into the fire
Azula sneers. "Did you hear me, Uncle?"
Wind sweeps the clearing, swirling smoke and dust alike: Aang. "Stop," he says, a quiet command. "Leave him alone."
The princess flashes a smirk. Self-indulgent, condescending. Pakku used to wear a smirk like that when Katara explained why she missed a step or ignored an opening. It makes her fists curl at her sides, but before she can snap something sharp, or smack that repulsive look off the woman's face, Zuko sprints into the clearing, his armor rattling as he skids to a halt. Even through the smoke, she can see the color drain from his face when the scene unfolds before him.
Iroh, crumpled in the dirt. Aang, his shoulders squared in a rare show of direct confrontation, and Azula across from him, glaring smugly through a fringe of coal-black lashes.
Hama on her knees, eyes on Katara, begging for forgiveness and daring her to ask for an apology.
Lu Ten and the Bhanti Sage. Blood seeping from the Crown Prince's broken body, eyes open, unseeing through thick, black smoke. The sage's gray hair, pulled loose from her intricate hairstyle, caught in congealed blood that puddles beneath her head.
The clearing is a scene on a stage, the actors waiting for the next move, the next line. All eyes on Zuko; by some unspoken agreement, the tableau won't move until he does. Even Azula watches him with narrowed eyes. Katara's breaths- already ragged from the smoke- catch in her throat. Zuko is the only one in the clearing whose next action she can't predict.
When he finally moves, it's in a way she didn't expect; he drops to his knees, pulls his uncle close. Gently- almost tenderly- guides wide, horrified eyes away from the sight of a once-bright young man. Iroh lets him, falling limply against Zuko's armor-clad chest.
With his uncle in his arms, he turns furious eyes to his sister. "Azula, what is this?"
The princess only smiles, and barely visible over flame and caved-in rooftops, between collapsed tents and soot-filled pathways, pale specks emerge. Dozens of masks; all white, save for a single painted red flower. A lotus.
Katara reaches for Aang's arm, furtively tugs him closer. A smaller circle will be easier to defend when this inevitably descends further into madness. When Aang's shoulder brushes hers, she clasps his hand in hers. He grips back tightly, but his eyes never break from Azula.
"We're at an important crossroads," Azula announces. "Nearly twenty years to reach this moment. They say that good things come to those who wait, but I've always found that good things come to those who work-"
"What are you talking about?" her brother demands. "Where is father?"
"Not here, obviously," she says with an irritatable huff of breath at the interruption. "He's busy at the moment. It might surprise you to discover just how much work goes into taking a throne."
Aang's grip on Katara's hand tightens almost painfully. When she steals a look at him- hesitant to take her eyes off the princess and her army of Red Lotus- she sees a different man. Avatar Aang, chin tilted low, shadows dancing in the hollows under his eyes. The change both frightens and soothes her. He seems larger, his shoulders flared- dangerous.
"This won't end the way you think it will," he says, his voice ringing.
"Spare me. We've planned this out to your final breath. And believe me, that's coming." Azula crosses her arm over her chest, one shoulder higher than the other, a careless slouch.
Just the right touch. The perfect move; cold, casually indifferent, as if it's all so easy. Katara's lip curls. Everything for the show.
"A plan isn't action," Aang replies smoothly. "These things have a way of falling apart."
"Oh, yes, please, Airbender. Do tell me about your extensive background in government coups."
"Tell me about yours. The Fire Lord is right there." He points with a soot-covered hand to Iroh. "Not enough space on that throne for two."
Azula turns, dirt crunching under foot, to face her uncle. She's actually smiling as she squats gracefully next to him. Zuko draws his uncle away protectively, and Azula's smile only widens. She waves a hand in front of Iroh's face.
He remains motionless, his face turned away from Lu Ten's body and cradled in Zuko's arms.
Azula stands, laughs coldly. "I'd place your faith somewhere else. A Fire Lord who doesn't defend his throne? A father who doesn't avenge his son?"
"Where should I place it?" Aang demands. "In you? In your father? You killed your own cousin- you'll kill your uncle, next. You think your people will follow you, after they learn about this?"
