A/N: hello all! welcome to my soft opening for Kataang Week 2023, prompt Rivals-to-Lovers. This is a one-shot that took on a life of its own, a 'no war' AU. I wanted to explore and play with Katara and Aang's characterizations. My usual depiction of them has them very emotionally mature, often doing/saying the right things at the right time (because conflict gives me anxiety irl, lol), but you might find them characterized a bit different than if you've read any of my other stuff. If you haven't, and thank you for reading! If you're willing, leave a review/comment, I'd greatly appreciate it!

stranger in a strange land

This time twenty years ago, the Southern Water Tribe was its own sovereign nation, truly free, answering to no one. Katara's father, Hakoda, recounts it like a distant era, like a legend, rather than recent history.

This time twenty years ago, Hakoda would have been addressed as 'Head Chieftain'. Today, he is Steward, Keeper of the Southern Water Tribe, a vassal state to their sister tribe far in the North Pole. They are well cared for, well-protected, their interests represented in global councils by their northern brethren. For most of her childhood, Katara can't think of anything she wanted for, but didn't have.

And still, her people grumble in the dark corners of the town's only tavern, remembering the days when they had less food on the table and less fuel in their fires, but at least it was theirs.

"It's the last Avatar's fault," her brother, Sokka, explained to her once. "Roku deposed Fire Lord Azulon with his heir-apparent son, Iroh, and it created a domino effect that we're still experiencing to this day."

She never bothered to reply. The Avatar and his politics were alien to her. A myth that walks among men, allegedly, but when was the last time any Avatar worked their way this far south? Not since Avatar Kuruk, hundreds of years before. The South Pole isn't worth visiting to anyone but those born here.

The new Avatar is an Airbender, a monk from the Southern Temple. Her father tells her that they are the same age, this Airbender, and her. Like that should matter to her- like it's some tether that binds them.

"It's good luck to be born the same year as an Avatar," her father says with a smile.

She doesn't feel lucky. She feels like another tool at the Tribe's disposal, a blunt instrument for them to shape. There are many things for her to be thankful for, her father assures her, but Katara can't help but feel like the blessings come with too many strings attached. She's been well-cared for her entire life, under the promise that she and her family behave. Uphold Northern law. Follow Northern doctrine.

"You're a Waterbender," Sokka reminds her the first time she shares her thoughts on the matter.

Even she can admit that on this one count, she probably should consider herself lucky. The North values their benders like a jeweler values gemstones, the centerpiece around which most of their great nation operates. When she turns eighteen in a few days, she'll be sent to the North Pole to learn their ways, to soak in the knowledge they have to share.

A blessing, her father tells her a little too forcefully. Maybe it would be, if she had chosen it for herself.

"They're not like us," Sokka murmurs, as if she doesn't already know.

He only recently returned a few months before from his own northern pilgrimmage. From age eighteen to twenty, they trained him at the best academies, offered him tutelage under the greatest of warriors and politicians they have to offer. They sang his praises, rubbed elbows with him, told them they'd miss him and they'd write letters when he left. There wasn't a southerner alive who didn't see it for what it was.

Send us your youth. We'll teach them to be the best. We'll teach them to be like us.

"I know they're not," she replies.

Her belongings are packed. All her worldly possessions trundled away in two small chests.

She's surprised her northern hosts don't want to pack her into one, too. Pop open the lid when it's convenient to trot her around. Look, see? See how well we care for our sister tribe, our poorer, weaker family to the south.

"They won't train you to be a warrior," Sokka warns. "They don't let their women fight."

It's becoming a tradition, this conversation. First her father, then Bato, then Sokka. Then the cycle starts again. "They don't let their women fight," they say, but Katara knows what they mean. The Northern women are protected, venerated, never in harm's way. Never holding the spear, never facing down an enemy. And since they're not warriors, what need is there for them to be in war councils? Or, any council at all?

