the edge of a dream
The day starts with birdsong- a thrush, or a wren, maybe. Whatever it is, it trills on the ledge of Aang's half-open window. The sun rose on a fading dream, it says. The candle-light, hallways, lips, hands, skin- all of them a memory, now.
But there's an arm slung over her shoulder, one hand dangling above the mattress, and tentatively, she reaches for it. Traces the lines of long fingers, the pad of a thumb, the shallow bowl of a curving palm.
It's a gentle question to test her reality. If his hand is just there- if she can glide her fingers over that little scar across his knuckle- then last night must have beeen as real as that bird singing at his window. She knows it is, but he answers her silent question anyway, shifting closer and making a sleepy sound that curls over her when she turns to face him.
It's what she's wanted for weeks- months- and still, she can't think of anything better to do than to press her palms into the muscles of his back, murmuring, "You snore a little bit."
Aang's answer is eloquent. He breathes in deep, eyes heavy-lidded as they first open. Then his mouth is on hers, and he rolls her onto her back, speaking into the silence that if last night was more than a dream, he'll return to it like it's a painting he can't stop going back to.
But there's more than birdsong outside his window- there are servants chattering as they pass back and forth, and that low rumbling must be Appa, lodging complaints about the placement of his saddle.
She slows her kiss and Aang makes a sound in protest.
"Don't," he murmurs, voice still rough with the burr of sleep. "Let's stay, let's just stay here-"
"Don't tempt me," she whispers back. "I don't want to go-"
He arches one black brow, grins crookedly. A devil in monk's clothing. No clothing at all, actually, she thinks, almost giddy.
There's nothing she'd love more than to stay hidden away in the sanctuary of his bedroom, and from the look on his face, it's a shared sentiment. She sighs, intimately aware that reality demands more of them.
With a grimace, she rolls away to sit at the edge of his bed, pulling the sheets to her to preserve her modesty- as if it had any place between them last night, or now. He makes a rumble of protest when the linen tugs away, bares his back and the curve of one long thigh, parts of him she used to recall when her eyes were closed- the golden way his skin has soaked up his time in the sun.
With one hand she reaches to trace the line of a long muscle. The latissimus dorsi, she remembers from Yagoda's training, eons ago. Her hand keeps going, up around his shoulder to cup his cheek. "I have to," she murmurs.
A long look, eyes held and she can't turn away. "What happens out there? When you're thinking too much, and you feel like running?"
A dozen answers flash through her mind. Some sharp, irritated, others so disgustingly heartfelt that she buries them deep, overwhelmed by the feelings that inspire them. The truth is, she wants to say he's wrong, but she knows herself too well. Outside this room, every raised brow and questioning look will feel like judgement, as if loving someone- learning the fabric of them in a new, shared way- would change her. It won't, of course; all it's done is teach her a new language, of heartbeats and gliding lips. The sound he makes when they move as one.
She could offer him promises, pledges- and he has them, all the ones she'll keep tucked away, the ones she won't say aloud. Instead, she murmurs back the only thing she can think of to smooth that worry line between his brows.
"It'll be to you."
By some blessing of the Spirits, no one notices when she slips quietly from Aang's room. She sighs with relief, sliding down the back of the door and onto the floor in the safety of her room. No doubt, the staff would be discreet, giggling in linen closets or sculleries as soon as Appa's away, but all it takes is one guard with loose lips at a local tavern for word to reach the Red Lotus.
Among friends, the night doesn't need to be secret, precisely. At least, not as far as she knows- she and Aang didn't spend any time discussing it, occupied as they were. But, she doesn't find herself burdened with an urge to announce the evening's activities, either. It's another check under the 'blessings' column; when she finally leaves her room and enters the courtyard, Toph is nowhere to be found, and Sokka is busily organizing their packs in Appa's saddle.
