to tread on dreams
Zuko holds his hand aloft, a flame cradled in the bowl of his palm. It bobbles with his steps- whimsical, almost merry.
Katara glares at it. There's no place in this maze for that kind of joy.
They're trapped in the dark. No way out, no light beyond what some half-baked Firebender can produce- and they've been walking for hours. In circles, or up and down the same passage, for all she knows. That particular section of bumps and divots in the stone floor looks familiar- she's tripped over that uncomfortably familiar shallow depression at least a half dozen times. She steps carefully around it, and bites her tongue to keep from asking Zuko, Are you sure we're going the right way?
Because, of course, he isn't. None of them them are. They're wandering around in the pitch black, bumping from wall to wall, snaking through narrow passages. Maybe headed toward the palace; maybe deeper into darkness. She supposes she should count her blessings; Iroh- while still mute- is at least walking on his own, and Zuko hasn't tried to kill her since they left the lakeside.
He's still debating it, though. She could see it in the narrow expression on his face when she froze a ball of lake ice, tucking it away in her pocket to have at the ready, should the need arise. She can see it now in the whites of his eyes, the way his breath hitches and his shoulders tense every time she opens her mouth to speak. The way he won't let her walk behind him. She doesn't argue. Spares him that little nugget of comfort. Treads a few steps ahead of him, just on the cusp of his circle of light. No sense in giving herself more trouble. Trouble enough down here, as it is, she thinks in a grumble.
For the sake of her sanity, she tries to avoid thinking of anything happening above sea level.
Isolate. One problem at a time. Step one; get out of the dark.
But memories unfold again and again anyway, like a tongue rubbing over a sore tooth: Aang's lifeless hand draped over the edge of a chasm, blood dripping from the ends of long fingers. A deep gouge in red dirt. Sokka and Toph, missing. Lu Ten's pierced body. Azula's cruel, satisfied grin.
Thud.
An echo in the distance, like the fist of some giant pounding against a great stone door. Or, the vastly more likely scenario: stones still falling from the ceiling above, uncaring about what lies beneath as they come to a violent rest on the chasm's floor.
"That's the fifth time," Zuko murmurs worriedly, behind her.
Her eyes roll skyward. A more rational part of her knows that she should be as concerned as he is, but this is his fifth announcement, she feels entitled to a little bitterness.
Another echoing thud, this one quieter, and much closer: Iroh drops heavily to the ground as they navigate over a jumble of fallen stones. His nephew leans down to quickly help him back to his feet.
"Are you alright?" he demands anxiously.
Katara would be moved by the prince's concern if she hadn't watched him very seriously debate killing his uncle just a few hours before. But Iroh only brushes dirt from his burnt, tattered robes, nods absently, and plods onward.
They watch him drift ahead in silence, until Zuko whispers to Katara. "Will he... be okay?"
"His son was just murdered," she reminds him bitterly. She urges him forward with a flick of her chin.
His expression shutters. It doesn't take a mastermind to understand his thinking; her brusqueness unnerves him, sends his teeth sinking into his lower lip with worry.
Well, what more does he expect? She healed his uncle, forced them on their feet in search of a way out, but why should she spare tender words for them? She could spout soliloquies about human will and the triumph of survival- if this was Aang, or Toph, or Sokka, maybe she would. But it isn't. The fighting may have stopped- their wounds may be healed- but they're still in the midst of survival. The climb, that clawing feeling in her stomach that pushes one foot in front of the other. It's the only thing she has to offer; to press on. It's the only thing way she'll find...
The thought strikes her like a curled fist to the stomach.
This chasm is just an obstacle, she reminds herself firmly. A rung on the ladder.
Sokka, Toph, and Aang could have found each other on the world above, banded together to bring Azula and Ozai to their knees. She might burst through the red dirt of the palace courtyard to find Aang with a grin on his face, crooked and wry, laughing as he says, "Where have you been? We had to do everything without you."
Or...
She tosses away those images, hideous, choking, poisonous. That kind of thinking would leave her curled in a ball on the floor.
