A/N:
Hi!
Obligatory Massive Initial Author's Note:
This is my first time writing for Zutara though not my first fic by far, still, I do hope you'll enjoy what I have to offer :)
I've been planning and working on this particular fic for a few years now, on and off, and even posted a sneak peak a year ago on my tumblr page I *warning* never use. (It's under the same username and on one of the only two posts I ever made. If you even care to read that there. Might look different on the actual story here at some point though).
*Let me know if anyone would like me to post the full summary there as well. (I probably might anyway).
Buy yeah, seeing as I have this all planned out and a good chunk started, I think It's a good time as any to post for you fine people to read.
Also Some Warnings: As stated on the summary, this is an Arranged Marriage AU with enough Darkfic elements to qualify it as one-depending on who you are as a reader- though as I mentioned, it is in no way meant to condone anything morally wrong or offensive in the way a "tradtional" darkfic might.
There's definitely some very dark elements, especially in the prologue, and these are meant to be unsettling for the sake of plot and not at all because it was written to be enjoyed as such. Though if you enjoy it in that way, then I guess go on right ahead and do.
Granted, sometimes I myself like writing certain darkfics for the sake of being dark, but in this case it's just mainly inherently good characters dealing with some terrible, shitty situations and just as shitty people. Sometimes we grow from that, sometimes we don't. In this fic only time will tell.
*Cant stress this enough, and in fact, it will be the last time I'll mention it for the sake of either of us just moving on (or not) with the story.
And lastly, if by the actual smallest chance you're reading any of my other fics and have found me posting this one, I swear to you right here, right now I'll be updating every single one within the next few days. EVERY SINGLE ONE. Yes, even the Jane Austen one. Total long shot in the dark, I know, but I don't want any of those guys to strangle me in my sleep or think I've forsaken them. Though they may forsake me.
That's all~
Happy reading!
-A
. . . . . . . . . .
Prologue
Fifty fifth year of Fire lord Azulon's reign.
.
.
.
Haze filled the room, and the minds of the two occupied inside, just as the soft tendrils of smoke and the heavy musk of perspiration grew into a dream-like cloud around them.
As it rose, a somewhat foggy but relaxing dimness fed into their eyes, riding blissful confusion higher and higher—led more deeply still by utter numbness, and the dulled sensation of a too intimate, yet familiar touch.
Once delicate, thin fingers drew lazy patterns over a none existent sky, almost as if willing to touch the intangible.
In contrast, unbearably warm fingers traced down her navel, making goose flesh sprout under her skin without permission, or desire.
Yet even if she dared have any strength left to pull away, she could never afford to be so bold and instead focused her disoriented gaze on the finely carved wooden tiles over the ceiling.
In another time—within another life—she might have found the pretty chrysanthemum pattern charming.
Today, however, her red rimmed blue eyes could only trace the hateful little silhouettes as they undulated over her mockingly in a raging sea full of pure obedience and subjugation.
"Beautiful isn't it?", a voice spoke.
The stifling air around her shifted, and somewhere within the back of her muddled mind, alluded to the feel of the heavy body pressed over her.
Like the tall summit of a rolling mountain, hundreds of miles away, it was as if he not only eclipsed the wooden garden, but the very sun itself.
His thin and dark suffocating eyes effortlessly commanded all her attention, up from that place that seemed almost impossible to touch.
Until she reminded herself once again, that there was no sky.
The youthful mask of a visage that could be considered handsome, smirked cruelly.
It was frightening.
When she was still only but a little girl in her village, quietly sitting around the blazing fires of the coldest nights, listening as the head shaman of her people relayed tale after tale of terrible demons and ugly monsters, she had never once fathomed that such beings would ever really roam the land of the living.
Even less so, did she imagine they could own such human faces.
The beast spoke again, but she could only ignore him, even as he pressed the tips of his bruising fingers against the skin of her jaw.
