t/w: brief mentions of (non-s*xual) abuse
out of the frying pan
Katara bursts into her room, slamming the doors shut behind her. Blood pours down one side of her face, and she swipes it away furiously.
Her hands tremble atop the black marble of her washroom counter. She opens the tap, draws water to wash away the trails of sticky blood that stain her forehead, eyebrows, cheek. Sucks in a deep breath before healing the ragged slice on her forehead. Knitting together muscle, skin, and washing away the burns left by Azula's blue flame.
She's spent most of the last few years sparring, and some of recent memory fighting. She's certainly amassed enough experience to know the difference. Sparring is about learning. About assessment, about determining strengths, and weaknesses, and opening opportunities for one's sparring partner to do the same.
Princess Azula was not sparring. Half of those hits would have sent Katara to the healer; the other half, to the Spirit World.
"Freak," Katara hisses spitefully into the pool of red water draining into the sink. "Try that somewhere other than the ring..."
But inside her curls a deep shame. The princess baited her; she wasn't even subtle about it. And all Katara did was show that she'd dive into the trap headfirst, no questions asked.
Her washroom door slides open, and Aang darts in, wordlessly drawing her face between his hands to get a better look at a wound that doesn't exist outside his memory. His hands fall reluctantly away when he realizes there's nothing to see.
She sniffs primly. "I would prefer that you select a different Firebending Master."
The minutest flash of that wry, crooked grin. Her heart skitters around in her chest; she hasn't seen that smile since they arrived here. But it's gone as soon as it comes, and then he pulls her close, tucking her against his chest, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head. "She would have killed you," he murmurs on a sigh.
"You don't say?"
"Red Lotus?"
"I'd like to say 'yes' out of spite, but without concrete evidence..." Katara shrugs, the rise of her shoulders lifting his arms, and she revels in the weight of them- the warmth of his body, the steady, hale thrum of his heartbeat against her ear. A deep sigh- and responsibility seeps in, the needy, detestable yoke of it. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
Her head tilts upwards to meet his eyes. You should go- that's what she should say.
I should go- that's what his expression tells her, but his hands flex against her back, fingers splaying and palms flattening, a silent question. He'll press her closer, if she'll let him.
She shouldn't let him; she would let him. She can feel the warmth of his breath, the gray of his eyes tracing the curve of her parted lips.
For the third time, the door slams open, and in marches Toph. Her hand darts up to Aang's left earlobe- far too convenient a handhold, Katara thinks- and she drags him away, only releasing him when all three of them stand in Katara's bedroom.
"Are- you- in- sane?" Toph hisses.
"I was just checking on her-"
"She's fine," she snaps. "But she won't be, if..." Her lips slam shut, and her arms cross. After a moment, she collects herself, arms dropping back to her sides, as if nothing happened at all. "So, I'm thinking Azula probably isn't a good fit as your Firebending Master, Aang."
A heavy, irritated sigh. "We were just saying the same thing."
"Good." The Earthbender's expression hardens, but there's something about the look that makes Katara think it's driven by concern. Worry; for them. Her suspicions are confirmed when Toph mutters firmly, "We can't afford to make mistakes like this." She doesn't specify, but they both know what she meant.
Vague assenting noises from Katara and Aang. It seems enough to pacify Toph; she turns from the room, one hand firmly wrapped around Aang's bicep, dragging him behind her, and he shoots a final look at Katara- longing, desire. Fear.
Iroh announces the beginning of the Bhanti Festival at breakfast the next morning, a celebration of a microcosm of Fire Nation culture. Good food (and better wine, Katara is assured), cooperative dances, and ceremonial devotions to famous Bhanti Spirits fill the itinerary of the week ahead.
"The Bhanti are what you might call the originators of the Fire Sages," Iroh explains. "They are closely tied to many of your past lives, Aang. I've spoken with the Bhanti High Sage, and she would be delighted to grant you a place in the festival, should you wish it."
A flicker of discomfort in Aang's eyes. "She honors me- so do you, your Majesty. But, I would hate to alter the focus of such a sacred event. I think the Spirits would prefer to bask in the devotions of your people." The curve of an innocent smile. "After all, I commune with the Spirits all the time. They're probably tired of me, by now."
Katara squeezes his knee gently under the table in encouragement.