They're alive, and she'll find them. Maybe they'll flee, to lick their wounds and fight another day, or they'll fight, overturning Ozai and Azula and returning the throne to its rightful ruler, or die in a blaze of glory with as many Red Lotus members as possible.
But they'll be together, and they'll be above ground, and all that'll be left of this is nothing but a horrifying memory that she'll only speak of under a shining sun, when she can feel the wind on her face. Her friends- her brother, her lover- by her side.
"Are we any closer to the surface?" she demands quietly.
"How should I know?" Zuko rasps. "I didn't know any of this existed until about three hours ago."
"Well, think back. Any memory could be the key. Is there some kind of song, or rhyme, or-"
"This isn't folklore, Waterbender," the prince snaps.
"Then we keep walking."
Irritable muttering. "Which way?"
"Toward the surface." Toward Aang.
"And which way is that?"
Her jaw clenches. "It's up."
"By all means," Zuko sneers, "point us in the direction of the passage that leads 'up'."
Anger- a curled beast, barely controlled. At the audacity of his attitude, it roars to life. "Do you think this is helping? Like what you did up there- nothing?"
His eyes widen, his mouth opening and closing. "I was put in an impossible position-"
"Your sister told you to murder your uncle."
"Don't talk about things you don't understand!" he snarls. "You have no concept of what it's taken for me to survive-"
That distant 'thud' again- but, it seems closer, this time. The passage around them judders with an echo that repeats uncomfortably in the hollow of Katara's chest. She presses her ear against the wall, hoping to amplify the sound. "Shut up," she barks over the rattle of Zuko's armor. "Stop moving."
"You don't give the orders here, Waterbender. You'd still be by that lakeside if I hadn't found you."
Katara rounds on him. "Oh, thank you, your Highness. You're the absolute soul of courtesy."
"Would you rather be alone in the dark?"
"You're making that option seem a lot more appealing than this one."
"Go ahead, then," he says, voice dangerously low. "Months from now, I'll send people down here to look for your remains." He smiles coldly- fiercely similar to his father. The resemblance turns her stomach. "I look forward to hearing how far you made it."
She almost laughs. It's funny, for a moment. Just a moment. Then it shifts into something darker, a hideous creature that consumes rationality with an open maw. It reacts; pure emotion.
"I bet you think that you can talk your way out of the death sentence that waits for you up there." That creature whispers venom in her ear. "I almost feel sorry for you, because you're forgetting something: your family did this. Your sister, your father. They killed your cousin, they might as well have killed your uncle, and you..." A cold, twisted laugh. "You. You - just - watched."
She shoves him, hard, and he stumbles back, bouncing off the passage wall with wide, wounded eyes. If she wasn't so furious- if her brain was working as it should- she would pause to wonder at the look on his face, at the way he let her shove him. The way he didn't retaliate. The way he's letting her take all the rage and frustration and pain out on him, because he is nearest to her. The way this behavior is nothing new to him.
But she doesn't care. She can't care about his feelings, or his stupid scar, or the fact that his uncle is watching them with shattered, red-rimmed eyes.
"Look at what you let happen," she continues, her voice low, a breach in the dam and vitriol spills past, clawing and scrabbling and drowning out everything else. Her hands wrap around the straps that hold up his breast plate. "Because you were just trying to survive, or didn't think they'd actually do it, or whatever stupid, weak, coward excuse you're about to give me-"
"Stop. It's not his fault. It's mine."
Katara's brows crash together; she releases Zuko, whips around to face his uncle. "Explain."
When Iroh speaks again- after a deep, shuddering breath- his voice is ragged with grief. "We're reaping the rewards of my failure."
"What do you mean?"
"I felt Ozai was up to... something. I didn't know what, so... I set investigators- spies- after him."
Her lip curls with fury; her hands tremble at her sides. She clenches her fists to gain control.
