Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Katara awakes with the lulling of an engine, thrumming underneath her head. Her eyes flutter open, crystalline blue peeking out of dark lashes, taking in the dark cavernous room.
Panic slams into her chest, hard and real and suddenly Katara is reminded of what had happened—
(Cold, ice and rage. Soldiers, like little ants, scurrying around, carrying buckets and buckets of fire and wrath for her people, ready to strike out at defenseless tribesmen.)
She shuddered, trying to draw the blue parka closer, instinctually curling up into a sound, safe ball. Peeking over the tops of her knees, Katara takes in the room with blurry vision, tears slipping down her cheeks.
The room is warm and steamy, reminding Katara of the stories of the spirit oasis deep, deep in the wastes where only the Spiritual Leader and her father The Chief would dare to go, bypassing ravenous sea creatures and dancing past cracked iced oceans. There is only vague light, dull and flickering at the edges of a shut windowpane, drawing attention to the dust that floated lazily, weighed down by the heat of the room.
As she sniffed, trying hurriedly to dry her tears, she realized the absence of color.
Well, there was color—dark reds and mauves, burning oranges and simmering yellows that faded off into blacks—but there was no color. There was no normal hues of blue or white or the light iced navy that coated the deep seas. There was nothing that Katara found natural in this room covered by unknown reds and oranges—the mirror which shone dully in the light of lamp, dyeing the room in a pale saffron that made the intricate crimson tapestries that hung off the walls, damp from the heat. She was on a bed, the covers flimsy sheets of dashed reds and oranges, the ends tucked in so tightly Katara had to edge her way out with her elbows.
The door rattled like the a shudder of a giant sea snake and Katara closed her eyes and bit her tongue, trying her best not to whimper in fear at the strange, hulking movements that the room was making. It was unlike she had ever known—these red and yellow walls with blasts of black—and it scared her so soundly she could only squeeze her eyes tighter, desperately hoping that the next time she would wake up was in the safety of her mother's arms, crying from a nightmare.
The Captain of the ship was considered terrifying.
He was a giant, hulking sort of man—the kind you only see in brawling bars and prisons—and his face was sharp, the high cheekbones jutting, the jaw pronounced before softly giving way to his neck. He was the type of man that had tree trunks for legs and stumps for hands—the type of man that would easily tower over you and you would hope, that maybe, as he stared at you with shadowed eyes, you could easily perform some type of miracle and melt into the floor, unseen.
Yet, for all his ferocity, there was still that warmth in his lumbering frame.
He had gentle hands, despite the callouses, with a soft touch that complimented the warmth in his dark brown eyes. He was someone you looked to in times of need and sorrow, someone you leaned upon for his barrel-chest helped you soak up your tears and say your goodbyes. The Captain was the type of man that once you would get over the initial shock of his graceful bulk, you would slowly learn that he had never not once, hurt anyone without valid reason, that he had often tried to find leeway in the stringent orders of the firenation, hurriedly trying to find options that offered less violence, less malice.
And it was because of this warmth and ingrate kindness that Admiral Zhao knew he would have to take the captive. Who knew what would happen if that wretched softness got in the way of duty?
He curled his lip as he stared at the kind brown eyes of the captain, shielded under the black curls that stuck to his forehead, soaked by the spray of the waves. Even now, he could see the distaste and mistrust in them, could see the way the Captain's hands tightened into fists at the question he was about to ask.
"Where is the prisoner?" Zhao spat, his arms clasping over his chest as he leaned against the railings of the ship, not bothering to ease his tone for the soldiers behind the captain, fidgeting like little school girls.
They should have stayed in a daycare center if they could not even handle a tongue-lashing from a superior officer.
"The captive is in the guestroom—"
"The guestroom?" Zhao raised an eyebrow, his displeasure becoming more and more pronounced as he watched the Captain's flicker with discomfort. "What is this? A ferry-ride?"
The Captain bowed his head, his giant hands coming to press against each other in the sign of graceless repentance. Regardless, Zhao could see how they still trembled, trying to suffocate an unease that bubbled up within him. "I apologise, sir. Because this is a commercial vessel from the Earth Kingdom, we were made aware the moment the captive came on board that there is no brig."
Admiral Zhao grounded his teeth and looked away, taking in the heaving waves and the stormy skies, the clouds roiling above the landline like a dishonored god. A smile flickered on his lips and the Admiral glanced back at the nervous crew, noticing that apart from the captain, his right hand and a couple of experienced soldiers, there were not many who seemed any older than eighteen summers.