She says something vague in response. There's no point in this discussion; they've already had it. She's only ever wanted to learn to fight, but her rebuttal is as tired as the conversation, and these are their last moments together, anyway. Her escorts are waiting outside to guide her to the ship floating beyond the South Pole's small harbor, too big to squeeze past the break-wall. She doesn't want to be impressed, but she is. All eighteen years of her life were spent here, and she's never seen anything that big before.

"I'll miss you, Sokka," she says instead. "Two years is a long time."

He grips her shoulder firmly, as if to tether her in place. As if he's afraid the escorts will barge their way in and snatch her from him before he's ready. "You'll be alright."

She's not entirely certain who he's speaking to.

"Write letters, okay?" he says. "When- if it feels like it's too much. Write to me."

A forced smile. "Of course."

He pulls her into a hug, the top of her head tucked just beneath his chin. It's new, this way of holding her- before he left for the North Pole, they were practically the same height. She could look him in the eye.

She can't bear to now. "Goodbye, Sokka."

It takes two months to sail from the South Pole to the North Pole. A long time to be alone. The sailors scarcely speak to her; they think she's bad luck. To go from the center of a tightly-knit tribe to a ghost that haunts a crew that wants nothing to do her is an impossible adjustment to make.

The only person willing to speak to her is the captain, and in a moment of vulnerability, she admits to him that she wants to learn to fight. "Fighting isn't for you," he tells her firmly, and her heart sinks with an innate understanding that he won't keep that secret to himself.

After that, she finds herself even more ostracized than before. The sailors leap over the railings when the ship makes port calls for water and food, fall silent when she joins them for meals in the crew mess.

"It'll be different when I get there," she whispers to herself, a mantra, every night before she falls asleep.

To pass the time, she makes up stories while she sits in out-of-the-way corners, ignored. That man there is Yotimo; he loves to crochet sweaters for underpriviledged children (surely the North Pole has those, too). Yotimo's friend, Siku, writes dirty poems during his watches, and reads them to Innik, the man who sleeps in the rack above him. Innik gets nightmares; the poetry soothes him. And so on, and so forth.

Her stories become real to her after a while, and she smiles when she discovers that Siku and Innik are actually friends. They see her smiling, and turn away uncomfortably. She can't see their faces, but their contempt- their mistrust- is easy to read.

She's grateful when the ship pulls into the Northern Harbor. For a while, she can stare up at the city's great walls and pretend the sailors don't breathe audible sighs of relief that the journey is over. After they make berth, the more superstitious sailors make for the Spirit Oasis immediately. Two months aboard a ship with a woman requires the most intensive of purification rituals. They shout promises to meet their friends at the local tavern after.

Her two escorts sweep her along the narrow streets like unwanted dirt, finally pushing her unceremoniously into a long, low building at the end of a tidy little avenue. There is a woman sitting at a polished desk, and she greets Katara with a speculative look, downturned lips like she's searching for the answer to a problem she didn't want to solve in the first place.

"From the South Pole, you say?" she chirps to the guards.

If Katara is expected, it's certainly not by this woman. Eventually, though, she's dragged down a long hallway to a simple room at the far end. There's a desk and a bed, space for her two chests, and little else.

"You can meet with Master Yagoda tomorrow," the woman informs her. "Though, it may be a long wait. There are important dignitaries visiting from the Air Nation right now, and Chief Arnook and his daughter are showing them around. Yagoda and Pakku are the first stops. The dignitaries take precedence."

"Am I to meet with Chief Arnook after?" Katara asks. She doesn't want to sound unsure, but there's a little waver in her voice that betrays her.

The woman blinks. "Whatever for?"

Legs kick idly against a low bench as Katara waits for the dignitaries to finish their visit. What an Air Nomad diplomat might want with a Master Healer and Master Waterbender, she can't fathom, but they're certainly taking a long time about it.

