Author's Note: Thank you for all your comments and reviews-they really do mean the world to me :) Finally we get the first Zuko/Katara scene, even if it is brief! But don't worry, the good stuff is coming. Please leave a comment or fav/follow, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: All characters (besides my own) belong to Nickelodeon and Bryke.
The screams woke him in the dead of night.
Zuko wasn't the only one, either. He heard someone in the cell next to him groan and roll over, and another called for whoever it was to shut up. But it didn't sound like the noise was coming from within the prison. In fact, it sounded like it was coming from above them. This wasn't the first time he'd been woken up by the sounds of thudding and screaming and crying. It was actually the third night in a row. And considering he had collapsed the moment he made it back to his cell, it had to be pretty loud to wake him up from such a deep sleep. But soon the noise stopped, and the dark creaking of the stone prison rocked him back to sweet unconsciousness.
The next morning they were taken away again and Zuko was thrown in the cooler. Most of the prisoners considered this the worst form of torture, since it was inescapable and just got worse the longer one was stuck in there, but it was actually a reprieve for Zuko. He spent the time meditating and letting the natural ebb and flow of his inner fire keep him warm. He focused on a few specific images to center himself: His father sitting on the throne, Azula's clever smile, and his hands around the Emperor's throat. When the guard opened the door and saw him smiling at this he got 20 extra water whips on the back, but it was worth. Just barely.
The flesh on his back was stinging and bleeding when they dropped him from the pole. He fell on his back, grimacing as the pain increased, and then one of the guards yanked him to his feet. He bit his lip and glared at the man, but didn't speak.
"Let's go," the guard said, and started dragging Zuko towards the toothless man with the rod, who was spinning it between his fingers, an eager grin on his face. Zuko groaned inwardly.
But then a voice called out from behind them, and the guard paused to look.
"I know you!" the voice shouted again, and now Zuko looked back too. A man Zuko didn't recognize was staring at them, slack-jawed. Zuko looked at the guard, wondering how this Fire Nation man recognized a Water Empire guard, but then the man said something that made Zuko go limp.
"Zuko! I know you!"
Zuko's eyes widened and he felt as though he might pass out. The man was pushing his way through the crowd of people that blocked them, his eyes locked on Zuko's face, and more specifically, his scar. Oh no, he thought and tried to run the other way, but the guard's hand was firmly locked around his arm.
"Let me go!" Zuko demanded, but his grip only tightened. He had to get away from there, away from that man, somehow. He had to, or everything would be ruined. Almost no one knew Zuko's identity—his father had isolated him from his countrymen to keep him safe from enemy eyes. This man must have worked in the Fire Nation palace if he knew what Zuko looked like. And if the Empire guards found out who he really was, he'd be worse than dead. He'd be better off in the other prison with the other 200 refugees.
"What's going on over there?" he heard Prince Sokka shout. Oh great, Zuko rolled his eyes. Can this possibly get worse?
Apparently it could, because the man who recognized Zuko was barreling towards them with no discernable intention of slowing or stopping. The guard let go of Zuko just in time for the man to slam into him and knock him to the ground. He pinned Zuko's arms to the icy stone floor and stared him right in the eye.
"What are you doing here? Why aren't you doing anything? Why aren't you helping us?" the man cried out, his amber eyes wild. The man was obviously disturbed, but his words reached Zuko. He asked himself these questions every single day. I am trying to help, he told himself, and you aren't helping by blowing my cover! Zuko thrust himself forward and the two of them went flying in the other direction so that Zuko pinned the man against the ground.
"Please stop!" he shouted in the man's face, close enough that he could see the fever in the man's eyes, the flush of his forehead. This guy was seriously ill. They'd barely been fed for a week and it was freezing everywhere. People were dying left and right and it looked like this man only had days left. But he was still surprisingly strong.