"You must understand, Katara; I am not my father," Iroh says bitterly. "My father, who brought up false charges to remove the voices he didn't care to hear. I couldn't be like that. I couldn't accuse Ozai without evidence, and my spies never found anything, so I... I waited. He'd make a mistake, he'd slip up." A tear slides down grizzled, dirt covered cheeks. "Years passed this way, Katara. Twenty years. And I thought- I hoped- that maybe I was wrong-"
"But you weren't."
"I assure you, I will spend the rest of my life regretting that mistake."
She turns away from the pleading, the sorrow, the apology in his eyes, nowhere near ready to forgive him. "So will everyone else."
'THUD'. It's frighteningly close this time; shakes gravel loose from the ceiling.
Zuko's flame gutters low, choked by the dust. He steps from the passage wall nervously. "We should go-"
Stone explodes outward. Katara doesn't even have time to gasp. Blinding light flares as Zuko sends a protective ball of flame curling outward. She whirls away, too, her arms flung over her head, her cheek pressed against the rough-hewn stone of the nearest wall. When the prince's fire dissipates, they are left in darkness.
Rocks settle in a clatter that echoes up and down the passage. Hands gently grasp her wrists, lower her arms.
The guttering sound of Zuko's flame. Katara blinks up at twin pinpricks of orange light. Flames reflected from blue eyes.
With Sokka's arms around her, she feels the slightest easing in the knot in her chest. She wipes at tears with her free hand when Toph gives the other a comforting squeeze.
Then Zuko casts his light wider, brighter, and that tension floods back like an incoming tide.
"Oh, Sokka," she breathes.
"It looks worse than it is." A humorless chuckle. "I assume. I haven't actually seen it."
"It's..." she trails off, unable to describe the gruesome patchwork of cuts, bruises- and the deep, jagged slice that drags diagonally over his right eye. "Well, it'll be an impressive scar."
"That's all that matters."
She laughs weakly, before turning to Toph. The Earthbender is uncharacteristically silent, leaned against the passage wall, and it doesn't take much investigation to see why. The bones of her left shin poke out between split skin, glinting wetly with blood in Zuko's light.
Grimly, she rustles in her pocket for her ball of ice. It isn't much- perhaps a half a liter. Not that it matters; even if they were in the healing houses of Yagoda herself, it would take weeks to heal the damage caused by a fracture this complex.
Toph understands her silence. "I'll take what I can get," she assures her from between clenched teeth.
There's a scraping sound as Sokka slides down the wall next to her, quietly offering his hands for the Earthbender to grab onto. The look on his face speaks louder than words that he doesn't envy what's about to happen to her. Toph takes Sokka's offered hands, knuckles white, as Katara snakes glistening water into her open wound.
"How did you you guys end up down here?" she asks. To get answers, but to serve as a distraction for Toph, too. Healing a wound like that is nothing short of miserable.
Sokka frowns, pries one hand loose from Toph's grip, flexing his fingers to regain blood flow as he details their harrowing escape. A Red Lotus ambush, frighteningly outnumbered. The boulder colliding with his cheekbone, a blinding, sickening flash of light. Then, unending darkness. Carrying Toph, stumbling through pitch black as she guides them, one hand along the closest wall, toward the collection of footsteps and voices echoing through the catacombs.
"Where's Aang?" Toph grunts suddenly.
Katara knew the question was coming- of course they'd ask- but her hands falter, anyway. Water pools, trickling out of Toph's open wound, stained black with blood, dirt, and darkness.
She groans through clenched teeth as Katara regains control. "Spirits- sorry, Toph-"
It takes a moment for the Earthbender's breathing to steady. "What happened?"
Words fail her. His blood pouring down his arm, splattering across her face. The look in his eyes. Terror, agony. The pale, lifeless hand. A memory burned into her brain.
Iroh saves her the trouble of answering. "Avatar Aang has been captured," he says. "And... my..."
The light in the tunnel flickers when Zuko reaches out to lay a comforting arm across his uncle's shoulders.
"It was Azula," Katara murmurs. "And Ozai." Tears blur her vision- she's grateful she can tuck her head low, hide the way salt water trails down her cheeks, the soft pattering sound of water droplets falling into dirt.
