. "Do you think a world in which I will be imprisoned for being a waterbender is just?"
And although his heart is quick to anger…Zuko doesn't want to fight. He tells her as much. The it's Katara's turn to contemplate a response.
"Why don't you wear a crown anymore?" she asks.
Zuko looks away. Katara musters her strength, lifts an arm and touches his jaw. A healer's intuition is never wrong and Fire Nation or not, she was once friends with this stupid prince (at some point, she'll come to her sense and regret this, but it hasn't happened yet).
"You can tell me, Zuko." she says softly.
He sighs and settles in to tell her another story (little do they know it will become a legend in it's own right some day)
[a/n]: Life got in the way and pretty much this chapter sucked. Sorry, I wasn't able to develop this part as much as I had hoped.