A/N: Well. A couple days ago, I noticed that I had somehow overwritten the original chapter 15 in my project file. Gone from the backups, too, so it had to have happened a couple days before I noticed and I'd overwritten my backups with the damaged file. I wrote that chapter around New Year's, so by the time I noticed it missing, I had forgotten virtually all of it and only remembered the broad strokes of the plot, and I had to rewrite it from scratch. All I had left to go on were a few paragraphs I sent to friends and less than half a page of notes. Some of my favourite lines I've ever written were in there, and sadly, I couldn't reconstruct them all from memory.
As little consolation as that is, let me assure you it was very, very good.
I managed around 1500 words that night and let it stew for a couple of days; just now I've rewritten my draft from back then and I think it's ready for posting.
The next day and for days after, Azula remains apprehensive, concerned Katara will feel emboldened by this newfound freedom. She's allowed her more than a prisoner deserves, more than she herself ever imagined she would allow her, but whether the choice was correct… only time will tell. Katara's vow to never take advantage of her unimaginable power is one thing, but if Azula knows anything, it's that temptation wears down everyone. There is no person in the palace city, herself excepted of course, who cannot be swayed, bought, tempted, or threatened if the incentive is right. She's just offered Katara nearly unlimited power back, even if only once a month, and she's not keen on finding out how incorruptible or not Katara is.
After a week of being constantly on edge, she begins to relax, stops keeping her guard up at every second, scanning Katara for signs of betrayal and plotting at every turn. Still, even so, it takes two weeks of sneaking around each other, of Azula suspiciously eyeing Katara, until she's sure she's back to normal and dares to invite her sparring again. Once at the dojo, they quickly fall back into their usual rhythm, but Azula watches Katara with newfound appreciation for her powers, a newfound respect – not like an equal, she clarifies to nobody but herself, but like a dangerous animal.
Azula isn't the only one the past night weighs heavy on, though. While Azula worries about betrayal, murder, retribution; worries about Katara being tempted by her powers, Katara spends days thinking about those last few moments outside. Sitting under the moon. Feeling alive for the first time in so long.
I shouldn't have thanked her.
That thought, more than any other, doesn't go away.
She hasn't done me any favours. She hasn't given me anything. She's stopped taking something away; it's not the same.
I shouldn't have thanked her.
Gratitude, vulnerability, they're weaknesses she can't afford. Not in front of someone as ruthless and manipulative as Azula.
What right did she have to take my bending away in the first place? My identity, my culture, my birthright? None! And I went and thanked her for giving back what she never should have taken in the first place.
Who I am is not for her to decide. My bending, my powers, my connection to the spirits, is not for her to give or withhold.
To thank her means to accept her rule. She doesn't own me.
I was weak. Overwhelmed. I failed.
The brush slips off the paper and Katara curses.
With a wave of her hand, she gathers the ink off the table and bends it back into the jar. In front of her, scattered across the desk, are a dozens of papers: architectural sketches, details of pillars, roofs, arches; landscapes, gardens, flowers; some detailed, some rough.
Brush stroke. Another. Straight lines. Another building takes shape on the sheet.
She bends more ink onto the brush.
Bending. That's one thing she's gotten more confident at. Until recently, even more so after Azula's reaction to her bending sweat away, she hasn't dared to bend, out of fear to be punished. But now… who is Azula to complain? She knows what Katara is capable of. If it disturbs Azula, she knows better than to show it (it does disturb her). Waterbending… it's the element of the enemy, a means of war and destruction. Seeing it so casually, as a convenience… it's not something she's used to. But bending up spilled water, drying her hair, ink off the table… it's the little things, the normalcy of it all, that reassures Katara. Reconfirms her faith in herself, in who she is.
Brush stroke. Line. Curve. Line. On paper, the royal palace begins to take form. Stroke. Dot. More ink.
Who am I, though?
There are words for people like her. Prisoners who fraternise with their captors. Women who give themselves to enemy soldiers in exchange for security, for a meal and a roof. Many words, one uglier than the other. It's not who Katara ever saw herself being, and yet…
"So this is where you're hiding."
She didn't hear Azula come in. After witnessing Azula's reaction to Ozai's study, that little bit of vulnerability she surely never meant to show, Katara has taken to the study as a refuge. A place so evil, it wards off even Azula. The irony – a waterbender, bending ink in the Fire Lord's study – isn't lost on her. Nor Azula, for that matter.
"Not bad", Azula comments after peeking over Katara's shoulder. Coming from her, that's a pretty big compliment.
"Azula. Torture anyone interesting today?"
Azula scoffs.
"Contrary to what you may believe, I don't spend my days massacring people for fun."