No matter how much he attempted to guide her face back to him, however, she dared not relent, just as her eyes never wavered from taking in the meticulously carved form of each flower above them.
It was his symbol—after all—a token bequeathed to his family from their own masters, and a source of their great pride and honor.
Now, it was her emblem as well, she supposed, if only to represent the stamp of her depraved captivity.
"My great-grandfather was only seventeen when the previous Fire Lord bestowed him this family crest, you know", the voice above her added, his young face breaking over her blurred vision at last, "only seventeen—father said", and even she noted with lack of concern at how those cruel eyes darkened in desperation, "yet so am I, but while they are all out fighting, I'm forced to be stuck here with you."
The grip he held on her body somewhere else she could not presently pinpoint, tightened significantly.
"Though I'm not so young at all, now am I?"
The feel of his pelvis intruding onto her space was the only casual reminder of the task at hand, and when he pulled at her legs, they instinctively parted.
"Hmm?", The boy persists with a grunt above her, only barely just at the threshold of his pleasure and already almost half way spent, "not when I spear through you like this, yes?".
Even in such a state, she has time to be grateful at how his cold laugh cleanses her of any minute pleasure that could be had.
"…I—wonder…", with every thrust, the words barely manage to leave the ugly concentrated frown on his face, "if father—would still call me—a boy—if he knew—of what we get up to—while—he's a-away…"
For her part, fanning her eyes closed is the only defense allowed and expected of her.
That, and to wait as the familiar blissful peak of the euphoric high her greedy body craved, encompassed all of her until it was all she could feel.
That was the only thing that mattered.
This way, it was easier to dream about anything else in the world.
She could even pretend she was a single little white cloud hovering over the Norther Sea, for all either of them cared.
Though while little white clouds had the added fortune of being nothing more than dragon breath and dense air, lest an immortal took a liking to one, her own body was still made out of flesh and bone, and no smoke, whether heavy or light, could ever change that.
"…I do think he'd be more keen in letting me join him on his little expedition, don't you…?"
Likewise, it was unfortunate at how easily that voice of his carried, and so high up enough to where her mind travailed—almost as if it could command even the numbness in her hearing, or her willingness to disappear.
Curiously, this too reminded her of when she was a young girl, even much younger than this boy now…
And as she closed her eyes, her mind dreamed back to a memory so long lost, it might as well have been nothing more than yet another puff of smoke.
Back to a time when her un-wealthy father could not afford a teacher for her bending, and how because her village was also poor, and had little to be proud of and much sickness to be wary about, all the other families had pitched in to bring a lesser known healing master to do with a few of the daughters what she could.
Bending had always come easy to her, but not learning, and many a days, and nights, were spent in tireless practice.
Though she was not the best, she wasn't the worst, and therefore incurred both humiliation and contempt at the hands of the other pupils.
It was in moments like those that she was forced to learn that no matter how hard a palm can press to an ear, or how loud a mind can scream to try and drown all the noise away…
—things that are said cannot be unsaid, nor can they be unheard.
And yet…
Just because a voice can be heard, does that make it any more deserving of attention?
So far, this is the one and only lesson that has incurred what, if any, abysmal form of success on her part, for the past ten and a half years.
Suddenly, those punishing hands hovered over her face again, breaking her train of thought— and as always, they are almost as cruel as his eyes, especially when they force hers to look up at him once more.
"I—don't know—what he sees in you", the young master sneered, even as the pace below his lower half quickened with each pull of his grip, "you may be his favorite—and yet—aren't you all the same?"
What could have been the last remnants of pain, forced her to blink away what little fantasies danced in the swirl of old memories and short-lived hope, and as usual, that dark gaze of his taunted her, despite how it was he who comes completely undone under the spell of hers.
She cannot feel it—doesn't want to—but knows that he is pressing in deeper against her, as if attempting to imprint yet another piece of him within her, while also ensuring that the heat of that desire, little by little, burns away what meagerness remains of herself.