Zuko was suddenly thrown to the side and rolled a few times before he stopped himself and got up, just in time to see the man coming at him. He crouched and sent the man tumbling over his shoulder. He hit the wall and should have crumpled, but instead he got back up and charged Zuko again. Zuko huffed. He really wished he had some dao swords. Still, he was actually enjoying himself. It had been months since he was allowed to fight back against an enemy. His lungs ached but his muscles screamed with pleasure as he feinted to the side and the man sprinted past him. When he attacked again Zuko dropped to the ground and swung out a leg in a wide arc, a move that would usually produce a stream of fire, but now caught his opponent by the foot and sent him cartwheeling over himself. He landed on the ground and Zuko was about to reposition himself when a glittering black sword appeared from nowhere above the man's neck. He jerked as if to get up, but upon seeing the blade on his skin, froze and looked up.
The Prince stood above him and was looking between the man and Zuko.
"What did we say about fighting, boys?"
Zuko actually didn't know the answer, but he saw the man's eyes widen.
Like a flash of lightning the Prince's sword moved and the man's neck turned bright red. There was a sickening gurgling sound, and Zuko could not look away as the man's life literally bled from his body. His eyes met Zuko's and he pleaded with him. His hand lifted, as if to reach out to his true prince, before falling to the ground, lifeless. Only then was Zuko able to look away and close his eyes, feeling ill.
"And you," the Prince said, and Zuko's eyes popped open to see the tip of the unusual black sword only inches from his face. "You fought valiantly, but pointlessly. Hm," he mused, "what should your punishment be?"
"Sokka!" a new voice cut through the clamor. The Prince shot an annoyed look at the ceiling as a gap opened in the crowd that had gathered. From it, the Princess emerged, flanked by two guards who were eyeing the prisoners warily. "Lower your weapon." Her voice was low and commanding. Prince Sokka closed his eyes and sighed. A vein stuck out of his forehead.
"Dear sister," he said, the frustration in his voice poorly hidden, "I'm afraid what I do with my prisoners is not under your jurisdiction. I already let you have one of them, and that was one too many. Besides, Father gave me this job, not you." Zuko almost laughed at the childish tone in the Prince's voice, making him sound less like a royal Prince and overwhelmingly like a chided little brother.
The Princess stood right behind him now, and her eyes were steady as she stared at the back of her brother's head. Zuko noticed that the skin around one of her eyes was faintly purple.
She placed a hand on the Prince's shoulder. "Then we should let Father decide, should we not?"
Prince Sokka licked his lips and laughed once, darkly. "I suppose so."
Katara led the party up the stairs and out of the prison. The palace and the prison were connected by a tunnel carved from the ice and patrolled by a whole fleet of guards. They parted when she and Sokka appeared at the top of the stairs, leting them through. The refugee—Zuko, apparently was his name—was being held behind them by two guards. Katara resisted the urge to look back at him. She didn't know what had come over her. He had been fighting with another prisoner, which was strictly against the rules. He should die. But when Sokka mercilessly killed that other prisoner…it broke something in her. Someone else had died needlessly on her watch. She couldn't watch it happen again. And plus, this particular prisoner was a prime candidate for a capital worker. He was young, strong, and obviously a good fighter. The latter quality set off a few warning alarms in her head, but she ignored them. He had seemed pretty docile when she ordered him to accompany her and her brother to the palace where her father was having Audiences. They would surely get a tongue-lashing for interrupting him, but Katara knew he would secretly be pleased.
The two guards outside the conference hall opened the tall blue doors for them and Katara walked through. Her father, sitting on his throne, looked at them. The elderly capital couple kneeling in front of him turned and looked as well. When his eyes fell on the refugee, the Emperor's eyes narrowed. He dismissed the couple gruffly, ordering some guards to throw them out of the palace. They pleaded as the guards dragged them away, and Katara forced herself not to look at them.
Two of her father's advisors sat on either side of the throne. They had been her grandfather's advisors before he died and had dutifully served every Water Emperor who had taken the throne in their lifetimes.
