best laid plans
"Look what you did," Aang grumbles reproachfully over High Sage Kaja's prostrated form. "You made him feel bad."
The High Sage groans, gutteral.
"Maybe he should," Sokka replies. "That mistake was costly."
"We don't know that it's because of-"
Blue eyes harden to agates. "We don't know anything- except that there are five entities worldwide that receive updates on your location, but only four of them are sworn to your service with an oath they take for life."
Katara helps Kaja to his feet. A moment ago, she was furious, but now? Now it seems more like a mistake. A fortuitous one, really; the margins of their search are now significantly narrower. "Tell me, Kaja," she asks gently. "How did the Royal Family learn this secret language in the first place?"
The elderly man sniffles, allows her to guide him into an open seat. "It is common knowledge, of course, that his Holiness, Avatar Roku, was a dear friend to the Royal Family."
"Is that common knowledge?" Sokka asks dryly. "He did depose Fire Lord Azulon."
Kaja shoots Sokka a withering look. A relief, really. If he's well enough to scowl, he's well enough to stop sniveling. Wordlessly, Katara prompts him to continue.
"Fire Lord Sozin, Azulon's father, was a mentor and guide to Avatar Roku," Kaja explains, his back stiff. "He was Avatar Roku's Firebending Master, before he assumed the throne."
Katara's brows raise; even Sokka releases a whistle.
The High Sage grunts approvingly at their surprise. "The two became quite close. When Azulon was born, Avatar Roku was among the first to welcome the child into the world."
Sokka wrinkles his nose. "I'm guessing they had a falling out?"
"Indeed. That part is ancient history, as they say. Somewhere along the line, Azulon began operating under the dangerously misguided principles of Fire Nation supremacy. His Holiness came here often during those troubled years, to meditate, to seek counsel from past Avatars, and from the Fire Sages themselves." Kaja's chest puffs proudly. "I myself was among those who urged his Holiness to remove Azulon from power, so great was the sickness of his reign. It broke his Holiness's heart to do it; Azulon was like his own son."
Aang sighs deeply.
"The best we can figure," the High Sage muses, "it was some years after Sozin assumed the role of Firebending Master to Avatar Roku that he learned the secret language- possibly taught by Avatar Roku himself. His Holiness was an adept. It's not hard to guess where Azulon might have learned it."
Sokka frowns. "And you didn't think that after Azulon's deposition, you should stop notifying the Royal Family of the Avatar's whereabouts?"
"We did stop. All the elemental temples keep the names and locations of new Avatars discrete until they come of age, for their own safety. The Red Lotus isn't the first entity to harbor a personal vendetta."
"And, when Aang came of age?"
Kaja gives him a strange look- half guilty, half accusatory. "Iroh isn't Azulon. He's a good man; as is his son, Lu Ten. Two years ago, when his Holiness, Avatar Aang, began traveling the world in earnest, Fire Lord Iroh asked if we could once more extend the hand of friendship, and re-establish old lines of communication. We debated long, but given Iroh's good nature and history, well..."
A shift in weight, the shrewd narrowing of Sokka's fiercely blue eyes. "Iroh asked?"
"Well, I don't- the Fire Lord is a busy man," Kaja splutters, fidgeting with the collar of his maroon robes. "You can hardly expect him to personally draft every letter of state-"
Aang stands, grasps Kaja's shoulder comfortingly. "It's alright, Kaja. Spirits know I've only helped the Red Lotus by making myself an easy target. But, in the future, if you don't mind notifying me of any inclusions...?"
At this, Kaja slides from the chair to prostrate himself on the floor once again, over Aang's protests. "We beg your holy forgiveness, Avatar Aang."
"You have it," he sighs, "but only if you get up."
Katara packs her bags, while Toph lounges idly in the center of her bed, filthy feet resting on Katara's crisp, white pillow.
"So, the High Sages have been tattling on Aang this entire time?" The Earthbender cackles at the irony, kicking her feet and smearing the pillow with dirt. "Was Kaja beside himself?"