She arrived at the healing house early that morning in the hopes of catching Yagoda before the entourage arrived. Between irritable sighs and sidelong glances, she was assured by one of Yagoda's assistants- in no unclear terms- that she would be training for healing, not for combat, and that she was to wait in the hallway until Yagoda is available for her.

Hours later, Katara huffs an impatient sigh, shoulders hunched in a way that would have Bato tapping a knuckle smartly against her forehead to remind her to straighten up, if she were still home. If Bato weren't half a world away.

A door opens. Footsteps. Another student, most likely- Yagoda's healing house is full of them, ranging in age from six to sixty. All women. All eager to learn.

"Hi."

This speaker is decidedly not female, and she can't detect any contempt in that warm-timbered voice- the first time that's happened since she left home. She looks up.

An Air Nation man, about her age. She's never seen an Airbender before; he's tall- taller even than Sokka, built lean but muscular, with gray eyes and a sharp jawline. Her eyes pour over his strange garb, bright blue arrow tattoos, and shaven head with undisguised interest.

"I'm Aang," he continues. "Are you a student here?"

"No," she answers after a moment. "Or, well... Yes. I will be." It's hard work, keeping the bitterness out of her voice.

The Airbender smiles, nods vaguely. "Can I sit?"

She shrugs, and he lowers himself slowly onto the bench.

"Are you excited to learn healing?" he asks.

"I guess I am."

"You don't sound excited. Or, even interested."

A sigh escapes her. "No, I am. I just... don't like being forced into it. I'm told that's childish."

"By whom?"

"My father."

He smiles. It's crooked, the right corner quirking upward, and there's a matching twinkle that immediately tells her he's trouble. What kind, she's not sure, yet.

"Funny," he notes. "I've been having similar conversations with mine."

His smile is infectious, and has her answering with one of her own before she even realizes it. "I didn't know monks had fathers."

"Not my biological father," he explains with a wave, "but he raised me from infancy. We have another word for it, but 'father' works just as well."

"It sounds like it's as good a word as any."

"My thinking exactly."

She finds him engaging, an unexpected stranger in an unexpected place, and her weight slowly shifts until they're almost brushing shoulders. He draws her into friendly conversation, the first she's had in two months. He tells her about his trip here, about the pomp and circumstance that goes with traveling alongside a foreign dignitary.

"I thought Airbenders didn't like unnecessary ceremony," Katara notes, quirking a brow.

"We don't, but Gyatso tells me that it's a sign of respect to observe local customs, and this is how the Tribes like to greet honored guests." A chuckle. "It's all the same to me. I'm just along for the ride."

"Is Gyatso the dignitary?"

A sharp shake of his head. "No, it's... someone else."

She shrugs, indifferent. "Well, the Northerners certainly seem to want to impress him. They definitely don't make this kind of effort for every foreign visitor," she adds with a grumble, perhaps uncharitably.

"They don't need to go to all this trouble on his account," Aang says with a laugh. "He's no one special."

"He better be someone special. I've been waiting out here for hours for him to finish up."

Aang quirks one shoulder, and glances around, clearly ready for a change of subject.

She obliges. "So, who are you, anyway? Some kind of assistant?"

"You could say that," he answers, grinning. "You wouldn't be too far from the truth. I go where they tell me, wear what they want me to wear, say what they want me to say."

It sounds a little too familiar. She tells him so.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He sighs, stares down at his tattooed hands. "Gyatso says that if we were all allowed to do exactly what we wanted to do all the time, the world would be chaos. No one is meant for everything."

"Gyatso sounds like he probably gets along well with Yagoda," Katara sniffs. "She said something similar when I asked if I could learn combat bending."

"She won't let you?"

"Women aren't allowed to learn to fight, here. And, I am assured that Master Pakku's answer would be an even more emphatic 'no' than Yagoda's was."

He grunts. "That's stupid."

"It is."

"You should tell them."