The princess flicks a lock of hair out of her face. "Lu Ten's death is unfortunate, but I didn't touch a hair on his head. And you said it yourself, Avatar: my uncle is right there."
"You sent Hama to do the dirty work for you," Katara snarls, finding her voice. "Took advantage of her-"
"Hardly," Azula scoffs. "The Waterbender understood the gravity of the situation from the start. Ask her."
A sharp spike of rebellion- but it deflates quickly. Katara doesn't want to hear a word the old woman has to say. But, her heart... A day won't pass that she doesn't wonder why, where she doesn't wish she'd heard the words from Hama's own lips. She faces her reluctantly, but she doesn't even have to ask before the old woman speaks.
"I had to." Her voice is a strange dichotomy. Pleading. Defiant. "I had to. You never knew the South as I did, child. Fire Lord Azulon understood that in order to rule from a place of strength, the right leaders need to be in the right places. Twenty-odd years ago, we came so close..." Her eyes darken. "Until Avatar Roku destroyed everything. We had a Chieftain who would have lead the Southern Water Tribe from a collection of hovels on the ice to the powerful nation it was meant to be. He was put to death, along with many others, when Fire Lord Azulon's throne was taken. They gave the Southern Tribe to the North, and look where we are now, Katara. Under the North's thumb. Under their boot heel."
"Maybe we wouldn't be if the Red Lotus hadn't tried to make the South something it isn't," Katara snarls. "My father will never forgive this. Chief Arnook will never forgive this. You'll be dead the next time you set foot in either Pole."
"I'm doing what needs to be done."
Katara's eyes harden with resolve. "So will I."
"That won't be necessary," Azula cuts in. She waves her hand, an unspoken order, and the masked figures behind her creep closer, filling in the clearing like some noxious fume. "I'll handle Hama."
The old woman blinks wide blue eyes.
"Do you remember what I told you?" Azula asks.
A bob of her head. A slow swallow. "You said... to imagine how different the world would be without the Fire Lord."
"That's all that I said, isn't it?"
"It is," Hama breathes. Subdued. In shock. In quiet, sudden understanding.
That the other shoe is about to drop; that the tide is turning. Hama's shoulders slump.
A grim smile crosses the princess's face. Full of pleasure; it makes Katara's stomach churn. "You killed the Crown Prince. Nobody ordered you to do that. Nobody ordered you to do anything. This was a mission of your own making- and you still failed."
Before Katara can move- before she can even draw breath to protest- Azula strikes. The sound is deafening, a concussive blast that sends a shockwave rippling outward, echoing as if from the ground itself. The heat of it sucks the very air from Katara's lungs, and Aang spins to cover her with his body. Her cheek presses against his chest, but between his arms, she can see swirling motes of dust and smoke settling. When it clears, nothing of Hama remains but ash and charred, blackened bones.
Aang straightens. His arms drop slowly away from Katara's shoulders- she can feel his reluctance to put any distance between them.
"What's next, Azula?" he asks quietly. "You kill your uncle, and your father takes his throne? You kill me, so that no one can reveal what you did? All that careful planning so your hands stay clean, but they look plenty dirty to me."
Azula rifles her foot indifferently through the charred mess that was once Hama. "You don't kill a prince of the Fire Nation and walk away. Even a weak one."
"So, who will kill your uncle? The seat hasn't gotten any bigger," Aang notes dryly. "Who's going to fall on the sword this time, if this is the reward for their obedience?"
"That's a little different, you see," Azula explains with a cruel little laugh. "My cousin's death is regrettable. My uncle's death is necessary. We all have our uses."
"I'm guessing Hama outlived hers," Katara snaps. She wishes she could match Aang's tone. Not provoking, not assuaging- but she can't help the crackle of emotion in her voice.
Azula spares her the briefest glance. "You're rapidly approaching the end of yours, Master Katara. I wouldn't waste your last moments grieving someone like her-"
"Leave Katara out of this," Aang snarls- that wary neutrality evaporating. He tugs Katara gently behind him, placing himself between her and the princess. "She has nothing to do with it."
