epilogue
Even from this distance, Katara feels dwarfed by the pillar of dust and smoke rising from the ruins of the Fire Nation Royal Palace. She clutches Aang closer.
Her red-rimmed eyes shift to the seaward horizon, sunlight reflecting off the rolling waves of open ocean. Bright lights spark flashes of images- moments in time far too recent to call 'memories'.
Aang dropping to his knees in the dirt, eyes flickering from blinding white to storm gray like an extinguished candle- Katara frantically dragging him up Appa's tail, breathing intermingled with her panicked sobs. The Fire Nation soldiers fled, but Ozai would drive them back soon. One sky bison against an army? She'd heard Ozai roaring orders to stand and fight, even as his soldiers sprinted past him.
Zuko guiding her out of the way, pulling Aang onto Appa's worn leather saddle. Mai at his heels, eyes wide and darting at the sight of Azula, still crumpled at the bottom of a pillar in one corner of the courtyard.
The red dirt of that same courtyard falling away beneath them as Appa lifted off the ground, and put the Fire Nation to his back.
She shakes the images away, and her head drops low again. One more time, just to be sure. A hand slides beneath the tattered remains of Aang's kasaya to find his heartbeat. "He's okay," she calls wearily to Sokka, who sits between Appa's curving horns with a grim look on his face. "He's just drained. He needs rest."
Sokka nods brusquely, turns forward, snapping the bison's reins with the 'crack!' of supple leather.
"Where are we going?" Zuko asks above the wind.
Sokka spares him the briefest glance. "To pick up Iroh and Toph. Then, we're getting out of here."
The answer is good enough for Zuko. His lips press shut, and the weight of everything that happened rushes forward, crushing them beneath it. No one has the strength- or the will- to speak over the blustering wind. Silence falls, heavy.
They fly the entire day, and late into the night, until finally, a huge island emerges from the ocean haze. Sokka lowers Appa to a grassy dell surrounded on three sides by huge gray stones, jutting from the grass like giant's teeth. The place has a forboding feel to it. It's empty of all signs of life; human, even animal. No rodents skitter through the grass. No birds fly overhead.
"It'll do for the night," Sokka grunts when he sees Katara's frown. "We'll need the light of day to find the Western Air Temple- especially if Aang doesn't wake soon. And no fires," he orders the group. "The Fire Navy will see the smoke from miles away."
Even with a prince and the sovereign of a nation among them, Sokka seamlessly assumes the role of the group's de facto leader. All eyes follow him as he lifts Toph into his arms, sliding smoothly down Appa's tail. Katara attempts to drag Aang down the same way, but Zuko stops her with a weary hand. He drapes Aang over his shoulders, sliding with less ease than Sokka, but still surprisingly graceful. Katara takes Aang from him the moment her feet meet solid ground, tucking into a little corner formed by two leaning stones. With Aang resting against her chest, she watches warily as the others settle in for the evening.
Eventually, the bustling noise of their makeshift camp falls silent. Toph's face warps into a grimace, her body stiff as she tries not to jostle her half-healed leg. Sokka huddles in the grass nearby, tossing and turning every few minutes. Zuko and Mai lay wrapped in each other's arms. Their breathing is even, but Katara knows they're awake, and Iroh, too, his golden eyes pointed at the blanket of silvery stars wheeling overhead.
Hours pass this way, each of them slowly dropping into uneasy sleep, until at last, no one remains but Katara. She's still standing her silent vigil when Aang's eyes finally flutter open, mirror images of the full moon high overhead.
"Where are we?" he mumbles, sitting up slowly.
"Near the Western Air Temple," Katara answers. Her voice is hushed against the chill air.
Aang nods. His shoulders are hunched. A strained tension there- a vein flickers at his temple, but he doesn't say anything. Just glances around, takes in the troubled faces of the sleeping survivors, his own expression guarded.
When he finally turns to her, she senses his reluctant curiosity. Like he'd rather not ask the question at the tip of his tongue, but feels obligated, anyway. "How'd we get here? The last I remember..." He trails off, eyes dropping to his hands laying lifeless in his lap.
"Sokka. And Appa," she replies when he doesn't elaborate. "They ran off the soldiers. Gave us enough time to escape. We picked up Toph and Iroh, and sailed here."