"I tried, a few hours ago. Now I'm sitting on a bench in time-out, I think."

"I could help you."

She laughs, giving him a speculative look. "Oh yea? Some girl they've never met, and a foreign dignitary's assistant? They'll have to change their minds."

"See? Foolproof. I can't believe it took us this long to come up with it."

The door opens again. A group files out, lead by an elderly Air Nation man draped in robes of silk. The colors remind her of the sun dropping behind the hills in one of the Earth Kingdom port cities she passed through on her way here. Behind him is Yagoda, silver hair braided and face wrinkled. An elderly Water Tribe man brings up the rear, wiry limbs under an unadorned parka of deep purple.

"That must be Pakku," Katara mutters under her breath, pointing with her chain at the Northern man.

Aang nods confirmation.

She eyes the old man speculatively. "He looks like a strong wind would blow him over."

"I am promised that he's a force to be reckoned with." There is a palpable undercurrent of distaste in his voice.

The Air Nation man spots Aang, and makes his way over. The group drifts behind him, and Katara frowns with discomfort. This must be the foreign dignitary. Aang stiffens nervously as the group approaches.

"Aang," the older monk greets. "We have completed our conference. Thank you for your patience."

"Of course."

The monk nudges him gently. "Are you going to introduce us to your friend?"

Katara saves him the trouble of answering- no stranger to scoldings and how they hinder the very answers they're looking for. She quickly stands, bows politely, the way Sokka told her the Northerners would expect her to. "I'm Katara, of the Southern Water Tribe, daughter to Steward Hakoda. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The man bows back, fists pressed together beneath his chest. "Gyatso. Are you a student of Master Yagoda's?"

"I will be."

Gyatso smiles, and she feels it wash over her like the warmth of a summer breeze. The pomp and ceremony makes more sense now, looking at him. He seems like the kind of man other nations would want to impress. "Study hard, then, Katara. Healers are always in demand. My good will upon you."

"Thank you."

He nods, and waves Aang forward. "Come, Aang. Goodbye, Katara. Perhaps, one day, we shall meet again."

Three days pass before Chief Arnook sends for her. She lays out the only ceremonial dress she owns- a threadbare thing that belonged to her mother before she died. There are broken beads and patches of silvery fur missing, but it's one of the few things of her mother that Katara still has. Her father offered to buy her a new one- to send for something more fashionable, less well-worn. Katara vehemently said no. The dress was made in the South, a true representation of her people. She lifts it up with reverence, and wears it with pride. She will greet the Northern Chief with her head raised and her back straight.

Then, she actually meets him. He has a craggy face, wrinkled from too many days under a harsh northern sun. His appearance lends credence to the possibility that the stories about his prowess in battle are not exaggerated. Master Pakku, all slim limbs and poker-straight salt-and-pepper hair, sits at the Chief's left hand. To the Chief's right is his daughter, Yue, only two years older than Katara herself. She is the most beautiful woman Katara has ever seen, with ice-chip eyes and ghostly white hair, and while she doesn't share her father and Master Pakku's grim expressions, she won't meet Katara's eye, either.

"Katara, of the Southern Water Tribe," Chief Arnook greets her. His voice is like frost crunching underfoot.

She takes a steadying breath, and bows. "Chief Arnook. As stated by the bounds of our Tribal agreement, I am here to act as a Southern Water Tribe representative, to learn what you're willing to teach me, to spend two years under your tutelage, before returning to the South. My father would like to extend his-"

"From what I've heard," Master Pakku interrupts with a malicious drawl, "you haven't found what we're 'willing to teach' you acceptable."

Katara gapes, bewildered. "Sir?"

"I've also heard that the healing house- and the noble art of healing itself- isn't good enough for the second child of the Steward of the South," Pakku continues. "Your brother accepted our teachings and was grateful, and here we find you, spreading discord and casting a poor reflection upon us to foreign diplomats."

