#because that would be BORING and flames FORBID anything tied to her Will should be BORING | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saskiel · 6 years

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Kaylin Galanodel

This is the background story for my cleric elf in a 5e dnd campaign lead by my boyfriend. We’ve had quite a long break and when we started (almost two years ago) it was my first proper campaign. I wasn’t all that happy with my previous character so he allowed me to make a new character.

My previous character was also a cleric and I wanted to keep that, although she has a different domain that she answers to.

As per usual, please excuse any grammar mistakes. I had no beta and English is not my native language.

Now, on with the story :)

You wake up, your head is pounding and your back feels stiff as if you didn’t move in a while. Slowly your eyes crack open and you take a look around you. Not much too see, other than flickering light from a small fire nearby and figure sitting on the other side of it. You, being the lowlife that you are, have been to plenty of smelly caverns to be able to recognize one. Even the wet feeling is here to confirm your theory.

As you try to flex your muscles to relief them a bit, you notice that your hands are tied very securely as well as your ankles. Your movement, however small it has been, has attracted the attention of the person still partially hidden in the shadows.

“Finally awake I see, I was starting to think that I hit your head a little too much and you were gonna die.” She says as she moves closer to the flames, giving you a better idea of who captured you.

Because at this point there is no doubt in your mind that that is exactly what is happening here. Hell, you’ve been the one sitting as leisurely as this woman is many times prior to this. You never thought that the places would be reversed.

“Who are you and what do you want from me? My comrades can pay you money if that’s what you are after.” Your voice is a little rough from the lack of using it for God knows how long, but you manage.

She only smiles. You are not sure if you imagined it, but there was a sadness to it. One thing is for sure, you never looked at your victim in such a way and it puzzles you a little.

“No money can give me back what you’ve stolen from me. As for your comrades, they will never even find you.” She turns her head to the side. Before she continues in a very soft voice.

“We are, after all, very alone here.”

Your buddies would often make fun of you when it came to the bravery. He’s a little scaredy-cat, they’d say, sometimes they’d make clucking noise behind your back. You were starting to understand when you felt your heartbeat rise up, panic gripping at you.

“I’ll give you anything you want, I will do anything you want - just let me go.” Although it comes out in a little higher pitch than you’d have liked, you needed to get out of this situation – fast.

For a little while, there has been no sound other than the cracking and hissing of the wood being burned. A small twig let out a loud pop and broke down to two charred pieces, falling to the ash bellow them. A tiny puff of dust rose from the bottom, only to be ignited instantly, making it look like there were fireflies. The moment seemed to stretch to infinity and you were about to start begging for your life when she finally nodded her head.

“Fine, I’ll let you leave, if you will hear my story. It would seem my life is about to change again and there is no one that I can talk to about it. After that, you’ll be free, I give you my word.” The woman speaks slowly as if she was still deciding her words.

You find it a little strange but decide not to look in the mouth of a gift horse and you dip your head eagerly.

She takes off her hood and you see the pointy ears, peaking out of her dark hair. If you weren’t sure before, now you know with certainty, that your captor is an elf. She takes a deep breath and her gaze is pointed at the dancing flames. Then, without any announcement, she starts talking again.

“My parents aren’t bad people. They are good citizens of the city they live in and they have been making money with their trades for many years now. But, as it usually is, they were afraid of the unknown.

“I was their firstborn child, nearly two and half centuries ago. We’ve been a happy family. My father used to spoil me rotten and my mother would chastise him for it, although just for show, as she’d slip me the best piece of meat from the dinner without father noticing.” She smiles fondly, and although she’s sitting not even two meters away from you, you get the feeling that she is not truly here with you.

“Ever since I was a child, I was always curious about the world, but my parents insisted that I am too young to go anywhere on my own. It’s true that I was young and naïve, but back then, I detested them for not allowing me what I wanted. Did you ever felt like that with your parents?” Her eyes bore into yours.

You, not exactly sure what answer she’s fishing for, hesitantly shake your head. Sure, your parents would forbid things to you all the time, but in the end, that wasn’t the reason you left home. Seeing your answer, your captor makes a grimace that is closest described as a grin.