"Young gentlemen," He straightened up, addressing the troupe, "Was this your first time at sea? Away from the firenation?"
A couple uneasy boys nodded, eyes shifting upwards and connecting with his before glancing back down, tucking their hands behind their backs and bowing in respect. The others merely grunted an approval and Zhao sighed, hoping that maybe, some of these ingrate ruffians would be able to speak on a higher level, perhaps even, if he was letting hope unfurl in his chest, verbally spar.
It had been so long since he had had a good conversation.
It was a pity that all the intelligent people of the Fire and Earth nations were either on the side of the rebel alliance or on the side of the Firelord's.
He could use a couple of acolytes.
"I see your crew is not one for conversation." Zhao's brow creased in displeasure and he noted, with vague, cruel amusement, that the Captain swallowed sharply, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"No, sir. I must apologise, it has been a…trying day." The Captain spoke slowly, as if not to provoke, and the Admiral snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"A trying day? A simple raid?" He mocked, tilting his head to the side and missing the hard gleam that shone in several of the soldier's eyes. "Oh, how I wish the Firelord would reconsider taking on ruffians as soldiers instead of sticking with trained military. Although," Zhao's lips slanted upwards into an understanding smile, a contemptuous look in his eye, "I suppose some people have to become pin-cushions."
A soldier twitched and another coughed behind him, as if embarrassed but Zhao paid no mind.
He was far above these simpletons.
"Nevertheless," He started, settling his expression back into a displeased one, "Take me to our captive."
"Of course, sir." The Captain obliged, stepping aside so Zhao and his own men could pass through.
He never saw the way the Captain's eyes darkened nor how he ushered some of the younger guards to stuff some of the grain inside a gray pouch.
Katara was trying in vain to sleep when the door slammed open, the mirror on the wall rattling intensely, the lamp nearly crashing to the floor in a heap.
A shadowed figure stood at the doorway, a veiled sneer on its face.
"This is it?"
A hulking shape shifted behind it and Katara swallowed hard, trying to squash the tears of fright that threatened to spill down her cheeks and morph into choking sobs. Her fingers pressed into her palms, the little nails digging so hard they drew blood and still, Katara refused to wince, to do anything but sit still and breathe, quietly, faintly.
Her father had told her once, in the warmth of the fire, sitting on the edge of the wastes, that if a predator approached, she was to sit very still and breathe quietly and do nothing, for it would go away if it lost interest.
"Yes, sir." The lumbering outline murmured softly and in the space of two heartbeats, Katara watched with baited breath, barely daring to blink, as the shadowed figure stepped into the light.
It was a man.
A man with skin paler than the soldier who captured her, yet with an obscure mocking smile curling his lips, a cruel gleam echoing in the depths of his black eyes, a strange sort of malignant heat lining their gray shadows. His face was jutting, the high cheekbones cut off by the sideburns that swept into sharpened points and was instantly reminded of the traditions of her tribe—when someone greased their beard, they would either be getting married or preparing for a funeral—and instantaneously, Katara knew, this man was in no frame of mind to pledge himself to another soul for eternity.
It was in his eyes. That strange, cruel gleam, that had Katara instantly on edge—it was in his eyes that it shone with abandon, ready to pillage and plunder, ready to kill.
A saying her mother used to say—Katara, they key to people is within their eyes. There are those with bright futures, bright hearts, and there are those with malice and cruelty layering their gaze; and it is in their eyes that you will know their true character.
And as Katara stared into his eyes, she knew, somehow, that this man held so much hatred in his soul, his eyes that she could only hope that someone would save her.
"Hello, little one." His voice made a lick of fear crawl up her spine, lighting her nerves on fire, her instincts screaming at her to run, to get away from this man right away.
Yet, Katara stayed still, not moving, hoping that despite the fervent reality, somehow this vision would abate and disappear within the consequences of a sick mind, childish nightmares—anything except the truth.
"You do not speak?" He questioned again, coming into the room closer, his cruel eyes fluttering over her frame, just lingering on the color of her skin, a faint look of disgust appearing on the otherwise stoic face.