"Foreign diplomats?" she mouths silently, in shock. "Master Pakku- I truly don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Chief Arnook frowns grimly. "A member of our Air Nation delegation was lead to believe that you were being treated unfairly. That you're being barred from certain opportunities."

"I... Chief Arnook, I can explain... Actually, I can't," she admits. "I spoke with Gyatso for mere moments, and all that we discussed was that I was to begin training with Healing Master Yagoda. Our conversation couldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds-"

"Oh, you poor fool," Pakku blurts. Katara hates to hear real pity in his voice. "Gyatso is a dignitary, yes, but he's not who we're talking about. He's the Avatar's mentor."

Heartbeats stud in her chest. A cold, clenching understanding. "His... mentor?"

"Yes. The Airbending Master and guardian to his Holiness, Avatar Aang."

The 'assistant'. The hot-white heat of rage fills her, and her fists ball at her sides.

He mislead her. He tricked her. And ran his mouth at the first opportunity.

"This is a misunderstanding," she insists after a moment. "It isn't what you think. I didn't know who he was."

"I'm not sure that helps your case," Chief Arnook grunts. "The fact that you are as likely to malign our customs and traditions to strangers as you are to one of the most important diplomats in the entire world?" He shakes his head. "It begs the question whether you're worthy of training in the first place."

Katara is familiar with this tactic- her father's advisors use it all the time, but she has a tactic of her own to combat it. Avoid subtle threats by bulldozing straight to the meat of the matter. "What did the Avatar say?" she demands.

Pakku sneers. "I hardly think-"

"A stranger tells you something, and you blindly believe it?" she interrupts. "And you don't even allow me, a delegate from your sister tribe and vassal state, the chance to defend myself before you pass your judgement?"

A light voice, like moonlight, drifts downward. "His Holiness said you want to learn to fight. He implied that our customs are outdated... sexist, even." The Princess Yue, her eyes piercing.

"I never used those words-"

"But the intention was the same," Pakku says. "Chief Arnook, I'm half inclined to deny this girl the opportunity to train, even in Yagoda's healing house. Yagoda is a worthy master, undeserving of a student so ungrateful."

She could feel her chances, her odds slipping through her fingers. Could feel the shame of returning home on the next available boat, another two months of wretched isolation only to tell her father- her whole tribe- that she failed.

"I don't know why the Avatar felt the need to misconstrue my words, or more importantly, what compelled him to do it to you." She lifts her chin. "But, I came here to learn whatever I can. To help make a better future for my- for both our Tribes. Whatever the Avatar may or may not have said, that hasn't changed."

"I'll leave it to Pakku," Chief Arnook announces after a moment. "It is he and Yagoda who were ultimately insulted, after all."

Pakku makes a show of deliberating. She wants to smack the smirk off his face. "You may train in healing," he demurs. "Provided that you apologize."

Tears in her eyes, blinked back. "I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect."

He sniffs, cold. "Pray we find no other cause to send you home. You're on thin ice, little girl. And don't you forget it."

He stands, Chief Arnook along with him, and sweeps from the room. Yue rises to her feet like the tide, sparing Katara one final glance, an encouraging smile, before trailing behind them. And then, Katara is alone.

Word about her meeting with Chief Arnook spreads like wildfire. The ungrateful Southerner, spreading discord and lies about the mighty Northern nation to the Avatar himself. In the healing house, she works alone amidst snickers and malicious whispers. When it is time to train with partners, her fellow students bicker amongst themselves about who must fall upon the dreaded sword of working with her.

At first, it stings. Tears fall every night in the privacy of her room, and she counts down the days until her imprisonment ends. She devours every letter from Sokka, Bato, her father- but she doesn't tell them what happened. To write it down, to seek their comfort, feels akin to admitting failure, defeat. There's nothing to report, anyway. In her heart, she knows that she didn't do anything wrong.