“Guess you got that going for you. But with time, even I understand that my parents were not wrong. When I started showing an affinity for magic, they had me attend our community church, as we were lucky enough to have few priests and even clerics who were tired of traveling and stayed in our city.

“I was making very slow progress with spells, but Dragor, a dwarf cleric, was very patient with me. Almost three times my age, I knew he saw something of himself in me. I was always thirsty for his stories of his adventures and his ability to heal was second to no one I’ve ever met. We had good times, Dragor and me. But then the war broke and he was called to arms.” The elf’s face saddens. Although you don’t particularly care, you are just listening so that you’d be released, you can’t completely shake the feeling of empathy.

“I begged that old fool to take me with him. But he stood with my parents and denied me, just as they did. I remember being so angry with him, so much that it made my blood boil and my head was spinning. In pure rage, I hit him with my fist. It wasn’t such a hard punch, but he yelped in pain. I felt it then, the power surging through me. My parents who were witnessing this exchange started yelling at me to apologize, but I did not even hear them. I saw that look that Dragor was giving me and at that moment I understood that he knew. I turned on my heel and I ran away to the woods, voices of my parents silently echoing behind my back.

“When I returned the next morning, Dragor was already dead. Priests said that he died in the night.”

The woman stays silent for a while as if she’s collecting her thoughts. You don’t dare to say anything, just shifting uncomfortably in your spot, thinking that your back will start cramping soon probably. When she continues her story again, her voice sounds a little harder than it did before.

“Everyone thought that old age got to him, but my parents saw what happened and they knew it wasn’t the case. They never said anything to anyone, but they stopped speaking to me after that. And in just a few days, I woke up to an empty house. On the table was a letter that they can’t be around me and that if I want things to stay secret, I will leave them alone.

“For the first time in my existence, I agreed with them. That did not stop me from finding them, though. It was not hard, even without any proper experience of an adventurer, I knew plenty of tracking from Dragor. They got themselves a pretty house in Cedos, a lot bigger city than where we used to live. It hurt, but I was happy for them.

“Being all grown up now, I decided to take Dragor’s call to arms and joined the army. I knew some fighting, but what the dwarf taught me the most was healing. I was very valued, being switched from regiment to regiment. Soon after I started building a reputation for myself and I was climbing up the ranks. I am not gonna lie to you, some of those were because of man in a higher position who missed the flesh of a woman. I didn’t mind.”

Once again, she is silent for a while. When she opens her mouth again, her voice is almost void of emotions.

“I was colonel of the third regiment. I led my men to the battle of Dara’Gool.”

It takes you a second, but you remember that the battle of Dara’Gool happened almost a century ago, way before you were even born. But it is a story that gives chills to anyone even to this day. It was one of the bloodiest and messiest battles in the whole war. One, which almost lost the war for you all.

She pulls out something from below her cloak. The flames reflect on an old necklace on a chain.

“This belonged to my second in command. I should not have survived that bloodshed, but he made sure I did. To this day I hear the screams of my men.” She puts the trinket back where she took it from.

“It is not like there were any official records, but everyone thought I was dead. There were too many bodies to do a proper search in any case. I did what I knew best and I fled, like a coward, again. I wanted to see my parents and beg them for forgiveness. But I found them with another child. I had a sister. I knew that I could not possibly bring my old problems back to them, they seemed so happy. So I wandered around the world, mostly in solitude, helping out for a few silver pieces to be able to afford food and a bed. I never stayed long in one place, always feeling like I had to move forward.

“About four decades ago I stumbled upon a group of mercenaries. For a second I thought I was a ghost. There was a dwarf with them who looked just like my old friend, Dragor. I could not help myself and I asked them if I could share a meal with them. They just got their pay from a bounty they had captured so being in a good mood they did not even hesitate.”

Your captor looks down at her nails, looking lost in thoughts again. You are uncertain about what she might be thinking about, but your eyes roam around her form. She’s sitting down, so it’s little harder to tell how tall she might be, but you are guessing she is probably smaller than you. The flames are creating shadows on her coppery skin. Her hair falls loosely to her shoulders and it looks like there is a red sheen to it. You can’t be too sure, it might just be the fire playing tricks on you. It’s definitely dark though. Her eyes are reflecting the light just fine and they sparkle just like the emerald ring that your comrade stole from a noblewoman not too long ago. You pawned it for a good money.

