A/N: Reviews are nice :) whatever's on your mind, short or long, is infinitely more personal than a fav.
It's the little things that remind Azula her prisoner is still a formidable warrior. A few days later, the captain of her palace guard brings an injured soldier. Supposedly, the savage attacked him out of nowhere, used the water he brought her to assault him. Azula's doctor barely manages to save his life. A blind eye. An amputated leg.
One rainy night, Azula returns to her rooms after a tiring meeting with two high-ranking noblemen. Being patronised is a surefire way to make her blood boil, and after an entire day of being treated like a stand-in for her father, a substitute who will surely return to being the little princess in time, she's ready to break some bones. Usually, she'd have the two men killed, but their families control the largest mines on the mainland. Not an option.
When she comes home and sees Katara in her cage, she sees an opportunity. A few well-aimed insults. Anything to provoke a reaction.
That night, she learns to never provoke a waterbender during a rainstorm.
When her windows are replaced, her wounds tended to, and Katara's hands thoroughly burned, Azula sees her prisoner in a new light.
Over the next weeks, they come to a wordless understanding. Katara knows that if any attempt to escape will cost her life. She sees it, in the way Azula looks at her, no longer seeking entertainment, but colder even, if that's possible. Calculating the value of Katara's life against the risk she poses. In turn, Azula knows that if Katara chooses to escape, she can take half the palace with her before she's stopped.
It's an uneasy truce.
More than once, Azula asks herself why she doesn't simply kill Katara.
Katara has asked herself the same question. She's stopped thinking about it. She's not sure she wants to know the answer.
At this point, Azula isn't sure she can. Katara has made it clear what the cost will be.
It's a few weeks into this that Azula once again returns from a meeting, fuming with rage. The Third Fleet has been sunk off the Earth Kingdom by tribal boats. If Admiral Shen were alive, she would have him executed on the steps of the palace. As it is, she has to settle for imprisoning his family and seizing their property, as a warning about the price of failure. To make matters worse, the Earth Kingdom has retaken the Strait of Omashu, and Admiral Kozai all but implied neither would have happened to Fire Lord Ozai.
In short: Azula is ready to snap.
She waits until the door has closed behind her before she lets loose. Lightning at the stupid vase she's always hated. Another bolt at the window. The door to her sitting room is next, then the tapestry inside. Fire. Lightning. Lightning. Fire.
When she's done, it looks like a thunderstorm has laid waste to the room.
From Katara's perspective, it sounds like a battle.
She's pressed against the wall, trying to breathe as quietly as possible, the water from her bowl bent into a basic fighting form, ready to be a whip, a spear, or anything else. Whoever's coming, she's ready.
It's only when Azula heads for her bedroom and sees Katara in her cage, fists raised, water at the ready, that an idea forms.
"Come here", she commands.
Katara doesn't respond. Only puts a leg forward in a fighting stance.
Azula sighs.
"Oh please. Don't embarrass yourself."
There's a glint in her eyes Katara can't quite place.
"You want to fight?", Azula mocks. "Surely you must be itching for a rematch."
Katara doesn't answer.
"What do you say? You and me, a fair fight. Nobody dies. Bender against bender."
What she's playing at, Katara has no idea.
"Guards!", Azula calls out, taking Katara's silence as agreement.
"We'll be going to the training grounds", she instructs once two of her guards burst in. "Round up a squad and bring her."
For a second, Azula expects Katara to fight back.
For a second, Katara considers it.
But if she's going to make her stand, she stands a greater chance outside. Moisture. Ponds and fountains. Cover and terrain.
She lets herself be bound and led after Azula.
It's the first time since her second escape that she's left Azula's chambers. Her cage. Once outside, she soaks up the afternoon air. Warm. Slightly humid. A breeze. It's the most alive she's felt in… Tui knows how long. She's led through courtyards and gardens, past flower beds and parade grounds, until they reach the dojo, a large, open pavillon, little more than a huge roof on pillars.
Azula's mind briefly wanders. Hours upon hours spent practicing stances, demonstrating forms. Her father, instructing her personally after firing her teacher. Zuzu, trying and failing to follow her example.
She pushes those thoughts aside. Focus on the here and now.
"Here are the rules", she states once Katara has been brought before her. "If I die, you will die. It will be slow, it will be painful. If you try to run away, you will not live to see past the walls."
Katara doesn't answer. Hasn't spoken a word in months.
"As long as you understand that", Azula continues, "I expect nothing less than your worst. Unlike the rest of my subjects, I don't assume you are going to hold back for my sake."
Yeah, right, Katara thinks.
She's going to tear the princess limb from limb, and if it's the last thing she does.
Azula nods at the guards, and Katara's shackles are released.
Azula barely has time to assume her stance before Katara's first salvo hits her. The wash tubs, meant for the fighters' refreshment, empty and their contents crash down on Azula. Fire dispels water, waves extinguish flames, lightning turns liquid into steam. For someone who's barely eaten or slept for months, Katara fights like a dragon moose with her back against the wall.
This is a fight.
Azula hasn't enjoyed anything this much since the last time she sparred with Mai.
