It started as an incredulous scoff that soon evolved into a fit of derisive laughter. The banished prince of the Fire Nation, who had devoted his life to finding and destroying Aang, was suddenly pledging himself to their rebel cause. Now that he was her hostage, he was playing the only angle he had left: bargaining. The irony!
"Really?" she managed, still chuckling. "Getting desperate?"
His displeasure was obvious. "Katara…" he railed.
"Don't worry." Her eyes narrowed. "The Southern Water Tribe treats its prisoners better than you ever have."
"I'm being serious. I—"
"I'm being serious." Her smile was gone now, along with any humor in her voice. "You've done this before, the 'good guy savior' act. I made a mistake falling for it. I won't do it again."
"Listen," he pleaded.
Pain crossed his features as he shifted in the cot, supporting his back on the pillows. Had he been anyone else, she would've almost been inclined to pity him. But he was Zuko. He was pathetic. Katara let out a disapproving click as she turned away from him.
"I've made mistakes… I've betrayed Aang… my uncle… you…" When his voice wavered, Katara's curiosity forced her to look back at him. His head was bowed, his raven hair now hiding his face from view.
He puts up a good performance, she admitted silently. Convincing.
The last thing she wanted was a moping confession. Especially when it was about something she was already painfully aware of.
"All reasons why you can't be a part of our group," she replied sternly. Her anger had dissipated, replaced by a chilly resignation. "Why I can't trust you."
When Zuko lifted his head, he looked weary.
"I've changed. I'm—" A sudden fit of coughing interrupted him. His face contorted. When the coughing stopped, he was out of breath, remarkably fragile, and she could tell he hated it.
"You need rest," she reminded him clinically, dismissing any more discussion on the matter. She pondered binding him again but thought against it.
In his current state, he was little threat. Even with her healing, he wouldn't be on his feet for a couple days. She would need that time to consider his fate.
On the one hand, he could be a high value prisoner. He could be used for information, leverage even. On the other, there was the faintest possibility he was telling the truth.
She watched him nod groggily before he sank back into the cot. His scarred eye was half-open, his breaths ragged against the silence of the tent. The full moon was nearing; even from a few paces away, she could feel the tug of his chi, so tangled and mottled in places of injury and infection. She blinked hard, returning to herself.
It was the latter possibility that terrified her. If he really did want to help them, then why now? What changed since that confusing encounter in the crystal catacombs below Ba Sing Se? And was it only a matter of time before he changed his mind again?
By now, she knew how duplicitous the Fire Nation royal family was. When in doubt, she had learned to assume the worst from them. Today was no exception.
The moment she left his tent, she started walking. They had set up camp at the mouth of the temple ruins, on top of a steep incline hidden behind a forest. Instead of exploring the temple, she decided to travel downhill, toward the sea. The moon was out, peeking through a front of thick clouds.
On the beach, the waters were restless, in flux. Salty waves crashed onto the rocky coastline, roaring angrily before fizzling out. She took in a shaky breath. Now that she was alone, it was impossible to ignore what happened yesterday. Images of death and destruction had been scorched in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see the soldier's pleading eye, the charred bodies of his comrades. But the soldiers in those airships were Fire Nation. That was supposed to make it okay. Easier, somehow. She took in a shaky breath, clutching her racing heart.
But it didn't. Aang always talked about the importance of life, why it needed to be preserved. No matter what past avatars had done, Aang stood by his identity as an air nomad first. He tried so hard to make sure her and the others followed that same path.
She found the folded sheet of paper in her pocket, caressing its worn edges before she placed it on the ground. She found a smooth stone to weigh it down, watching as the winds stirred the fluttering edges that longed to fly away.
This felt like a betrayal. Her path had deviated significantly from the others' and there was no turning back. She was alone in this.
Another wave crashed onto the beach, tugging at her feet. She took a step forward, hesitated. Except...
There was Zuko. The way he fought, the efficiency at which he carried through with his plan… there was no doubt he had killed before. If it was talking he wanted, she would listen. All she had to do was keep him awake long enough to do so.
She took another step forward, then another, diving into the cold water.