"You guys are going to love the festival," Lu Ten adds brightly, scooping up a second helping of eggs and bó né. "The art, the food, the traditional clothing... It's the Fire Nation viewed through a whole new lens."
Toph opens her mouth to ask a question- or, more likely, to make a sarcastic comment- but before she can speak, Ozai glides in, trailed, as always, by Zuko and Azula.
"Brother," he greets coldly, ignoring everyone else in the room. "If I might have a word?"
"Take a seat," Iroh suggests, gesturing to an empty one. "You're all welcome."
Prince Zuko reaches for a chair like he intends to sit down, but his father whips a hand out to stop him. The prince freezes in place for a moment, before resuming his position of attention behind his father.
"Our reports have returned," Ozai announces. "The soil samples."
Iroh's mouth forms a thin line. "I see."
"There aren't many options along the coast to begin with-"
"Uncle," Lu Ten admonishes. His eyes dart around the table, before letting out a nervous chuckle. "Let's not reveal our plans before they're ready."
A contemptuous look from Ozai, but he nods sharply after a moment, tucking his hands into his billowed sleeves.
Katara frowns, lowers her head to the table as if the rice and egg yolks congealing on her plate are worthy of her attention. The Fire Nation is an island chain, a famously fertile archipelago that produces fruits and vegetables twice the size of any other nation. The only other coastal areas are in the Earth Kingdom... And what would the Fire Nation need with Earth Kingdom soil samples? Her eyes meet Sokka's, both sets of blue narrowing suspiciously.
"We'll speak later, Ozai," Iroh promises. "For now, let us not allow politics to spoil breakfast."
It's an obvious dismissal, but Ozai doesn't leave. He straightens his spine, lifts his chin, arrogant. "I'm told my nephew interfered with Azula's training yesterday," he says, lowering his voice dangerously. "I thought we had agreed..."
Iroh's expression hardens, golden eyes reflecting the candlelight on the table. "The interference was necessary," he rumbles. "The fight extended beyond the boundaries of decorum. Violated the way we treat honored guests."
"Princess Azula and I have already... discussed her breach of 'decorum'," he hisses. "But, at a time when the Avatar is searching for a Firebending Master, interference in my daughter's demonstrations might be viewed as sabotage."
"'Demonstrations' do not bear the intent to harm."
"It might be suggested that guests not enter sparring matches for which they are unprepared."
Sokka and Toph snarl identical protests. Even Aang's expression shifts to dark irritation, and he makes a firm reproach- a departure from the cool neutrality that's marked his behavior around Ozai and his children.
Katara doesn't hear it. She barely even heard Ozai's insult. She was distracted by shadow, the tint of a bruise covered by make-up below Azula's right eye. A bruise that was definitely not there yesterday- she'd like to think she would have noticed.
Azula catches her staring, and shifts her weight, casting her face deeper into the shadows of the room. Hiding her, conveniently, from Katara's scrutiny.
Stymied, Katara returns her attention to the conversation.
"Your son managed his demonstrations without nearly causing an international incident," Lu Ten is saying hotly.
"My son isn't up for consideration," Ozai rebuts, cold steel to Lu Ten's fire. "Unless the Avatar is looking for a Master whose ceremony paint is scarcely dried. It's an insult to Princess Azula-"
"I'm looking for a good fit, your Highness," Aang says. "The princess's skill is not being called in to question. And Prince Zuko's shouldn't be, either; I've found nothing lacking in his abilities."
"I have a perfect understanding of my son's abilities," Ozai sneers. "But I'm not surprised to hear your estimation of him, given your... background."
Iroh stands abruptly. "Prince Ozai, we thank you for your visit. If there is nothing else, you may go."
Ozai bows, a sinuous curling of his back. Azula does the same, cat-like, but Zuko's is more like that of a kicked dog. His slumped shoulders are the last thing Katara sees before the door closes abruptly behind him.
In a pagoda surrounded by fire lilies, Katara, Aang, and Sokka stare worriedly at Toph. Her eyes are closed, brows gently furrowed in concentration.
"No one," she announces quietly after a moment. "At least, no one that I can tell. They probably expected us to return to our rooms to prepare for our lessons. What's this about?"
