Fanfiction
Title: Of Fire And Water
Chapter One: Awakenings
Fandom: Avatar
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Chapter Summary: Katara wakes up in a strange place, to strange people.
Awakenings
The first time that Katara wakes after the battle, her mind is still fogged with sleep and exhaustion. She blinks sleepily at the face in her field of vision, finding some amusement in the large sideburns, as a faint smile graces her lips. But the call of Morpheus is strong and it is not long before she slips back into sleep. She does not notice the frown that appears on the face of the man by her bedside, nor the tightening of his fists as he strides from the room.
She sleeps the sleep of the exhausted, too tired and hurt for even dreams to interrupt her wearied mind. She does not take heed of bandages being changed, nor of whispered conversations by her bedside. She does not even wake when she is moved from the infirmary to a spare cabin, the chill air of the corridors making her skin goosebumple as she is carried in strong arms.
She wakes briefly to the sounds of the ocean at night, mind still too addled to do more than realise that she is on a ship, and for her tired blue eyes to take in the fire nation emblem on the opposite wall. She falls asleep to it, black flames on a red background. The image stays with her into her dreams, fire roaring through the images in her head, people attacking, fighting, flames, her mother on her knees, the skull-faced warrior, flames, running, flames, fire, flames, pain…
She wakes up screaming, staring blindly at the fire nation emblem on the wall, hands tangled in the covers as she wails. She does not even register the entrance of somebody else into the room until strong arms wrap around her, a little too tight for true comfort, but warm and all-encompassing. She clings helplessly, crying her grief with incoherent wails, fingers scrunching into the thick red material that smells faintly of charcoal and sweat.
~
It is a fortnight later, and Katara has made tentative friends with the lieutenant who saved her life during the raid on her village. The man is gruff and speaks a little harshly sometimes, but Katara is used to gruff men - they were what the men of her village were made of. She always knew that those men held a soft interior, and love for their families - this gruff man is no different, she thinks.
The other men do not smile much, and their armour is strange compared to the thick furs she is used to. Katara fiddles with the sleeves of her red robes, feeling odd without a hood around her face. She is no less cold than she was at the South - she even thinks she might be warmer - but it is still odd to have her hair down and not restrained by practical plaits and pinned down coils that she is used to.
Today, she is standing on the upper deck and watching ‘her’ lieutenant practice firebending. He doesn’t realise that she is watching, but when he is told later on of the entranced expression on her face as he worked through increasingly difficult sets, he will smirk. He looks up as he finishes, sweat beading on his brow, to see her standing there. He lifts a hand in greeting, accepting a towel from his aide and drying himself off.
He looks up again to the patter of tiny feet and remembers to let a smile come to his face as the child approaches, dark red slippers flashing out from underneath the long folds of her robe. He is pleased when she hesitates before him, then fumbles her hands into the correct position and bows, hesitant blue eyes peeking out from underneath her loose hair as she straightens up again.
He lifts her chin with one finger, raising her head to meet his eyes. He smiles at her and is rewarded almost immediately with a blindingly happy grin. The girl hugs him quickly, then dashes away, embarrassed. He watches her flee back inside the ship, pleased that she is fearful, yet drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
I have her now…
~
“Katara?”
The girl looked up from the table she was seated at with brushes and pens arranged neatly upon it, paper half-covered with a childish drawing of some such. She smiled when she saw him, scrambling to her feet and remembering to bow. Her smile fell away into a look of confusion as she saw the look on his face - set and grim.
He took a deep theatrical breath, and set his face into a look of sympathy.
“I am afraid I have some… bad news.”
He began speaking, eyes never drifting form her face as he wove an elegant web of lies - describing the massacre at the South Pole and how he had found her in the snow, the only one alive. How he had disciplined the men responsible and how he was sorry - but all of her people were dead. Every last one.
Her smile had long since vanished and when he finished speaking, she threw herself at him, crying into his shoulder. She clung to him like a drowning woman in a storm, shaking as she cried for her people and her lost family. After a while, his back began to ache from his crouched position and he picked her up easily, depositing her on the bed. She looked up at him with red-swollen eyes and hiccupped, tears spent but sadness still very much present.
He gave her a brief impersonal smile and turned to leave, but small fingers caught at his tunic, forcing him to halt.
“Please, don’t leave…”
“It is late Katara. I need to sleep, and while I understand you are upset, your bed is not big enough for the both of us. Goodnight.”
He untangled her fingers from his tunic and left, closing the door behind him. Now it only remained to be seen whether she would do the obvious thing left to her… grieving, alone…
He was in his room preparing for bed, when his door creaked open and a small voice whispered
“Your bed’s big enough, isn’t it?”
There was the patter of tiny feet, then the rustle of cloth as a small body dove into the bed. He smirked with his back to her, then turned and spoke sternly to the lump under his covers.
“Tonight only.”
He slid into the confines of cool, red silk, the material warming quickly to his body heat. He fell asleep quickly, but still alert to movement - and thus he awoke in the middle of the night when a small body snuggled closer, soft breathing over his chest.
Lieutenant Zhao smirked and put an arm around her - small, delicate, easy to break, and now, his.