"What do they need him for?" Toph asks quietly.
"He has the authority declare Ozai as Fire Lord," Iroh says grimly.
Sokka offers a darker perspective. "They've never cared about his authority before. The Red Lotus has been trying to kill Aang for years. It's far more likely that they're going to execute him to announce their new order."
Silence descends, heavy and oppressive like a hand over their mouths.
"We can't fight," Sokka murmurs. "In the shape we're in... We need to get Aang and Appa, and we need to go. We can alert the Earth King, the Tribes, the Air Nation. The Fire Nation is coming, and they need to be warned. The Western Air Temple is two hundred miles northeast of here. If we're lucky, we could be there by early tomorrow morning."
Iroh shifts uncomfortably. "Abandon my people..." His voice is barely above a whisper.
"Katara and Zuko are the only two of us in any condition to fight," Sokka says gently. "And, if I had to guess, I'd say Aang's not in good condition, either. If we fight, we'll die here."
A heavy, reluctant sigh. Shuddering with reluctance, with grim, foreboding understanding. But Iroh says nothing; only nods once, almost abrupt, and turns away, his shoulders bent with guilt and the yoke of heavy failure.
Sokka takes his shift as agreement, and squares his own shoulders. "Alright; Toph, you go with Iroh and Zuko, and get Appa. Katara and I will get Aang. We'll meet in the stables at dawn, and fly out from there."
"You and I should swap," Zuko says thoughtfully. "I think I know where they'll be keeping the Avatar."
"I'm not sending my sister alone into the palace alone with you. She and I will get Aang."
"Look at your face. You'll attract too much attention. You'll put her in more danger than I ever could."
"Bold words, all things considered, your Highness," Sokka says placidly.
The prince drags a hand down his face in exasperation. "I know this palace like the back of my hand. I know the rounds the guards make, I know when they take their meals, I know what passages the servants use, what passages are off-limits to anyone but the Royal Family. I can make her invisible. But, I can't fly a sky bison."
"It's not that hard. Toph will be with you."
"Sokka, you know as well as I do that Appa's not going to trust two strangers to fly him, even with me there," Toph objects. "Either you or Katara needs to come with me. And I don't see Katara sitting out on Aang's rescue."
Katara sets her jaw. "I won't be."
"No. No."
She avoids looking at her brother as long as she can, but she can feel his eyes are on her. Feels the look on his face, the fear in his heart. It'll tear a hole in her chest better than any knife ever could.
"Katara," he murmurs.
When she finally turns to him, she can see the moment his resolve crumbles. Maybe it's the look in her eyes, the determination. Maybe he can pluck the thought from her mind; she'll die herself before leaving Aang's fate in anyone else's hands.
After a while, he turns away. "If you betray her," he breathes to the prince, "I will hunt you to the ends of this world, and the next. I will not rest until you are dead at my feet."
Zuko laughs, cold and humorless. "You'll have to get in line."
"How do we get out of here?" Iroh mumbles.
"That's where I come in," Toph says. Katara pulls the water away from the scarcely healed wound as the Earthbender rises to stand on her own two feet, teeth gritted against the pain. She points into the darkness. "Theres an entrance to the palace about a half-mile that way. Let's go."
Katara's heart is in her throat. It pounds heavily. Makes it hard to swallow. Hard to breathe.
Sokka, Toph, and Iroh left them at the stairs that lead up from the cellars and the decayed, rotted door- the entrance to the catacombs beneath the palace. There were barrels of water, and wine, and beer. She spared a few moments to heal her brother's face- to rest her hand on his cheek and promise that everything would be okay. That she would see him again.
Now, she digs one finger beneath the high collar of the heavy chain mail beneath her stolen uniform, and offers a prayer to every Spirit she can think of that she told her brother the truth.
A section of her mail bites into her shoulder, and she shifts around to relieve the pressure. The mail, the helmet, the heavy armor- combined with the water she froze to the inside of her breast plate and back plate, it's far more weight than she's used to. The cuirass digs painfully into her armpits, sure to leave a mark.