Aang is there, too, slowing his work when he sees her. His cheeks glow a faint pink, and when his eyes meet hers, flashes of the night before- smooth skin, firm hands, a sigh of pleasure in her ear- dance in her mind. She lifts her chin, shrugs her shoulders, as if to question his stare. A show of innocence for her brother, who stops his work when the palpable tension unfurls across the yard, heavy like smoke.
Sokka makes a sound. A hum- discomfort, concern, the beginning of a question he doesn't actually want answered. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Katara offers quickly.
Aang has a split second to narrowly dodge her bag before she tosses it forcefully into Appa's saddle. He scowls- a perfect match to her brother, across from him- but she merely shrugs again, and darts from the courtyard.
She finds Toph in the sitting room in her usual reclined position on the couch, blissfully unaware of the scene unfolding in the yard.
"You didn't want to help pack?" Katara demands, petty.
"Could ask you the same. Late start today, hmm? Was the evening not restful for you, Katara?"
Katara perches on the arm of a nearby chair, makes a noise of defeat, and the Earthbender cackles. There's no point in lying- Toph will know, no matter how vehemently Katara denies it. "Just for the record, this the first time you've been correct," she grumbles.
An astonished sound. "What have you been doing?"
When Katara finally answers, it's with a self-deprecating grimace. "Running."
"Typical Katara."
"Typical Toph, lounging while the others are packing."
"So are you," she points out. "And anyway, I put all of my stuff in Appa's saddle, but Sokka didn't like how I did it. Said it was too 'haphazard'. Personally, I think it was fine, and he just wanted to use the word 'haphazard."
"Probably."
They fall silent for a moment when Toph stretches with an obnoxious groan. "So," she almost purrs, "have you switched from running to hiding?"
"I'm not hiding," Katara retorts, and she isn't- though, she wouldn't blame Aang for seeing it that way. If he were to ask her, she'd tell him that he's not the one she's hiding from.
It's Sokka. Last night, he was one of the furthest things from her mind, but now... Telling her brother that she's shared the Avatar's bed- Aang's bed- makes her want to curl up into a ball and disappear. Does he even need to know? she wonders. Sokka certainly doesn't go out out of his way to share all his partners with her.
But the Red Lotus couldn't use Suki, or Yue, or anyone else to trap Aang. They wouldn't use Sokka's lovers against them.
This is different.
It's selfish, really. She knows the answer to her question, and she's never felt any affinity for secrets, or those who keep them.
Sokka should know- and she will tell him, but Sokka will have... thoughts. He'll mention their father- ask what Steward Hakoda might say (as if she hadn't done so herself at great length that very morning). Run a tense hand through silken brown hair while he ponders what it means for their Tribe- what it could mean for Katara, with the Red Lotus hovering like a bruised, purple cloud on the horizon.
She cares about her Tribe- of course she does, she always has. But, does she need to give them everything? Her bending, her loyalty, and now, this, too? Head Chieftain Arnook used to say that duty and sacrifice go hand in hand. Never one, without the other.
Aang has never asked more of her than she could give. And after the first few months, her time in his service never felt like a burden. It felt more like a partnership. Collaboration. Two people joining, to accomplish common goals.
Maybe a day would come when she felt differently, but she knew before her lips met his the night before that there were few things she'd ever wanted more. She'd never imagined a lover; she'd never set much stock in fairy tales. But companionship, kinship were oft repeated dreams. Someone who understands her.
Aang understands.
Aang understands- and she just abandoned him in the courtyard with her brother. A mirthless laugh tumbles past her lips.
"I can hear you thinking," Toph grumbles.
There's something about this trip that puts each of them on edge; an uncomfortable, heady tension that permeates the air as they fly westward. All day, she waits for an opportunity to speak with her brother. To address the elephant in the saddle, so to speak. But over the wind, and Toph's mirthful, pointed looks, and Aang's own forlorn gazes, Katara finds her lips clamped firmly shut.
It's as if her heart wants too much, all at once. Sokka's understanding. Toph's mercy (the girl won't stop making witty comments). And Aang's... everything. If the first few days of their journey are anything to go by, her desires are beyond her reach.