"He wouldn't stop groveling."
The Earthbender folds her arms behind her head, smiling impishly.
"Don't look so smug about it," Katara chides. "It was a mistake, and he feels terrible."
"Well, maybe he should. Didn't you almost die?"
"You sound like Sokka."
A dismissive shrug. "Sokka's a smart guy."
"I don't know if we can really place blame on the High Sages for that, anyway; our visit to Ba Sing Se was very public, and we were there for weeks. We made plenty of our own mistakes without the High Sages' help." Katara sighs. "Long enough for them to find us and mount an attack on their own."
"Long enough for a lot of things," Toph snickers, impish again. Her smile fades, though, replaced with a look of worry that Katara can tell she isn't accustomed to feeling. "Katara, you and Aang... The Red Lotus-"
Katara leans forward to grasp Toph's hand reassuringly. She squeezes back after a moment, and Katara resumes her packing. What else need be said? She and Aang knew the danger long before their last night in the city. She's never considered herself a fool for loving him, but now she wonders if perhaps they're both fools, for giving the Red Lotus something to sink their teeth into. What better way to end the life of a holy entity than to use the woman he...
Loves? Katara wonders. He's never said it; neither has she, at least, not aloud. It hardly matters to the Red Lotus. They'll use her just the same. They already have, though it cost them dear.
Something tells her that this time would be different. This time they would be prepared.
She clenches her jaw, her hands slowing as she dumps a pile of socks into her pack.
So will I, she vows.
There's something beautifully ominous about the Fire Nation Capital. Under the steeply sloping roofs and angular architecture, the bright, sunny day seems to darken as Appa settles in the courtyard beyond the Palace. Everywhere she looks, there are flashes of onyx and gold, deep burgundies that remind her of spilled blood. The paint on the walls, the flowers in their beds, the uniforms of the many guards standing at attention as Katara slides from Appa's saddle, and onto the packed dirt of the Fire Nation Palace's grounds.
The world may not be at war, but the Fire Nation looks ready for one at any moment.
Fire Lord Iroh himself greets them on the steps to his grand palace. Great, tiered towers stand sentinel behind him like the jagged horns of some fierce beast, but Iroh's smile is welcoming, even charming. He greets each of them by name, and when he reaches Aang, he claps him fondly into a hug.
"You and your friends are most welcome," Iroh rumbles.
Katara hums at the man's voice. A low burr, like the familiar burn of the smoked rum that Bato used to distill back home. Not that she was supposed to know what that tasted like; women weren't welcome in the drinking rooms.
"My son, Lu Ten, is away on business at the moment," the Fire Lord continues, "but he should be back within the week. Come, let's get you settled."
Katara exchanges a surprised look with Sokka when it becomes clear that Iroh intends to lead them to their rooms himself (an entire wing of the palace reserved for them). He shoos away his Chief Butler with a jovial grin, guiding them down darkened hallways, heavy with flames guttering in sconces and the oppressive tropical heat. Every now and again, the Fire Lord stops, introducing a cabinet member or member of his staff. When they finally reach the wing that Iroh set aside for them, he insists that each of them come to him personally, should they find his hospitality lacking.
"This is your room, Master Katara," he says, gesturing with a sweeping hand into the most luxurious room she's ever laid eyes upon.
She steps in gingerly, afraid to upset any of the fine things, and fully aware that she herself is the most ragged among the collection.
After their belongings are deposited in their respective rooms, Iroh hooks his thumbs under the sash tied regally around his hips. "Please, join me for dinner in the dining hall in an hour. And, dress comfortably. They feed us well here, as you no doubt already guessed." He slaps his full stomach good-naturedly, and makes his way back down the dark hallway.
As soon as the Fire Lord and his contingent of servants are away, the four of them gather in Aang's room.
Sokka is the first to speak. "These look like royal apartments," he notes suspiciously.
"Honored guests are considered equal to family in the Fire Nation," Aang explains. "It's not unusual."
"And the Fire Lord leading us here himself? So that he knows exactly where we are? Which rooms we're staying in?"