He doesn't answer for a while, staring instead at Zuko, and Mai tucked beneath his arm.
"We wouldn't have survived without her. Or him, I guess," she adds in a begrudging grumble.
"We're lucky anyone survived at all."
His tone is bitter- no, it's poisonous. Not a statement about their good fortune, the mixed sequence of events that has them hidden safely away between a jumble of stones, a hundred miles from the Red Lotus. She can hear it in the rough undertone, the burr of pain and fear and guilt.
"Aang," she murmurs, reaching for him. "It wasn't your fault-"
He pulls away sharply. Rests his elbows on his knees, drops his head into his hands. His knuckles are white with tension where they press into his skull. "Whose, then?"
Her brows furrow, but he speaks again before she can answer.
"How many people did I kill in that courtyard, Katara?" he asks, a hollow whisper. "How many were innocent?" His shoulders climb, his body curling inward with a weight she can feel just by looking at him. "How many will die because I failed? Because the Avatar didn't do enough- because I wasn't enough?"
Alarmed, she draws his hands away from his face. Peers into his eyes- glares. "What else could you have done, Aang? What more? We weren't meant to survive, but we did. We'll come back. We'll end the Red Lotus, and Ozai's regime. You can't give up, Aang. The Avatar..."
Her mouth opens and closes in a silent search for the right words. The Avatar is a beacon of hope. A symbol of strength. When he looks up at her miserably, though, she doesn't see the Avatar. She sees Aang. Aang, who holds her heart between calloused hands. Aang, who would have died alone in a cold stone cell, just to keep her safe. Aang, who would have watched her leave him behind, if it meant she'd live a little longer.
The Avatar would have crushed her beneath slabs of stone to raze their enemies to the ground, and as each moment passes, it grows harder and harder to reconcile the man she loves with the legend he is forced to be.
No, the Avatar isn't Aang. They are two entities at war with their very own nature. She can see Aang's heart breaking for the lives he took- even the ones that hurt him- while the Avatar dutifully looks to the ones who must fall next.
Katara takes his face in her hands. "Their deaths won't be for nothing," she vows.
"They're already for nothing," he answers brokenly, and collapses into her arms, his shoulders heaving with silent tears, sobs that he shutters deep in the hollow of his chest. His hands grip her tattered sleeves, and his tears wet the sturdy linen of her stolen Royal Guard uniform.
And she just holds him. She doesn't speak; he's not ready to hear what she has to say, not like this. The Avatar can't bring life back. The Avatar is just a symbol, one that shattered under the morning sun in the Fire Nation Palace's courtyard. The Avatar can't redeem these mistakes.
But she knows in the deepest confines of her soul that Aang can.
And the truth is, by the end of all this, it'll be Katara that needs redemption. Because sitting under the stars now, with the man she loves weeping in her arms, Katara knows that she'd send Ozai, Azula, and the entirety of the Red Lotus to the Spirit World for the things they've done.
Beneath a high stone shelf, hundreds of meters above the sea, hangs the Western Air Temple. Great tiered towers drop precariously downward, their roofs pointing to the churning water, far below. Here and there, Airbenders shield their eyes from a blinding sunrise as Aang sails Appa through a heavy bank of fog to an empty platform. The moment the bison settles his massive weight on cold stone, they are swarmed by women and animals alike. Airbender nuns drawing closer, curiosity overcoming decorum, lemurs chittering and sky bison lowing in cautious greeting. Nuns' hands fly to open mouths in shock at the sight of them; ashen, soot-covered, half-healed wounds that would make even the most grizzled of warriors wince.
A young girl leads them down an open corridor, buffeted occasionally by gusts of wind that sends their hair swirling. They pass great rooms with huge windows, bright murals painted with a steady hand; many sky bison flying over sky-blue expanses, lemurs lounging in fruit-bearing trees. Benevolent nuns offering gentle smiles. Warm, kind, welcoming.
When the girl leads them into wide, low chamber, the faces of the Western Temple Elders are grim and solemn, a far cry from the paintings on the walls.
Three women sit in the center of a room on low chairs woven from plant fiber. Their kasayas rustle softly, and their forehead tattoos- sky blue arrows, like Aang's- are on prominent display below high, plucked foreheads. Their eyes flash gray, but their expressions break with relief when Aang steps wearily forward.