Sokka exchanges a look with Katara. "What would the Fire Nation need with Earth Kingdom soil samples?" he asks. "You don't look into soil fertility unless-"
"- You're looking to farm there," Katara finishes for him. "To colonize."
"Somehow, I don't see the Earth Kingdom provinces being too pleased with that idea," Toph grunts.
"I doubt the Fire Nation would care much about local opinion," Katara returns grimly. "Colonizers rarely do."
Aang rubs at his temple with one hand. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Ever since he returned, Lu Ten's been talking about facilitating easier shipping and trade routes. What if that's what this is about?"
"Then why didn't he just say that?" Sokka asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "He stopped Ozai before he could say anything else."
"They don't necessarily owe us an explanation for what goes on behind closed doors. I prefer not to interfere with their politics."
A raised brow. "You'd have my full and free agreement if we weren't here investigating multiple counts of attempted murder- your murder, in case you forgot."
"You're never one to ignore the opportunity to be droll, Sokka," Aang grumbles dryly.
"What can I say? I appreciate a little consistency."
"Then you should appreciate the fact that Lu Ten has never taken a harmful international political stance," he says. "Quite the opposite, actually; he and his father have spent the years since Azulon's fall consistently rebuilding good standing among the other nations."
"But Iroh is still Azulon's son," Katara reminds him gently. "And no matter how well-intentioned, a Fire Nation colony couldn't help but re-spin the political wheel in ways that would likely have lasting negative impact."
"I don't believe it," Aang declares. "I don't. Don't look at me like that, you guys- I'm not being naive. I believe that the Red Lotus is here, but state secrets aren't the same thing as an underground organization."
"Let's just ask," Toph suggests, shrugging.
Sokka releases a huffy breath. "'Ask'? Just walk up to them and say, 'Hey, are you planning on colonizing a different country and subsequently attempting to stage a global coup?'"
"More like, 'Hey, you guys really piqued my interest with that soil sample conversation earlier. Care to elaborate?' Not everything has to be cloak and daggers, Sokka. Sometimes you get answers faster when you face them head-on."
"Toph, don't be-"
Aang glares pointedly at Sokka, before nodding approvingly at Toph. "I like it. It's simple. No need to overcomplicate things. I'll speak with Iroh. Sokka can talk with Lu Ten. Katara-"
"I'll talk to Zuko," she announces, inspiration striking suddenly.
He blinks in surprise. "Zuko?"
"He's almost always at his father's heels. If they really are planning a coup, there's no way he hasn't picked up something. And, Iroh and Lu Ten are clearly fond of him, which means they might have shared plans with him, too. He's got to be bursting at the seams with information." She puts her hands to her hips, confident. "All it takes is a push in the right place."
"And you know where to push?" Sokka asks.
She thinks of the bruise on Azula's face, of the cruel, demeaning way Ozai speaks to his son. The outright dismissal. What kind of father- what kind of person- speaks that way to their children? And if Ozai is willing to speak like that in front of guests and family... what other things has Ozai done?
She nods.
"Alright," Sokka grunts begrudgingly. "I trust you know what you're doing. You talk to Zuko, then. We'll all report back this evening."
"And, what about me?" Toph demands. "What am I supposed to do?"
"You go with Aang. Pay attention while he's with Iroh. And, after that- wait, and listen. Asking questions like this will put us in the line of danger, even more than before. We need to be ready. You're our eyes and ears."
A scowl, but it shifts to wicked laughter after a moment, and Sokka's cheeks tinge pink.
"Well," he amends guiltily, "you're our ears, anyway."
It takes hours to find him alone. That oil-black hair in a sleek top-knot, the defeated slope of armored shoulders. He walks along the wall of a dimly lit corridor, shoulder brushing silk tapestries and a flick of one hand sending flames guttering in thick iron sconces.
"Your Highness," she calls.
He turns in surprise, his shoulders climbing immediately with wariness as she approaches. She can see it in the pulse of a vein at his neck, the muscles stand in sharp relief. "Yes?" he asks.
"I was wondering if you could spare me a moment. I had some questions. About your family."
Zuko frowns in discomfort.
She takes that as tacit acceptance. "A lot of conflicting opinions in such a small, tightly knit group."
"Families disagree."
"Most families don't dictate the fate of their nation over dinner-table arguments."