"I see what you're getting at, but that's not it. Iroh's just a good host. He did this for Gyatso and I on our last visit, too."
The Tribesman's eyes narrow. "Did you have any issues with the Red Lotus during that visit?"
Aang meets Sokka's look with a penetrating one of his own. "No."
Katara chews her lower lip, uneasy. Aang's long-standing defense of the sitting Fire Lord makes more sense after meeting the man. He's warm, kind, and Kaja's description of him as a 'good man' seems more apt, after meeting him. It's a difficult fact to reconcile with the revelations at the Fire Sages' Temple. But, her mind supplies warily, kindness does not equate to innocence.
"We need to exercise caution," she announces quietly. "With everything we've learned over the last few days, we shouldn't discount suspects simply because we like them. Now, then. Did you guys see the way that secretary frowned when Iroh introduced her?"
But the discussion goes nowhere after that, just convoluted circles, mentions of suspicious-looking guards and minute dissections of the level of enthusiasm with which Iroh's cabinet members bowed in greeting. The only thing the group seems to agree upon is that they have their work cut out for them; any one of the dozen people they just met could have ties to the Red Lotus- and they've only been in the Fire Nation Capital for an hour.
Sokka grimly assigns Toph to permanent guard duty. "Keep your feet on the ground, Toph. Listen for anyone suspicious- call out anything that sits strangely."
"What, the entire time?"
"I know it's not ideal, but it could save Aang's- and everyone else's- life."
"Even so," she grumbles, "you try focusing like that for extended periods of time. Standing constant guard wears on you. And it's hard to train when you're tired. Hope you're patient during training for these next few weeks, Aang, because I probably won't be."
"We're not continuing Earthbending lessons while we're here," Aang protests.
A scoff. "Don't be absurd; of course we are."
"Let's go," Katara says primly, cutting off the argument before it can begin. "We'll be late for dinner."
Fire Lord Iroh sets a fine table. Great roasts glazed in honey, platters of vegetables under curling strands of steam, and desserts that glisten with sticky, crystallized sugar await them when they file into his dining hall. He sits at the head of a long, jet black table, a smattering of candles littering the table every few feet, and when they hover awkwardly around the seats, he laughs.
"Sit, please. We're not on ceremony, here. This is a meal among friends." He beams at them as they tuck in to the table. "Let us give our thanks to the Spirits that lent strength to our bows, that our hunters arrows flew straight. And thanks again, to the Spirits that sent Avatar Aang and his dear companions to us. Eat- we may be the Fire Nation, but the food doesn't stay hot forever." A hearty chuckle at his own joke.
As the meal unfolds, Iroh speaks to each of them in turn. He asks probing questions, listens intently to their answers. Looking for all the world like a good host, getting to know his guests. His inquiries are shrewd, intelligent- a leader who knows how to amplify his subject's voices. Katara finds herself liking him a great deal, and feels a judder of discomfort that she does. Likeable or not, he could be involved- even indirectly- in a plot to kill Aang. And here, when she should be on the edge of her seat, she finds herself inadvertantly letting her guard down in his company.
"An excellent idea," Iroh praises Sokka after a suggestion to open shipping lanes directly from the Poles to the Fire Nation (and skipping the Earth Kingdom intermediary altogether). "You really must talk with Lu Ten, when he returns. He's often expressed the same concerns, and has a plan already in motion to remedy that very-"
The door slams open; the table jumps. Katara's eyes dart to Iroh, startles at the expression on the Fire Lord's face. That warmth is gone, instantly replaced with a guarded expression. Not cold, but aloof, certainly. She feels her own hackles raise, and turns to the intruders.
"My brother, Prince Ozai," Iroh introduces. "And his children, Prince Zuko, and Princess Azula."
"Your Majesty," Ozai greets. His voice hisses and drawls, lazy like a serpent, and with that same wicked self-assurance. "I hear you have guests."