He bows to each of them, dropping to his knees before the woman in the middle. She is perhaps fifty, with gray streaks in her lustrous black hair and wrinkles at the corner of simmering eyes. A commanding beauty that controls the room with her gaze alone.
"High Elder Samaya," Aang greets respectfully. He turns to the other two. "Elder Kalsang, Elder Dalha."
High Elder Samaya dips her chin. "Avatar Aang. We welcome you."
The rest of the party- Sokka, Toph, Katara, even Iroh, Zuko, and Mai, follow Aang's lead, dropping gingerly to the stone floor.
Samaya's eyes light on Iroh. "Fire Lord Iroh; you honor us. And Prince Zuko, too- it has been many years since I last saw you, your Highness." She glances around. "I'm afraid I don't recognize the others."
"They're of a similar eminence, High Elder," Aang replies.
Elder Kalsang frowns, deepening many wrinkles. "I can see by your faces that you bring grave news."
He nods, solemn.
All three women make a strange sign with the fingers of their right hand- their thumb and two middle fingers touching, pointer and little fingers upright, and they push the symbol outward from their chest. A warding sign against evil.
"Speak," Samaya orders.
Aang draws a deep breath. Looks to Katara for reassurance. She nods once, and then the last two days- the last year- unfold before them, the tragic story of murder and intrigue and missed signs. An overthrown king and a regime bent on bringing the world to heel. When Aang falls silent, the Elders exchange a dark, lingering look.
Elder Dalha speaks. Her voice is soft; Katara strains to hear her. "These are ill tidings, and we mourn with you, Fire Lord Iroh. But, your Holiness, I fear I must ask: what would you have us do? Why did you come to us? We have no formal military, as you already know."
"We seek shelter," Aang explains quickly. "Safe haven, while we decide what to do next."
"Seldom do we thank the Spirits for ample time," Samaya says. "Will the Fire Nation wait while you recover from your injuries, grievous as they are?"
When Aang falters, Sokka speaks up, his chin lifting confidently. "We don't intend to wait. In fact, we have no time to lose. My sister says that Ozai intends to march on the other nations- the Air Nation in particular. The Western Air Temple will likely be the first on the warpath. You must prepare your people, High Elder."
Samaya turns the full force of her commanding gaze on him. "Your name?"
"Sokka, son of Steward Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe."
"Famously formidable warriors, the Southern Water Tribe," the High Elder notes. "But, I fear my people are not like yours. We do not fold in the face of adversity, but neither do we seek battle outright."
"I'm afraid you won't have to seek it at all, High Elder," Sokka replies grimly. "The Fire Nation will bring the fight to you. They'll bring it to everyone."
"Which leads us to our next point," Aang says, finding his voice again. "We have to warn the other Temples, the Water Tribes, and the Earth Kingdom as soon as possible."
Samaya nods once. "In this, we can help you. I offer our fastest bison to bring you safely to your destinations."
"I appreciate your generosity, High Elder Samaya, but simply informing the other nations isn't enough. This is a global crisis; we need to decide together how to proceed."
"A summit," Elder Kalsang murmurs. "A meeting of the nations."
Aang nods confirmation. "I suggest Gaoling. A central meeting point in the Earth Kingdom."
"Do you suggest that each nation is incapable of handling this threat on their own?" Dalha asks with a raised brow.
At this, Iroh clears his throat. "The Fire Nation's army and navy are the strongest in the world, a formidable fighting force. They pose a great threat to any nation, and Ozai hates your people most especially." The true Fire Lord falls silent for a moment, his eyes on the dark gray of the swept stone floor. "Individually, each of the other nations would be hard-pressed to successfully rebuff an occupational Fire Nation force."
Samaya considers this grimly. "A summit, then, to discuss a unified military response in the event of attempted Fire Nation occupation. One wonders why your nation would be prepared to mount such an assault during times of peace, Fire Lord Iroh, but I suppose that isn't the question at hand." She stands slowly, straightening to a startling height. "Who will go, then? As in any crisis, you may face fierce opposition from leaders who stand to gain from Ozai's success. You must be intelligent in your choice of representatives."