"Spirits, how do these people wear this all day?" she demands under her breath.
"Shut up," Zuko hisses.
She makes a rude gesture. Restrains herself from whipping out the gallon of ice she froze to the inside of her breast plate. An hour ago- before they breached that rotting palace door- she would have sworn to anyone that asked that she could send Zuko to the Spirit World without breaking a sweat.
Then, as he guided her on silent feet down a servant's passage from the kitchen cellars, they ran into a pair of guards, jians hanging in sturdy leather sheaths at their hips.
Her opinion changed rapidly after that- caused her raised her hackles instantly. Before she had time to unfreeze her water, both guards were unconscious at her feet, eyes rolled sickeningly into the backs of their heads. Zuko didn't summon so much as a candle-flame.
They hid the guards behind sacks of rice in the cellar, and then she followed his lead up an endless procession of curving staircases, through the shadows of long red hallways. The panic she expected- the confused welter of palace employees scattered to and fro, reeling from the death of their Fire Lord- was nowhere to be found. Instead, the night-shift servants chatted quietly as they carried baskets of linens to the laundry room, guards leaned casually against the wall when their captain wasn't looking. Zuko led her in the shadows beneath a massive tapestry before bringing two unsuspecting Royal Guardsmen to their knees- their attention thoroughly occupied in a tucked away corner. Both men were down in seconds, and Zuko wasted no time removing their uniforms.
"Here," he whispered, tossing her a uniform with one hand.
She nearly collapsed under the weight. Argued against the wisdom of wearing something that would impact her mobility so severely.
He didn't answer. Just lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed with impatience.
An hour later, she understands why. With the Royal Guard uniforms, they're able to hide in plain sight, marching down brightly lit hallways, gliding through crowded mess halls and bustling offices. Their helmets obscure most of their faces, and lower ranking guards salute them as they pass. Zuko nods dismissively, but her stomach twists in furious knots the entire time. He has a hundred opportunities to grab her and toss her into the arms of a contingent of soldiers.
He never does; he only leads her further and further into the twisting complex of the Fire Nation Royal Palace.
After thirty minutes of bated breath, her palms sweating under sturdy gauntlets, they reach a heavy, polished wood. The prince nods to the guards, a silent order, and they lift the thick beam that locks the doors in place. It swings open on silent hinges, but as soon as it closes behind them, he drags Katara into an empty office.
"What are you doing?" she hisses, wrenching her arm out of his grasp and shoving him away.
He gives her a withering glare. "Listen. Do exactly as I did- don't speak, just nod like you're the most important person in the room, and you don't need to explain yourself. This is the residential wing for the Royal Family; it takes special permission to even be here. Go down this hallway, take the first two lefts, and then a right. There's an iron door at the end. The Avatar is probably in there. The guards will question you- glare at them like they should be flogged just for speaking to you, and above all, don't answer."
"Where are you going?"
"Mai is in this wing somewhere. She has to be."
Katara almost laughs in disbelief. "You mean your sister's best friend? The one that sticks to her right side like glue?"
"I told you not to talk about things you don't understand," Zuko snaps. "I won't leave her."
Her eyes shift away uncomfortably. It's a feeling she understands too intimately; there isn't much she wouldn't do to save Aang. "How am I supposed to explain to the guards why I'm taking him?"
"Don't explain it," he huffs irritably, peering through the office's half-open door. "Just do it. It's not their place to question you."
He makes to leave, and she grabs his arm, stopping him from sneaking away. "This isn't the plan. If they catch you-"
He eyes her sharply. "I won't betray you. Can you say the same?"
And then he slides his arm from her grasp, and disappears into the corridor.
Katara takes a moment to release a few choice epithets, then she follows suit, stepping out into the hallway.
"Two rights, then a left- no, that's not it," she mutters as she marches down the hallway. Two lefts, then a right.
And there it is. A plain door of thick, sturdy iron. A prison cell in a palace wing. She doesn't know what's inside, but she'll (reluctantly) credit Zuko with this; if she was taking over a government, she'd put her prisoners behind that door, too. There's no breaking through a door like that one.