Aang stands slowly, offering a bow, and Katara, Sokka, and Toph take their cue to do the same. Ozai spares them only the briefest inclination of his head.
"Avatar Aang." He lifts one contemptuous brow. "You were only a boy when last I saw you. Now..." His voice trails away, a malicious light in the gold of his eyes. "My steward tells me you're searching for a Firebending Master. So soon? And here, I thought you'd only just started Earthbending."
"I'd dedicate my attention solely to one element if I were afforded that luxury, your Highness," Aang replies coolly.
Katara glances briefly at Aang. The tone of his voice, matching Ozai's subtle (or, perhaps, not so subtle) insult. He is more the Avatar than he has ever been, obvious in the line of his shoulders, the faintest lift of his chin. It's almost- not quite- arrogant, and instantly, she understands that Aang assesses Ozai as a threat.
The Fire Nation prince laughs suddenly, cold and high. "As you say, Avatar. Well, perhaps I can help you." He waves an insolent hand, and his daughter steps into the warm candlelight. It makes her face sharp and angular, but Katara can tell that out in the open, under the sun, the girl must be dangerously beautiful. She has her father's razor jaw and insolent aura, as well as his oil-black hair. Her cat-eyes regard each of them with a sort of perverse pleasure, simultaneously inviting and daring them to look. Her brother remains in his place at his father's back, still mostly obscured in shadow.
"This is my daughter, Princess Azula," Ozai drawls. "A Firebending prodigy; a Master at ten."
"Very impressive, your Highness," Aang says, inclining his head to her in greeting.
She flashes a smile that spreads across her face like a snake opening its jaws. "Your Holiness," she purrs, with a demure little bow. Her eyes dart to Toph and Katara. "I see that your Masters in Water and Earthbending are both women. Is that a preference?"
Tension at the corners of Aang's lips. "A coincidence."
Azula laughs and leans forward to rest a hand on the table. Her movements are strange- ethereally fluid, an eel under water. "We'll see. I look forward to meeting you in a less formal setting. Perhaps on the sparring fields? Your friends may join." That malicious grin, again, a bold challenge.
Iroh stands abruptly. "Won't you introduce your son, Ozai? Prince Zuko is an accomplished Master in his own right."
Ozai's eyes flicker to his son, still lingering in shadow. There is nothing behind that gaze- the cold touch of an indifferent hand. "My son, Zuko. Recently engaged to a family connection and long time friend of Azula's, Mai. A fortunate match."
Zuko steps reluctantly forward- Katara can see his desire to fade into the background at war with every footfall that brings him closer. When the candlelight falls across his face, it does so gently, a caress, filling in gaps of wax-like skin- a burn that covers most of the left side of the prince's face. Katara battles down a gasp.
"My congratulations on your recent engagement," Aang says, bowing.
An abrupt nod. "Thank you." His voice is reminiscent of his uncle's, smoky and low.
"Join us for dinner, won't you, Ozai?" Iroh says, but Katara senses that the request is driven by decorum, rather than any real desire that Ozai join them.
"Tempting," Ozai purrs. "But I'm afraid we can't, your Majesty. The running of a nation does not take place in dining halls."
Iroh shrugs. "Even kings must eat. But, suit yourself. Another time, perhaps."
Ozai bows- his daughter and son copy the movement, twin shadows- then sweeps from the room, burgundy robes fluttering, his children at his heels.
At their departure, the tension drains from the room like water from a sieve, and Iroh offers a weak smile that Katara senses is a quiet apology. "My brother," he says, as if that excuses the last few minutes. "A serious man, always about serious business."
"I'm sure he's indispensable to the running of your kingdom, your Majesty," Aang answers carefully.
"Oh, of course, of course. Now, then- has anyone sampled the dango?"
Time drags to a crawl, like glacier melt in late winter. Every day is a copy of the one before it: breakfast with the Fire Lord- and sometimes his extended family. Their presence at the table changes mealtimes to subdued, tense affairs, a delicate dance of manners and politics, entire conversations dedicated to saying one thing, and meaning another. After breakfast, they meet with Iroh's staff to run through prospective Firebending Masters.