"I'll go to the North Pole," Sokka volunteers. "I spent a couple years with some of their upcoming military minds. They know me, and they trust me. I can stop at Ba Sing Se on the way to Gaoling. Toph and Fire Lord Iroh- you should come with me. First-hand accounts and his Majesty's personal appeal might be enough to convince them to join us; the North Pole and Ba Sing Se have a tendency to stay neutral during global conflicts."
Dalha inclines her head. "I will go to the Eastern and Northern Air Temples. I've spent much time in both places; they will trust my word."
"I'll go to the Southern Air Temple," Aang offers. "And to the South Pole, after that. Katara can come with me; she is also a child of Steward Hakoda. We'll stop in Omashu on the way up to Gaoling."
"And, what Fire Nation representative shall you take with you?" Samaya asks. "Perhaps Prince Zuko-"
"No," Katara interjects loudly. All the eyes in the room slide warily to her. "Forgive me, High Elder," she mutters, embarrassed. "I only meant... Well, it's complicated."
Zuko scowls deeply, but his uncle interjects on his behalf. "Sokka tells me that Zuko stood with you against my brother and niece. I understand your reticence, Master Katara, but Zuko has chosen a side. He stands with me- with us. As the last surviving true Prince of the Fire Nation-" Iroh sets his jaw against the pain those words cause him, draws a deep breath- "his role is as important as mine. Perhaps, even more so."
"How?"
"Avatar Aang cannot hope to defeat my brother and niece without full mastery of the elements," Iroh replies. "Prince Zuko is a Master Firebender who can act as a representative of the true sovereign of the Fire Nation. He should go with you; as Aang's Firebending Master, and as my voice, when I am occupied elsewhere."
Katara shakes her head, open-mouthed. Take Zuko with them? Zuko- who all but abandoned her in the palace? Who threatened to kill her, at the lakeside in the catacombs? The man has a history of changing sides when it suits him- and she's supposed to allow him unimpeded access to Aang, as a mentor?
But when she turns to Aang, sees the resigned frown on his face, she knows. Knows that Aang sees the logic in Iroh's argument- the logic she's pointedly ignoring. Her eyes dart to Zuko, to the stupid, stupefied expression on his face. He points to himself in shock, brow furrowed, as if to say, 'Me, really?'
Somehow, he's the only one in the room making any sense.
Aang glides to him, standing over the kneeling Firebender. "We can't afford indecision," he warns, but his face is weary, and his tone doesn't match the bite of his words. "We can't afford mistakes, or shifting allegiances. I accept you as my Firebending Master- but only if you accept it, too. Of your own volition, and without reservation."
Zuko's eyes dart to Mai, to his uncle, back to Aang. To Katara, with her expression bleak and her arms crossed over her chest. When their eyes meet, she can see indecision at war in his. "I accept," he announces finally, his gravel-burred voice scarcely above a whisper.
"It's decided, then," Samaya says. "We will leave at first light tomorrow morning."
They're each assigned rooms for the night- sparsely decorated, but the linens are soft, and none of them have seen a bed in days. Aang drops into a deep meditative state the moment the nun steps from his room with a bow, and Katara can't blame him. A hastily organized plan lay ahead, and after the events of the last few days, maintaining a clear mind is essential. She'd venture to say that Aang isn't the only one that should be meditating, but the thought of contemplating the uncertain future leaves her breath short in her ribs, her heart pounding until the room starts to spin. She chooses to distract herself with something else. Anything else.
She knocks on Sokka's door instead, a sturdy earthenware jug of water balanced on one hip.
Sokka's expression is bleary, pillow lines already on his face, but he wordlessly welcomes her into the room. Makes space for her to slip between him and the door frame before settling on the edge of his bed. She uncorks the jar, streaming water into her open palm, sinks it gently into his cheek. Winces in sympathy when he groans, but it doesn't take long for his skin to begin to knit slowly back together. With unrestricted access to water, she makes quick work of the mired mess of a half-healed wound that traces down the right side of his face.
But when the wound is healed- when there's nothing left but pale pink lines of scar tissue that will take years to fade- she hovers uncomfortably. Struggles to find the words. Swallows the wave of nausea that crashes over her at the thought of her brother, leaving.
He saves her the trouble. "I don't like it either."
