Author's Note: Hooray! I'm on time this week! Anyway, here is the next chapter. Yes, you will be seeing a bunch of other A:tLA characters mixed into this story, hopefully not written too OOC. I'm taking liberties with them, especially secondary characters, since they didn't get too much development in the show (e.g. Jin). I've always had a soft spot for Jin/Zuko even though I love Zutara. So enjoy the angst :)

As always, PLEASE review/fav/follow-I love hearing from you all! And if you like this story, feel free to share with friends/fellow Zutarians!

Disclaimer: I do not own any A:tLA characters-all rights go to Bryke and Nickelodeon. I only own my own characters.

That night, Zuko was quite literally thrown into a long, rectangular room by the guards who had dragged him up the stairs. He bounced once and collapsed on the floor. Zuko spat at the guards as they slammed the sliding door shut, trapping him inside. With fire still blazing in his veins, he sat up to take in his surroundings.

All across the floor were pallets lined up in rows. There were many, many people, bundled under blankets, trying to sleep. He heard a few of them turn over and mutter at the noise he'd made. His rage dulled to a simmer as he realized they were all servants, just like he was now. These people had no affiliation with the royals. He had no reason to be angry with them.

He heard a shuffle in the darkness and looked over to see a girl with a frizzy ponytail sit up on her pallet, her eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

"Hello," she whispered.

Zuko glanced around. Is she talking to me? And then he felt like an idiot. Of course she's talking to me, everyone else is asleep.

"Hi," he grunted back, sounding ruder than he meant to be. But she didn't seem to notice. She slid out from under her blanket and went to a shelf at the side of the room, carefully stepping over and around sleeping bodies. She returned a minute later with a bundle of cloth and began arranging it next to her pallet.

"You can sleep here if you want." She paused and glanced at him. "They don't really care about separating the men and women," she added, apparently seeing his blush.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, I didn't think—that's fine," he stuttered. He crawled over to the pallet and slid himself under the thread-bare blanket she'd gotten for him. Without another word she nodded, as if pleased with herself, and lay down, her back to him. He watched her shoulders rise and fall with steady breath until they moved to the calm rhythm of sleep. Then he settled down and pulled the covers under his chin. The roof was made out of ice, and the room was freezing, but he was pretty warm under the blanket. Even so, he knew he wouldn't get any sleep.

The next morning, Zuko woke to the image of Roz reaching for him still left over from his fading dream. His breath hitched in his throat, making him cough, and girl from last night rolled over. Her eyes popped open to stare at him.

"You okay?"

Zuko nodded, not trusting himself to look at her.

"You're not crying, are you?"

"No!" he said, a little too defensively. He saw her shrug out of the corner of his eye.

"Whatever. Anyway, I'm Jin." She held out a hand in front of his face. Finally he looked at the girl who had been so unusually kind to him. She had pretty features and kind eyes. Her hair was a mess but it somehow worked for her. Half of her mouth turned up when she smiled at him.

"Zuko," he said, and took her hand, trying not to wince at how tightly she held it. She was obviously Earth Kingdom, but her grip felt Fire Nation.

She showed Zuko around the building that morning. They were on the third level where the servants and maids lived and where the kitchen was located. The bathrooms were down the hall and the mess hall was at the other end. The food they were given was dry and there weren't any seconds, but Zuko gulfed it down. It was more than he had eaten in a long time. He learned that Jin was from Ba Sing Se, but had been relocated to Omashu by her parents who had sold her to work for a mining company in the city.

"It wasn't a big deal," she assured Zuko with a flippancy he didn't fully believe. "And King Bumi was great. But then soldiers went off to war, and Omashu was taken by the Water Empire, so they didn't need as many workers in the city. I was only a kid, so they captured me and brought me here to work for the royal family. It's been a real pleasure, let me tell you." She rolled her eyes. Zuko almost laughed. She definitely wasn't afraid of the Water Empire; that was for sure. Still, Zuko hoped no one was listening as she continued to insult the Emperor and the royal family. "And you should see some of the laundry I have to do for the Prince. It's disgusting! You think the guy would learn how to properly use a toilet!" Zuko laughed out loud at that, and it attracted the attention of one of the guards by the mess hall door. Both of them settled down and dropped their eyes to the wooden table.