These meetings in particular make Katara's jaw clench; they're interviewing the staff as much as reviewing potential Masters, and nothing makes her feel more hopeless than dissecting a secretary's off-color sentence or a butler's out-of-place gesture or facial expression, hours later. Running the Fire Nation takes nothing short of a small army; at least fifty people work in the Office of the Royal Family, and they meticulously sift through each one of them.
Toph resolutely schedules (and entertains absolutely no arguments regarding) Aang's Earthbending lessons after their daily meetings, and it falls to Katara to keep the watch. She pretends to read books on herb-lore or advanced healing techniques while the two of them heave rocks around the palace's sparring fields. It takes only a few lessons for Katara to start pitying Toph; the weight of guard duty in the bosom of the Red Lotus's lair is nothing short of nerve-wracking. One wrong move- a moment of inattention- could spell the untimely end for any of them.
And every evening, she lays her head on red silk pillows and wonders if Aang will still be whole, hale, when she wakes.
Then it begins again.
Lu Ten, the Crown Prince, returns from his business abroad, a meteor among the stars. He inherited the family's good looks and his father's easy charm, and he makes Katara all the more wary. Not with suspicion; simply because, like his father, he is as warm as an afternoon under the sun, and eases all tension from the shoulders of anyone around him. And that doesn't make him any less likely to be guilty. The Crown Prince takes an immediate liking to Sokka, and Katara senses the same internal debate taking place in her brother's mind. Not that Sokka has much time for it: Lu Ten calls him away often to discuss shipping lanes and sake and seal pelts, as if they're the key to world peace.
When she's not facilitating Earthbending lessons, Toph is seen and not heard, often silent at mealtimes and during meetings, her focus strained on the pulses and breaths and footsteps and echoes of the people around them, her head tilting at this increased heart rate or that strange shift in weight. It drains her; Katara can tell. When the four of them gather together, as they often do after dinner, it isn't unusual for Toph to nod off in her chair, or even once as she leaned against the wall.
It's an endless revolving door of meetings, of tea times, of sparring, of guarding what she says to every servant, secretary, baroness. Anyone she encounters. Behind any welcoming smile could be a white mask with a red flower, a knife loosened in its sheath waiting for that moment that her back- or Aang's- is turned.
And all the while, she watches him from a distance. During lessons, his shirt in a ball in the dirt, sweat pouring from him under the oppressive tropical humidity. During meetings, his expression neutral, his posture perfect. His smiles grow fewer and fewer; his conversations more and more like a politician, and less like the man who holds her heart in his hands with a lifted brow and a crooked smile.
She aches for him. There's no other word for it. A narrow window of kisses, of skin against skin, that weathered feeling of comfort, knowledge that he will move as she does. Breathe, as she does. Shift to her, as she does him. Her eyes could be closed as her hands reach for him, and he'll meet her, palms sliding together.
All of it there one day, buried deep the next.
She watches him every day. The movement of him, the set of his jaw, the determined tilt of his brows. She sinks her teeth into the inside of her lip, presses her thighs together. And, he knows. He watches her during water breaks, sits next to her- just out of reach- flashes of sky blue and golden skin tantalizingly out of reach. His hand drifts closer to hers while they sit under the shade of a cherry tree, the tip of his forefinger barely tracing the line of her thumb, his eyes tracing the column of her neck.
That is, until Toph or Sokka sit down between them, obtuse (or, maybe not) in their attempt to separate them. Sometimes Lu Ten joins them, laughing warmly and offering to spar, to give Aang a chance to practice his Earthbending against a seasoned Firebender. The Crown Prince tosses out ideas for treaties and cooperative programs in between strong offensive attacks, pillars of flame. Every so often, he drags Prince Zuko along with him.