In her heart, Katara sees that move was the wrong one. When Aang's broad shoulders obscure her view, the last thing Katara sees is Azula's satisfied smile, a child with a secret they're not supposed to know.
"Oh, I'd like to," Azula says. "But- you see, Avatar, the survivors always write the history, and my story shall be perfect. The only people walking out of this are the ones who will contribute appropriately, and I just don't see Master Katara here keeping this evening's events to herself."
"And your brother?" Aang demands. "You'll kill him, too? Murder anyone that doesn't fall in line?"
Katara almost starts with surprise- she'd all but forgotten the prince was there.
A sigh; Azula glides over to her brother. He watches her approach with wide eyes.
"Oh, Zuko. Father would have let you die. You'd be in the dirt next to Lu Ten, if not for me. You still might."
"What are you talking about?" he demands weakly.
"I see an opportunity for redemption," the princess breathes, the barest hint of a cruel smile on her face. "Father will probably agree- but only if you prove yourself, here and now." She motions with one hand, and two Red Lotus members trudge forward.
Katara tenses, settles deeper into the dirt in preparation to defend herself, or strike. Aang meets her eye, makes the minutest shake of his head. They're wildly outnumbered; once they start that fight, there aren't many ways to finish it. Even now, she can see in the resolute set of his jaw, streaked with ash and soot, that he's trying to calculate a way to save as many lives as he can- even the Red Lotus's.
But the two masked figures ignore Aang and Katara entirely, roughly separating Iroh and Zuko to set the prince brusquely to his feet. The Fire Lord, they toss unceremoniously into the dirt.
Azula weaves in close, whispering in Zuko's ear with a voice that carries, "This is your one chance, Zuko. There won't be another. Father has no use for cowards or traitors, and there won't be space for them in the world we will create. Prove that you deserve to be there." Her voice is strangely insistent. "Prove that I'm right." Her hands glide down his trembling arms, lifting them into an attack position.
He remains in that position when she releases him, and her subtle smile curves wider. Zuko stands over his uncle- his uncle who's eyes are turned to the pierced, bleeding body of his son, even with death approaching.
Azula steps away. "Do the right thing, Zuko."
Slowly, ever so slowly, his open palms shift into fists, knuckles ghostly white with tension. Even from where she stands, Katara can see how much they shake and tremble.
Several long, stuttering heartbeats.
"Zuko," Aang says, his voice gentle. "Don't."
Like water from a sieve, like the breach of a dam, a breath drains from the prince, and he collapses to his knees, tears streaming. "I can't," he groans. "I can't."
The minutest lowering of the princess's shoulders. Katara's brows raise in surprise; Azula is actually disappointed.
But she only sighs like she knew her brother would fail. "Then, you're no use to us."
When she moves- flawless, precise- Katara is ready. She dives for her, slamming against the princess's armored body and knocking the pillar of flame, another fierce, concussive blast, away from Zuko, who tosses up a protective plume of fire that would certainly have been a split second too late. Azula's blast lands in the dirt with a concussive thud- and a strange, earthen rumble that continues for a few seconds after her fire dissipates.
Aang holds his hands up, shouting, "Wait- wait!" A last ditch effort to solve things peaceably.
Katara grabs him by the hand, tugging him forcefully out of the way when Azula rounds on them. By his grip on her hand- a tense tightening, followed by a reluctant release- she feels the moment Aang resigns himself to a fight he never wanted.
The steely hiss of drawn weapons; the crunch of shifting weight on packed dirt. And then, masked figures plunge at them, swords weaving dangerous arcs through the air, Fire and Earthbenders attacking with stone and fire (even a few Waterbenders, packs of water strapped to their backs). Katara rolls out of the way as Aang uses gusts of air to deflect the barrage of blue flame that whistles over the masked figures' heads. He flips, pounds the earth with one fist, sending massive ripples of rock outward, knocking many of them off their feet.
