Categories > Cartoons > Avatar: The Last Airbender > The First Cut
Chapter One
0 reviewsIn-Progress. AU, pre-Northern Siege. Katara is taken aboard Zuko's ship as a hostage.
0Unrated
Chapter One
She was lighter than he thought she would be, held easily in his arms as they made their way back to the ship. It took him a few moments to realize he was judging her weight by her strength in Waterbending, and the smile of triumph slipped fast into a frown of disappointment as he realized she didn't have to tone her body with muscle when raw talent was the backbone of her 'bending.
Zuko had never held much stock in prodigies.
"My prince," Lieutenant Ji looks uncomfortable, unsure of his words but certainly frowning at the girl draped over Zuko's arms, "you don't have to carry her yourself. Any one of your men would be glad to take the burden."
His gaze hardly moves, but his smile, more smirk, curls once more, fingers digging into the furs covering the girl's back and leg. "It's hardly a burden," he replies, "and I will trust bait for the Avatar with no one but myself until we have her restrained in the brig."
He can feel his uncle's gaze, but doesn't return it. His pride and triumph are strong, but his uncle has always had a way of making them waver under gentle eyes.
+8+8+
Only one eye will open when she wakes, and its vision is impaired anyway, the surroundings blurry. She closes her eyes again, vision useless and head spinning, and takes stock in other ways: her cheek, belly, arms, legs... they're cold and the surface is too solid to be snow; her limbs feel weighted down and the rattling that follows her shifting is evidence enough that they are; her back and calves sting, but feel secure and dry; her hands, though flat on the surface below her, are warm.
When she opens her eyes again, Katara realizes she's belly-down on the floor. Both eyes are perfectly functional once she turns her head, though doing so creates a groan that starts in her belly and runs up her throat, taking a moment to rattle her brain before actually making a noise, and she closes her eyes and lowers cheek to floor once more.
Someone might be speaking, but she pays them no mind, investigating her body with eyes closed and no further movement. The restraints on her wrists and ankles are heavy, connected to chains that allow her movement but, she expects, not very far. The floor is cold and solid because the floor, like the restraints, is iron. The burning in her nose is the sensitive skin's reaction to the scent of sulfur and her hands are warm because they are wrapped in leather.
All facts, aside from the latter, let her know where she's been taken. All facts, aside from the latter, require immediate deep breaths as she tries to calm herself.
"Would you care for a cup of ginseng tea?"
The next time she looks anywhere, she doesn't bother opening the second eye - she only needs one to see the aged general standing on the other side of thick, iron bars with a tea tray, smiling at her.
For a moment, Katara is sure her sanity left her when her balance did back at the river.
"The physician says that green would be best," the man continues, hardly perturbed by her silence, or the way she watches him sprawled on her belly with one eye half-open, "but, personally, I much prefer ginseng. And you have had enough medications in the past day, I think, to deserve a treat for your taste buds, yes?" He chuckles and bends to set the tray down before kneeling on the other side of the bars.
She blinks at him through the bars, watching his expectant smile, the steadiness of his hands as he pours the tea. For an old man, he is careful with the delicate teapot and cups, reaching through the bars to slide a full one toward her. She closes her eyes to breathe deeply, replacing sulfur with ginseng, and the sigh she releases is kind enough not to make a detour through her brain as the groan did.
"You can sit up," he says and she doesn't need her eyes open to see his smile, somehow blending with his voice, "but I'm afraid you will be sore. Your burns have been treated, but you have not moved for an entire day--"
"A /day/?" Her voice croaks, sore and dry and she coughs with nothing to give, opening both eyes as she starts to draw her hands underneath her to push up. The following whimper that is dragged from her lips by the sting that flares across her back is bested only by her eyes as they widen, looking upon her hands.
"A day, yes. And I'm afraid the restraints are necessary," he sounds remorseful, this Fire Nation general who taunted her once as she stood and admitted her fault in her own capture-- familiar, that. "I know they seem a bit excessive, but your comfort was considered in their choosing."
Her eyes close and she lowers her cheek back to the floor, content with the scent of ginseng, if not the taste. "How thoughtful," she replies and her croak does not hide the sarcasm beneath.
The following silence is somehow disapproving, but Katara does not look to confirm her suspicions. Iroh speaks soon enough, without her. "Try this," is said, but more interesting is the light whisper that rolls across the floor. She opens an eye in time to see the thin, hollow bamboo stick bump her fingers, and to glance at Iroh to watch him give her instructions. "Put it in your cup and suck on it. You will still have to lift yourself, but perhaps it will be less uncomfortable."
She tries to see herself as he must see her: battered, bruised, and burned, lying flat on the floor of a cell with ankles and wrists chained down, her back and legs bandaged, odd leather gloves on her hands, unable to lift herself enough to drink tea.
She turns her face from him and closes her eyes.
He is still there, in her mind, kneeling on the outside of the bars, watching her, the grey of his hair, the red and black of his uniform outlined by the light of the torches behind him. His kind smile is there and she does something she has never done before - she dissects it, looking for the emotion, the real honest emotion that can be nothing but negative in the Fire Nation general. Surely.
The whisper of fine robes and the clink of the cups on the tray tell her that he's leaving, though the scent of ginseng is close. He left her cup.