Two guards stand sentinel, shifting nervously as she approaches.
"Sorry, Captain," a guard says, his voice hollow through his helmet. "No one in or out."
"Move aside."
"But-"
She injects a little more steel into her voice. "Move aside."
"This is highly irregular, Captain. We'll have to report it to our supervisor."
"Report it, then," she says irreverently, and tries not to vomit. "But first, move aside."
They scramble out of the way as she swings the door open with a grating metal noise that rattles inside her helmet. She steps into the room, holding her hand out impatiently to the guards. When they stare at her in perplexity, she wiggles her fingers irritably and says in her most condescending tone, "Keys?"
The keys are promptly deposited into her waiting hand, and she shoots them her fiercest glare as she shuts the door behind her with a 'clang!'
The room is full of prison cells, three, all in a row. All empty, save for the one on the far left. A huddled form, coated in dirt. Skin darkened with soot and ash, save for a few glimpses of bright, sky blue.
Once the cell door opens, she drops to her knees. "Aang," she murmurs, gathering him to her. "Aang."
His eyes don't open; he hangs limply in her arms, head flopping back. He isn't even bound.
They didn't need to, did they? Beneath the thick coating of dirt and soot, the normally golden burnish of his skin has faded to a pale, sickly color. She feels for a pulse. It's weak, shallow. Fading. A thick sheet of dried, flaking blood coats one arm. Quick investigation confirms her grim theory; that deep gash on his arm was never bound. The one that poured blood across her face as he reached for her. They just let the life drain out of him like he was nothing; a lamb meant for slaughter.
She pulls some of the ice frozen to the inside plates of her armor to seal his wound, but she knows it won't be enough. Even with unlimited access to water, it'd take hours to prompt his body to regenerate all that lost blood. The slim glimmer of hope she's kept secretly kindled since falling into darkness dwindles into nothing.
"What do I do?" she murmurs brokenly. "What do I do?"
I'll have to drag him, she thinks despairingly. She'll have to carry him, one arm over her shoulder, dragging long, lifeless limbs down an endless series of hallways and staircases.
If Zuko were still with her, prisoner relocation might have been believable. They could have marched past those guards, Aang between them. For all she knows, they could have marched straight to the rendezvous point. Who knows how far the Royal Guard uniform would have taken them? Who knows how far those privileges extend?
It doesn't matter. She'll drag him to the Southern Air Temple alone, if she has to. She won't leave him here.
Tension between her arms- Aang's head lifts for a moment.
She gasps, sets him on the floor gingerly. Her hands go to his cheek, patting gently, and she calls his name, soft on her tongue.
A groan. Weak, barely a whisper. But it's him, awake, eyes blearily open and stained a sinister red from broken blood vessels.
She kisses him fiercely, his face between her hands, breaths hissing past from the force of it. "I'm here," she says between tears, when they break apart. "I'm here to rescue you."
"Oh, good," he murmurs. "... Thought you were dead." Then, his expression twitches into something almost accusatory. "You let go."
"I didn't let go," she sniffs primly. "You dropped me."
Perhaps it isn't worth mentioning that she would have let go, if it meant saving his life.
But his eyes are closing, again. She can just barely make out his mumbled response. "... I would never..."
She draws him to her. Near death, captured by the Red Lotus, sentenced to be executed in the morning, and still, he uses the last of his energy to make her laugh.
It cuts to a halt when the door clangs open. She whirls to her feet, readying the water beneath her armor.
Another laugh. This time, with despair. With irony.
It's Mai. It's Mai.
Ty Lee, too, and they seep into the room like smoke. Knives fly through the air before Katara can even blink, but she drives a snake-like arm of water across the room to freeze Mai's torso against the wall. Ty Lee tucks under the second strike, steps matching Katara's, each action so simultaneous that she wonders if the girl can read her mind. She spins to fling her water into a razor-sharp pinwheel. It hisses through the air- and then she feels a sharp jab just below both armpits. Her arms dangle uselessly at her sides, and the pinwheel drops to the ground in a splatter.