There was a part of her that hoped things would be different. But, in many ways- too many ways- things are exactly the same. She adores Toph and Sokka (when she doesn't want to throttle one or both of them) but, with the two of them always around, she can't speak with Aang the way she desperately needs to. Instead, she's relegated to looks that convey a thousand words. It's a nuance of their relationship that she's always cherished- Aang's uncanny ability to pick the thoughts from her brain, almost as soon as she thinks them- but she will freely admit that there are some things that simply need to be discussed aloud.
With so many words left unsaid, and neither of them able to break the silence, the group's mood sours. Petty arguments break out over nothing- a borrowed brush, too much salt in the evening stew. A lifted brow, misconstrued.
On the fifth day of their journey, they arrive at the Earth Kingdom coastline. Toph eyes the rocky beach speculatively as Katara, Sokka, and Aang set up camp for the night.
"Lesson time," she declares.
"Not tonight, Toph," Aang groans.
That eloquent rebuttal is as effective as it usually is, and an hour later, Katara lies on her back, nose in her book, trying (and failing) to ignore the clashing of boulders, the jaw-chattering rumble of stone on stone as Toph bulldozes her way through a lesson. Katara's temper is already brittle, and when a particularly fierce rumble causes her to drop her book on the bridge of her nose, she sits up furiously, flinging the book away and reaching for her tent flap to bellow for them to shut up-
Until she hears a howl of pain from Aang.
Before an eye can blink, she gathers water from the nearby shoreline, using the sea's momentum to sail toward him. But as she draws hear- sees him on his side in the sand, curled over himself, face red against agony- she spots Sokka sighing with resignation, trudging over to rest a comforting hand on the Airbender's shoulder. Toph stands off to the side, arms crossed and a look on her face that can only be described as unrepentant.
"Stand down, Princess," Toph barks. "It wasn't our fan club- just Aang learning what happens when you try to fight distracted." She shifts in the sand to face Aang, her expression twisting with irritation. "I told you three times to pull your mind out of Katara's tent before you got hurt- and look what happened."
"Toph." A sharp reproach, then Katara drops to her knees beside Aang, her hands soft on his shoulder and hip, stretching him out gently to evaluate the extent of the damage.
"A broken rib, I think," Sokka says. He winces in sympathy at the spectacular bruise, already darkening. "Maybe more than one."
She throws a reproachful look at Toph, but holds her tongue. There are any number of faults with Toph's teaching methods, but the lesson itself? She can personally attest to its validity. Fighting distracted is a death sentence.
"Take Toph back," she murmurs. "You might start dinner; this will take a while."
Sokka nods, rising to his feet and brushing sand from the knees of his pants.
"I heard that," Toph snaps, tossing her hair. "But, fine. We've reached a good stopping point for the night, anyway."
A scoff at 'stopping point'. Even Aang briefly ceases his writhing to send the Earthbender a filthy glare.
"We can pick back up tomorrow evening," she continues blithely.
"Absolutely not. He'll need at least a week to allow the muscles to heal."
"Don't be ridiculous; this is the perfect time to learn how to fight through an injury."
"He will do no such thing, Toph, or so help me-"
Toph snorts. "I'm not scared of you, Katara."
"Your mistake."
Unwilling to encourage this particular argument, Katara gives the Earthbender a dismissive flick of her hand, and turns her attention to her patient. Toph releases a few choice epithets, kicking sand like a child before stomping up the beach, toward the campfire.
"Are you alright?" Katara murmurs, as soon as they're alone.
He nods, but the vein at his temple pulses, his lips are pressed together so firmly, they're almost white.
She wastes no time pulling water from the nearby shore to sink into his skin. One rib, two ribs... his lung isn't punctured, thankfully, but she releases an irritated grumble at Toph's (or, perhaps, Aang's) carelessness when she finds a third. After a while, though, his breathing eases, color returning, and he relaxes back into the sand.