Katara uses the opening to sprint over the uneven field to a Red Lotus Waterbender. With a leap, she drives her knee into their diaphragm, snatching their water before it can pool in the dirt. Then, with squared shoulders and frightening clarity, she presses an attack. Outnumbered as they are, the price of letting her opponents get back up after she puts them down has never been so high. Aang fights at her back, and she can hear him muttering angrily under his breath at the damage they're causing- a grumble at each hit that sends masked figures to their knees, unconscious, bleeding- or both.
A Firebender flips into view, kicks a wide blast of flame at her, but she tucks under it, her blade of water mimicking the shape of a wave as it rolls towards him, taking several fingers from his right hand. She spares him the briefest wince of pity when he shrieks in pain, before she rolls out of the way of a boulder barreling toward her. Aang blocks it with a well-placed wedge of stone, but it still catches Katara's hip, sends her tumbling over cracked earth with a grunt. She rolls into something soft. Hama's charred remains- she scrambles away in revulsion. When she climbs to her feet, a masked figure stands in front of her. She can't see his face, but she knows there's a malicious grin there.
He stomps one foot on the packed earth, hard. A crack in the dirt races for her. She flips out of the way, spinning mid-air to prepare for the Earthbender's next attack, but when she lands on her feet, she finds him kneeling, his hands pressed flat against the earth, as if he's trying to pull the crack back.
But it grows wider and wider- splintering across the festival grounds with the a grinding, crackling sound that lifts the hairs on Katara's arms. Huge chunks of stone tumble into pitch black nothingness, and the fight descends further into chaos. Half the Red Lotus don't even notice; Katara dodges a long knife flicked at her neck, and the masked figure who wields it plunges- shrieking- into the chasm below. Across the clearing, she sees Azula cartwheel out of the way as the crack splits beneath her feet like a fork of lightning. The princess narrowly misses falling, but the darkness claims Iroh. He drops, an image of lifelessness, fading out of sight. A few yards away, Zuko scrabbles in the dirt as the weight of his armor drags him backward across a chunk of earth that tilts precariously downward.
Aang dives for him, but too late; the shelf breaks away, taking the prince with it.
Katara presses against the charred wall of a destroyed shop, hands grasping around shattered beams of wood, splinters digging into her skin. One by one, stones drop away beneath her feet. She's helpless; her body succumbing to gravity, her water falling into the darkness below. Moments later, the shop itself begins to tilt downward, beams cracking with ear-splitting pops.
A strange, shifting sensation beneath her feet; Aang, holding a boulder out for her. She darts for him (and sturdier ground), and they tuck into a half-collapsed tent, his arms circling her tightly.
"If we stay much longer, I'll lose control. I barely have it now." She feels the edge of his panic; the desperation to avoid the high price the Avatar State will cost him. Him, and everyone else in the clearing.
"Then let's go."
He nods, sweeps with one arm to clear the tent away with a blast of wind. "There," he says with a nod; a narrow gap between buildings, and no Red Lotus members to be seen.
They sprint for it, leaping across chasms and sliding under blasts of fire. A whip of water slices directly at Katara's neck, and without breaking stride, she spins and sends it back at the Waterbender, a javelin of ice that pins their hands to the wall of a nearby shop. But just as she clears one final crack in the earth, blue flame blossoms in front of them like a field of the brightest flowers, swirling and dancing.
Azula steps from behind a building, her hands on her armored hips.
"Are we done, yet?" she asks irritably.
"Let us go," Aang orders. "If this continues, it won't end well. For any of us."
Azula laughs. "Are you threatening us? I'd like to see that." She spreads her arms wide. "Come on, Avatar Aang. Show us what you can do. You have the power to kill every last one of us, don't you? So go ahead. Do it."
His brows furrow. He drops lower into his stance.
"Do it," Azula hisses.
The earth rumbles again. That yawning chasm grows wider, stone falling away. Azula drops suddenly, scrabbling at an outcropping of rock. A powerful blast of flame- Katara can feel the heat of it, even ten yards away. The princess uses the force of that blast to propel herself onto solid ground, flipping and landing perfectly, a gymnast in a show.