She swings her right leg in a sloppy kick- her weight strangely distributed with her arms at her side- but there's a crunching sound at the base of her skull, and her eyes go as dark as the chasm she knows lays far beneath her feet.
Katara doesn't quite lose consciousness. The strike was hard enough to disorient her, to keep her from fighting as she's dragged out of Aang's cell and down the long corridor. She's tossed unceremoniously into a plush chair, her arms bound behind her. The use of her arms crawls slowly back to her in increments. She wiggles her fingers, reaching to feel a weak spot in the ropes that bind her.
She squints to acclimate to the cheery brightness of the fire that lights the empty room. Two blurry figures lean casually against either side of the fireplace. Mai and Ty Lee, exchanging strange, unknowable looks.
They're waiting for Azula, surely. Katara sincerely doubts the princess would let her death fall squarely on the shoulders of two non-benders, even if they are her best friends. Not when there's an opportunity to take credit. It doesn't bode well for Katara, either way in no condition to win a battle of wits (or any kind of battle, really). She has one chance- one desperate, fading chance, a chance that will evaporate the moment the princess sets foot in the room.
"He's alive," she blurts to Mai. "Prince Zuko." She wishes it sounded confident, in control, but with panic setting in, it comes out as a hoarse, desperate plea.
Mai's face remains perfectly blank.
"She almost killed him. Did she tell you that?"
The girl still doesn't react, but Katara feels the faintest thrum of success at the concerned furrow in Ty Lee's brow- the horrified, frightened look she directs at Mai.
She presses harder. "He's looking for you-"
She flinches back in surprise when Mai darts across the room, fast as one of her knives. "Be. Quiet."
A jagged hiss, like the edge of broken glass. And for the barest flicker of a moment, the girl's face is a twist of emotion. Grief, fury, fear. And then like a mask, like a painting, she slips back into apathy, stepping back toward the mantle just as the door swings quietly open.
Azula glides in, the sleeves of her robe sweeping the ground. She wears no make-up, and her hair, usually drawn into a tight top-knot, tumbles carelessly like black silk down her shoulders. "I wish you had done this about three hours ago," she complains, settling into the empty chair across from Katara. "I had just fallen asleep."
Katara draws a deep breath- buries her terror- and flashes a winsome smile. "My sincerest apologies. It took me a while to find my way out of the bottomless chasm."
"Let's not be hyperbolic. Obviously, there was a bottom. But, better late than never, I suppose." Azula crosses one leg over the other. "I'm more than a little relieved to see you again, Waterbender. To say I was disappointed when you fell is an understatement. I hoped that placing the Avatar in an easy-to-access holding cell would encourage you to show up again, and I'm happy to see that I was right; I felt genuinely robbed of your death."
"Well, here I am. Untie me, and let's get on with it."
Azula makes a dissatisfied little sound. "If only I could. His Royal Majesty- my father- has a flair for the dramatic. We have some exciting things on our itinerary in the morning. I'll have to do some last-minute rescheduling, but I feel reasonably confident that he'll want to squeeze your execution in." She frowns theatrically, rubs her thumb along her chin as if considering her options. "Tell me, would you rather die before or after the Avatar?"
Katara's heart squeezes painfully in her chest. "Can you give me a few days to think about it?"
"The executioner prefers as much advance notice as possible on such high-profile cases."
"Wow, I can't believe you really think I'm high-profile."
The princess's jaw twitches. "Your banter thrills me."
"One does one's best. So, what now, your Highness? You drag me and Aang out in front of the crowd? Announce to the masses that we're ... What's the charge, exactly?"
"Treasonous," she supplies helpfully.
"We can't be treasonous; we're not Fire Nation subjects."
"Seditious, then."
"That's better. It does bear mentioning that what you've done is considered treason."
Azula twirls a lock of hair around a finger. "It's only treason if we fail, but I can forgive your confusion. The concept of success is foreign to you, no doubt."
"I've made it this far."