With his ribs knitted back together (sweat beading on her brow from the effort), she turns her attention to the deep, angry bruising. But when she streams fresh water to her, he waves her away gingerly, reaching instead to take one of her hands in his. "This past week..." he murmurs.
A sigh, of shame, of frustration with their circumstances. "I'm sorry, Aang. I've been meaning to talk to you, but we've barely gotten a moment alone."
He sits up, against her protests. Draws a steadying breath. "And... what do you want to say?"
His body is stiff- from the pain, perhaps, but more like... like he's shielding himself for more. His eyes are on his hands, folded in his lap. Bracing for bad news. With a guilty pang, she realizes that she's spent the week in her mind, mourning the twelve hours of bliss and peace and ease that they shared in his bedroom, and wondering how to proceed with her brother in order to guarantee that there will be other nights like it.
Aang has spent the week thinking she's holding him at an arm's length.
She should tell him not to worry- that the words she spoke over a thrush's song and dappled morning rays still held true. She isn't running (well, except perhaps from that courtyard, her mind supplies sheepishly). And even if she was, she wasn't running away from him; she was trying to figure out the safest way to run to him.
In her mind, of course, she makes this realization in the time it takes for a wave to lap gently up the sloping beach, a few yards away. Cleanly, plainly, without affect or embarrassment. But eloquence has never been a strong suit of hers, and all her smooth words- her one opportunity to say the right thing- were spent in the darkness of Toph's kitchen.
A lack of eloquence changes nothing. Aang needs reassurance, but she doesn't know how to barrel past the gag that keeps in a thousand words she should already have said.
Her body supplies the answer. Careful not to jostle him, she leans forward, presses her lips to his, all but sinking in to him as much as she can without damaging him further.
She can feel his relief- the tension drains from his body, his shoulders dropping low until they meet the sand again. It's gentle, this kiss- nothing like the fierce, passionate kisses in Toph's kitchen, or the lingering ones that curled her toes when she lay cradled in his arms, after. It's a promise, a vow. The first of many, slow and unhurried, because they have time. All the time in the world for a thousand more, just like this one.
When she pulls away, he laughs weakly with relief. "That's not what I thought you'd say."
She frowns, runs a hand along his cheek. "Did you think what I said in your room was just words?"
"I told you I was afraid," he murmurs. "And for the last few days, I've been worried I was right. That I couldn't have both."
"Both of what?"
"Your companionship, and your..." He trails off. "And everything else."
"Even after...?"
"Especially after."
Katara bites back a hint of ill-timed amusement. "That afraid of me, are you?"
"We've long since established that you're the scarier, of the two of us," he says, prim after he catches her good-natured mocking. "I'm not ashamed."
"Well, don't be- afraid, I mean. I meant what I said." She wears a wry smirk, and light admonishment in her tone, but it's an act to quell an unexpected upswell of emotion. Of love. He's never used the word- she can hardly expect him to, after a single shared night- but she finds herself drowning in it, frightened by its intensity. She bites her lip, and her tone lowers. It's a battle, keeping the emotion from her voice. "I'm not going anywhere."
Something fierce in the gray of his eyes, hard and hungry, and he leans up to catch her lips with his, this time more passionate. Before they meet, however, he winces, curling inward with a groan.
"Your ribs aren't finished," she chuckles, exasperatedly. "Come on, Airbender. Let's get you healed."
They arrive at Crescent Island a few days later, greeted by a group of enthusiastically bowing men that Aang introduces as the Fire Sages, the keepers of the Fire Temple. It's an ominous-looking place, all sharp edges and colors that remind Katara a little too much of the blood she once spilled on the fairgrounds of Kyoshi Island. The sages themselves, though, are warm and inviting.
"We're honored to receive you, your Holiness," welcomes a soft-spoken sage named Shyu. "It's been too long since your last visit."
Aang bows deeply in greeting. "I'm happy to be back. These are my friends," he says, introducing each of them in turn. "They're accompanying me to the Fire Nation."
"We welcome you to our nation, friends of Avatar Aang."