"Then let's stay together," she pleads. She hates the way it sounds; whiny, fussy. A child again, begging him not to go on hunting trips with their father and Bato. Begging him not to leave her behind. "We don't have to separate; we'll just do one at a time-"
"That would take months. Maybe the whole year," Sokka objects gently. "The other nations have to be warned. We need to decide together how to face this threat, and it needs to be sooner, not later."
She knows he's right. It doesn't make it any easier, so she bites her lip, squints to keep that prickling feeling behind her eyes at bay. Grits her teeth the way she used to when she was little, watching Sokka walk at their father's side, fading behind drifts of snow. It hurts the same way, even though he's sitting right next to her, and she forces herself to remember that he always came back for her. From the hunts. From his time in the North Pole. Even from the blackened tunnels of secret catacombs, or the red dirt of a ruined courtyard.
"I don't want to leave you," he says. His eyes are on his hands. "I'm afraid, too."
"I know." She wraps her arms around him, leans her head against his shoulder. "But I'll see you again. In Gaoling."
A deep breath, the squaring of sturdy shoulders. "In Gaoling."
Toph's goodbye is a little easier to bear. The Earthbender waves off any tears or words of affection, or promises that they'll see each other again. Instead, she jokes and waggles her eyebrows, making bets on how many fights it'll take between Katara and Zuko before the prince figures out how to get the upper hand.
Katara snorts derisively at that, rolling her eyes as she knits together the bone fibers of Toph's broken shin. "There aren't enough fights in the world to give him the upper hand."
"He's a quick study, and you've got a foul temper," Toph says, grinning. "He'll find a way to give you a run for your money."
"We'll see."
But the conversation to falters, stutters into silence, and even the bull-headed strength of Toph's bravado can't hide the fact that this is likely the last time they'll see each other for months. Miles and miles between them, and Red Lotus assassins, too.
"Watch Aang's back," Toph mutters finally. She has one arm behind her head, feigning nonchalance, but there's an undercurrent of urgency that she can't keep hidden.
"I will. Watch out for yourself, and Sokka," Katara says. "I'd better see you both in one piece in Gaoling."
A casual shrug. "More or less."
"More, preferably."
Toph laughs, but the worry lines between her brows don't fade.
Katara finishes her healing, wiping her hand on the leg of her pants. "Toph..." She clears her throat. "You still need to be careful with that leg. Without a Healer, it'll take another couple weeks to mend. Don't do anything stupid just because it makes you look tough."
"Me? I would never."
Katara says her goodbyes before tears threaten to fall again. Sweeps Toph into one quick, abrupt hug, and lets her go just as quickly, and then, that's it. The last time she'll see Toph or her brother until Gaoling. Her eyes tilt skyward, and she releases a quiet prayer to the Spirits.
Bring them back safely, she prays. Bring them back to me.
Katara spends the rest of the afternoon wandering, a slow, absent-minded exploration of the temple. She knows she should rest- she told both Sokka and Toph the same thing- but the idea of it makes her jaw clench. Nightmares wait for her eyes to close. Memories, still too near. Aang's lifeless body in a dark cell, his hands bound above his head, a Fire Nation executioner positioned to send a blast of flame through his chest. Falling into nothingness.
She's so lost in thought that she doesn't notice Mai, slinking in the shadows cast by the sun reaching the far horizon. When Mai reaches out to tap her on the shoulder, she flinches, reaching for water that isn't there, memories flashing like fireflies. It takes a moment for her breathing to even out.
"What do you want?" she demands harshly. Diplomacy is likely the key here; Mai saved her life, and she's a new traveling companion. But with Katara's heart only now slowing in her chest, she can't find it in herself to be polite.
The girl seems unbothered, her expression blank as ever. "It's... Zuko."
"What about him?"
Mai regards her, honey eyes reflecting the sunset. "He isn't what you think," she murmurs finally. "If you had a choice between the Avatar's life, or Azula's, who would you choose?"
Katara falters in surprise, but her expression quickly shifts to a lifted brow. The question was unexpected, but the answer is obvious. She'd choose Aang a thousand times over.