However, pain or pleasure does not matter, her cries have been taught to be impassioned no matter what, and only just, because they are a reminder that every beginning has an end.
She pulls him closer still, until both their breaths grow ragged and loud as if drowned, not even caring at how completely and without shame it coaxes those overblown onyx eyes of his to roll back into blissful satisfaction.
More than anything, this is her triumph, and the one thing he—nor any of them—can ever claim from her.
And after?
After, when all is done, there is finally silence at last.
White, impenetrable silence—if only for a just a little while.
For all her soaring just moments before, she still flinches when he leans in further and moves his arm past her neck, just as the sound of metal scraping against wood tinkled in her ears.
His amused chuckle at her wariness, breaks the spell.
"…Brainless little thing…" the boy panted, while pulling the intricate pipe in his grasp up to her line of sight, "…you eagerly open your legs—"
The words were barely out of his mouth when she launched for it.
"—Ah ah ah…" He mocked, swiftly ripping the pipe away from her grasp, while watching with contempt for a few seconds longer as her eyes followed how the vessel's gold embellishments glinted prettily in the soft glow of the dim lantern light.
"Already so needy?"
The dead look in her blue eyes reminded him of a suffocating fish, freshly caught on a net.
Easily conquered and utterly unsatisfying.
It didn't take much longer for boredom to set in, before he finally relinquished the accursed thing over to her desperate and outstretched hands.
"Everything goes, doesn't it?" He taunted, regardless, "so long as anyone plies you up to the brim with tar…"
As expected, the woman under him did not hesitate even for a second in bringing down the mouth of the pipe to her lips, much to his disgust.
Just as smoke drizzled down her throat and out her nose, her eyes too, similarly to how his had done before in ecstasy, rolled up to the heavens.
How long she laid like this, neither of them seemed to care, not even when evening turned into dusk, and dusk to dawn, with nothing more but smoke and the crack of a window to keep her company.
Only that small sliver of moonlight, like every other night, was her one true companion.
Ten long years.
She had been away from home for ten long years, and even then, whether it was at the poles, the manor, or here, in her heart the beauty of the moon overshadowed every star in the sky—every cloud, every drop of rain.
Nothing in this world could be grander, or more beloved.
As these thoughts overtook her, something clouded her vision, making the silver orb in the sky wobble and flicker.
The shaky fingers that still gripped her pipe reached up at her face, and she flinched slightly, when they came across a dampness on her cheek.
She had not known that there could possibly be any more tears left to shed.
Ten long years, yet all the moon ever did was bear witness to nothing but her pain and the long suffering wars.
The ancient legends of old claimed it as her people's silent protector, always noble and bright, watching over at all times.
So devoted, in fact, that even the mighty sun with all its power, could not dare to be so bold.
Then why?
Why had the moon turned a blind eye?
Why could she, one mere mortal, make it so easily disappear with one puff of her pipe, and entrap it in smoke just as helplessly as she did herself?
'Brainless little things.'
She has already long accepted this fate of hers.
But why did it have to be anyone else's?
Wasn't it enough for even just one?
So many had to suffer already, and it hurt her just to think of the countless others whom had yet to pay the price.
What more could it possibly take, she wondered, for such careless slander to morph into undeniable truths?
The light rustling of scrolls by the desk farther away, did little to distract her thoughts, at least not any more than the poisonous fumes at her throat did.
"So pensive" the boy spoke, leaning back into his seat as he watched her, "but I do admit, I like this melancholic look of yours."
Her chest tightened at the startling realization that he was still there, and as her gaze shifted to that corner of the room, she was met with his ever taunting smile.
"You wear it so well" he added, "only the women of the poles are blessed with such craft".
The more red rimmed her eyes grew, the colder the pipe in her hands became, but now that the room was starting to look somewhat less dim, she found herself not minding it so much.