In short order, they're guided to their rooms, on the highest floor of one of the many tall towers that dot the island. Katara's room is nothing short of a simple paradise; crisp, white linen sheets on a wood-framed bed in the center of a room with walls open to the elements, protected only by the thin screen of sheer curtains. She sinks down on one edge of the bed, unsure of what to do next.
Shortly after they were settled, the Fire Sages requested that Aang lead them in guided meditation. Katara had to literally bite her own tongue to keep herself from barking a sharp, 'No'. Their journey across the sea- buffeted as they were by westward winds and frequent squalls, as well as the ongoing ordeal of healing his ribs- left Aang exhausted, and in need of a good night's rest. It was plain to see. All one had to do was look at the dark circles under his eyes, the downward slope of normally broad shoulders. But, he'd smiled that perfect, balanced smile and accepted their request as if nothing would please him more.
She rests her chin in one palm, pouting. Before Toph's kitchen, acting as Aang's Waterbending Master, security detail, and resident healer gave her a great deal of power over his schedule. Never once did she find herself holding her tongue while a host made an inconsiderate suggestion (like leading a six-hour guided meditation at the end of a long week of traveling). As a lover, though, there's a whole new etiquette for her to navigate. Does sharing his bed give her more power over his schedule- or should she keep her nose out of it altogether, and leave it in Aang's capable hands?
The answers seem as convoluted as the questions themselves- and they shouldn't be announcing the shift in their relationship, anyway.
If it were up to her, he'd be resting. Recovering from his injury, from the journey. Prepping for what lay ahead. And, if that required a little assistance from his resident healer, her hands on his body, encouraging the recuperation of that energy- well, who was to argue?
A wry snort. "Spirits, but you sound like some love-stricken teenager," she chides.
She straightens, pulling herself from the tangled skein of her thoughts when a knock sounds at her door.
"Come in."
Sokka pushes into the room, leans casually against the mahogany door frame. "Who were you talking to?"
"Myself."
"Stimulating conversation?"
"Have you come to provide an alternative?"
He shrugs, scuffing his boot idly against polished wood floor. It's nonchalant- suspiciously so- and her shoulders droop with resignation.
"Well, sit down, then," she mumbles, waving to the desk in one corner of the room.
Sokka obliges, pulling the chair away with a loud scraping sound. His feet find their way to the desktop immediately, oblivious to Katara's look of disapproval. "So," he says slowly. "This is the Fire Nation."
It's an obvious delay, an avoidance of the real reason he's come to her. She's not a betting woman, but Katara figures she could determine the subject he came here for within a couple guesses. Her enthusiasm to broach the topic matches his, so she allows his weakly offered alternative to take precedence.
"This is the Fire Nation. Or... the edge of it, anyway," she mutters.
"It looks different."
That, she can agree with. The architecture, the Fire Sages, the landscape feel different. Everything is spiny- even a caterpillar she found clinging to the underside of an emerald leaf on the path up to the tower.
"I wouldn't think it would look like home," she offers lamely.
"Home looks welcoming. Rounded edges. All circles, look the moon or the tides."
"It's a different culture."
"I know that."
He's abrupt, on edge, and Katara almost laughs at the way his shoulders are tensed up, hovering just under his ears. No more running, she thinks. At least, no more running away.
"We are," she announces suddenly. "Me, and Aang. Aang... and I." It's incoherent, but it's also the only thing her brain manages to provide her. Not an explanation, just confirmation. The only thing she has to offer. Perhaps, the only thing she owes.
Sokka swallows heavily. "I saw you. On the beach, at the edge of the Earth Kingdom."
Her eyes drop to her lap- a way to avoid the grimace of surprise that she makes. Surprise that it took him that long to notice. Maybe he didn't want to see, she concedes. The silence grows, and grows, and Katara isn't sure if he's waiting for her to explain, or if some kind of lecture is forthcoming- some speech to reiterate all the things she already knows.