"She is scared, Admiral." Admiral? Katara thought, desperately trying to find someone of the rank within her tribe yet failing, What is that? "She has just been displaced—"
"Displaced?" The cruel man—the Admiral—raised an eyebrow at the hulking frame behind him and Katara had the sickening sensation that he would lash out just to make an example of him. "This thing is a child of war. She has committed crimes unparalleled to any of those in the Fire Nation—she has made the error of being born a Water child instead of one of Fire and that alone must be punished severely. Not to mention that she has grown up within a tribe of savages—there is no telling what kind of barbaric traditions and manners she has, Captain."
The hulking figure—the Captain Katara corrects gently in her mind—is somewhat cowed, but she can still see, in the fleeting light, the way his jaw tenses in the darkened corridor.
The Admiral turned back towards her.
He appraised her with a downwards curl of his mouth and then took three steps forward before grasping her chin in freezing hands and tilting her head up. She tried her best not to tremble but as she bit her lip, eyes smarting, Katara knew she wasn't fooling anyone.
"My name is Admiral Zhao. You will address me as such." He told her, fingers squeezing so hard Katara knew she'd have bruises by the end of tomorrow, and then turned towards the Captain, a sneer on his face. "She is a pretty one. Maybe in a few years…"
Fear, hot and unbridled rose within her and everything inside her willed to jerk away, but some part of Katara had been reduced to following only the barest of her instincts and so, she remained still, quiet and trembling within the clutches of the Admiral.
"Bring her over to my ship immediately." The Admiral says, drawing himself up straight, his fingers letting go of her chin and letting the Captain pass through before he leaves through the door, not even bothering to close it shut behind him.
There is silence for a minute and Katara wonders, as she stares at the hulking Captain, why she is not as terrified as she was with Zhao.
"Hello." His voice was lulling as he came forward and Katara raised her eyes quickly to see dark comforting brown, concern and regret lining those dark ochre eyes.
If he feels so much regret, a vicious voice said in her head, then why did he attack my home?
"I know you probably think we're all bad. We attacked your home unprovoked after all." Katara starts, unhappy that he is able to read her thoughts so clearly on her face. The Captain hedges at the door, his fingers fidgeting the bottoms of his sleeves before carefully coming closer and sitting down. Katara said nothing, merely staring mutely at the scarred face before her.
His thick eyebrows furrowed downwards at her continued mutiny and he sighed, crossing the tree branches he called arms. "We're not all bad. And I know that's probably not what you want to hear now. But they've got a lot of our children prisoner. Well not prisoner—but yes, you get the idea."
Again, Katara said nothing, remembering the way the pale soldier had knocked her grandmother unconscious, how he slashed through tribesmen like Tulak and Nokkuk as easily as a hot knife through butter and she knows it will take much more than the kind words of a Captain to ease over the wounds that have been grooved into her young mind.
The Captain leaned forward, his mouth set in a tense line, eyes pleading. "Even if you hate us, even if you wish to blast us off the earth, please take my advice. I think you're going to need it if you're going to the royal palace."
"Royal palace?" The whisper is out of her mouth before she can choke it down and Katara flinches at the controlled happiness that echoes within those dark brown depths.
"Yes." The Captain sobered up, eyebrows furrowing once more, "It is one of the cruelest places you can be sent to outside the labor camps. I believe it is because you are the Last Waterbender of the South. One of Zhao's men reported it and so because of that and your rather…exotic skin, you will be brought there as perhaps a prize? I am not sure myself. I can only plead you to be careful, to always think twice before you speak."
There is an uneasy moment where Katara does not want to trust this man.
He has, after all, led the raid that killed not only her clansmen but her grandfather and perhaps—she stifles the whimper that nearly comes from her lips—her mother, father and brother. She does not know if this man and his men have killed her culture, her people and yet, as she stares into dark brown eyes, thinking of imploring words and the personal danger he must have put himself in to even talk to her, she relents.
"Thank you." She tells him quietly, easing her grip on her knees.
She still does not trust these men, these people, but she is open to small kindnesses. Katara merely hopes that what he has said about the labor camps and the royal palaces is untrue and that his warnings would heed false.
A small, regretful smile plays on his mouth before heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. In an instant, the Captain is on his feet, her collar stuck between his giant hands, her feet dangling in midair.
"Girl, make sure to act like you are desperate." Those are the Captain's last words to her before a mean scowl appears on his face and he begins to move.
Katara lets herself go limp, hoping that the pressure in her eyelids is merely the anxiety and not the rage that bubbles up inside her.
Enjoy! Tell me your thoughts if you wish :) Thank you for reading.