Katara doesn't care for the younger prince. His presence leaves her uncomfortable. After a few days on the periphery of his company, she can admit he's nothing like his father and sister (that cold arrogance, the sense that they delight in being the most important people in the room) but his behavior leaves her with too many questions unanswered. His silence is pervasive; he rebuffs any attempt (from anyone, even Lu Ten) to welcome him into the conversation. He never offers to spar, and frowns deeply when Lu Ten firmly insists that he do so, anyway.
"Father doesn't want me to interfere," he grumbles, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Lu Ten doesn't answer, but the downward tilt of his lips relays his thoughts on the subject as if he'd spoken them aloud, and he gestures to the empty spot on the sparring field as if he didn't hear a word the younger prince said.
Zuko doesn't have his cousin's natural, assured talent, but there's a determination to him, a perseverance that can't help but be noticed. He rarely wins- though, in Katara's estimation, what Firebender could, against an Earthbender trained by Toph?- but he tries anyway, brushing red dirt from his face and chest as he stands up again, eyes bright.
On the rare occasions that the prince does spar, his fiancee always appears, hovering in shadows, her burgundy and black robes blending in under darkened eaves. Their fingers brush, lingering, when she hands him the towel she always has ready for him. Their eyes meet, then she fades into the background like the shadow she's so reminiscent of.
Weeks disappear like this. In tea rooms, in gardens, in dining halls.
"What do we do?" Katara asks plaintively, late one evening in the fifth week of their stay. "We've tried everything short of shouting from the rooftops. I thought when we found that lead, we'd be on the Red Lotus in no time, but we haven't heard so much as a whisper."
"Maybe we should shout it from the rooftops, then," Toph suggests, flicking a booger at Sokka. "This is getting tedious."
She's wrong- and she isn't. The days pass in a slog, but each of them dreads the attack they know is coming.
"We just have to be patient," Sokka says firmly. "They'll come for Aang- or one of us- eventually."
The group nods, heaving blustery, impatient sighs. Aang's eyes dart to Katara, as if memorizing her face.
"Could I prevail upon you for a favor, Master Katara?" Lu Ten asks one bright afternoon as they pass him on the way to lunch.
"I'm at your service, your Highness. What can I do for you?" she asks.
"You know about the Bhanti Festival?"
A nod. "It's supposed to be starting in a week or so, right?"
"It's a celebration of a niche culture within the Fire Nation," the Crown Prince explains. "Ships have been arriving for weeks laden with goods, and with tourists. There's a ship sitting at berth nine right now, filled to bursting with salmon roe- a delicacy."
Katara almost laughs- even in the South Pole, salmon roe is considered 'poor man's fare', common as glaciers. The thought of Fire Nation citizens regarding it as fine dining is a juxtaposition that delights her with its irony.
"When we initially placed the order," Lu Ten continues, "the price was a very reasonable barrel per gold hundredweight. Nothing unusual about that, as I'm sure you'll agree."
A polite nod- Fire Nation money is a concept completely lost on her. She has Aang handle all her purchases, on the rare moments she's able to do any personal shopping at all.
"The ship's captain has all but doubled the price, and refuses to part with the barrels he's carrying unless we pay it." Displeasure colors his tone. "I can't match that price. Not if I want to pay the festival employees."
"What would you like me to do, your Highness?" she asks warily. "Sokka can tell you that I'm a dismal negotiator- in fact, he's probably a much better bet if you want to talk this captain down."
He shifts from foot to foot. "There's a woman that represents the interests of the Southern and Northern Water Tribe. Not an ambassador, exactly- we don't have one, though I've been trying to convince Sokka here to take the position-" a friendly nudge in Sokka's ribs- "but she does have a lot of influence with the Tribes. Likely with this captain, too. Her approval more or less equates to Chief Arnook's approval, these days." His eyes shift to Katara pleadingly. "She's an old Southern Waterbender."
Katara stills, her heart stuttering in her chest in delighted surprise. The opportunity to meet another Southern Waterbender? Few, and far between, even in the South Pole itself. "Where does she live?" she asks quickly, all business.