"People think scenarios like that don't really happen- at least, not to them," Mai continues. "And when it does happen, it starts small; you take a man's job, because you could do it better. You evict a family, because you want their house, their property. Do they work as hard as you? Do they deserve it, like you do? Then all the sudden, you're weighing lives like coins on a scale, all logic and balance, and emotion doesn't have anything to do with it anymore. It started small, for me, too; I was eight years old when Azula, Ty Lee, and I became friends. I didn't know what was happening until I was in too deep."
"Do you want me to feel sorry for you?" Katara demands. "For me to forgive you and Zuko for the things you've done? Let me guess: you were only doing what you were told?"
"I don't care what you feel about me," Mai answers flatly. "But, don't hold it against him. I made my choices. I could have turned away at any time. Azula might have been disappointed, or angry- maybe she'd take away my father's promotion, or remove my brother's application to the Fire Academy. But Zuko was born into it, and you couldn't possibly understand what that meant for him."
Katara's eyes harden. "He could have left just as easily as you could have."
"You've never seen the way someone's eyes gleam when they ask you who else will take you in, after everything you've done," Mai says. "You've never seen the way they take comfort in the horrors you've committed, too. Azula had her plans, her schemes, her regimes. But everything I did, I did for Zuko. To protect him." Her eyes meet Katara's, a dangerous challenge. "I'll take down anyone that puts him in harm's way. Right now, that's the Red Lotus, but they're not the only ones I'm watching. Sometimes it's the closet knife that cuts deepest, and if it comes to it- if it's Zuko, or someone else- I promise you, I'll cut first. That's what Zuko means to me- and you know I'm telling the truth when I say that I've done far worse, for far less."
Katara's chin lift dangerously. "You're not the only one with someone to protect. I make the same vow to you."
Mai stares, eyes assessing, until finally, her lips flick upward for the briefest moment in the bare hint of a smile. "Good."
A sharp, cautious nod, and Mai disappears again, melting into shadows.
Katara spends the rest of the evening in her room. Keeping busy, first. Washing the soot and dirt from her skin, scrubbing until she's red and raw, and the nearby basin of water is stained an ugly brown. Then, healing minor wounds; a cut on her knuckle, several burns on the backs of her calves from Azula's lightning. Discarding the tattered base layer of her stolen Royal Guard uniform and changing into the soft woven trousers and short kasaya that sat folded neatly at the corner of her bed when she returned from her unsettling conversation with Mai. The conversation she's doing everything in her power not to think about.
She cards her fingers through the smooth silk of the kasaya- a soft, buttery yellow that she fears will clash horribly with her skin, but is pleasantly surprised when she tugs it on. It gives her a soft, warm glow. Reminds her of Aang, meditating under the late afternoon sun. Happier times, when she'd toss her bedroll nearby to study Waterbending scrolls or peruse a book on local herb lore while she listened to the steadiness of breathing, barely heard over wind rustling through tall grass and wildflowers. When she and Aang bounced from city to city, and the Red Lotus was a distant threat. Annoying, disorganized- an occasional inconvenience, and little more.
Her stomach clenches uncomfortably. A bolt of realization at how things have changed- how the Red Lotus has upended everything. Even travel will be different. No more sleeping safely in the dimly lit circle of a dying campfire, or dropping into a city square, waiting for a warm welcome and an offer to stay at the nearby inn.
We'll have to take watches through the night, she thinks grimly. To keep an eye out for the Red Lotus, and to keep an eye on Zuko and Mai, too. Tenuous understanding or not, Katara doesn't trust either of them one bit. She forces herself to accept the necessity of their company. Aang needs to learn Firebending; that doesn't make her comfortable with the idea. Doesn't make her trust them. Necessity has driven many deals, and just as many have failed, anyway.
A clattering sound in the room next door. The shattering of a pot or vase. Her stomach drops to her toes when she realizes that the sound came from Aang's room. She bolts from her room, shouldering her way through his door with the slam of wood against stone.
Aang starts with surprise, but his eyes shift quickly to guilt. He's on his knees, lifted, like he's about to stand, one hand resting on a nearby table. Across the room, a vase lay in pieces on the floor, the stain of white powdery dust obscuring a small section of the mural that covers one wall.
She doesn't need to ask what happened. She can see it in the curling of his fingers by his side, in the tinge of pink on his cheeks; anger, and shame. Without looking at him, she glides over to the shattered pieces, scooping them carefully into her hands.