Mai…
Wrong time. That traitor doesn't deserve her thoughts.
She spars with the palace guard all the time, but none of them can offer the kind of challenge Katara offers. Too afraid to hurt her, to scared of the consequences if they so much as scratch her. Not so now. Katara can feel the blood pounding in her ears. Azula is fast. Azula is dangerous. Azula is deadly. But if it kills her, Katara will take her down.
It's almost like a dance. Fire and water fly through the dojo. The scorch marks on the pillars, there for generations, are washed away with boiling water, the pillars nicked with shards of ice. Katara leads. Azula leads. Katara leads. Azula can't remember the last time she's worked so hard, so many close misses, exhausted her chi so much. No comet, no full moon.
Just water and fire. Lightning and ice.
The fight is relentless. Katara's arm is burned, Azula's cheek torn open. Katara's tunic, or its remains, catch fire at the sleeve. Azula's leg is bleeding.
It's invigorating, Azula thinks.
If she dies, she'll die tearing out Azula's throat, Katara vows.
When the sun begins to set, both of them are out of breath. Covered in sweat. In blood.
Still at a stalemate.
In the end, Azula's stamina wins. Katara can feel it coming. Months without movement, with nothing but miniscule amounts of water and disgusting mush for food, have taken their toll.
A well-aimed kick sweeps Katara off her feet, and the next instant, Azula is kneeling on top of her, fiery blade in hand, less than an inch from Katara's throat.
Knock-out.
Katara is dead.
She's sure of it.
And Azula… Azula can tell.
Just for a split second, she sees fear in Katara's eyes. Not the defiance she's seen early on, or the blank expression she's gotten used to, or the fury she's learned to respect.
Fear.
Katara is sure she's going to die.
Azula can tell.
It reminds her of Zuko, when their father burned them.
For some reason, the idea of gloating about her victory doesn't seem so appealing after all.
"I win", she announces. A mocking grin. "Better luck next time."
Just like that, she jumps off Katara and to her feet. One of the guards hurries to bring her a damp towel, and another steps in to bandage her injuries. She brushes him off. It's nothing. She's the Fire Lord.
Behind her, Katara is still on the floor. She's alive. I'm alive. Azula could have killed her… and didn't.
I've lost. Again.
She can still feel the heat of the flaming blade over her skin. The way her blood pulsed through her veins. The look of triumph, of pure, unfettered bloodlust in Azula's eyes.
I'm alive.
Azula tosses the towel aside. She's won. She's demonstrated her superior strength. Part of her wonders how the fight would have gone if Katara were in shape, but she dismisses it. She's won. She's had the best sparring match she's had in a long time. A real, proper challenge, and she's lived up to it.
Father would be proud.
She sees the movement in the corner of her eye. Catches Katara's reflection in one of the lockers. Up from the ground. Water twitching between her hands.
"Don't."
The word cuts through the air like ice. Ten guards whirl around, fists raised, flames being summoned, to surround Katara. Azula holds up a hand. Not today.
"Don't bother."
Katara freezes, icy projectile aimed at the back of Azula's head.
She could. She could end it right here. If she's fast enough, nobody will have time to stop the icicle before it embeds itself in the princess's skull.
She could.
She won't live to see it happen. She knows that. The second she sends her weapon flying, she's dead.
She could.
Azula starts walking, seemingly unconcerned.
Katara could probably still hit that. Azula keeps walking.
Too late.
The water splashes from Katara's hands and all over the floor. Strong hands grab her, force her hands back into the shackles. Push her towards Azula, back along the path. Through the courtyards, up the stairs.
Into her cage.
Back to her quiet, slow death.
A few days later, the guards open the door of her cage. A bedroll is thrown at her feet, followed by some chopsticks and cutlery (the spoon almost hits her). A sheet and some simple tunics follow. If there is an explanation for this generosity, none is given.
That evening, when Azula comes home from whatever it is the Fire Lord does all day – subjugating, murdering, whatever – neither insult nor flames greet Katara. A guard places a bowl of something resembling noodles and broth in the cage. Her water bowl is refilled.
For the first time in… however long she's been here, Katara goes to bed not feeling hungry.
This continues the next day, and the one after that. Food. Water. She refuses to wear the red tunics she's been given for an entire week, until she caves and puts one of them on to sleep in. It's fresh. Clean.
Where's the catch?
Katara doesn't know.
The worn robes are taken at some point, and returned clean.
Katara won't die trying to escape, Azula won't die pushing her to try.
A month into this arrangement, a month after Katara saw death in Azula's flames and Azula saw resignation in Katara's eyes, Azula returns in unusually good spirits.
"Your people celebrate today, don't they?"
Startled, Katara looks up.
"Today", Azula repeats, as if Katara were slow to understand. "The Lunar New Year? You savages worship the moon, don't you?"
The Lunar New Year. Katara's mind is racing. Halfway between the spring equinox and the summer solstice, according to the Water Tribes' calendar. She's been trapped, captive, for well over half a year.
Tui and La, be with me.
She doesn't answer Azula, and Azula doesn't try to talk to her further.