As a child, Zuko practically lived in the water during his family's trips to Ember Island. He'd dive in the shallow reefs, collecting shells and stones, would marvel at the unique fish, and watch octopuses hunt around the reefs.
During one dive, his ankle was caught on a gnarled branch of coral. No matter how he twisted his body, he couldn't free himself. His body spasmed, he choked as the heaviness of the water forced its way in. After a moment, his struggling gave way to an all-encompassing peace. Peace he hadn't felt before or since. It only lasted a second before his ankle was pulled loose and his father's arm came around him. When they breached, Zuko could barely see.
The next thing he remembered was his father holding him like a sack of rice, lugged under one arm. He let out labored pants as he carried him further inland. His mother's voice called to him, terrified.
"Zuko!"
His father laid him out on the sand, hitting his back until he had retched up the salt water. He'd become sick for days from it, cutting their trip to Ember Island short that summer.
"Next time, I won't interfere," his father said indifferently. "Happy anniversary, Ursa."
During another spell of consciousness, Zuko woke up with a fever. He squinted as his eyes struggled to adjust to the light in the tent. Behind him, he heard sounds of light clattering and water being poured, her familiar presence.
"What makes you think you can help us?" Katara asked.
He gave her a sharp look when she returned to his side, one she promptly disregarded. He hadn't been off his feet like this since the days he spent bed-bound after Zhao's siege of the North. The prospect of elaborating right now, in his current condition, seemed almost impossible.
"I already told you…" he croaked.
"Tell me again."
When she turned to him, he could see bags hanging under her red-rimmed eyes. She looked exhausted. He let out a slow breath when she pressed an ice-cold towel to his boiling forehead. The throbbing migraine let up, just enough. When she offered him a drink, he gladly took it. Then again, he could try.
"Aang can't firebend. My father knows it, the rest of the Fire Nation knows it." Every word, every deliberate syllable, seemed to make Katara even more suspicious.
"The Avatar is supposed to be a master of all four elements," he graveled. "Without firebending… do you really think he'll have what it takes to face my father? To defeat him and end the war?"
Even as she considered this, and even if his words were true, the deepening frown on her face told him that she was still resistant to listening to him.
"Look, I—" he stopped, his voice catching. "I—"
He squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like his lungs had been pressed into a bed of needles. Tremors wracked his body as he fought back the fit of coughing.
"Zuko?" He heard her breath shake as she came closer, prepared to step in if need be.
The wave of pain soon passed, leaving him sweating and shivering. He swallowed back a groan.
"Tell me if this hurts," she said, her voice softening. He had heard a version of this during his delirium on the flying bison; she had been talking under her breath, to him and someone else beside him.
He could only nod his affirmation, afraid to trigger another fit. His skin prickled when she opened his shirt; this time, the cool air was a welcome contrast to his burning skin. He heard her suck in air through her teeth.
"That… bad?" he asked, a touch of humor in his voice. She didn't respond immediately. He opened his good eye to observe her, though her face was blocked by a curtain of hair. "What?"
"Uh—" She cleared her throat, clearly flustered by something. "There's a lot more to heal than I thought."
He looked down at his abdomen, mottled with red and purple bruises. They were a few days old and looked a lot worse than they had felt when he'd received them. Despite the extent of these fresh injuries, he wondered if his old scars were what surprised her. Maybe she wasn't expecting him to be even more damaged, beyond the obvious offender marring his face.
He slid his eyes shut, watching the shadows of her movements flit past.
Discomfort he was used to. Even before the Agni Kai, his presence alone was enough to make him the target of his father's contempt. The scar extended that treatment outside the palace walls.
As her water-laced hands slowly passed over his torso, he couldn't help thinking about the last time someone had been so gentle with him. So many hands had been so quick to rise against him in protest, or out of fear, or clenched in a fist to hurl an element; around a sword to lunge at him; around a quill to slander, ridicule, and degrade. The troubles of a banished prince.
The only person he felt safe enough to talk about it all was Mai. She never fully understood—he worried no one really could—but at least she listened. That was enough for him.
Although she was born into a noble bloodline, Mai was unique for a woman of her station: blunt, brutally honest, and deadpan. So much of his life he'd spent surrounded by delusory language in his father's court, cunning characters he met during his travels. She was refreshing. She had been the only person tethering him to the Fire Nation when he finally made his choice to leave. That's what made breaking it off with her even harder.