After a while, she sighs, stands from the bed and goes to him. He knows what she came to do before she knew herself, and when she reaches him, he enfolds her in his arms, his cheek resting on her hair. She feels his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.
"It's dangerous," he murmurs.
"We're not telling anyone."
"Smart."
She nods again, her hair brushing against his cheek.
"Are you happy?" he asks gently.
"I think I am. Or, at least, I will be."
He doesn't say anything, and she swallows heavily.
"It's what I want, Sokka."
He pulls away, his hands resting on her shoulders. A gentle smile, all the warmth of the thousand campfires they shared in their childhood, all those times he pulled her close when she shivered, or tucked under his arm. "Then, it's what I want for you."
Her hand goes to his cheek. The words to express her gratitude fail her, but she settles for a whispered, "Thank you."
A deep breath, and then he steps away, still smiling, to make his way back to his own room. When he reaches the doorway, he pauses, his hand resting on the polished wood. He doesn't turn to her, but she hears him all the same when he murmurs, "Please... be careful."
She tells him that she will, but her heart judders uncomfortably in her chest. She meant what she said, truly, but her mind wanders back to all the other declarations she's made in the last couple years, all those times she swore she'd do one thing, and then the complete opposite would happen.
All those promises she wasn't able to keep.
The sun sinks below the horizon. Katara can hear Sokka snoring- loudly- in the room next to her, and Toph's silence suggests the Earthbender fell asleep hours ago. Katara should be sleeping, too; meaningful rest is unlikely after Crescent Isle. Denying herself the opportunity to do so safely is foolish, and she knows it. But with Aang away, still guiding meditation, sleep is a comfort her body and mind won't allow her to take.
She paces, unsettled. At first, her steps slowly trace the outline of her bed. Then her room, then the hallway beyond, and before she knows it, she's made her way to the bottom of the tower and through the wide wooden frame, picking her way down the path to the sea between moonflowers and fire lilies.
The beaches are strange; grainy, black sand amidst craggy black stones that reach towards the open ocean. An archipelago of tide pools cluster near one end of the island, anemones swaying like hair in a breeze, and she watches them for a while, wandering to this pool, then that, imagining for a moment that anemones are beckoning like siren's hands. "Join us," they call to her. Their voices are softer than the sea, the caressing whisper of a lover, the promise to envelop her in a quiet, crushing comfort. "All your fears will wash away."
Anemones are few and far between at either Pole- but beckoning Spirits? She's heard her fair share of stories about those.
A wry snort at her superstition. As if to prove a point- though there's no one else around- she perches carefully at the rocky edge of one tide pool, eyes fixed firmly on the gentle swaying of one particularly large purple anemone. "I'm not afraid of you, Spirit," she mutters, more self-mocking than anything else. A little wave of her hand sends the water swirling gently around the pool. The anemone dances, unbothered.
"A dangerous mistake."
She whirls in surprise, on her feet in an instant, shards of ice like knives at the newcomer's throat before he can utter another word.
Aang doesn't flinch. He only arches one black brow when the ice melts and drops back into the pool with a 'plop!'
Katara sniffs primly, settling back onto the rocks. "You startled me."
"Sorry. What are you doing out here?"
"Making a dangerous mistake, apparently."
He chuckles at her sour tone. The rumble of it- the sound of it within his chest, warm and fond- taunts her. When he sits down a few feet away, she's taunted further by the distance between them- the stifling reassurance of the safety that comes with sitting just out of reach. A passerby could look at them and see two friends, two acquaintances (or, better yet, the professional boundary of master and pupil). But, if she extended her arm, she could graze the back of his hand. Her fingers could trace his arrow, the perfect delineation of burnished gold, and sky blue. She wonders, suddenly, if maybe there's a Spirit there after all; some being that whispers that just the briefest touch- the barest graze of her hands on his- wouldn't be so dangerous.
But of course, it would.
She sighs, and it's at this moment that she notices the red kanmuri in his hands, half-hidden, like he doesn't want her to see. "What's that?"
"A token."
"From whom?"
"Kaja."