But Katara doesn't have flames; she doesn't even have water. So when the earth crumbles beneath her feet, she drops before she has time to yelp with surprise. Aang's hand flashes out, grabs her wrist. He drops to his stomach on the festival ground with a grunt of pain, and Katara slams into the rocky ledge, her head bouncing off stone. Stars forming in her eyes, spots dancing in her vision. She waits for him to pull her up; feels his weight shift this way, and that, but when she's finally able to blink up at him, she understands why she's still dangling over an abyss. Over the edge of the ledge above her, she can just barely make out the flash of knives, the swirling of dust motes, pinwheels of fire; the Red Lotus taking advantage of Aang's compromised position.
"Climb up," he calls through gritted teeth, kicking away a swinging club. "Katara, please."
"I'm trying." Her free hand scrabbles at stone, but each handhold crumbles in her grip. "I'm trying."
"Please." He sweeps wind at a lick of flame, then slams his fist against the wall to create an outcropping of stone for her to stand on.
With her feet on stable ground, she releases him, looking for ways to climb up. As soon as his hand is free, he stands, turns to face the masked figures. She can only just make out his ash and dirt-coated back, the tattered remnants of his kasaya. The sounds of bending shifting to soft thuds, and muffled grunts. The Red Lotus has drawn in close enough for the fight to shift to hand-to-hand combat. Her little ledge drops suddenly, and she presses a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out- from distracting him from the fight at hand.
Dust and dirt pours over the ledge with a deafening gust of wind, coating her. When she blinks the dirt from her eyes, Aang leans over the side of the chasm, many hands digging furiously into his arm and shoulders, but still he reaches, reaches for her.
Too far. Their fingertips brush, then he's dragged away again.
"He can't," she whispers, eyes trained on the edge, on his body as he rolls out of the way of a knife.
She hears the princess, rather than sees her. The closeness of that self-satisfied voice sends her spiralling into panic. "Don't kill him," Azula reproaches, almost bored. "I still need him."
Suddenly, Aang is above her, reaching for her again. Katara can just make out the top of Azula's topknot over Aang's right shoulder.
"She's coming," Katara calls desperately. "You can't do both."
He ignores her, leans harder, reaches farther. A knife grazes his arm, and he blasts the man, sending him cartwheeling away in a flurry of wind. "Just reach."
She bites her lip to keep from crying; blood drips down his arm, his hand, landing in spattering droplets on her face and tunic. "This isn't about me," she whispers. Low, but she knows he hears her. "You have to survive. Let me go. I'll be okay."
Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't, but they both know that he can't defend himself and save her, and she'd rather drop into nothingness than watch him die in front of her.
"No. No." He disappears, reappears a moment later, a cut at the corner of his temple. Both his eyes- the lines of his tattoos- begin to flicker with an eerie, blinding white. "Don't make me choose this. I won't choose this." The flickering fades. "I'm coming down- I'll come to you. We'll climb up together. Just wait! Hold on!"
A deafening roar of wind; it shakes even her outcropping of stone, pulls her hair free to whip wildly around her face.
Then, a low groan of pain, his blood-soaked hand falls limply over the edge of the chasm, and her narrow ledge drops into emptiness.
Wind whistles past. Aang's lifeless hand fades, a golden pinpoint above as she sails downward.
Darkness. More darkness.
She has time to marvel at how long she's been falling- shouldn't she be dead, by now?- then her right shoulder strikes something, hard. She cries out in pain.
But below her is the sound of water- large objects disrupting the surface, splashing and turbulence and before her mind even fabricates a plan, she reaches for it with her bending, sucks in one final breath, and careens beneath water blacker than oil.
Under water, the darkness is a living thing. Her eyes open, but there's nothing to see. Above her, stones continue to break the surface- she feels the water shifting, giving way as boulders the size of houses sink to the bottom of a seemingly bottomless chasm. She sinks, too- too shocked, terrified, confused to do anything but thank providence that she's still alive. A small boulder strikes her in the stomach, and she spins helplessly, tears of pain mixing with the uncaring blackness, before finally, finally- she draws a breath.
