Author's note: Hey everyone, sorry it's been so long. Midterms kinda kicked my butt! But here's the next chapter. It's action-packed but has some important character development. I'll try to post more often for the next few weeks until finals. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any a:tla themes or characters, just my own.

Sparring with the Prince was different that evening.

When Zuko was thrown into the room after dinner, Sokka was waiting there as usual. Zuko got to his feet. He figured he wouldn't fight back as much tonight. Maybe he'd get a couple more bruises, but perhaps he could avoid serious wounds if Sokka felt satisfied sooner. But when he approached, he did not attack. Instead, he produced a second sword from behind his back.

Two swords? Zuko thought miserably, preparing himself for a whole other world of pain. But Sokka simply held it out to Zuko. He eyed the Prince suspiciously. What, is it poisoned or something? When he got close enough would the Prince slice off his hand?

Sokka shook the sword impatiently. "Well don't just stand there like an idiot. Take it."

"Why?" Zuko asked, but reached out for it anyway. The Prince surrendered it without any resistance, and Zuko clutched the metal hilt in his palm. It was perfectly balanced—a fine weapon, one you could only find in the possession of someone very wealthy. They had a few like this back home. Zuko was better with dual dao swords, but this would do. This would do very well.

Prince Sokka rolled his eyes. "My sister has decided that I need to give my sparring partners more of a fighting chance. She was not pleased that you were so badly hurt the other day. Something about you not being a 'ragdoll' that I can 'toss around' or some foolishness."

"Well, she's not wrong," Zuko shot back, but it was half-hearted. He was too confused by what the Prince had said to come up with a better comeback.

Why did the Princess defend him? She had seemed kind in the healing room that night, but he figured her compassion was a one-time deal. She was the kind of person who sent hundreds to their deaths in the icy sea. And as far as she knew, he wasn't special. It just didn't make sense.

Moreover, why did she assume he needed her help? He had been doing just fine against the Prince on his own. Surely she didn't mean to bruise his ego, but it did nonetheless

He shook his head. He couldn't think about any of that right now. He finally had a weapon on him, and the Prince was asking him to fight. "Do you want me to go easy on you?" Zuko goaded. He saw the Prince's hand tighten around his sword and the flush under his russet cheeks.

"As if you could," Sokka said. And, in a flash, he had thrust forward, sword leading his attack.

Zuko dropped his shoulder and moved to the right, causing Sokka to stumble forward, his weight too far ahead of him. The two circled each other, both swords pointed at the other's gut. Zuko flipped his sword in his hand, showing off. The sight of Sokka's scowl put a smug smile on his face. And then he moved forward, circling his blade until it met Sokka's with a metallic clang, sending electrifying pulses of pleasure down Zuko's arm. He hadn't fought back in so long, and it felt good.

Both opponents threw a few attacks but neither made contact. Sokka only grew more frustrated as Zuko kept dodging him, and Zuko had to admit that the Prince wasn't bad at swordplay. He had obviously been studying with a good teacher for a long time. But then again—so had he.

"Your swordsmanship is about as good as your penmanship, your Highness," Zuko said, trying to provoke the Prince into doing something stupid. He didn't, of course—he wouldn't be so easily tricked. But it did put him off his guard.

"You know, you and my sister are—"

Without warning Zuko dropped to the floor and swung out a leg, catching Sokka's ankles and sending him to the ground on his back. With the agility of a master swordsman Zuko threw himself to his feet and deposited the tip of his sword a hair's breadth from the Prince's throat.

There was a commotion as the guards at the door realized what had happened. Zuko considered slicing the Prince's throat right there and then, but it wouldn't accomplish anything. He'd be executed for murder and treason and the Water Empire would still be in control of everything. So he drew back from the Prince.

A guard grabbed Zuko from behind, yanking his sword from his hand, and another helped the Prince, panting and sweaty, stand up. Once he was on his feet he shook off the concerned guard and stormed towards Zuko until his sword was right up against his throat.

"How dare you!" he shouted in his face.

Zuko glared back. "You told me not to go easy on you. I didn't."

Sokka's nostrils flared as he realize that he did indeed say this, but the edge of his sword pressed harder into Zuko's skin. "But then you yielded! First-blood, peasant," he snarled, and Zuko felt the cool metal blade slide along his throat. He dared not speak or even breathe for fear his throat would be slit open. When the Prince pulled away, his sword dripped with Zuko's blood—a Prince's blood—and he wiped it on Zuko's own trousers. But Zuko was still breathing. He was alive.

Prince Sokka stormed away and the guard released Zuko. He collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. His blood made a shallow pool of red on the dark floor and he pressed his hand to the wound. It wasn't deep, but it wouldn't stop bleeding on its own. He considered finding the Princess, but just the thought of asking her to heal him made Zuko uncomfortable. Once, just by happenstance was fine, but purposely seeking her out? She might start to think he actually respected her—that he liked her—and he could not have that. The palace healer, an old woman from the North he'd met a few days ago, had probably already gone to bed. He would have to find Jin and ask her to stitch it up for him.

Prince Sokka slammed to the door to the training room shut, the noise echoing angrily throughout the chamber. Zuko glared at the spot where he'd left. He had won that fight fair and square. That stupid boy didn't know how close he had come to sleeping with the Spirits. If they were in the Fire Nation, he would be thrown in a volcano for wounding the Crowned Prince.