"As delighted as that makes me, you won't get any further. Justice, and all that," she adds with a disparaging wave of her hand.
The word 'justice' coming from her mouth bears a perverse sort of irony. "'Justice'? Justice for what?" Katara demands derisively.
The princess lifts a haughty brow. "Why do you think?" Like a teacher, like the patient mentor of an unruly student.
"Roku deposed Azulon-"
"'Deposed'." A scoff. "Is that what your tutors taught you?"
Katara heaves a snort at the word 'tutors'.
"Do you think my grandfather stepped down when Avatar Roku asked him?" Azula demands. "Maybe they had tea afterward? Told each other how so very sorry they were, that things had to happen this way? Shook hands, and went about their day?"
"You wouldn't believe it, but my tutors never mentioned it."
"Avatar Roku murdered Fire Lord Azulon," Azula explains, her voice dangerously low. "He murdered my grandfather, and politicians all around the world stood by like wolves, waiting to fill in the gaps left behind. When the Avatar kills a monarch, it's the rightful dispensing of his sacred duty. When we do it, though-"
"Do you take me for some kind of idiot?" Katara snaps. "Azulon would have torn the world apart. The four nations would probably still be at war- that is, assuming Azulon let the Air Nomads live at all."
"You've been spending time with the Fire Sages."
"Maybe you should."
"The Fire Sages like pretending that things are as simple as good versus evil. My grandfather understood otherwise. There is power, the divine right to rule, and we have a responsibility to take that power for the betterment of mankind. He would have pushed the world into a golden era of prosperity for nearly every nation."
"That 'nearly' has a nasty little tinge of subtext," Katara notes acidly.
"I told you, there's no space in the world we're creating for cowards. Sacrifices must sometimes be made."
"Not by you, apparently."
Azula laughs, cold. "If you think I haven't made my fair share, then you're as foolish as the Fire Sages."
"I weep for you. I'll be weeping all the way up to my execution."
"I suppose you will," the princess demurs, arching her back in a cat-like stretch. "Speaking of, you're interrupting my beauty sleep. I'd really prefer to look my best for tomorrow. Ladies, do you mind? Find her a cell." She stands, and gives Katara one last smile. "See you soon."
Silence follows after the princess glides from the room. Mai and Ty Lee avoid her eyes when they lift her to her feet, drag her back to the block of cells. They toss her roughly into the cell beside Aang; she doesn't allow herself to wonder if it's a kindness, if it's some kind of pity. What does it matter? She'll be dead before she can ask about it.
She lowers herself slowly to the ground, her back against the shared wall of their cells.
He doesn't wake. Doesn't move. All night, she stands a silent vigil, but still, he doesn't move. She'd think he was dead if it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest. Steady. Like him.
It takes an hour or so for the tears to fall. But when they do, they come like the tide. Pressing inward, the inexorable force of failure. She's supposed to be at the rendezsvous point soon; Toph, and Sokka, and the true Fire Lord (and maybe his nephew) are waiting for her, huddled together on Appa's back, hands ready to reach down and pull her into the familiar, worn leather of the saddle. She's supposed to have Aang in her arms, wind ruffling her hair as Appa flies them to the Western Air Temple, all of this nothing more than a memory. A nightmare.
I'm sorry, Sokka.
Sorry for causing a wound that she knows will never heal. Bitterly, she realizes that she's probably getting the better end of the bargain. Death might be sweeter than the knowledge of failure.
Her sobs are choking, wracking her entire body, and she pulls her knees to her chest in a futile attempt to keep it all in. They don't slow until she hears a rustling sound behind her, warmth brushing gently against her lower back. Aang. He shifted, crawling slowly over to lay beside her, his body pressed against the bars to offer the only comfort he's able to give:
If we're going to die, at least we'll be together.
a/n: the chapter title was a real struggle for me. not really sure it fits, for those of you who get the reference, but it is a poem that i always felt was sort of a fitting comparison of aang and katara's relationship. the poem is by Yeats, if anyone wants to check it out.
one chapter and an "epilogue" left. the quotes are intentional :)