The Fire Temple High Sage. Katara frowns- Kaja was as welcoming as any of the other sages, but she didn't figure him for one willing to give away treasured pieces of his uniform, not even to the Avatar. Her suspicions are confirmed when Aang sinks the headpiece halfway into the earth beside him. Not damaging it- but no one would be able to pull it out without tearing it, either.
Katara leans back on her hands. "What did he do?"
A dejected shrug. "I'll never be the vengeful Spirit he wants me to be."
"I like you the way you are."
"So does the Red Lotus, if Kaja is to be believed."
"Well, what does he know?"
He laughs again, but this time, it's with a bitterness that makes her want to wrap her arms around him, pull him close. She folds her arms over her chest, tucks her hands firmly against her. After a moment, he squints up at the stars glinting overhead. "Maybe he's right. Spirits know the Red Lotus has been a step ahead of me from day one."
"Not for much longer," Katara says grimly. "We'll find them."
"And what then?" he asks. He tries to sound neutral, but Katara senses that there's a real question there, an ask that he doesn't have the answer to. "What am I supposed to do when I have them? Be the vengeful Spirit? That would make Kaja happy- and send the Elders reeling in shame. I could let the Red Lotus go, but then it'd more of the same. I'd be a fool to think that they'd stop because I told them to. And I'm not a fool, no matter how many times-" His eyes dart to hers, and his lips clamp shut.
Her hackles raise, a hardening in her chest. "Did Kaja call you a fool?"
"Not in so many words. It wouldn't matter, even if he did. He wouldn't be the first; he won't be the last."
A pause, a measured weight in the conversation while she decides what to say next. Shout in anger, march to the temple to drag Kaja from his bed? Would he call Aang a fool, then? Or some quiet, sage response- the promise that it doesn't matter what Kaja, or anyone else, says? Comfort is the only thing she can offer him, but there are a hundred rules to keep her from offering it to him now. Or, perhaps only one.
The numbers don't matter. She breaks the rules anyway, sliding over to him, pulling him close, his face burying in the crook of her neck. Maybe it's a mistake, but she can't help feeling like there isn't a price in the world she wouldn't pay to relish in the feeling of him relaxing into her, the soothing collapse of his body against hers, the ounce of peace she can give him- the only he'll likely receive, until the Red Lotus is buried.
"Spirits and Sages can offer caution and bottom lines," she murmurs, closing her eyes when she feels him draw in a deep breath. "When it's all over, it'll be because of the choices that we made. And I trust your choices, Aang. You should trust them, too."
A nod against her neck, another deep breath. A few minutes to linger in the feel of him against her, and then they're sharing a look, a brisk nod. Their moment under the stars is ending, and there won't be another until the Red Lotus is finished. For better, or for worse.
Katara makes her way to the bottom floor of the tower, where the Fire Sages have a simple breakfast of fruits and the bright red yolks of the flavorful eggs collected from the strange birds that nested in the rocks along the beach. The others are already awake, as eager to press on as she is, and she catches Aang's eye briefly, ocean blue against stone.
As she settles down to breakfast, Kaja wanders in with a tight frown on his face. He wears a headpiece, different than yesterday's, and he stops in front of Aang, thin arms crossed over his chest in irritation. "My kanmuri is missing," he announces.
Aang's eyes widen innocently. "Where did you last see it?"
"If I knew that, it wouldn't be missing."
"High Sage Kaja, are you not wearing it already?" Katara interjects.
"This is the Summer Piece," he snaps. "It isn't summer." He turns back to Aang. "That kanmuri was a gift from his Holiness, Avatar Szeto, five cycles ago."
Toph grunts around a mouthful of egg yolks. "So, it's old. What about it?"
"Avatar Szeto was a great patron of this temple," Kaja says, but the anger in his voice fades; mollified, somewhat, by the opportunity to lecture. "Before his time, there was but one short tower here, and five sages. By the time of his death, the towers are as you see now, and the sages quadrupled in number. Avatar Roku, too, was a great supporter of our temple, but not every Avatar dedicates such attention to the Fire Sages."