"You're talking about this afternoon," he says shrewdly, eyes narrowing. "It's an old discussion. My uncle and cousin prefer a more collaborative stance in foreign policy, and my father doesn't. It's not an unusual schism- in any nation."
She smiles, saccharine. Mentally prepares her next line of attack. "You're obviously well-educated. It's a shame that your father doesn't give you a stronger voice."
He turns away sharply, scowling, and stalks resolutely down the hallway, as if they were never speaking at all.
"Or," she continues, jogging after him, "that he won't allow you to compete for the position as Aang's Firebending Master."
"Azula is the better bender," Zuko answers mechanically, but there's something a little too formulaic about the way he says it.
"Better in technique, maybe," she agrees, "but it doesn't take an expert to see that she's never had to struggle for a damn thing. Should Aang choose a Master that has no experience with adversity?"
The tension in his shoulders and back could give an entire monologue, but all he offers is a curt, "Ask him."
"I'm asking you."
"Then, you're wasting your time." He inclines his head abruptly, a clear dismissal, and increases his pace.
She watches him go in a panic, feels the opportunity slipping through her fingers. If she lets him leave now, she knows he won't give her another chance.
"Your father gave you that scar, didn't he? And the bruise on your sister's eye." It's a gamble, being this direct, but Toph did say that not everything needs to be cloak and daggers.
Zuko whips around, his expression- that melted-wax skin- hardening, warping. He strides back to her, grasping her arm firmly. "Where did you hear that?"
His grip isn't painful, but it bears a strange, desperate sort of insistence. She flicks a pointed look to where his pale hand wraps around her bicep, and lifts one brow. He releases her immediately, mumbles something that sounds vaguely like an apology.
"It's just a feeling," she answers. "Azula didn't get that bruise from me, and who else but a father that burns his own son would strike his daughter?"
"You shouldn't- you can't say things like that." He runs one hand frantically through the black of his hair. Silk strands fall loose, framing his face.
"I take no pleasure in it. A father shouldn't raise a hand against his children."
"Don't speak of it- to anyone. No one, do you hear me?"
"I'm not afraid of your father. Are you?"
He almost flinches. "He's a powerful man."
"The world is full of powerful men. He isn't special."
His mouth opens and closes. "Why are you here? What do you want? To convince me to betray him?"
At last, she thinks, exultant. She presses on the sore spot. "Betray him how, exactly?"
"My, my, what have we here?" Azula slinks from the far end of the hallway, that serpent-like saunter making her seem as if she's moving through water. "A little tete-a-tete in the shadows, Master Katara? Tsk tsk. Shadows are a strange place for someone who basks in the Avatar's light."
"I guess you're exactly where you belong, then," Katara snaps- her frustration with the princess's interruption dulling her sense of decorum. She was so close...
But Azula only looks delighted. "You know something, Waterbender? I think I actually like you." Her smile fades when she turns to her brother. "Mai is looking for you. You shouldn't keep her waiting. I'm sure she'll be less than pleased to hear you're spending your time in dark hallways with other women."
A laugh- of disbelief, of outright shock at the absurdity of the implication- escapes Katara.
"I know," Azula whispers conspiratorially, crossing her arms over her chest as if she's passing along the latest court gossip. "It surprises me, too, but some women actually find him worthy of pursuit. More than you'd think."
Zuko scowls fiercely at her.
"No doubt, but I'm not interested," Katara returns firmly.
"How could I forget?" Azula asks, sly. "You've got a paramour of your own, don't you? Tell me, Waterbender; is it spiritual, being with him?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Katara lies, feigning boredom to hide the way her stomach drops to her toes.
A cruel grin. "Don't you?"
"You're awfully quick to pair me off with the men around me. Flattered, but I prefer to make my own way."
The Princess makes an amused sound- a hum, cool and condescending. "Well, if this isn't a private interlude, then what did I interrupt, may I ask?"
"We were talking about you, actually, your Highness," Katara says, adopting a facsimile of Azula's self-assured arrogance. Underneath her casual exterior, though, her heart thuds in her chest, her mind shrieks in warning; Don't say it, don't say another word-
"A worthy topic. What, in particular-?"
She does anyway. "That bruise under your eye."
The princess freezes- all that vanity, that oozing, toxic confidence evaporating in an instant. Her shoulders square; her expression goes blank. "Say that again," she breathes, "I dare you."