Iroh is halfway up the stairs before he hears the slurp of a straw, and emerges from the brig with a smile.
She was lighter than he thought she would be, held easily in his arms as they made their way back to the ship. It took him a few moments to realize he was judging her weight by her strength in Waterbending, and the smile of triumph slipped fast into a frown of disappointment as he realized she didn't have to tone her body with muscle when raw talent was the backbone of her 'bending.
Zuko had never held much stock in prodigies.
"My prince," Lieutenant Ji looks uncomfortable, unsure of his words but certainly frowning at the girl draped over Zuko's arms, "you don't have to carry her yourself. Any one of your men would be glad to take the burden."
His gaze hardly moves, but his smile, more smirk, curls once more, fingers digging into the furs covering the girl's back and leg. "It's hardly a burden," he replies, "and I will trust bait for the Avatar with no one but myself until we have her restrained in the brig."
He can feel his uncle's gaze, but doesn't return it. His pride and triumph are strong, but his uncle has always had a way of making them waver under gentle eyes.
+8+8+
Only one eye will open when she wakes, and its vision is impaired anyway, the surroundings blurry. She closes her eyes again, vision useless and head spinning, and takes stock in other ways: her cheek, belly, arms, legs... they're cold and the surface is too solid to be snow; her limbs feel weighted down and the rattling that follows her shifting is evidence enough that they are; her back and calves sting, but feel secure and dry; her hands, though flat on the surface below her, are warm.
When she opens her eyes again, Katara realizes she's belly-down on the floor. Both eyes are perfectly functional once she turns her head, though doing so creates a groan that starts in her belly and runs up her throat, taking a moment to rattle her brain before actually making a noise, and she closes her eyes and lowers cheek to floor once more.
Someone might be speaking, but she pays them no mind, investigating her body with eyes closed and no further movement. The restraints on her wrists and ankles are heavy, connected to chains that allow her movement but, she expects, not very far. The floor is cold and solid because the floor, like the restraints, is iron. The burning in her nose is the sensitive skin's reaction to the scent of sulfur and her hands are warm because they are wrapped in leather.
All facts, aside from the latter, let her know where she's been taken. All facts, aside from the latter, require immediate deep breaths as she tries to calm herself.
"Would you care for a cup of ginseng tea?"
The next time she looks anywhere, she doesn't bother opening the second eye - she only needs one to see the aged general standing on the other side of thick, iron bars with a tea tray, smiling at her.
For a moment, Katara is sure her sanity left her when her balance did back at the river.
"The physician says that green would be best," the man continues, hardly perturbed by her silence, or the way she watches him sprawled on her belly with one eye half-open, "but, personally, I much prefer ginseng. And you have had enough medications in the past day, I think, to deserve a treat for your taste buds, yes?" He chuckles and bends to set the tray down before kneeling on the other side of the bars.
She blinks at him through the bars, watching his expectant smile, the steadiness of his hands as he pours the tea. For an old man, he is careful with the delicate teapot and cups, reaching through the bars to slide a full one toward her. She closes her eyes to breathe deeply, replacing sulfur with ginseng, and the sigh she releases is kind enough not to make a detour through her brain as the groan did.
"You can sit up," he says and she doesn't need her eyes open to see his smile, somehow blending with his voice, "but I'm afraid you will be sore. Your burns have been treated, but you have not moved for an entire day--"
"A /day/?" Her voice croaks, sore and dry and she coughs with nothing to give, opening both eyes as she starts to draw her hands underneath her to push up. The following whimper that is dragged from her lips by the sting that flares across her back is bested only by her eyes as they widen, looking upon her hands.
"A day, yes. And I'm afraid the restraints are necessary," he sounds remorseful, this Fire Nation general who taunted her once as she stood and admitted her fault in her own capture-- familiar, that. "I know they seem a bit excessive, but your comfort was considered in their choosing."
Her eyes close and she lowers her cheek back to the floor, content with the scent of ginseng, if not the taste. "How thoughtful," she replies and her croak does not hide the sarcasm beneath.
The following silence is somehow disapproving, but Katara does not look to confirm her suspicions. Iroh speaks soon enough, without her. "Try this," is said, but more interesting is the light whisper that rolls across the floor. She opens an eye in time to see the thin, hollow bamboo stick bump her fingers, and to glance at Iroh to watch him give her instructions. "Put it in your cup and suck on it. You will still have to lift yourself, but perhaps it will be less uncomfortable."
She tries to see herself as he must see her: battered, bruised, and burned, lying flat on the floor of a cell with ankles and wrists chained down, her back and legs bandaged, odd leather gloves on her hands, unable to lift herself enough to drink tea.
She turns her face from him and closes her eyes.
He is still there, in her mind, kneeling on the outside of the bars, watching her, the grey of his hair, the red and black of his uniform outlined by the light of the torches behind him. His kind smile is there and she does something she has never done before - she dissects it, looking for the emotion, the real honest emotion that can be nothing but negative in the Fire Nation general. Surely.
The whisper of fine robes and the clink of the cups on the tray tell her that he's leaving, though the scent of ginseng is close. He left her cup.
Iroh is halfway up the stairs before he hears the slurp of a straw, and emerges from the brig with a smile.
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