She's knocking on the woman's front doors an hour later, straightening her spine regally when a pair of burly Northern Water Tribesmen open the wooden doors, whale's tooth spears in hand. They guide her to the tearoom. The old woman's name is Hama, and she welcomes Katara with open arms.
"To see another Southerner- and Waterbending Master, no less," Hama exclaims, matching Katara's delight. "Oh, it warms this old heart."
They fill hours with laughter and memories of familiar streets and faces, promises to conduct a Waterbending session ("Not a spar, my dear, oh no- it'd take some serious motivation to move these old bones like they used to move," the old woman laughs. "But, a meditative training session? I can still manage that with ease."). Hama quickly drafts a letter, strongly encouraging the ship's captain to part with his barrels for the previously agreed price.
"But, I do hope you're getting something out of this bargain, dear," Hama says with a wink as she puts the finishing flourishes on her elaborate signature. "A Southern woman in the Fire Nation can be a powerful thing, if you play the game right."
"I'm no politician," Katara demurs. "I don't even know the game we're playing."
"Well, now," Hama chuckles. "I'm not so old that I can't still teach you a thing or two."
"I'm all ears."
The old woman smiles, already fond. "Another time, perhaps. You've got a letter to deliver. But come back soon, dear. You've put a pep in my step that hasn't been there in years."
A matching smile, and Katara presses the letter to her chest. "I will."
Another afternoon on the sparring fields. Katara heaves a blustery sigh, and leans back on her elbows, eyes scanning entries and exits.
It's hard work, maintaining a calm, collected exterior, but inside, she feels like screaming. She supposes she should be grateful that they didn't drop directly into the middle of a full-scale battle, the way they initially feared, but even meditation with Aang and her periodic visits with Hama don't wash away the weeks of wary tension. Whatever the Red Lotus is waiting for, she finds herself suddenly (and perhaps, immaturely) wishing it would just happen already. A wry snort at the sentiment she'll no doubt later regret.
"Is there something amusing?"
A figure blocks the sun; she squints up at it. "Princess Azula," she greets, quickly bowing- hiding the way her stomach dropped in surprise at her arrival.
Azula lowers her chin, arches a perfect brow. "Interesting place to sunbathe. One might suggest that there are better uses for sparring fields."
Katara can't argue with her logic, but the woman's tone makes her want to deny it out of spite. She glances instead to the two figures hovering at Azula's back. Mai, Prince Zuko's fiancee, and another woman Katara hasn't seen before. She wears trousers and a cropped cotton shirt of the brightest pink, and her eyes wash over Katara with bright curiosity.
"You've met Mai," Azula introduces lazily. "The other is Ty Lee. We all went to the Fire Academy together."
"A pleasure."
Azula rolls her shoulders. "I thought you might indulge me. His Holiness and Master Toph are busy, but you obviously aren't."
Katara's jaw works with irritation. She can hardly guard Aang if she's in the middle of a spar herself- but it's clear from the princess's tone that she isn't asking. Blue eyes dart to the long, low, troughs of water that line the edges of the sparring field. "I suppose-"
"Excellent. We'll start now." She turns on one heel, walking to the center of the field expectantly.
Frustrated grumbling under her breath, but Katara follows, arms crossed resolutely over her chest until she assumes her ready stance, opposite Azula.
Ty Lee bounces with excitement at the edge of the field. "Ready, fighters?" she calls. When they nod, she grins. "Begin!"
Katara intended begin the fight carefully. Watch and wait, learn the Princess's movements, her fighting style. Firebending is a naturally offensive element- a great weakness, though Katara will freely admit she has little experience with it, save for a traveler or two in the North Pole that generously offered to go a few rounds for Master Pakku's students.
Azula is nothing like them. As soon as Katara's eye tracks movement, a barrel of bright blue flame surges toward her. She rolls under it, coming up just as another attack goes whistling past her like a pinwheel. It's all she can do to whip up a hasty defense- a small wave of water that hisses and steams as the fire touches it. Another breath, and Katara spins out of the way of a series of kicks, her vision brightening with blue and orange as the red dirt field is carpeted in thick flame.