"It wasn't there yesterday," Katara notes. "But, it's not from me."
Zuko's golden eyes dart back and forth between Katara and his sister. Even his burned eye is wide with some unnamed emotion.
Azula's lips quirk, a blood-red slash. "Every knife and sword in every kingdom in the east won't be enough to give you a chance like yesterday's. Weep, peasant; you won't get another." She slinks away, melting into shadow.
"Does this mean we're not friends anymore?" Katara calls after her. When the princess doesn't answer, she watches Zuko follow his sister's footsteps, much slower, shoulders down, defeated.
Halfway down the hallway, though, he stops, turns. "I bet you think that was bravery," he rasps. "Maybe it was. But, I'm not sure it wasn't stupid, either." Then he's gone, the word 'stupid' echoing off marble walls, an endless reproach.
"I know which one I think it was," Sokka snarls, half his face hidden in the shadow of the secluded pagoda.
"I was right about him," Katara snaps back. "And I would have gotten somewhere if Azula hadn't shown up-"
"But instead of bowing out and waiting for another chance, you baited her. What were you thinking?"
Toph grins, crossing her arms over her chest approvingly. "I think it was well done. For such a good guy, Iroh sure does tolerate a lot of questionable behavior."
"It's the nature of things around here," Aang explains with a sigh. He's sprawled across a low bench, plucking anxiously at the mess of fire lily blossoms circling the pagoda. "The Elders dedicated years to teaching me how to navigate Fire Nation politics. You can mortally insult the entire nation just by saying 'thank you' the wrong way."
"And what about commenting on the scarring and bruising of the prince and princess?" Sokka snarls.
"Must have missed that lesson."
Sokka's hand goes to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it in frustration.
"Did your conversation go better, then?" Katara asks, haughty.
"Lu Ten didn't say much. Just kept winking, and saying he'd tell me about it soon," he grumbles. "Though, he did say it would pique my interest."
"Iroh was a little more forthcoming," Aang admits. "Something about some cooperative treaty with Kuei and the Tribes, but then he shifted the conversation to the Bhanti Festival. Speaking of, I'm supposed to go with them this evening to bless the festival grounds."
Katara sinks onto the edge of Aang's bench, her lips quirking downward when she spots his hand twitching toward her, as if to rest on her thigh. "We need to do a little more digging. Spirits, but I wish Azula hadn't shown up. I was close, I know I was."
"Zuko's not going to let you anywhere near him after that," Sokka grunts. His eyes brighten suddenly. "Iroh said it was a cooperative treaty; Hama might know. Remember, Katara? Lu Ten said there are few propositions they send to the Tribes that they don't run through Hama, first. You should speak with her."
"And, maybe I could try again with Prince Zuko," Aang suggests. "The blessing tonight is just Iroh, Lu Ten, the Bhanti Sage, and I, but they want to have a special dinner after, and all the Royal Family is supposed to be there."
Katara frowns. "I'll go with you to the blessing. As your guard."
An uneasy shift in Aang's weight. "I don't know. It's traditionally done without an audience, so that we don't pollute the energy of the festival grounds and offend the Spirits."
"Is that even how it works?" Toph asks curiously.
"No. Only some of the ancient ones act like that. Koh and his ilk- but there aren't any ancient Spirits around here that I know of."
Katara's eyes harden. "You're can't go alone."
"They're honoring me just by making space for me at the blessing," Aang protests. "I won't disrespect their traditions."
"We'll post around the festival grounds," Sokka suggests quietly. "Patrol the area. Toph will be listening- we'll be on scene before anything can happen."
"What about me?" Katara demands.
"Go to Hama. See if you can get some answers, then meet us there. You know that fountain with the three circling dragons? Be there at dusk." He gives her a hard look. "It's not ideal, but it's the best we can do right now. Come on, Toph."
The Earthbender follows him, offering one warning tilt of her head to Aang and Katara as she steps from the pagoda.
And then they're alone between lattice work and fire lilies, the occasional servant hurrying past on the narrow garden path. Aang waits until a woman carrying a basket of linens marches past, then reaches for Katara, pulling her close, his hand on the back of her neck. Their foreheads meet for the briefest moment, and he tilts his head so that his lips brush the curve of her ear. "It'll be okay," he murmurs. "I'll see you tonight." Then he stands, giving her one last look before stepping out into the early afternoon sun.
