Disclaimer: All characters from A:tLA belong to Bryke and Nickelodeon

Two days later, Katara and Sokka emerged from the bowels of the palace to meet the ships that landed in the harbor at the northern edge of the Empire. Her father had put Katara in charge of sorting out the strong refugees from the weak, much to her chagrin. She had tossed and turned for the last two nights dreading this day. The time had finally come to implement the plan she had so confidently suggested, and now she felt anything but. She tried to comfort herself in the knowledge that only half of the 300-some prisoners would meet their demise, but it did little to calm the trembling in her stomach.

Sokka stood beside her in full warrior gear, observing the ships as they began to unload the refugees. Katara glanced over at him and envied his calm demeanor. Sure, he was usually a goofball and had few redeeming qualities, but he could be serious when he wanted. He was entirely in control of his emotions, whereas she felt like a nervous wreck. Get a grip, she ordered herself. She couldn't afford to show any weakness. What would her father say? The way you approach an enemy is always more important than what you plan on doing to them. She wanted to approach them fearlessly, as a leader. But were these people really her enemies?

Don't think like that. Of course they were. They were rebels. But even rebels were human; they didn't deserve to die whatever gruesome death her father had planned. She could only save so many of them. So she squared her shoulders and steeled her gaze at the Water Empire ships. The first guards were exiting the ramp and she could see the bobbing heads of refugees behind them, chained together and herded like cattle off the ship and down to the ice. Many lost their footing, dragging down those chained to their row, before they finally got their balance and realized how to walk on the slippery ground. Katara and Sokka started forward to meet the captain of the lead ship who was lumbering towards them.

"Your Highnesses," he said, bowing low as they met in the middle. Katara dipped her head towards him. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark leathery skin that could only be a result of years out at sea, facing the elements on a daily basis.

"Are all refugees accounted for?" Katara asked, clasping her hands behind her back. She would usually be able to touch the ends of her hair since it reached her waist, but today it was styled on top of her head in the royal tradition. Instead of a gown she wore formal training gear and had a large sword strapped across her shoulders that she wouldn't use—didn't know how to use—but made her look more intimidating. At least, that's what her brother said, and she couldn't tell if he had been mocking her or not. Nonetheless the weapon was unnecessary; if she needed to use force her bending would do.

The captain cleared his throat. "49 prisoners did not make the journey. Their souls and bodies rest at sea."

Katara ignored his use of the word prisoners, as she knew many citizens of the capital, including her father, believed this is exactly what the refugees were. Instead, she was more concerned about the latter half of his statement. "What do you mean they rest at sea? Were you not instructed to bring the bodies to the capital?" She had fully intended to send the deceased back to Omashu for proper burial.

The man's eyebrows pulled in. "Of course, your Highness. But it was a long journey, and bodies…well, they don't bode so well on the tides."

Of course. She felt ridiculous for not understanding earlier. She licked her lips, intending to say something, anything that would make her seem less foolish, when Sokka cut in.

"So how many of the living remain, Captain?"

"About 250, sir. They just about reached capacity on all the ships. We were afraid we'd have to send for another ship, but we managed to squeeze them all in."

Katara felt another flutter in the bottom of her stomach imagining all the refugees in such close quarters, with limited food supply, in those dank, dark ships. Also, they had exceeded the estimated number. She would have to figure out how to get rid of the extras.

Meanwhile, the refugees had reached the triad in the middle of the harbor and were parting around them like a stream breaks for a boulder. Katara watched them as they passed slowly, hunched over, reeking of bile and urine, their eyes stuck to the pale white ground on which they walked with bare feet. Her father's voice sounded in her head: Don't let them see any weakness. She met the Captain's eye.

"Line them up over there."