"No- Katara, don't," Aang protests.
A gust of wind ruffles her hair, and she can feel his warmth behind her. She straightens, the pieces tucked against her chest. "It's okay," she murmurs.
"I don't need you to clean up my messes."
There it is again; that anger, that shame. He says it sharply, and his eyes don't meet hers, and she knows he's not talking about shattered pottery. She brushes gently past him, tipping the pieces into a waste bin before turning to face him again. Carefully, she weighs the words on the tip of her tongue.
What to say to him? That it's alright, she doesn't mind cleaning up his messes? That the Red Lotus isn't his mess- and to assume sole responsibility in fixing it is both dangerous and arrogant?
Failure- the feeling of it, the vicious, pervasive smoke of it- never distributes itself evenly. People who should claim responsibility rarely do, and others take more than their fair share. And there stands Aang, his breathing heavy with emotion, his eyes almost black in the shadows of his room, his shoulders tense under the weight of all the failure he's claimed, all for himself.
"It's just a pot," she mutters after a moment. "Just hardened clay. Sometimes they break."
"Then, I'll fix it myself," he replies, almost savage. "I don't need you to do it for me."
"Accidents happen. You don't have to pick up the pieces alone."
His teeth clench. "It wasn't an accident. I threw it."
"Why?"
"Because... because..." His fists clench at his sides. "Because I can't fly back to the Fire Nation- can't reclaim their throne. I can't bring back the dead. I can't go back in time and disband the Red Lotus before it could even begin. But I can break - that - vase. I can fling it against the wall, watch it explode into a hundred pieces. I can be in control for the moment. I can even fix it," he adds with a weak, deranged little laugh.
He stomps his foot on the ground, and the pieces of the pot lift from the waste bin into the air, hovering, spinning slowly, rearranging itself into the form of the vase before it was broken. He holds one open palm up, and closes his hand gently into a fist. The pieces seal together, fracture lines disappearing like water seeping into dirt.
Katara steps forward to take it between her hands, inspecting it for a moment before setting it gently on the table. "A nation isn't a vase, Aang. It doesn't sit, untouched and unmoving, when the room is empty. The pieces don't lay on the floor where they fell."
"What's your point?"
"That vase was shattered before we even arrived," she says. "Iroh was the glue holding it together, but water was leaking from it like a sieve. The Red Lotus pushed it over the edge."
He turns away, the silk of his kasaya fluttering with the force of it. "And, so? It's my responsibility to maintain balance. The Red Lotus has control of the Fire Nation, and now, Ozai wants to start a war. Thousands more might die- because I ran."
"So, you want to distribute blame?" Katara demands. "Fine, let's distribute blame. Hama killed Lu Ten, because Azula manipulated her. Ozai overthrew his own brother. I dragged you into Appa's saddle. You didn't run; I took you away, and any deaths that might happen will be at Ozai's hands, not yours. If you're going to assign blame, at least do it properly."
He leans forward, one forearm resting against the stone wall, his forehead resting just below it. His voice is muffled when he finally responds. "And what about what I did in the courtyard? What about all the people that are dead, because of me?"
Katara spreads her hands helplessly. "I don't have an answer for that, Aang. I wish I did."
He spins to face her. "Neither do I, and it's killing me, Katara. If I had all the time in the world, I couldn't fix all the ways that I failed."
"The Avatar State wasn't a choice, Aang," she says, taking his face in her hands. "Would you have done it, if Ozai and Azula hadn't forced you into it? Would any of this happened, if it wasn't for them?"
"I can't keep blaming this on them," he insists, his hands curling around her wrists. They squeeze tightly, like he isn't sure if he wants to pull her closer, or push her away. "I... you... I held it back as long as I could, but I wanted to do it, hours before. When Azula first attacked, at the festival grounds, I was fighting it, and then.. I thought they killed you." His voice breaks, his eyes line in red. "I'm glad I was unconscious in that cell. Who knows what I would have done if I had been awake?"
"You'd have done what was needed," she replies, fervent. "You'd have done the right thing. I believe that, Aang."
His expression crumples, then hardens. His brows furrow- the emotions battling in the lines of his face. "How can you still think that?" he asks, broken. "After everything that's happened?"