Hama is overjoyed by the unexpected visit. She calls for tea immediately, gabbing excitedly about Waterbending forms and the Water Tribe delicacies Katara might see at the Bhanti Festival.
"I snuck in a few treats on this last order," Hama whispers with a wink. "Sausage, sea prunes, Chaga mushrooms."
Katara's eyes brighten. "Chaga mushrooms?"
"Interested, are we?"
"You can't beat them for reducing inflammation." A wide grin. "A necessity, given the company I keep."
"I'm sure of it," Hama says, chuckling.
They fall silent, sipping daintily at their tea, enjoying the easy company of a kindred spirit.
"It's so lovely to spend time with another Southerner," Hama sighs after a moment. "And I love having you, but I sense something else brings you here today."
Katara sets her tea on the table, runs the tip of her forefinger idly around the rim of her cup. "My brother and I- and Aang- are looking into something one of the princes mentioned at breakfast this morning."
"Oh?"
"A treaty of sorts- or, more like a potential treaty- involving a Fire Nation settlement on the Earth Kingdom coast, somewhere." Her cheeks tinge pink. For some reason, the razor's edge dance with Zuko and Azula seemed easier to navigate than this conversation, tucked away in the plush comfort of Hama's tearoom. Perhaps, because you actually care about Hama's opinion, her mind offers.
The old woman sets her tea down slowly. "I see."
Like a child in trouble, Katara feels inexplicably burdened to explain herself further, her mouth forming the words the moment her brain conjures them. "It's just that you're so invaluable for Tribal relations. I thought that- given your sphere of influence- you might have heard something about it."
"There are discussions- lead by the Crown Prince- regarding building an international city along the west coast of the Earth Kingdom," Hama muses. "Ambassadors would meet there- or even reside there permanently, and represent their nation's interests in global councils. His Royal Highness- and his Majesty, for that matter- want to foster a situation that allows opportunities for collaboration as a global policy. But, the plan is still in its very early stages."
"Seems like a worthy goal."
A discontented hum from Hama. "Not everything requires collaboration."
Katara frowns. Ordinarily, she and Hama are on the same page; what could one find disagreeable about international cooperation? "Some things do."
"Executive decisions must sometimes be made. Certain members of the Royal Family understand that. Others... not as much."
"I haven't noticed a lack of decisiveness in any of them."
"Of course not, of course not," Hama says quickly. "But, Prince Ozai, for example. None of this fussing about with bureaucracy and rules- the pastimes of people who don't belong in positions of leadership."
Katara's stomach flips uncomfortably. "Do you spend much time with Prince Ozai?"
"More than I'd like. He's a strong leader, but hardly a good friend."
"That... surprises me."
"Oh? Didn't think his Royal Highness would have need of someone like me?" Hama laughs a strange laugh. High, and cold. "I think neither of us would spend time with the other, if it could be avoided. Unfortunately for him, I have my uses. Outside of ornament, of course." A playful wink- one that does nothing to alleviate the tension in the room.
Katara leans back in her chair, smiles a false smile. Her questions are all answered- but something about the change in conversation has her unsettled. The tone, the color of the things Hama didn't say aloud- and Katara didn't particularly care for what Hama did say aloud. At any rate, she got what she wanted, and the sun is dropping low. "Hama, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help."
A little warmth returns to that wrinkled face. "Likewise, my dear. I take it you need to go?"
"I'm afraid so."
"That works out nicely- I've business of my own to take care of. But, do tell that brother of yours that I'd like to meet him. He's caused quite a commotion at the palace. I hear he has no less than three generations of Fire Nation women pining after him." Hama chuckles, but it's cold, still. Strange. "Apparently, he's inspired quite a deal of speculative gossip. The ladies all say he looks like a true warrior, a Water Tribe Chieftain of old, the kind their silly little romance stories are written about, with some pale, fainting heroine taming his wild heart."
Katara wrinkles her nose distastefully.
"Yes, they're rather blatant in their disrespect, aren't they? But they're not wrong about the warrior part. We were that way, not so very long ago." Her voice lowers. "Perhaps we will be again."
"Perhaps we will," she says faintly.