The blackness shifts. Light swirls like fireflies in the distance, like the bioluminescence in a deep Earth Kingdom lagoon. She floats among stars, the pinpricks of light swirling with the current she creates. Distracted, she lifts a hand as if moving through water, smiles when the stars follow the lines of her movement, dancing around her like embers swirling towards the sky above a campfire. She spins- childlike. And then, she sees Aang.
His eyes and tattoos glow a fierce, blinding white, distorting the rest of his body in shadow. His face is contorted with anger, but there's something in his posture- the tension in his shoulders, the curve of his fingers- tells her that he's afraid, or in pain, or both. She glides to him, a specter, and takes his hand in hers.
This shouldn't be. She's drowning, sinking in pitch black between stones, and Aang is unconscious on the world above. They're not floating in the cosmos, moving like constellations across the night sky. His hand isn't in hers- the callouses on his palm shouldn't feel so real.
"We're dying," she whispers to him.
He can't die. The world needs him; the Fire Nation is coming. He can't die.
Her hand tightens around his, squeezing. She opens her mouth-
And so does he. They say the words at the same time, voices echoing across cosmic nothingness.
"I need you to live."
It's hard to tell, with his eyes glowing white, but she knows that he's looking at her, breathing in the sight of her. His hand reaches up to cup her face. She does the same, a mirror image. His forehead brushes hers- Spirits, why does it feel so real?- then the stars blink to nothingness, and Aang disappears.
She's under water again, fighting a cough, fighting the water filling her lungs, fighting pain beyond her imagining. It would be easy, so easy, to let go. To sink peacefully, to rest there, at the bottom of the world.
But she can hear his voice in her mind. A matching plea, as desperate as her own. "I need you to live."
A cough- the final remnants of her breath- and bubbles brush past her cheek. Upward. Toward the sky. Toward air. She reaches for them, as if to pull them back to her. And pulls herself up instead, water cushioning her, buffeting her, swirling her around and around, until her head breaks the surface again. With the last of her strength, she draws water from her lungs, hacking and coughing and fighting stinging tears that leak past the corner of her eyes. Her throat burns like fire, and if she could see anything at all, she knows she'd have spots in her vision.
But she's alive, and her head's above water, and stones aren't falling from the blackness above, anymore. She lets the water guide her to the edge of the lake (or whatever it is, she thinks dumbly). Climbs out slowly, and collapses.
When she wakes, it's to guttering flame. Harsh orange and red glow that flickers off a damp, glistening stone floor. Her eyes focus, squinting as they adjust to the sudden introduction of light, a fierce face materializes, angry gold eyes. One wide with rage, the other a narrowed slit between melted-wax eyelids.
"Zuko." She scrambles to her feet, ignoring the protest of her shoulder, her forehead, her burning throat, and takes a defensive position, pulling water to her.
"Don't move," he hisses. "Don't move another muscle." He drops lower, readying himself to strike.
They stand at an impasse- matching shifts in weight, in muscle. If the prince drops those flickering flames surrounding his closed fists, the fight will descend into madness; neither of them able to see the other until, perhaps, it's too late. Time stretches, slows. Her shoulder trembles with pain; she does her best to hide her injury. When she thinks she can't bear it a moment longer, she makes the slightest shift of her weight onto her back foot. Preparation to strike, hard and fast.
Before she can move, though, Zuko's eyes dart to hers. "Azula would kill you."
"We have that in common," she bites back.
He tries to hide it, sinking further into shadow, but Katara catches that flicker of pain in his eyes. That lost look, the one that tells her he's a hair's breadth from losing everything- that he'll do anything to regain control. He advances, slow, steady, and she matches it with a smooth shift sideways.
"If I bring you to her, she might let me-"
"Let you what? Rise from the ashes? Be redeemed?" Katara laughs coldly, a false confidence she doesn't feel. "You're a dead man walking, Zuko."
"I am a prince of the Fire Nation-"
"Not anymore. Now you're trapped in the dark, just like me."
He growls. "I make my own light." His eyes reflect orange flame. "Azula would want me to kill you. My father would want me to kill you."
"Try it; you'll die at this lakeside," Katara warns bluntly.