She tries to kill her tormentors with kindness instead, to show that it's all a misunderstanding. Her efforts prove fruitless, and within a few short months, Katara learns what it means to truly be alone.

Eventually, the tide turns, but never in the way she hopes. Her welcome never gets warmer- her peers never offer her a seat at the table. But after a while, it becomes clear even to the meanest of her critics that Katara is good at what she does. For her, healing is easy.

She excels in her classes; she even trains other students. They don't meet her eyes, and they whisper to avoid being overheard, but they benefit from her advice just the same. One day, Yagoda pulls her aside, and tells her (grimly, as if speaking to her directly is beneath her) that her time would be better served in the healing house itself. Not as student, but as staff.

"I had my doubts," Yagoda tells her, "but you've proven to be one of the most proficient pupils I've ever trained. Experience is now your most valuable teacher."

Katara's eyes rove, inadvertently, to the combat fields. "There is always more to learn."

Yagoda draws her firmly by the chin back to face her. "That there is. Elu is in bed four- she came in this morning with abdominal pain."

It is during this time- eight months into her stay in the North- that she sees Yue again, for the first time since that fateful meeting. The Princess glides down the aisles, beautiful as the Moon Spirit herself, kneeling by sickbeds to speak words of encouragement in her soft voice. She pauses when she sees Katara at work.

"I'm told you excelled past even Master Yagoda's tutelage," Yue says in greeting.

Katara nods a polite thanks.

"Walk with me, won't you?"

It's posed as a question, but Katara isn't sure she can refuse, so she follows Yue as she glides away from the sickbeds. They exchange vague pleasantries, but after a while, Katara's patience begins to thin.

"Is there something I can help you with, your Highness?"

Yue nods thoughtfully. "Yes... though, I wonder where to begin. I've some news for you, but I'm not certain how it will be received."

"Oh?"

They push past the ornate doors of the healing house.

"We haven't spoken since your arrival, you and I," Yue notes. "I had hoped we might have the opportunity to get to know one another, but circumstances have created rather different conditions."

'Circumstances', Katara scoffs internally. "Yes, your Highness."

Yue misses nothing. "The burden that falls on the shoulders of all Water Tribe women doesn't grow lighter with elevation of rank." Her voice is firm, but something in her eyes tells Katara it isn't a scolding, but rather an offer of understanding. A gesture of solidarity. "I can't always say what I think, but that doesn't mean I don't admire courage, or strength... even when it goes against Tribe doctrine."

"Pardon me for being blunt, but what are we talking about exactly, your Highness?"

"You wished to learn combat bending upon your arrival here, didn't you?"

Instantly, Katara's hackles are raised. She nods warily.

"Is that still your wish?"

"I don't believe that's possible for any woman, your Highness. Me, least of all."

Yue presses. "But if the opportunity were there, would you take it?"

It feels like a trick, a trap. "I'm told it's improper," she answers carefully.

"I'm often told the same thing."

"You want to learn to fight-?"

The Princess waves her off. "Not combat, no- but there are other things that are improper for women to participate in. Certain academics, that sort of thing."

"I see."

"Like you, I've been told 'no' often enough to be skeptical of opportunities like this one."

Katara's eyes narrow. "An opportunity like what, your Highness?"

"It has become necessary that the Northern Water Tribe present what some might consider a more 'progressive' front to the other nations. For various political reasons, of course. Certain parties find our lack of inclusion somewhat... off-putting."

Katara can't help it; she snorts back a laugh.

"My father's plan to remedy this is to allow certain females to take positions and opportunities not ordinarily offered to us," Yue explains. "Only a very select few ladies, of course, in specific fields. Like combat."

Her heart skips. She squashes it, too familiar with the fickleness of hope.

"For the last few weeks, I have argued with my father to allow you to be the one selected pursue combat training." The Princess smiles. "Last night, he and Pakku finally agreed."

"I see," Katara breathes.