Zuko sighed. But they weren't in the Fire Nation. And here, Sokka would be applauded for beating up a fire brat, no matter how much he cheated. Zuko would just have to take comfort in the memory of the Prince's sorry face when Zuko pinned him to the floor.

He couldn't wait to tell Jin.

They used a different training room that evening, as apparently Sokka was practicing with his sword. The 'space sword' was an extravagant, large thing, and Katara had a suspicion that he was overcompensating. He had a weapons master who taught him how to use all sorts of medieval, vulgar weapons, and even though she hated to admit it, her brother was talented. She could still beat him in a dual, but not without some effort on her part. Her father rarely sparred with Sokka, though, as he preferred to use bending, and wouldn't hold back against his son, who wouldn't be able to hold his own.

This room was smaller than the others and darker. There were only two candelabras on either end to provide light. They reflected off the surface of the clay barrels of water that lined the walls.

Her father had already shed his armor and was removing his shirt by the time Katara entered the room, followed by two guards. Silently, she removed her cloak to reveal her training uniform and folded it into a neat pile by the closed door.

"Ready?" her father asked when she returned to her position. The floor of this room was not a mat, like the others. It was ice. She could feel its energy spiral up through the calloused skin of her feet to her legs, steeling her. It was cold, but invigorating. Katara lowered into her stance: knees bent, hands outstretched, fingers splayed. The water called out to her, singing like sirens, begging her to submit. Her father stood upright, his lips pressed to a straight line.

"Ready."

He did not hesitate.

Like a viper he struck suddenly and viciously, sending a blinding whip of water at Katara's face. Without moving her lower body she arched her back and sent the stream around her, splitting it into two and sending them hurtling through the air back at the Emperor. But he dodged them and rolled towards her, coating his arms as he jumped to his feet, and brought them together to send a thick rope of water at Katara who only narrowly avoided it.

Her breath came in short spurts as she kicked out with one leg and sent a sheet of ice at her father's midsection. With an easy flick of his wrist he shattered the disk and sent the shards flying back towards her, which she brushed aside with a controlled wave. Her hair had fallen from its braid and now plastered itself to her neck and forehead with a mixture of sweat and seawater. She smoothed it back quickly to get it out of her eyes and reacted with hardly a moment to spare as a series of spikes broke through the floor near her. She flipped backwards, landing shakily on her heels.

Katara's body went cold when she looked up to see her father smiling maliciously.

He didn't even allow her a chance to catch her breath before he sent the next wave of water. She put up her hands, switching to the defensive. Her strength was waning, her lungs racing, heart pumping. But she would not back down. His wicked smile had triggered something inside of her. In her mind's eye she saw the faces of the innocent men and women she had failed: those who had perished in the ocean, others who had been taken to the Pit to suffer, all who would eventually die by her father's hand.

Something snapped.

Suddenly she was back on the offensive and the wave obeyed her command to turn back on the man who had given it life. Her arms moved wildly, without thought, and instinct took over. She sent a series of whips at his feet alternated with pumps of her fists that exploded in his stomach and chest. The ice under his feet erupted and encased his entire body, immobilizing him. She saw her father's eyes widen as a torrent of water careened towards him and then he was gone, hidden under its glossy surface.

She expected him to explode from his icy cage, to turn back to the offensive and take her out with merciless ferocity.

What Katara didn't expect was to feel arms encircle her shoulders and the unforgiving hilt of a sword in her side. She cried out in pain as the guards forced her to the ground. She heard a growl and looked up to see her father pushing himself to his feet. He violently bent the water from his pants and hair and whipped it to the side, where it met the wall with a loud slap. There was murder in his eyes.

The guards yanked her to her feet as her father approached them steadily, his hands clenched at his sides. He stopped only to grab Katara around the neck and pull her up so she was eye level with him. She tried to tell him that she couldn't breathe, but couldn't get the words out. The guards still had her arms secured behind her back so that she couldn't move. Her vision was starting to darken around the edges when the Emperor finally released her and she fell to her knees, wheezing. She felt dizzy from the rush of blood that surged to her head and almost slumped over. Had the guards not still been holding her, she would have.

"How dare you?" her father hissed in her face. Through the haze of lightheadedness she found the will to be affronted.

"How dare I? Why did your guards attack me? I won the fight fairly!" she shook her head out of the remaining haze and glared at him, astutely ignoring the throbbing in her side.

"I am the Emperor!"

"And I am the future Empress!"

Her mind tried to figure out why he was acting like this; maybe because their training had gone badly the other day; he was still angry at her for acting out against him to save Zuko; perhaps he'd gotten into a fight with her mother.

He was looking down on her with such hatred she wouldn't be surprised if it burned her from the inside out.

With a disturbing certainty she realized that there was no reasoning behind this anger. He was acting like a child. He was a coward and a bully, and she was glad she had stood up to him. If this was how he treated those who could best him, then she could almost understand the anger their enemies felt. He was ruthless and diabolical.

But he was also powerful. She was reminded of this when he leaned down and, as swift as the snake she knew he was, punched her in the abdomen with a fist of ice. The skin and muscle there was still sore from their training the other day, and the pain came back tenfold. The breath came out of her lungs in one gasp and she doubled over, clutching her soaked tunic.

"You are weak. I am the Emperor and you will learn respect."

He towered over Katara. His shadow seemed to plunge her into darkness and she was suddenly freezing, as if she had dove head-first into the icy ocean. The guards released her and she slumped to the floor pathetically, still cringing with the blazing icy fingers of pain that spread out over her stomach.

When the door closed and she was alone, she sobbed.