"Kill me, and you condemn yourself. You won't escape without light to guide you."
Damn him, she thinks. Before he arrived, she couldn't even see her hands, held half an inch from her face. She could walk a thousand miles in this place, and never leave the room she's in now. She tries a different tactic.
"Where's your uncle? He fell when you did."
Zuko's hands falter, the flame around his fists guttering almost to nothing, an echo of his surprise.
"Is he back there, somewhere? Is he... dead?"
His eyes shift uncomfortably. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. "He's alive- but he's... not moving. Won't speak."
"He's in shock," she says, pressing her one and only advantage. "He could still die. Let me help him; I'm a healer."
"You'll kill him. You'll kill us both-"
"I don't want Iroh to die," Katara snaps. "I want him to live so he can reclaim his throne- from your father and sister. And I'm not stupid, so don't treat me like I am. If I kill him, I don't see things going very smoothly for us from there. We can all survive this, if we cooperate."
A tense silence- a long, penetrating look from the prince. Then, a brisk nod, and he lowers his hands. Cradles a flame in the palm of one hand. "Follow me," he says briskly.
Katara hovers fearfully close to the circle of garish light; the flames cupped in Zuko's hand. She's repelled by his closeness- by the armor brushing her shirtsleeve, the hem of her tunic- but too terrified of the overwhelming darkness to step too far away. Her panic climbs with each step as he leads her further and further from the water.
"What is this place?" she asks quietly.
He glares, irritated that she disturbed the silence. "Ancient catacombs," he rasps after a moment. "There's an old legend that says the Fire Nation Capitol was built over an ancient city, by a hero that guided them from the darkness, into the light of civilization."
"Hmph. Did this hero usurp that throne, too?"
Another sharp glare. "Cities- empires- are built on the backs of what was there before. That part is always true. Heroes and conquerors, though- great leaders that guide their people into the light? We create those people because we want them. They're better than reality."
She laughs bitterly. For all his faults, she can't argue with the prince's logic.
"This way," he says, stepping around a curving stone wall.
He leads her to a small anti-chamber, past wall-carvings of sleeping dragons curled around rough-hewn pillars. Inside, in the darkness, Iroh sits on a dirt floor. Still. Almost lifeless.
Katara goes to him, draws one hand across his brow. He's as cold as the stone, but she can feel his pulse flickering beneath her hand. She glides her hands down his arms, legs, neck, back- searching for signs of injury.
"What are you doing?" Zuko demands. "I already told you, he's not hurt."
"Did you even check?" she snaps. "He could have injuries we can't see. It was a long fall." She continues her search, but doesn't find anything. "How did you find him?"
Zuko shrugs. "I landed... and it was dark. I lit the area up as far as I could. He was a few yards away, sitting on a large boulder."
Katara stands, patting dirt from the knees of her leggings- a futile effort; she's filthy, covered in dust and dirt and Aang's blood, and still soaked to the bone. "And what about you? Are you hurt?"
He masks an expression of surprise at her question, but only shakes his head.
"How did you survive?"
A shrug. "Slowed myself enough with a downward blast."
"Must be nice," she grumbles. "I'd be flattened on the stone floor if that lake wasn't there. Well, help me lift him."
"Why?"
"Do you see any water here?" Katara asks coldly. "We need to walk him back; I'm a healer, not a miracle-worker."
He eyes her warily. "Walk ahead of me."
She grumbles at his suspicion, but reaches down and hauls the old man to his feet. The motion tugs at her shoulder, causing tears to burn in her eyes. It's a struggle- Iroh doesn't assist her at all, and his dead weight makes lifting him impossible. Zuko watches- frowning deeply- until finally, with a rumbling complaint under his breath, he reaches down, and pulls his uncle to his feet as if he weighed no more than a child.
"Thanks," Katara grunts.
Zuko doesn't reply, only backs away quickly. He gestures with his chin for her to guide Iroh from the antichamber.
The journey is slow- Iroh walks little faster than a shuffle- but they reach the lakeside a few minutes later, and Katara shepherds the old man into the water. She slips in, too, leaning Iroh to float on his back. Quickly, she drops below the surface, takes advantage of the opportunity to quickly heal a few of her own injuries. Her shoulder, the massive goose-egg on her forehead. Any number of other minor scratches.