Chapter One: Awakenings
Fandom: Avatar
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Chapter Summary: Katara wakes up in a strange place, to strange people.
Awakenings
The first time that Katara wakes after the battle, her mind is still fogged with sleep and exhaustion. She blinks sleepily at the face in her field of vision, finding some amusement in the large sideburns, as a faint smile graces her lips. But the call of Morpheus is strong and it is not long before she slips back into sleep. She does not notice the frown that appears on the face of the man by her bedside, nor the tightening of his fists as he strides from the room.
She sleeps the sleep of the exhausted, too tired and hurt for even dreams to interrupt her wearied mind. She does not take heed of bandages being changed, nor of whispered conversations by her bedside. She does not even wake when she is moved from the infirmary to a spare cabin, the chill air of the corridors making her skin goosebumple as she is carried in strong arms.
She wakes briefly to the sounds of the ocean at night, mind still too addled to do more than realise that she is on a ship, and for her tired blue eyes to take in the fire nation emblem on the opposite wall. She falls asleep to it, black flames on a red background. The image stays with her into her dreams, fire roaring through the images in her head, people attacking, fighting, flames, her mother on her knees, the skull-faced warrior, flames, running, flames, fire, flames, pain…
She wakes up screaming, staring blindly at the fire nation emblem on the wall, hands tangled in the covers as she wails. She does not even register the entrance of somebody else into the room until strong arms wrap around her, a little too tight for true comfort, but warm and all-encompassing. She clings helplessly, crying her grief with incoherent wails, fingers scrunching into the thick red material that smells faintly of charcoal and sweat.
~
It is a fortnight later, and Katara has made tentative friends with the lieutenant who saved her life during the raid on her village. The man is gruff and speaks a little harshly sometimes, but Katara is used to gruff men - they were what the men of her village were made of. She always knew that those men held a soft interior, and love for their families - this gruff man is no different, she thinks.
The other men do not smile much, and their armour is strange compared to the thick furs she is used to. Katara fiddles with the sleeves of her red robes, feeling odd without a hood around her face. She is no less cold than she was at the South - she even thinks she might be warmer - but it is still odd to have her hair down and not restrained by practical plaits and pinned down coils that she is used to.
Today, she is standing on the upper deck and watching ‘her’ lieutenant practice firebending. He doesn’t realise that she is watching, but when he is told later on of the entranced expression on her face as he worked through increasingly difficult sets, he will smirk. He looks up as he finishes, sweat beading on his brow, to see her standing there. He lifts a hand in greeting, accepting a towel from his aide and drying himself off.
He looks up again to the patter of tiny feet and remembers to let a smile come to his face as the child approaches, dark red slippers flashing out from underneath the long folds of her robe. He is pleased when she hesitates before him, then fumbles her hands into the correct position and bows, hesitant blue eyes peeking out from underneath her loose hair as she straightens up again.
He lifts her chin with one finger, raising her head to meet his eyes. He smiles at her and is rewarded almost immediately with a blindingly happy grin. The girl hugs him quickly, then dashes away, embarrassed. He watches her flee back inside the ship, pleased that she is fearful, yet drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
I have her now…
~
“Katara?”
The girl looked up from the table she was seated at with brushes and pens arranged neatly upon it, paper half-covered with a childish drawing of some such. She smiled when she saw him, scrambling to her feet and remembering to bow. Her smile fell away into a look of confusion as she saw the look on his face - set and grim.
He took a deep theatrical breath, and set his face into a look of sympathy.
“I am afraid I have some… bad news.”
He began speaking, eyes never drifting form her face as he wove an elegant web of lies - describing the massacre at the South Pole and how he had found her in the snow, the only one alive. How he had disciplined the men responsible and how he was sorry - but all of her people were dead. Every last one.
Her smile had long since vanished and when he finished speaking, she threw herself at him, crying into his shoulder. She clung to him like a drowning woman in a storm, shaking as she cried for her people and her lost family. After a while, his back began to ache from his crouched position and he picked her up easily, depositing her on the bed. She looked up at him with red-swollen eyes and hiccupped, tears spent but sadness still very much present.
He gave her a brief impersonal smile and turned to leave, but small fingers caught at his tunic, forcing him to halt.
“Please, don’t leave…”
“It is late Katara. I need to sleep, and while I understand you are upset, your bed is not big enough for the both of us. Goodnight.”
He untangled her fingers from his tunic and left, closing the door behind him. Now it only remained to be seen whether she would do the obvious thing left to her… grieving, alone…
He was in his room preparing for bed, when his door creaked open and a small voice whispered
“Your bed’s big enough, isn’t it?”
There was the patter of tiny feet, then the rustle of cloth as a small body dove into the bed. He smirked with his back to her, then turned and spoke sternly to the lump under his covers.
“Tonight only.”
He slid into the confines of cool, red silk, the material warming quickly to his body heat. He fell asleep quickly, but still alert to movement - and thus he awoke in the middle of the night when a small body snuggled closer, soft breathing over his chest.
Lieutenant Zhao smirked and put an arm around her - small, delicate, easy to break, and now, his.