"Master said it wrong" she humored him at last, voice small and hoarse, "falling hurts least to those who cannot fly."
Even though she could not see it clearly, the smug look in his face turned into a scowl.
"Eh?" He sneered, pointedly letting the scroll in his hand drop with a careless thud before pulling himself up menacingly, "this old battered toy, can it really bare such a long tongue?"
"Young master!"
Before he reached her, the boy only had time to look up as the doors to his personal rooms burst open, and the two already inside could only gape as his personal attendant strolled in with a low ranking soldier in tow.
The rage already bubbling in dark amber eyes, grew tenfold.
"Who's brave enough to disturb me now?", he sneered.
"This servant is at fault" the attendant bowed, and then gestured to the soldier, "just a little retainer, here to bring the general's orders."
With one last look to the woman on the bed, the boy straightened.
"Speak."
Immediately the young soldier stepped forward and bowed, offering the scroll in his hands.
"General sends over the Fire Lord's decree—reinforcements will be needed in the eastern border of the colonies. Young master has been ordered to rally the remaining troops here before meeting in Tachi Dai."
Dark amber eyes widened.
"And my grandfather has allowed it?"
"Yes", the soldier bowed lower, "the general has awarded you the rank of captain and urges young master to set out in haste, if you are to arrive before the new moon".
As if it were still possible, the boy's rim rod posture grew twice in size with self-exaltation.
"Shao", he called, holding his arms behind his back with a new sense of aplomb.
His attendant stepped forward, "yes, young master?"
"Ready my armor, and wake Major Rè. We set out by sundown."
"Yes", the servant bowed, and urging the soldier to follow him, the two of them promptly dismissed themselves with great haste.
Once again the dark room fell silent in the presence of the remaining two.
Neither the woman or the boy made a single move for half a beat, before the younger of the two turned to the one still laying in bed.
"Such a lucky little pet", he drawled, making quick work of pulling his loosened sleep tunic closed over the naked skin of his torso, "not only will you evade punishment today, but you even have the great fortune of joining me on this new expedition of mine."
The thin light from the moon outside, as well as the glow of the lamp, did little to emphasizes the apprehension in the young woman's worn gaze.
During the short deafening pause, when she still did not answer, the undeterred boy leaned down anyway, capturing her chin with a tight grasp of his large hand.
"What does the little slave say…", he cooed as his thumb softly stroked her cheek in warning, "for the honor of being bestowed such gracious favor?"
Lackluster blue eyes looked past his face, and instead met the dark red of the wall behind him—red like the symbol of suffering and fear, of helplessness and war—and as the color engulfed her senses, a small complacent smile formed in the corner of her lips.
"Young master is magnanimous" like a puppeteer pulling on strings, she forced herself to utter the words he enjoyed hearing most, "I am not deserving."
….
Meanwhile…
Compared to the frigidity of the Southern Pole, with it's wall-like crashing waves, the mellow and soft currents of the warm Eastern Sea was like a welcome song to the inhabitants of the large water tribe vessels boldly sailing along uncharted enemy territory, not so far from the Eastern Lake.
This campaign has taken more than three weeks, with the valiant effort of half the Southern Water Tribe's navy force, and the man power of an army of ten thousand.
All with the one clear goal of reaching the norther water capital of Shai City.
A mission made possible only through the oversight of the Earth Kingdom's infantry, who much too preoccupied, guarded their western front against attacks from the indestructible legions of Fire Nation soldiers already overtaking Zhy and Kei Lan.
An oversight the Southern Water Tribe would not take for granted.
The main vessel leading the expedition at the forefront, with its towering masts, was the largest of all—as impressive as it was imposing.
Atop its wide spacious deck, surrounded by swarms of navigating water benders pushing and pulling against the currents, stood two notable men, one younger, the other old, yet both faces grave as they proceeded to bend over the contents of a scroll in rapt attention.