"So what's your story?" Jin asked, taking a bite of sea prune.

Zuko shrugged. Azula had always been the one gifted at lying, but he'd picked up a few things. Keep things simple, and tell the truth as much as possible. It'll be easier to remember later. "Same as you, pretty much. Got here a few weeks ago. We were refugees taken from outside Omashu."

He didn't want to say more than that, but her eyes widened. "Were you with the group that Princess Katara was in charge of? The ones she put through the trials?"

Zuko looked at her, surprised. She was a lot quicker than he'd given her credit for. "Yeah, that was me."

She shook her head solemnly and played with the food left on her plate. Zuko had long since finished his meal. "I'm sorry," she said. "We heard rumors here in the palace. But we didn't know they were true. What she did to you…it's awful."

Zuko shrugged again, but it was harder to do this time. A lump was forming in his throat as he thought about all the people who'd lost their lives. About the merciless obstacles the Princess had put in his way. His grip tightened around his empty fork. "Yeah, well."

They were silent for a few moments until a tinny bell sounded from the kitchen, signaling, Jin said, that it was time for work. "How can you even tell?" Zuko asked. There weren't any windows in the mess hall or the corridors of the second level. In fact, Zuko hadn't seen a window since he'd been in the palace. Dishearteningly, it felt like he had never left his prison cell.

"You get adjusted to the schedule," Jin said simply, though he could hear the longing in her voice. He too longed to see the light of day, to feel the sun pour into his skin. He missed the sunrise.

As they were walking from the mess hall to the stairs, Zuko asked about the prisoners, remembering his dream from the night before. "Have you heard about them? Where they were taken?"

Jin shook her head sadly. "All we know is that they were taken to the Pit."

"What's that?"

She pursed her lips and hesitated.

His eyebrows shot up. "Tell me. Please," he added, an afterthought.

She looked at him a second longer, debating. Then she sighed. "It's a huge prison somewhere on the mainland. No one knows where it is, but…" she bit her lip. "But I've heard it's like Hell frozen over."

Zuko stepped back. Hell frozen over. Coming from someone who'd been forced into servitude by the Water Empire since she was a child, that was saying a lot. And Roz was trapped there. He wanted to ask her more, to find out anything about this place called 'the Pit', but before he could a hand gripped his upper arm and a guard appeared behind him.

"Let's go, fire brat. Time for work." The guard dragged Zuko towards the doors at the end of the hall and he glanced back to see Jin smile crookedly at him and wave. He watched her until the doors cut him off.

The Empress collected Katara for a healing session early in the morning when the sunrise had just reached its peak. She told Katara she was training her to be able to heal even in the worst conditions, and they worked straight through the morning and into the afternoon, when the sun was highest in the sky. By the time Kya called it a day, Katara had sweat through her gown and her hair had fallen from its updo. Her mother, of course, looked flawless. But then again, she always did. She was the Empress, respected by all, except perhaps her husband. Maintaining a composed appearance, even in the most challenging of circumstances, was her specialty. Apart from healing, this was the other skill her mother was responsible for training her in. Sure, Katara had been studying under etiquette trainers ever since she could stand up long enough to curtsey, but she preferred learning court manners from her mother.

During their lesson, Kya said she had heard about the altercation between Katara and her father, but hadn't understood why it had happened in the first place. If she was being honest with herself, Katara didn't even understand why she had done that. All she could tell her mother was that Sokka was about to wrongly kill an innocent person, and her conscience wouldn't let her stand by and watch it happen. Kya had embraced her and rested her cheek on Katara's then-intact hair. "To protect even one life is our responsibility as human, no matter how important or insignificant we believe that life might be," she quoted herself. "My dear daughter, you have such a good heart."

"So you don't think I was wrong?" she asked her mother now, as they were walking back down to the first level. Katara desperately needed a long, cool bath, but first she wanted her mother's opinion on the previous day's happenings.