"You don't remember it, surely?" Hama murmurs. "You were too young. But, there was a time when the Southern Water Tribe did as they pleased. Oh, we weren't the wealthiest nation by any stretch of the imagination, but we were free."
Katara doesn't remember, it's true, but she heard plenty of talk about it, growing up. Plenty of old warriors gathered around campfires, or on sentry duty under clouded night skies. Always angry, always wishing things were different. It shouldn't surprise her that Hama feels the same- she's around the same age- but her heart judders in her chest, anyway. "I'm too young, yes... But, I know it's an old ache. I heard many an old warrior talking about it, growing up."
"I'm sure they think things are better, now," Hama says, and there's some warped creature in the nuance of her voice. Some twisted, broken thing.
"They do... and they don't. It's hard to complain when there's fuel in your fire and food in your belly, but-"
"- But there's something about knowing you put it there; your own hard work, the sweat on your brow, the ache in your back." Hama narrows blue eyes. "The blood on your hands."
The hairs lift on the back of her neck; Katara stands abruptly. "I have to go. Forgive my rude departure, Hama, but I'll be late- I'm late already-"
"Well, where are you headed? I've ordered a carriage; I can give you a ride, if we're headed in the same direction."
A stammering, a low whisper. "To... the festival grounds."
"Oh, that works out nicely. I'm headed there, too."
Their eyes meet. That filmy blue- filled with warmth and kindness just minutes ago... Now, it looks like something else entirely. Like an old glacier, the color of the deep crevasses that used to swallow people whole, never to be seen again.
Hama holds out her hand. Her lips crack into a smile. "Won't you join me, dear?"
Silence. Hama's bated breaths, Katara's shallow ones.
A hundred questions passing back and forth, answered in the minute furrow of a brow, the quirk of wrinkled lips.
She should get something more concrete. She should get real answers.
She doesn't; she bolts from the room.
"Don't let her leave!"
Hama's voice cracks like a whip, but Katara is already sliding under the crossed spears of the two guardsmen at the front door, and out into the wide avenue. The streets are crowded with festival-goers, but she dodges and weaves, avoiding carts and stalls and friends gathered on the paved sidewalks. When she can't avoid them, she plows through them, desperate in her attempt to get to her brother. To Toph. To Aang.
Her breath comes in gasps as she reaches the dragon fountain. Sokka should be there, scowling, arms crossed, tapping his foot with a wry remark or a gentle rebuke at her timeliness (or lack thereof). He's nowhere to be found; neither is Toph. She spins left, spins right, searching for any sign of them. The only thing she finds is a gouge in the earth a few meters away, a short pillar of stone jutting from the ground. It's covered in a fine coating of dust- the kind that Toph and Aang tend to kick up during their lessons. She runs one trembling finger over it. Dust motes swirl.
Sacred ceremonies be damned- she bolts over the low, roped fence, ignoring the 'Grounds Closed' signs, and darts through a maze of hastily constructed pavilions, carts, and shops. Her heart skips a beat when her eyes catch a flash of sky blue between the canvas of shop tents: Aang's tattoos. He's leaning idly against a stage erected at the bottom of a stone ampitheater, all jet black obsidian. At the sight of her- covered in dirt, eyes wild- he runs to her.
"What happened?" he demands, his hands going to her shoulders protectively.
The Bhanti High Sage, a woman approximately the height of a child, clears her throat irritably. "I beg your pardon, dear." The bright red tassels on her headdress dance with each toss of her gray hair. "I must ask you to leave immediately."
But Iroh and Lu Ten share Aang's concern, gathering around Katara and pelting her with questions that she isn't prepared to answer.
How can she explain what happened? It's a feeling- an unsettling encounter with an old woman. And, Sokka and Toph aren't where they're supposed to be.
She starts with the easiest, directing her question to Aang and ignoring everyone else. "I can't find my brother. Or Toph."
His arrow furrows. "Signs of a struggle?"
"A gouge. A pillar. Aang... Hama, she..." Words fail her. She looks helplessly into his eyes.
Iroh's patience finally reaches its limit. "Master Katara, I mean no disrespect, but you've interrupted a sacred ceremony- insulted an honored guest."
"Forgive my intrusion, your Majesty," Katara apologizes, bowing quickly. But her explanation dies in her throat.