Her thumb swipes at a tear trailing down his cheek. "Because I trust you," she says. "Because I know you. I wouldn't wish your burden on anyone, but if someone has to shoulder it... I'm glad it's you."
He stares at her, a long moment where she thinks he's going to turn away again. Then, the bare hint of his crooked smile. "Sometimes- a lot of times- I wish it was someone else," he says with a weak, desolate laugh, his head dropping onto her shoulder. "Anyone else."
She scratches soothingly along the back of his neck. "Toph?" she asks, gently teasing.
"She'd make quicker work of the Red Lotus than I ever could."
"Sokka? Gyatso?"
He chuckles again, the soft shudder of his body against hers. "Great options. Better options."
"There is no better option," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. "And I'll follow you, whatever you do next."
He doesn't answer. Just enfolds her in his arms, kisses her forehead. Holds her close for a long time, and it's there, between his arms, that the sleepless nights catch up with her. She rests limply against his chest, drowsing with exhaustion and emotion and the steady warmth of him, until finally, finally, he drags her to bed, and they fall asleep tangled in each other's arms.
In the blackest hours of the night, she wakes again. Her head is pillowed against Aang's chest, and by his breathing, she can feel that he's awake. Lost in thought, or in memory- or the weight of what's to come. But when she leans forward to press her lips to his, he responds, his arms wrapping around her, hands sliding beneath the rustling silk of her borrowed kasaya. The kasaya makes that same rustling sound when it flutters to the floor in a pool of yellow.
When she rolls over him, she repaints the images she held close on that palace balcony, the last thing she promised herself to see when death found her. His head tilts back, his lips part, a sigh, a groan- she'd think it was pain if she didn't know the sound and shape of him. She moves- they move together, her hands kneading, chasing away (just for a little while) the remnants of anguish that he'll likely carry for the rest of his days. He surges forward to nip gently at her collarbone, hands climbing, dragging up her thighs to grasp at the fullness of her hips. He murmurs something low, something she can't quite make out- but the words are pressed against against her lips and he doesn't need to speak aloud to make her understand, anyway. When she leans him back and trails her hands against the column of his neck, he sinks deeper into soft linen sheets, gray eyes closed behind a fringe of black lashes that rest against his cheeks.
And they fall together, sinking deeper and deeper until that pull is gone and they float, weightless in the cosmos again. Their hands intertwined, and their limbs, too, the hush of skin on skin, on and on until the only thing left is the echo of the words Aang whispered into the dark, when he didn't feel so alone.
The sun is rising as Appa sails away from the Western Air Temple. Zuko and Mai huddle in the far corner of Appa's saddle, but Katara prefers it that way, anyway. She nestles against Aang's shoulder as he guides Appa southward. To the Southern Water Tribe; the first in a long line of steps that will guide them away from chaos, and back to balance. She keeps her eyes firmly fixed southward, avoiding at all costs the hint of rising smoke that she can only barely make out, far to the southwest.
But when her eyes dart to Aang, she sees him looking over his shoulder, his lips pursed together as Appa puts the Fire Nation far behind them.
Her hand rests comfortingly on his arm. She knows that look on his face; determination and fear and guilt and anger.
"I'll come back," he promises, a whisper for the people left behind on those tropical islands, beneath columns of smoke. The exhalation of machines of war.
She watches as the guilt and anger fall away, as his jaw sets and his brows tilt downward with the weight of his promise. And she promises, too, even if she doesn't say the words aloud. To return- at his heels, or leading from the front. Whatever she needs to do to heal the four nations, and the man she loves.
She squeezes his hand tightly, and he says it again, louder this time. "I'll come back."
A/N: alrighty, full disclosure: I don't know if I made the right literary choices here, dragging this story out. This is probably the least confident I've ever felt about a final chapter. I didn't feel like this story could be concluded in one part without feeling clunky, and selfishly, I wasn't ready to let this Katara and this Aang go. Aside from my own lack of confidence, this has absolutely been one of the most wholesome writing experiences for me, I've gotten such amazing feedback and I'm so beyond appreciative for everybody who stuck with me. Here's the good news: for those of you that didn't feel like this story is overdone, I'm diving immediately into writing the next part. I have good momentum, and I don't want to wait. So- keep your eyes out :) and thank you again