"Your grace!", a new voice interrupted—the ship's captain, Commodore Kōri—who broke away their private congress with his hastened pace.
Coming to a stop before the younger of the two, he offering a bow of respect.
The young man before him turned away from the map his companion held, and offered the high ranking officer a dignified nod of his own.
"At ease, commodore", he replied, gesturing away the formality just as hastily as it had been given, "what good news do you have for me?"
"Very promising, sire", his subordinate replied, "not only have all the men returned, but they've brought with them a clear path leading through Chameleon Bay, and all the way past Serpents Pass."
The young Chief's neutral smile quickly morphed into a pleased grin.
"Good", he praised, reaching forward to grip the commodore's shoulder ruggedly as the thrill of excitement coursed through the hot blaze of his blue eyes, "very good!"
The man, confronted with such elation from his liege, shared a short, amused chuckle with the the older gentleman opposite them.
"Congratulations are in order, Chief Hakoda", the young man's companion spoke at last, he too offering a swift bow of his own, "this is only due to your grace's might and guidance."
The compliment itself—from this particular senior advisor—long awaited, after many months of constant back and forth bickering.
"Then it's settled", Hakoda commanded, his dangerous grin reminiscent that of a starved child being presented with nothing less than his favorite meal, "make all the necessary preparations—we shall set off no later than nightfall."
Despite his previous words of esteem, wariness seeped into the old man's voice in response, "ah, but your grace…"
The warning in his tone, as per usual, made the young man roll his eyes in annoyance.
He was really starting to regret not replacing all of his honorable late father's old, stubborn counselors with some much needed fresh, new blood.
Old men, he opined, tired too quickly—thought too hard.
"What is it now, Hyōga?"
If the senior advisor was taken aback by the bite in his leader's menacing tone, he did well in hiding it.
That there was another strike against him, Hakoda determined, it seemed as if the blood that should be fire in his veins had already coagulated despite the abundance of ice back home.
"Why not allow us to reconvene in the war room first, sire, before deciding on the next course of action?", the old man reasoned, frowning with slight concern at how his young ruler visibly tensed at the opposition, "the earth kingdom is vast, and has many warriors, more so in their coasts—
"Do we not have warriors of our own?", the chief argued, turning his back from the advisor all together to gesture at the men around them hard at work, as if baffled by such apprehension.
"I was under the impression that behind me stands the very best men our nation has to offer!"
"Yes, sire", Hyōga attested with an exasperated sigh, face red as his own temper swelled, "and every last one is prepared to lay their life for you at your command—so shall we repay them by squandering their only chance of survival at every turn?"
In all the years he had given this boy's father the talent of his council—and this young nation his very blood and sweat as they struggled to build it from the ground up—Hyōga had never felt so subjected to such contempt and pigheadedness!
The younger man, for his part—and almost as if to prove the old timer's point—scoffed and gritted his teeth.
How many times now, the youth simmered at the though, must they two debate against the same, tiring subjects?
Running ragged circles around the same, tiring arguments.
"You claim we are at risk of being conquered before entering their borders," he spat, gesturing to the ocean, its path already set before them,"—then I ask you, by that logic, what business have we at entertaining this war in the first place?"
And nothing to say of the men who have already been sacrificed.
"We have every right to fight, and every reason to win, sire", the advisor bit back, poignantly waving the scroll in his hands in frustration, "I am not denying this—but it is only with your leadership and the right guidance, that will we surely conquer! "
"We must win.", he added, knowing very well the callow rage and self riotousness bubbling in Hakoda's blood, "that is why there can be no chances taken when everything is at stake—your grace knows it, more than anyone else, that we have no other choice."
Too many lives were at risk—far too much hung on the line.
For such a small, insignificant nation like theirs, their much need success would pave the way to not only greatness, but survival.
And—yes—perhaps it was a given, after all, that ever since his birth, a hungry, boy prince—now turned chief, had marked himself as the one savior who would fulfill that destiny, through any means necessary.