Before you can notice anything more, she starts talking again, as if remembering that there was a story to be told.

“They were a merry bunch, you know. Always up to something and taking jobs that no one else would. I offered them my healing services and they took me in. Together we were called the Sick Ponies. For a time I felt like I had a family again. Whenever I had the chance, I would go and check up on my actual family as well as my sister. She was growing into a beautiful woman. Although she didn’t know I even existed, I was proud of her. Sometimes I would pass by her in the market, just to be close to her. She never even once turned and looked at me.

“Then, slowly, people in our party either retired or died. You can’t save everyone, you know? But we had a good run. Made a lot of money and spend probably even more, somehow. I learned a lot while traveling with them. But never once I told them about Dragor. Never once I explained why I would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. Never once I mentioned Dara’Gool.

“Just a few years ago, I’ve heard about my little sister also choosing the adventurous life. You cannot imagine how happy and excited for her I’ve been. It has taken me a while, but I’ve tracked her down. And you know what? I felt like maybe it was time to tell her everything. That I’m her sister and try to forge a bond with her that would last our lives. She was traveling with a group named Team Pink Rocket.”

You get the sense that you’ve heard that name before. After all, such a ridiculous name is hard to forget, but you can’t really place it. On top of that, you are starting to lose feeling in your legs from your sitting position.

Your captor slowly stands up, just so that she can crouch in front of you. The fire is now behind her back and you can immediately feel the loss of warmth, but that doesn’t let you down, because she is probably almost done with her story and you will be released soon.

“I was so proud to see my little sister being a strong and powerful cleric, nothing can elder sibling make happier than to see that similarity. She looked just like a younger version of me. Now, I need you to focus. Imagine getting ready to share all of this with your sister, which you’ve loved even if you never spoke to her. Imagine finding a perfect gift for her as a token for her forgiveness for all the time lost. And then imagine seeing her dead by such a lowlife such as yourself.”

She almost spits out the last sentence and you are no longer certain if the loss of heat is because of her blocking the flames, or if there is chill emanating from her. Whichever it is, you have a very bad feeling about this and you try to squirm, as if trying to get further away from her, but your legs no longer cooperate with you.

“Her name was Shi’Larra Galanodel and you were the one who plunged a dagger into her heart.”

You now remember where you’ve heard the crazy name before. You know of whom she’s speaking about. Your eyes go wide with recognition and you want to scream, but just as you open your mouth, she swiftly covers it with her hand.

“Now, screaming won’t do you any good. I told you already, we are very alone here. I also gave you my word that you will be free. And I intend to keep my word.”

Then, you feel it. Where her skin touches yours. She is draining your life force.

Petrified, you can only stare into her green eyes.

You remember the ring again, the one that you pawned for a good coin. You think of Mad Peter, the one who stole the ring, making a clucking noise behind your back. Your memories also take you back to your parents, who wanted you to be a carpenter and marry Eva from the neighbors.

Or maybe Daisy, she was the daughter of the major. You are thinking that life with Daisy probably wouldn’t be that bad. You can feel your life slowly slipping away from you, but you can only think of Daisy. You’d work at your workshop during the day and in the evening she’d have a hot soup ready for you. She’d kiss you on your lips and thanked you for your hard work. Then you’d make love to her in a bed that you’ve made for her, as a wedding gift. You’d be happy.

A tear escapes from your eye, sliding down your cheek and touching the hand that is still clasped over your mouth. Two pricy, emerald rings are starring back at you - they are also crying. That’s foolish, rings can’t cry. You’d never make Daisy cry. You’d be good to her.

You no longer see the elf pull her hood back and douse the fire. You don’t hear her whisper “Life for a life.” She just turns around, after picking her things up, and leaves. Soon after there is a loud thunder noise, which people from the nearby city will simply think of as an approaching storm. As the entrance to the cave gives in, the body inside slowly getting cold, a lone figure sets on a journey to find Team Pink Rocket. She would honor her sister’s life by standing in her place. It is her duty as an older sibling. She will also find out whoever was behind the death of her sister and lay waste to them.