When it becomes clear Katara won't respond, she turns on her heel and disappears into her room. Out of spite, Katara adds an Earth Kingdom banner to the palace she's drawn, and little earthbending stick figures in the courtyard. It's a sight she'd love to see one day.
When she's done for the day, she's drawn the palace from every angle she's seen it from.
However both of them feel about what's happened, the atmosphere between them changes. As much as Katara's bending intimidates Azula, as much as the extent of Katara's powers is as unbelievable to her as her voluntary refusal to use them, she is more than pleased with the effect the moon has had on Katara. Katara's expression of gratitude echoes in her mind. Her strategy is paying off.
Take everything from someone, and every little thing you give them back will be a generous gift.
Two years ago, Katara looking at her in awe would have been unthinkable. Last night, it was reality. She's succeeding, she's tamed her. Torn her down until there was nothing left and rebuilt her. Remade her, if not in her own image, then at least as someone who is worthy of Azula's generosity and attention. The tribal beast has become tame. The problem prisoner has turned into a domesticated… friend? No. Servant? Whatever. Shaping Katara into what she is now, it's an achievement.
Father would be proud.
Although, would he?
No, father would have killed her the moment he defeated her. He never would have let things get this far.
As for Katara, she's under no delusion as to what's happening. Or as to Azula's satisfaction, for that matter. But she can't deny what being allowed to experience Tui again has done to her. How much lighter her chest feels, how much easier each breath comes. How much more herself she feels. As much as she resents herself for her moment of weakness, making herself vulnerable to Azula, she can't deny that she means it. Meant it in the moment, maybe even means it now.
Conversations between them become downright cordial, as much as that's possible.
Azula talks about delays in the construction of the dam at Pohuai stronghold. Katara remarks how typical it is that the Fire Nation wants to restrain an element they don't understand. Azula verbally tears apart generals she can't afford to ostracise; Katara comments on the ruthless nature of the Fire Nation.
It's not exactly friendly, but it's less tense than it might have been before.
When Azula takes her sparring, she still beats her, most of the time, but she sees the potential that is there. If she were so inclined, she would send a prayer to the spirits to thank them for Katara's moral inhibitions.
Before too long, the next full moon arrives. No old woman shows up in the evening to render Katara helpless. During dinner, Azula is a little more tense than usual, as much as she tries to hide it, and she excuses herself early to work on some reports or other.
She manages an hour before curiosity gets the better of her.
When the moon has risen, she once again finds Katara on the balcony, once again meditating. There is no rain this time. Katara doesn't acknowledge Azula, and Azula stands in the doorway for a minute before leaving Katara to herself, reassured that Katara won't turn on her.
If letting her prisoner have the moon is what it takes to ensure she looks at Azula like she's personally put it in the sky, then she can live with that.
Katara sits under Tui's glow and feels alive.
From up here, she can feel… everything. The leftover wine on the table. The blood pumping through the veins of the guards that pass by below. The plumbing running under Azula's bathroom. The little pond a stone's throw away.
It's invigorating. It reminds her of who she is, of what she can achieve. The last waterbender of the Southern Tribe.
It's sickening. She feels the guards' heartbeats, knows that she could reach out and stop them, and her stomach drops. She can taste bile in her mouth every time a patrol walks by and their blood flows at the periphery of her senses. Can remember the first time she bent another's blood, how intoxicating it felt, how wrong, how vile.
Curses Hama, curses herself, curses the spirits for ever having met her.
She remembers bending Azula's blood, that first time, barely more than a caged animal, driven by nothing but pain and fear after months spent in darkness and torture chambers, and her heart shatters a little, her stomach revolts at the thought of breaking her vow to herself never to use such base powers again. She remembers the other time, too, kneeling over Azula's lifeless body, feeling her blood flow, doing the only thing she could and saving her life.
Was it worth it?
I could have ended her. Twice. Is my life worth hers? Was it worth being allowed to see the moon, and in return let her continue her war? Was it worth my friends' lives? Freedom? Is that what I've sold my soul for? I would have died with her, but shouldn't I have?
Maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way.
Is saving her life a fair price to be who I am again? Her life for my soul? My identity? To be given back myself? Am I who I was again?
She's not sure she has an answer.
How many people have I killed? How many soldiers' hearts did I feel until they stopped?
Regardless of what happens, she's not sure she can ever look herself in the eye again. Not after what she's done. As much as she tells herself it was necessary, that she had a duty to escape, still has… but she's broken her vow once and she never wants to again.
The moon knows nothing of her conflict. Long after she has gone to bed, it continues to shine, on the palace city as well as on a little village at the South Pole.
A/N: Spare some reviews in this trying time?
A couple people recently left reviews on pretty much every chapter and let me just say, you absolutely made my day(s). You know who you are.