Hyōga would not dare deny his young ruler this, nor would he dream to impede him—or hope for otherwise—but he was old for a reason, having been given the privilege to live long enough to become wise beyond his years.
Wiser at least, than a young man of twenty-two.
And though, perhaps, if so the gods have willed it, it would indeed be his liege's fate, no matter the outcome.
—and through that, perhaps, all his worries were for naught.
He could still never persuade himself into a blind sense of security—never fully—and not while maintaining enough faculty to know that perhapses were not guarantees.
Therefore an advisor of his seniority, could also not forget, nor let be forgotten—for that was the point of his whole existence—the lifetime of sheer waste that has already been subjected on his people.
To what ends would justify the means, after all, if no one would be left to reap the bounty of these such valiant and great sacrifices?
His ego and pride somewhat bruised at having been chastised so quickly—and after the first signs of praise since his ascension, no less—made Hakoda scoff.
—Who else but he indeed, could possibly know more of the choices he'd been given?
In his petulance, he turned away from his father's former mentor only to be immediately faced with the expectant gaze of the commodore, whose blazing eyes, hardened after years of battle, told only of his fierce pledge in loyalty.
Whether deserved or not.
Suddenly the weight of that gaze alone seemed to claw its way up the young man's stomach.
—It burned like acid, ripping and tearing out of his throat, before eventually settling at last over his spine and around the contours of his shoulders.
Hakoda had felt this before, of course—in fact, lately, he knew of it well—yet somehow it never failed to become more stifling.
It was a feeling of suppression—if he could put a name to it—one that callously reached over and had grabbed hold of him from the very moment his father sighed his last breath.
Needless to say, it had yet to let go.
And though he feared it, Hakoda knew it never would.
This tense, suffocating pressure held over him, he had long accepted, would only get heavier and heavier from here on out.
Until, he supposes, it finally consumes him in its entirety and buries him all the way bellow the ground, like it did his father.
Much as it consumed him now, knowing that this man before him—much older and infinitely more experienced—would still kowtow at whatever his leader commanded, because he was willing to follow.
Even blindly, if he must.
—And, worse still, even despite his better judgment.
Because Commodore Kōri was ready to die for the Southern Tribe.
He was ready to lay his life for him.
Throat dry, the young man tore his now wary eyes away and let them land on the warriors before him hard at work—the true driving force propelling, not just the ship, but the whole nation forward.
All of them—all these men were ready to lay their life for his ambitions and their freedom.
Without them, he Hakoda—their chief—was nobody.
King of nothing.
He already owed them a great deal for that alone.
He would also, he realized, be indebted for the rest of his life.
And if he could succeed at anything during his tenure—anything at all—it was that he, Hakoda, would will himself to remember this very moment for the rest of his days.
He also silently vowed to never take his indenture lightly again.
For the cost of glory—of freedom—that was too little a price to pay anyway.
So it was with a heavy sigh, that the young man spoke at last.
"Has Bato returned?", he questioned.
Then, discretely, he averted his gaze completely before anyone dared discern the momentary defeat of his usually indomitable spirit.
Commodore Kōri stood at attention in response, "Lord Shuǐ's vessel has yet to arrive, your grace."
Chief Hakoda tutted, nodding before sucking on his teeth as if he were meticulously mulling over a thought or two.
He was also very determined, it seemed, in making a point of ignoring Hyōga's infuriatingly satisfied look.
"Then first, let us await his return.", he decreed at last.
The two men before him bowed graciously at the order, and if the young leader would have looked, he'd notice the proud, relieved grins shared between the two.
"As your grace wishes". Commodore Kōri replied.
Unable to keep himself from sending a nasty look at his old advisor as he did so, Chief Hakoda sniffed imperiously.
"For now gather the rest of the men", he ordered, "I'll be waiting in the war room."