Katara hated them. They were wrinkly, smelly, entitled old men with graying beards who only cared about how much money the Empire would put in their next paycheck. They couldn't care less about the citizens. Katara made it a point to only look at her father when she spoke.
"Emperor Hakoda, we come before you with an urgent disagreement that needs negotiating."
"You interrupted me for a petty argument between you and your brother?" the Emperor asked, disgusted. Out of the corner of her eye Katara saw the advisor to the right, a wicked old man named Chan, smile smugly.
"It is important," Katara insisted. She gestured and a guard dragged Zuko forward.
"Who is this?" her father asked.
"A prisoner, Father," Sokka said, stepping out. "An insubordinate prisoner, nonetheless. Worthless, really. I was going to kill him for disobedience, but Katara stopped me."
Katara stepped forward to be in line with her brother who shot a sideways look at her. "He is not worthless. He is young and strong and I believe he could be an excellent worker for the capital, somewhere." She locked eyes with her father. His narrowed infinitesimally.
"Princess Katara, are you certain your emotions aren't simply getting the better of you?"
Sokka snickered and covered his mouth with his hand. Chan and the other advisor, Korak, both dipped their head to cover their grins. Katara felt her face flush and her breathing pick up. Even the guards on either side of her were stifling their laughter. This is how it will be when you're Fire Empress, she thought to herself. She had a horrible vision of being in this exact same position, only up on the throne with those two ancient parrot-monkeys flanking her, asking her the exact same question. You are only a woman. Perhaps you shouldn't be ruling a country, let alone the world, they would say. It was inevitable.
She shook her head, blinking back the tears that were pricking the back of her eyes. No. No crying today.
"I am certain, Father." Perhaps it was bitterness, or folly, or bravery that made her say these next words, but as soon as they passed forth from her lips she regretted them: "You would be foolish not to listen to me."
All at once the room stilled. Even the waterfalls that constantly cascaded down the side of the walls ceased their flowing and crackled into ice. Katara felt as though she had turned to ice as well, for she could not feel any part of her body. She was numb. Especially her brain. That must have been numb for her to say something so ridiculous, so dangerous. Her father leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. His hands, clasped together, touched his lips.
"I would be foolish, would I?"
And then, all at once, she felt everything. The blood rushed like fire in her veins and she was falling down, bending swiftly to the ice floor, her hands thrown out in front of her. Her forehead bounced against her folded knees and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Sokka shuffled beside her, and between the spurts of pain tracing pathways through her body, she knew he was enjoying this. Her arms seemed to stretch impossibly far from her body as she bowed before her Father, who had stood from his throne and was peering down thoughtfully at his daughter. He did not need to maintain a form to bloodbend her. He could do it with a simple look.
"I believe you are foolish, my daughter, for not knowing how to hold your tongue!" and Katara's spine pressed down, being pushed to the floor. A small groan of pain escaped her throat and she closed her eyes against the tears that were falling freely.
"I'm sorry Father! I am so sorry!" Katara cracked. She hated the power he held over her, but she didn't have a choice. She deserved this. She had asked for it.
And then the pain was gone and she fell to her side, gulping deep breaths, making sure all of her bones were still intact. Her father had sat back down on his throne and was looking at the group of people still standing.
"I accept your apology daughter. Nevertheless, I see your point. He looks strong enough to work out on the boats, or perhaps in the mills." He paused then, and watched Katara squirm on the ground. "However, I believe you need to be punished for your outspokenness. Therefore, this young man will work here in the palace."
Sokka started at this. "But Father, he is rebellious! What if—"
"He will work for you, Sokka, as your servant," the Emperor silenced him. Sokka looked up to him with wide eyes, but the Emperor was unaffected. He smiled down calmly. "Feel free to do what you want with him."
This lifted Sokka's spirits. He grinned and unwittingly fingered the dagger hanging from his belt. Through the haze of pain Katara felt a pang of pity for the refugee, but she couldn't dwell on it. At least he would be alive, she thought, although one could argue death was better than servitude to her brother.