#dnd character #elf cleric #background story #5th edition #dungeons and dragons

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lykegenia · 7 years

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The Things We Hide Ch. 8

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3 Masterpost here

Words: 5563 Pairing: Zuko x Katara Chapter Summary: Needing a break from tracking down the saboteur, Zuko fulfils his promise to show Katara the Caldera.

Read it on AO3

The papers scattered over Zuko’s desk were beginning to give him a headache. In addition to the war accounts, petitions, and updates on the repair of the harbour wall, a scribe had seen fit to dump the reports from the guard about their night-time encounter with the Blue Spirit onto his desk. They were complete nonsense, of course, made to excuse their failure to capture him, but the outlandish claims added to his smokescreen and to his reputation. His mysterious companion got a mention, too, only she had been multiplied half a dozen times into an army of assassins conjured from thin air.

Stifling a groan, he rose and went to the window that looked out over the turtleduck pond. When he moved, he felt the pull of the newly healed scar tissue on his shoulder – he had looked at it in the mirror that morning, had run his fingers over its length, and aside from a pinkish sheen, there was nothing to mark the vicious wound that had been there the night before. Thoughts of the woman who had healed him swirled around in his head. On the one hand, she had shown such compassion towards that poor boy’s mother, and had stepped in to help him defend the shopkeeper from the guard without spilling a single drop of blood. Her martial skills were impressive, her restraint honourable, her eyes by moments fierce then kind.

Of course, this estimation of her as a person warred with his growing conviction that she was the same warrior he had seen that night at the docks, the Water Tribe warpaint that disguised the contours of her face lit by the flames of the Akagi and the Ryujo. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. She may not have fought with water, but then he never fought with fire as the Blue Spirit, either. How many of the reports in the library mentioned the uncanny mists used by waterbenders to stalk their prey – and how else could he explain the sudden fog that appeared just when they needed it most?

He should have followed her. That, he told himself, was the reason for his current headache. However dishonourable an act, if he had followed her home he could have learned her identity. He could have made an arrest and earned the Fire Lord’s approval instead of letting a probable saboteur roam free. And yet…

Zuko looked over the wilting plants in the garden. The grass was yellowed, the bushes covered in a fine layer of dust, the flowers shrivelled on their stalks. What the capital needed was rain, the cooling touch of water to wash away the dirt and bring new growth to the gardens and the rice fields of the Fire Nation. He frowned, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. The monsoon always came with violent thunderstorms and flash floods that could wash away entire villages in a single night, and that was the sort of chaos this waterbender would bring. He needed to find her.

“My, but that’s a deep sigh for so early in the morning.”

Zuko straightened, hurriedly adjusting the fall of his robes. “Mother.”

“What were you thinking to put such a scowl on your face?” Ursa asked, stepping into the room. Her voice was always so melodic, it rarely failed to put him in a lighter mood.

“The rains are late,” he said. “There could be riots if they don’t come soon, especially considering all the shortages caused by our last campaign.”

“It’s not your responsibility to think of such things,” his mother replied mildly. “Focus your energies on the things you can change, and on planning for when you have the ability to do more.”

“And how bad will things get in the meantime?” Zuko snapped.

Ursa’s gaze softened, and she glided over in a soft rustle of heavy silks, her hands held out for him to clasp. She ran a hand through his hair. “It makes my heart glad to see that even after all this time, you still won’t give up without a fight.”

Zuko’s scowl only deepened.

“Perhaps what you need is a break.”

“I scheduled firebending practice this afternoon.”

“I was thinking something a little more out of the ordinary, maybe a change of scenery,” she said, folding her hands back into the trailing ends of her sleeves. It was a mild gesture designed to put someone at their ease, and it only increased Zuko’s certainty that this was not an idle visit.

“What’s that?” he asked, because the scroll tucked into the sash around her waist was an obvious invitation.

“Hmm? Oh, this.” His mother pulled the paper out, smoothing the creases with her fingers. “It’s a thank you from Lady Katara for lending her those books from my library last week. I must say, her education is coming on in leaps and bounds – or as far as it can while she remains trapped inside that house.”

Zuko tried to ignore the jolt in his stomach at the mention of Katara’s name. Truly, he had barely spared her a thought in the past few weeks, preoccupied instead with much more urgent matters. But Ursa was looking at him expectantly now, and with a sinking heart he knew where the conversation was going.