A figure emerges from a dark pathway. Hama. Her bright eyes are narrowed, her gentle demeanor- the doting, kindred old woman, left in the darkness behind her.
"Oh, for Agni's sake," Lu Ten bursts out. "Does no one read signage anymore?"
Hama ignores him- her eyes shift to Katara's, and there is the briefest, barest moment of regret. "This isn't what I wanted," she says quietly. "But, it can't be helped. A quick death is the best I can do for you, Katara, dear. I'm sorry."
Then she moves. Like the tides, like the waves themselves. A sinuous sort of rolling, and water seeps from the dirt-packed earth below them, pooling at their feet, snaking up from culverts and drainages.
She means to kill them. All of them. Her hands raise above her head. Water circles them with the roar of a river rapid- white foam flecking like some wild, ferocious thing. Her arms whip downward, a sharp slash, but Katara and Aang are already in motion. As one, they divert the water- Katara to the right, Aang to the left- directing it around the group to barrel toward the old woman. She rolls out of the way, spry for her age, spins- the water eddies under her feet, lifting her off the ground to race past them, shards of ice sharp as swords slicing through the group with the tinkling sound of fine china.
Katara's hands blur, redirecting ice into the dirt, and Aang presses the opening, whirling to send a gust of wind at the old woman's chest. A wall of ice blocks it, Hama's warped image untouched behind it. Her lips twitch- the wall of ice melts and rolls to Aang like a breaking wave, only to be split with a pillar of earth that rumbles the ground beneath Katara's feet.
The Bhanti High Sage whips a series of needle-like knives at Hama, whistling glints of silver. Silver shifts to bright orange, reflecting the roaring mass of flame emanating from the Fire Lord and his son, burning up Hama's water supply in a deafening hiss of steam that Katara directs safely away from the group, wincing from the heat.
Hama is a fierce fighter- what a warrior she must have been in her prime, Katara can't help but think- but she simply cannot withstand the combined strength opposing her. Moments later, she is on her knees, head bowed, hands clasped at her chest, and a knot the size of a fist forms in Katara's heart. The fight is over- but Hama was her friend. A shelter in a strange place. A Southern bender, like her.
"Who sent you?" Iroh demands. Among the flames he looks like a different man; fierce and furious, a Fire Spirit from tales that haven't been told in centuries.
When the old woman remains silent, Lu Ten speaks. "My father will not ask again." His voice is low, but all the more dangerous for it.
"Not here," Aang cuts in firmly. "We need to leave."
"We'll take her back to the palace," Iroh begins.
"Oh, no, your Majesty." Hama's eyes are bright, the moon reflecting sinister light- a shadow of the thing she's become. "Not there, either."
Droplets form in the air, little beads of moisture swirling about like bubbles. There, and then gone.
Katara reacts. Throws her hands out- there's still water pooled in the charred dirt, and she whips hastily up like a thin screen of solid ice. Her eyes are closed, but she hears the cracking, shattered-glass sound of ice splitting ice.
When silence falls again- save for the crackling of fierce flame- Katara's eyes flash to Aang first. Second nature, like breathing. He's frozen, half-lifted, as if to take a step forward, but unharmed. Whole, and breathing.
Iroh is on his knees beside him, and Katara rushes to him, collecting what little water hasn't been burned away, ready to heal. Trusting Aang will protect her while she's vulnerable.
But Iroh is undamaged. His face is pale, eyes glazed with indescribable emotion. She shies away from that feeling- pain, like she can't imagine- and looks around in confusion.
Hama smiles. A wicked, cruel smile. Katara follows the line of her eyes.
Lu Ten on the ground beside her, pierced through with of shards of ice, a dozen times over. The Bhanti Sage, too. Their eyes are open, wide with shock, staring- unseeing- at the pillars of smoke that curl into the choked sky above them.
As if she'd been there all along, Azula saunters casually into the throng, picking her way, dance-like, between shattered icicles and charred circles of dirt. When she reaches Lu Ten, she leans down and places a delicate hand on the Crown Prince's neck, searching for a pulse. A pulse Katara knows she won't find.
The Princess straightens, an irreverent, blood-stained hand sweeping a lock of hair from her eyes. The falsest look of sympathy covers her face like a mask at a cheap theater production. Her lower lips juts outward, a perfect pout. "Bad news, your Majesty."