He didn't want to drag her into his troubles. The worst thing that could happen was her being labeled as an accessory to his rebellion and punished accordingly. He cut her off in the hopes he'd keep her unassociated with his conspiracy. Although it had been the right thing to do, it was the way he did it, with a letter of all things, that concerned him.
Idiot.
"Does that hurt?" Katara's hands were still now. He must have been making a face.
"No," he muttered tiredly, expelling all thoughts of his rocky love life.
He'd made his metaphorical bed. Now, he needed to sleep in it. There wasn't much else he could do about it, especially from here, in this state. As his mind slipped toward easier thoughts, he found himself thinking about the happier memories from his childhood: his mother by the turtle duck pond and childhood trips to Ember Island…
*'*'*'*'
Katara could feel his body sink beneath her hands. She held her hands to the sides of his head, drawing him into a deeper sleep. Good. It would be much easier to work on him like this. She leaned forward.
It was strange to see Zuko in this condition. He was utterly incapacitated and, for once, wasn't hell bent on ruining her life. One thing she noticed was he wasn't as thin as he had been in the Earth Kingdom. As she opened his shirt further, she noticed that his pale skin, so much lighter than her own, was taut and molded to each curve of well-formed musculature. The royal diet had added brawn to a once lithe frame.
Her attention was soon diverted when she noticed the extent of the scarring she had only glimpsed before. There were dozens of them, weaving through the dark bruises.
Some of the wounds must have been elemental, like minor burns, but she also noticed the remnants of blunt force injuries, maybe from an earthbender. There were rough-edged lacerations, some of which that had been awkwardly sutured together. Others were cleaner cuts from hand-held weapons like a knife or sword, even the head of a spear. She noticed the shadows of superficial puncture wounds from what could have been shrapnel—from an explosion?
Many of them were months old and had yet to fully heal. Each of them carried their own aches and pains, ones she could only detect through the lens of her gift.
Her brows furrowed as she studied a thin line that didn't quite fit in with the others. It was thread-like, silver like a spider's web, and arced down and across his body, from his left collarbone to… Her flush deepened, her gaze stopping when it reached the waistband of his pants, just above the slight protrusion of his hip bone.
Katara shook her head, attempting to physically rid herself of the thoughts that threatened to seep into the forefront of her mind. She had been staring for far too long. Gran-Gran would have hit her upside the head had she seen her like this. Taking on a more professional mindset, she went back to focusing on her treatment. She swallowed thickly as she ran her watery hands over his broad chest, repairing the torn sinews there.
Together, the scars painted a picture of the banished prince's life beyond the Fire Nation's borders. Outside of their fights, she always thought Zuko was looking for them from the comfort of a ship, aboard a war balloon, mounted atop a Komodo rhino… Clearly, that wasn't quite the case.
She scoffed. So, life hadn't exactly been easy for him. But then, neither had it been for her, her brother, or her friends. And yet they hadn't turned into terrible people who wanted to destroy the world's last great hope.
Delving deeper, she attempted to whisk off some of the infection that had accumulated in his lungs. This area was particularly resistant to her healing. As she continued her ministrations, she fell into a comfortable rhythm, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts. After this, she would visit Tulia. The little girl's health had improved markedly in the past two days, but her spirits were low. There was a stream nearby, nursing beautiful native flowers of all colors and sizes. Katara would have to pick her some. A small gesture, but hopefully a welcome one...
Zuko's hand shifted, and Katara froze when it wrapped around one of her wrists. He was warm, febrile, and she held her breath as the light caress trailed up to the middle of her forearm before returning to her hand. The gesture was fluid and deliberate, as if he'd done it a hundred times before, but to whom was a mystery. The pad of his thumb brushed the contours of her knuckles lightly, before falling still.
"Zuko..." She finally found her voice, shocked by the sudden intrusion, and pulled her hands away. "What are…"
The sureness of his touch made her expect to see him awake, but a glance at his face revealed his closed eyes and relaxed expression. His chest rose and fell steadily as he let out a deep sigh.
He was asleep.