It's a stalemate, as far as Katara can tell- Azula tirelessly sending a series of barely avoidable attacks, and Katara dodging in twists and turns with milliseconds to spare. Perfectly balanced, an endless cycle of attack, and dodge, attack, and dodge.
That is, Katara thinks ominously, until one of us gets tired. Looking at the princess- smiling evenly, almost cruelly, hair still flawless- Katara's not sure it'll be her. Already, her breath is coming in sharp gasps (a fact she does her best to hide, sucking in heavy breaths through her nose), and the margin between Azula's strike and Katara's dodge grows slimmer and slimmer.
It happens unexpectedly- a little pattern that Katara notices between the blistering heat and blinding brightness. The slightest flutter in Azula's throat. A deep breath before a kick, the minutest squaring of her shoulders before a punch. If Katara had been on the offensive, she might have missed it; too busy trying to beat the princess at her own game. There, again. She ducks under the blast with a little time to spare; time, in fact, to gather water, coating her arms, extending her reach. Darting it low across the charred field, under Azula's limited defenses- pummeling her directly in the stomach, the wind knocked out of her as she stumbles back.
The field falls silent. Ty Lee's cheering (incessant, before) stops abruptly, and beside her, Mai watches with narrowed eyes and an expression that Katara can't make heads or tails of.
A deep, ragged furrow between Azula's perfectly sculpted brows, a look in her cat-eyes that makes Katara think that the princess would kill her, if there weren't so many witnesses.
It's impolite. Petty, even, but Katara would be the first to admit that maturity comes and goes in spurts with her, and right now, it's nowhere to be found. She smiles a serpent grin of her own, and purrs, "Gotcha."
A shriek from the princess; unhinged, uninhibited, and despite the ferocity of the attacks that follow, it's that shriek that unsettles Katara the most. It isn't the frustration of a woman losing a fight- that's the shriek of a woman who has never lost a fight, and has spent her entire life being assured that no one would dare, even if they were able.
The battle draws in close, both women toe-to-toe, Azula's fire like a blade fresh from the forge and Katara's water the razor sharp edge of ice. The Firebender slices neatly across Katara's brow, just as she manages to slice away the ties that hold up the breastplate on the princess's polished armor, jab her elbow down hard into an unprotected line of clavicle-
Lu Ten grabs hold of Azula's bicep and wrenches her away, and a second set of hands settles on Katara's shoulders, pulling her gently, but firmly, back. She'd recognize those callouses, even in her sleep. Aang.
The Crown Prince eyes Katara and Azula sternly, but his voice is even when he says, "I think that's enough for today."
Azula's look of furious incredulity magnifies- somehow- but Katara only dips her head politely, wiping away the blood dripping into her right eye from the slice on her forehead.
"Of course, your Highness," she murmurs. She's panting, sweating, but there's a burn to her cheeks that she knows is more than just the heat of exertion. She bows quickly as Lu Ten turns away, jerking his head sharply to Azula. The princess assumes a regal expression (even with her breastplate missing, abandoned in the dirt behind her), but underneath the docile exterior, Katara knows Azula is fuming as she follows her cousin from the field.
Toph joins Katara and Aang, her brow furrowed. "That was probably a bad idea." Then she grins that impish grin of hers. "But, I wish it had been me. Coming?"
"In a moment."
When Toph wanders away, heading for their rooms, Katara quirks a shoulder at Aang. An apology, an excuse. She doesn't know what, exactly- only wishes that he'd stop looking at her like that. Fear, worry... and more than a little pride.
A long beat- gray on blue- then, he sighs. "Are you alright?"
A nod, and she tastes the coppery tang of blood in her mouth.
He reaches for her face with one hand, as if to brush the blood away. Before he makes contact, though, he catches himself. Lowers his hand slowly, frowns deeply. "Let's go," he sighs. "You should probably get that healed."
She wipes at it with one sleeve, turning to follow him, her heart stopping when she sees- far in the distance- Azula watching them through narrowed eyes as she follows her cousin from the field.