"Would you say, perhaps, one in four?" the Earthbender asks mildly.
Kaja nods, oblivious. "Approximately that, yes. Avatar Kuruk never once made a pilgrimage here. We've never forgotten that insult."
"Well, how could you? I mean, it's only been- what? Five hundred years?"
The High Sage scowls. "This is one of the oldest sites in the entire world, dedicated to worshipping and preserving the sanctity and purity of the Avatar cycle. Avatar Kuruk might have at least stopped by."
But Toph is distracted by Kaja's statement. "You guys worship Aang?"
"We don't worship the Avatar," Kaja protests, affronted. "We worship what the Avatar represents. They themselves are simply vessels, physical manifestations of Spiritual energy to preserve cosmic balance, delivered to us as a sign of good-will since the first Avatar, his Holiness, Avatar Wan."
"Did he visit you?"
Kaja splutters, open-mouthed, until finally, he straightens. "Do not make a mockery of-"
Katara decides it's time to intervene. "Of course we don't, High Sage Kaja. Avatar Aang is grateful for your indispensable service." She shoos Toph away, shushing the Earthbender's wicked laughter, before laying a calming hand on the furious man's shoulder. "We appreciate your hospitality in our time of need."
The wildness in Kaja's eyes settles, somewhat, but he frowns after Toph's retreating back. "The sheer irreverence of the girl- when I write to the other Temples about this..." He settles into a seat, and a lower level sage places a plate of fruit and eggs before him.
"Do the other elemental temples communicate often, High Sage Kaja?" Sokka asks.
"Of course we do," Kaja grumbles, stabbing at a slice of kiwi with his hashi. "We impart wisdom, share news and cosmic portends, the like. And, of course, we report the comings and goings of his Holiness."
Katara's brows clash together. "You share Aang's location with the other temples?"
Across the table, Aang mouths, "Gently."
She ignores him.
Kaja's eyes narrow. "You are implying, of course, that we are responsible for the Red Lotus' knowledge of Avatar Aang's whereabouts. I assure you, none of my sages would betray his Holiness. To betray his Holiness is to betray all races, all peoples, all over the world. And anyway," he continues, sniffing primly, "all our messages are written in a secret language. We don't allow just any novitiate to rifle through top-secret correspondence. The secret language was created a millennia ago, actually, by an Airbender named Dawa, who cleverly formulated a method of writing that allows us to change letters based on certain constellations in the night sky above each temple..."
Kaja drones on, unaware (or perhaps, uncaring) that his audience is no longer engaged. Katara sinks into her chair. It doesn't rule out the Sages entirely- their method of encryption could have been broken or betrayed, perhaps by one of the High Sages themselves. Still, though, they seemed unlikely candidates. She doesn't trust them completely, but when she shares a furtive look across the table with her brother and Aang, they both shrug, as if in mutual agreement.
"It's a fascinating method of writing," Kaja is saying as Katara sits up to continue her breakfast. "And at any given time, only a handful of people know how to utilize it-"
"Katara, can you pass that nam chim kai?"
"You're not putting sweet chili sauce on eggs, Sokka-"
"- those people being the High Sages at each temple," Kaja continues, heedless. "Well, and, the Fire Nation Royal Office-"
Katara's head whips in the High Sages direction. Sokka gapes, sauce dumping all over his eggs. Even Aang frowns deeply.
"Are you telling me that the Fire Nation Royal Family speaks this language?" Katara demands. "You're making reports of the Avatar's whereabouts to the palace?"
"Not to the whole palace," Kaja deflects, waving her off. "To the Royal Office of the Fire Lord." A pretentious laugh. "I don't imagine they can all speak the language-"
"But someone can," Sokka rumbles darkly. "And you're leading them right to us."
a/n: happy to be back! i feel like i'm making good progress on this story and feel good about posting this chapter. thanks to anyone who's waiting! your reviews and comments are beyond appreciated.