"What are you doing?" Zuko barks when she emerges again.
"Communing with the Spirit of the Ocean."
"This is a lake."
"Would you like to do this, or shall I?"
He purses his lips, gestures for her to continue.
"Thank you," she says primly, and turns back to Iroh.
If Zuko were to ask her how exactly she intends to heal Iroh (and she's wildly grateful that he hasn't), she'd be forced to admit that she has only the vaguest idea. The shock of seeing his son die before his eyes, his niece's attack, the subsequent fall into the catacombs below, must have sent the old man's mind into a state of apathy. Grimly, she studies him, weighs her options. Healing the mind isn't as simple as healing a cut or a broken bone. It isn't passive; it can't be done for him.
Still, though, if she wants to escape the darkness of these catacombs, she can't leave Iroh the way he is now. She'll have to try something.
"Well, here we go," she murmurs. She lifts water to Iroh's temples, sinks it into the skin there.
And leaps back when the old man cries out once, dropping like a stone below the surface. With a yelp, she dives for him, drags him back to the edge of the lake.
"What did you do?" Zuko demands, grasping her arm and wrenching her away.
Iroh lays stiff, back arched on the stone, his mouth agape in a soundless scream, and no matter how loudly Zuko calls his name, he doesn't answer.
The prince rounds on her. "What have you done?!"
A roaring flame erupts from his fist, hissing off the lake when she scrambles out of the way. She rolls toward the water, sweeping a thick wedge of it towards the last place she knew Zuko was standing- nothing more than a guess, now that they're both in the dark. Water crashes against stone, but she hears the metal clack of his armor as the prince is swept off his feet. She isn't given a moment to appreciate her success- he kicks several fire blasts at her, one of them catching her shoulder and lighting the ends of her hair.
He flips to his feet, sending fire outward in a spiral. She swats it away almost contemptuously with a whip of water, taking a spinning step and launching another attack. He burns the water away with a massive plume of flame, steam hissing deafeningly, but the light gives Katara an opportunity to get her bearings. She dives into the lake- feeling a perverse delight when Zuko's gasp of concern echoes off the walls. She steals a moment to drag water toward her, then she erupts from the surface of the water like a shark, gliding on white water over stone to knock Zuko off his feet, freezing his arms against the rock below-
He burns himself free, releases a quick blast-
She drowns it, water cascading over his face and body-
A wrenching cry pierces the blackness. Both Katara and Zuko jump in surprise, facing the sound- a new, unexpected danger- as one.
But the cry breaks, shatters into pieces, and Katara realizes it's Iroh, sobbing, a huddled, broken mass on the stone. He weeps with childlike abandon, tears streaming down his face in overwhelming grief. Zuko abandons the fight immediately, rushing to his uncle to take him in his arms.
Iroh crumbles, the crown of his head pressing against Zuko's chest as his fists ball in the fabric beneath the plates of the prince's armor.
Katara slides down onto the stone floor. Iroh's grief feels palpable- like a third person in the room, taking up space, demanding recognition. Screaming at her- the events of the clearing, Hama, Azula, the Red Lotus, Toph nowhere to be found, and Sokka-
Katara herself, at the bottom of a chasm, with no obvious means of escape.
And Aang. Aang.
She presses the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle her own sob. The pain, the rage, the hurt. The terror.
But she can see Aang suspended, eyes glowing in the cosmos. His forehead against hers, his hand on her cheek. Begging her to live.
She won't die here. She can't.
a/n: you guys... you guys. I hope this was okay. i simultaneously loved and hated writing this chapter. the chapter plot felt good, felt right (hopefully y'all feel that way too lol) but damn I hate writing action scenes and that was like 60% of this chapter. do you know how many ways there are to say 'fall'? you can pretty much find all of them in the last 6,500ish words. every synonym.
from the bottom of my heart i hope y'all like it, but also *throws hands in air in defeat* *consumes alcohol irresponsibly*