"It's not charity," Yue warns her. "The stories of Master Pakku's blunt mannerisms and brutal training regimens are not exaggerated, and there will likely be expectations placed upon you in exchange for your training. Opportunities that my father and his advisors will no doubt wish to take advantage of. But... if you accept, you will receive the finest training in classic Northern Water Tribe combat bending from the finest Master Waterbender our Tribe has to offer."

Katara paces away, thinking. "Why me? Why all of the sudden? Thousands of years of tradition and they're changing on a whim."

"That's a complicated question," Yue answers delicately. "Let it suffice to say that we need to keep the Water Tribes walking with their best foot forward. It's taken some convincing, but given how you excelled in healing, both Pakku and my father ultimately agreed to give you a chance at combat."

"Reluctantly."

"That's one word," the Princess agrees. "But, my father believes that it's an opportunity for the betterment of both you, and the Tribes as a whole."

"Convenient."

Yue nods. "So... do you accept?"

With so tempting a prize dangled right in front of her, Katara can't help it. She throws caution to the wind.

The next six months are a blur. Yue was right- Pakku is brutal. Mistakes are met with sharp retribution, questions with derision, ill-preparedness with swift punishment. His training method is to sink or to swim- literally, she thinks one day after he nearly drowns her in a prison of water.

And yet, somehow, she rises above it all.

There isn't some epiphany, no sudden understanding of Pakku's cruel nature. Yue tells her he has a complicated past, but as far as Katara is concerned, his past can stay there. She doesn't need an explanation for his sour moods and sharp words. She only needs him to teach her the difference foot placement here or wrist tension there makes, to guide her through ancient forms and to demonstrate the difference between offense and defensive bending.

And teach her, he does. Thoroughly, with the precision of a man who's dedicated his life to the discipline.

She returns to her apartment every night bruised, bleeding, her healing abilities the only thing that allows sleep more often than not. And walks through the gateway to the combat yard with her back straight every morning anyway, ready to fight again.

It takes three months for Pakku to even acknowledge her as something beyond a nuisance. As the grain of sand before the pearl. Another two weeks for her first compliment.

"You're... improving," he grunts late one afternoon as the sun drops below the walls of the city. He's nursing a slice on his cheek that she gave him. She could heal it for him. She doesn't offer, only bows a silent thanks. In the privacy of her room later that night, she falls asleep with a grin on her face.

The Northern Princess makes a point to invite her to tea in the palace whenever she can. It's the only intentional kindness Katara receives. Eventually, she comes to treasure Yue's gentle curiosity and easygoing nature. The girl has a warmth to her that often makes Katara forget that she's royalty.

There are times, however, when she is firmly reminded.

"I have some exciting news," Yue shares late one afternoon. "He's coming back. His Elders have given him a timeline for Waterbending proficiency, and-"

Katara sets her tea on the table between them. "Who's coming back?"

"The Avatar, of course. He'll be here in two weeks to train with Master Pakku for a year before moving on to Earth and then Fire. You'll be training alongside him- imagine having such a connection. Your father will be over the moon. Mine already is." She beams.

Katara stills. The Avatar. The one who tricked her, humiliated her- or maybe not even that. Maybe he just didn't know how to keep his mouth shut.

It doesn't matter. The last eighteen months are a testament to his mistake; mocking laughter as she walks the market, meals eaten alone. Tears behind closed doors, knuckles white against the door frame.

Her nails dig in to her palms. "How... wonderful."

Yue notes the strain. "I'm sure he didn't mean to put you in a complicated position-"

"Lots of people don't mean to do things."

"Perhaps if we invited him to tea with us-"

Katara stands abruptly. "So that we can- what? Grovel at his feet? Guard our words in case he decides to spew another piece of information into the wrong ears?"

Yue's expression hardens. "He was only trying to help."

"Well, he didn't, did he?"

"You're wrong," she says softly, almost timidly. The quiet confession of an old secret.