“Mother…”

“She is an ally, not a prisoner –” He pressed his lips shut so as not to call out the lie – “And it does her no good to be cooped up like a criminal.”

“It’s as much for her safety as anything else,” Zuko replied. “The people are restless – suspicious, even.”

“Well, all the more reason then for the people to see her out and about, so that they realise they have nothing to fear.” His mother smiled. “Wasn’t that the reason the Fire Lord wished her to stay, so that we could build cultural ties? A good start would be by showing her the commerce of the city – the Southern Water Tribe’s knowledge of seafaring would increase our ability to trade exponentially.”

“Well, yes, but –”

“And I distinctly remember hearing you offer to show the Caldera to our guest.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut when his reply failed to materialise, deciding instead to hide the slight pink flush of his cheeks by pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed and thought about the grubby bundle waiting in the secret drawer of his desk. A visit would be the perfect excuse to give it to her.

“It was sweet of you to offer, Zuko,” his mother said. “Katara has few friends here, I’m sure she would welcome the excursion, especially with such a handsome escort.”

“Mother!”

She only hid her grin behind her sleeve, her eyes dancing with amusement at his discomposure. He bore it, because it was rare to see her so genuinely pleased, but he worried that if she didn’t look away soon the heat creeping up his neck would be enough to set his clothes on fire. There was no need for such embarrassment, of course, because he had no time to think about the preferences of some Water Tribe princess when he had a city to run and a saboteur to apprehend. She probably wouldn’t like him anyway, not like that. From what he had seen of the guardsmen who attended her, men from the South tended towards brawn, all built muscle and skin darkened by time in the sun, and that was even without considering the possibility that she had left someone back home – a young warrior, perhaps, who could wrestle down a polar bear-dog and made her pretty trinkets from the bones –

“If it will please you, Mother, I will send an invitation,” Zuko said. “But it’s too late to go today, and a guard will have to be organised.”

If nothing else, he could use the time to find out more about waterbending.

Katara sat patiently while Hama piled ever more pins into her hair. Zuko’s invitation from the day before sat on her writing table amid an assortment of maps, plans, and the patrol routes she had swiped from the guardhouse, but so far they had proven almost worthless. What good was knowing her way about the city when the information she needed on their missing waterbenders was likely kept up at the palace? Nila had her own methods, of course, and had mentioned over breakfast that morning that a group of spies were already making inroads through the archipelago. What she needed in the meantime was a way into one of the messenger towers that regulated the movements of Fire Nation troops.

“I still say I should be going with you,” Hama grumbled, interrupting Katara’s thoughts.

She grinned. “And blow your cover as a sweet, frail old lady? Ow!” She jerked away from the stab of the pin, deciding not to notice the mutinous grumbling of her nanny. “It’ll be alright, Hama,” she said instead. “Attuk and the others will be with me, and I’m too valuable a hostage for them to let anything to happen to me.”

Nila entered carrying a tea tray. “She’s right. Ozai knows that if anything happens – Spirits forbid – then the whole of the South would take it upon themselves to wreak vengeance. He’s a coward but not a fool.”

“I still say it’s too big a risk,” Hama retorted. “Anything could happen. You’re trained against assassins. You’ll react, and they’ll know you for what you are.”

“Attuk will make sure no harm come to me, and I know some non-bending tricks, too.” Katara laid her hand on the old general’s arm, but Hama was not comforted.

“The water flows with you, girl. It’ll only take one second of instinct for everything we’ve worked for to come crashing down.”

“I’m more worried about this prince,” interrupted Nila. “Why choose now to offer an invitation? Alone? He could have done it weeks ago. He suspects you.”

“If he does,” Katara said, “then it would look more suspicious if I declined, don’t you think? These clothes are ridiculous,” she added, when she tried to shift position and only managed to trip over her sleeve.

“Fire Nation nobility don’t seem to favour practicality.”

“Apparently not.”

Despite the cumbersome cut of the dress, however, Katara found herself admiring the elegance they gave to her movements. When she walked past the mirror, she seemed to float, and the pale lilac colour of the silk was striking against the warm brown of her skin. Oh yes, she decided, rolling back her sleeve, it was just the sort of garment that might make a prince forget to guard his tongue.