And now, as they reached the final stair, Kya rested a hand on Katara's shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. "You know the answer to that question. Do not let anyone make you doubt your instincts; not even for a moment." Katara nodded and bowed to her mother, who smiled and opened the door. She watched as the Empress entered her and the Emperor's shared chambers with her head held high. Katara sighed. She could only hope to be that brave someday.

In her own room, Toph was replacing the bedsheets, her eyes unfocused but hands sure. Katara paused in the doorframe and watched the girl for a moment. The two of them were still at odds, but Katara held the highest regard for her new maid.

Her room was not too large, but it was enough. A bed sat diagonal from the entrance and a dresser stood next to the door, so if—Spirits forbid—she needed to barricade herself inside she could simply slide it over. The very first waterbending scroll her old teacher, Master Pakku, had given her was hung on the wall above her bed, and she often looked at it at night before she went to sleep. It gave her peace of mind when she read the basic forms that she had labored over so tirelessly when she was a child.

Pakku had not seen her potential, at first. He was a very traditional man who had initially refused the Emperor's invitation to travel to the South to teach his daughter waterbending. But after some 'gentle encouragement'—her father's exact words—he relented. The man had been old and gruff and no-nonsense when he first began teaching her, but soon had warmed up to the little girl who used to launch snowballs at him when he turned his back. Katara chuckled to herself as she remembered one day when she had bent herself into a snow man. When Master Pakku passed she had jumped out at him, and he reacted as one might expect a surprised waterbending master. Only when she learned the impressive move years later did she realize how close she had been to becoming a human shish-kabob that day.

But the years passed, and soon her skill exceeded what Master Pakku could teach her. She had gone through other teachers after he was released from his duty and returned to the Northern Water Tribe, but none of them could inspire her like he had. She didn't feel as close to them, or as comfortable, as she had been with her first teacher. She hadn't heard from him in years. A few times she had considered writing him, just to see how he was. To see if he missed her. But she never did.

Katara peeled her eyes from the scroll and dismissed Toph for the time being. She walked into the bathroom connected to her bed chambers. Inside was a generously-sized tub that she filled with cool water and soap. A moan escaped from deep in her throat as she lowered her body into the silky water. There was something spiritual about being surrounded by her element, being immersed in it.

She leaned her head back over the edge and looked up. Over the years, she had carved patterns into the ice ceiling, and was hard-pressed to find empty space, but she did in the far corner of the room. With small motions of her finger she cut a circle into the ceiling. Little shards of ice rained down onto the floor where they melted and disappeared almost instantly. She kept drawing between washing her hair and body, and only when she was climbing out of the tub did she realize she had carved a blazing sun into the ice.

Two sharp raps on her door brought her to attention and she quickly threw a robe over her dripping body. She ran to the door and unlocked it. Her father was waiting on the other side.

"Father." She bowed her head and pulled her robe tighter around her chest.

"Do you have plans with your mother tonight?"

From his tone it was obvious that he expected her to cancel any plans she might have, anyway. She shook her head. "No, Father."

This was the first time they had spoken since yesterday and the incident with the refugee. She couldn't recall his name. The one with the scar.

Her mother had collected her before breakfast, so she hadn't eaten with her father earlier, and she had been training for the rest of the day. Obviously, he was still upset. He wouldn't look directly at her, preferring to study the inside of her room or the empty space above her head.

"Good. We will train." There was no question in his voice. This was an order.

She bowed her head again. "Yes, Father."

Face down, she saw his feet turn and disappear down the hallway, heard the swish of his cloak over his armor grow quieter as he went back to his chambers. She wondered if her mother was still in there. She wondered if they still shared a bed. The uncomfortable distance between them hadn't always been there. At least, she didn't think so. Honestly, there were large sections of her childhood that she just couldn't remember, or perhaps didn't want to remember. She thought she recalled a time when the four of them—well, five, if you counted Sokka's mother, and only Sokka counted her—had seemed like a real, loving family. But, she reckoned, closing the door with a soft click, it was far more likely that she had just imagined those happy times.