Realization strikes hard and fast. "That's the only reason Pakku agreed to train me, isn't it?" Katara demands with a gasp. "Because he knew the dolt was coming back and would ask about it. Of course."

"It isn't the only reason. They wouldn't have agreed if you hadn't already excelled so well in healing. But... it did significantly contribute, yes."

"Another reason being that we're both girls, right? I've heard your father's advisors talking about suitors," Katara seethes.

"Oh, for Tui's sake, Katara, not every political alliance is forged through matrimony," Yue sighs exasperatedly. "If that were the case, priests and other wedding officiants would be held in much higher regard. Nobody's even mentioned marriage."

"But they have mentioned political alignment."

"Obviously. He's a powerful diplomat. He could be invaluable to Tribal interests."

"And what does your father expect me to do?" Katara snaps. "The Avatar made my life a living hell. Because of him, you are my only friend. I'm treated like a pariah everywhere else I go. The market, the training yard, even the bleeding healing house. Because of him, because of what he did." A deranged laugh. "And now you're telling me that despite all that, I wouldn't be where I am without him?"

She turns away, passes a hand through her hair, gives herself a moment to ease the heat of embarrassment from her outburst and the surprised look on Yue's face.

"What can I do but hate him, Yue?"

The Princess draws her gently back to her seat. "Something even harder. You can forgive him."

Blue eyes meet. Katara's harden, and her hand forms a fist under Yue's. "Never," she vows.

She stands with Pakku's students in her finest dress (her mother's again, unearthed from the bottom of her chest and worn proudly amidst glares and snickers) when the ship pulls into the harbor. A schooner as airy as the passenger it brings, nothing like the floating dungeon that brought Katara to the North Pole.

The sailors laugh and play with the young man, sharing smiles and inside jokes as they moor. They gleefully hand him a mooring line to toss to the Tribesmen at the pier, laugh when he sends the line sailing over the pier with a helpful gust of wind that sets their sails flapping. When the ship is moored and the young Avatar crosses the brow, he does so amid pats on the shoulder, respectful bows and shouts of good will and promises to stop by again. He gives them a mock salute, two irreverent fingers touching his brow. Katara tries not to find too much pleasure in the withering look Master Pakku fixes him.

She doesn't want to hate him. She doesn't want to think of him at all. But there's a burning ember in her chest, writhing in agony as he waves to the gathered crowd with a bashful smile, like he's shocked that they're all there for him.

She scoffs. As if this doesn't happen everywhere he goes.

The Avatar bows a respectful greeting to Chief Arnook, who welcomes him like a returning hero. The old man is actually smiling. "Welcome back, your Holiness." He waves to Pakku, inviting the old Waterbender forward.

Pakku, at least, maintains his usual sense of decorum. A deep scowl, crossed arms, and a frosty demeanor. Katara likes Pakku about as much as she likes the Avatar himself, but she'll credit the old man with being consistent. And, if she's admitting her own pettiness, she feels a sick delight at the way the young Airbender's smile fades as he greets his new Waterbending Master.

It's when Pakku and Arnook turn away, already embroiled in discussions of the upcoming welcoming feast, that the moment Katara pretended not to dread happens. The Avatar's face is carefully blank while Arnook's advisors jabber at him, a sycophantic chorus. Then, he sees her. His eyes catch hers across the courtyard. One side of his lips quirks up in a smile he no doubt considers charming. She can hate him and still admit he's an attractive man, and she's certain that smile is popular- a girl in every town he visits, believing she's the only one special enough to receive it. How many others were crushed under the after-effects of one of his half-hearted charity attempts? Have they suffered like Katara did?

He raises his hand to wave at her, a casual little shake of his wrist. Like old friends.

She keeps her own hands firmly at her side, tosses her long hair. Shoots him one intentional look- pours every ounce of rage and suffering from the last eighteen months into it. Then she leaves him, baffled, in an empty courtyard.