Hama tugged another braid into place. “I know what you’re thinking, child, and I’m warning you now not to underestimate this Prince Zuko. He’s not cunning like his sister, but he is clever. Don’t push him too far.”

“Will you stop worrying? I’ll be fine.”

“Hunters who don’t watch the tide will all too soon find themselves lost at sea,” came the staid reply.

Katara fought the urge to roll her eyes, knowing she’d only likely get stabbed with another hairpin. She was saved the need to reply, because Attuk rapped on the door to her private chambers and informed her the prince had arrived. Taking a deep breath, she let Nila arrange the many layers of her silk dress, and then stepped outside into the heat of the morning. Attuk nodded to her when she was composed, and together with the rest of the guards who would be accompanying her to the marketplace, they set a sedate pace towards the magnolia courtyard where Zuko waited.

Zuko obviously heard them coming. He was standing at attention in the shade of the trees, looking younger without the bulky black armour he had worn on his previous visit, but still stern. The frown melted away when he caught sight of her, however, and Katara felt a rush of satisfaction knowing her appearance was enough to make his mouth fall open like a frog’s.

“Prince Zuko,” she said with a smile. “It’s an honour to welcome you back to my home again.”

He recovered his composure rather well and bowed. “I only regret circumstances got in the way of me paying a visit sooner. Are you ready to go?”

“I am.”

She stretched out a hand, and now that his courtly manners were back in place he managed to take it with only the barest hint of a blush. His fingers were warm, but not clammy like she might have expected, and for an instant she was content to let him lead her out of the gate, until she remembered his warmth was the warmth of a firebender. His hands were like those that had destroyed her home.

“My servants have told me about the market here,” she said to distract herself. Politeness is a deep lake on a still day. “But it’s not the same as going yourself. I’m quite looking forward to it – oh, we’re going in that?”

The palanquin squatted in the street, the eight men employed to carry it crouched in the struts in an image of complete humility. They kept their eyes downcast as the prince approached, showing no discomfort though sweat beaded on their foreheads and their legs must have been cramped from kneeling. For someone used to walking amongst her own people, seeing servants so abject left a bad taste in Katara’s mouth.

“It’s best for where we want to go.” Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. “The streets are too narrow for komodo-rhinos and I’m afraid an ostrich-horse would probably spook at the crowds.”

“And the screens?” Katara asked pleasantly. “Are they to keep people from seeing us, or to keep me from seeing where we’re going?”

He stared at her, colouring. “Um, they’re to keep out the dust. We can open them if you want.” He watched her glance backwards to her guard captain, who reassured her with a nod that they would be right behind if anything went amiss. The harsh glance he threw in Zuko’s direction left no uncertainty that the prince was one of the things included in ‘amiss’.

“I’d like to see the city,” Katara decided, and allowed herself to be helped into the palanquin. She stumbled a bit on the soft cushions, but she settled herself well enough, her face once more a mask of cool indifference. He made sure to sit as far away from her as possible, partly to balance the weight for the bearers, and partly so that she wouldn’t feel crowded in the small space. A second palanquin might have been a better idea, but that would have turned an informal excursion into a parade, which would be less than helpful for putting the Water Tribe princess at her ease.

“Raise the blinds,” he ordered, and it was done.

After that, he couldn’t think of anything to say. The journey through the upper quarter of the city was leisurely, with little traffic on the streets, and it would have been perfectly unremarkable for Zuko, except for Katara’s presence. At first, she sat stiffly, her hands folded over her lap, her expression fixed into one of disinterest he didn’t know how to counter. But then, little by little, her curiosity overcame her formality, and she started to look around, craning to look down the alleys branching off from the main streets, remarking on the fountains that filled every square, and even once forgot her composure enough to smile when she caught a distant glimpse of the sea. Her eyes really were the most remarkable shade of blue.

“Staring’s rude where I come from, you know.” Just like that, she was back to playing the doll, and Zuko found he missed her interest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said, because he hadn’t even realised he was staring.

Katara refolded the end of her sleeve, her gaze fixed on the branches of a mangingko tree hanging over someone’s wall. “What, err, were you looking at?”

“Nothing,” came the hurried reply, but then, because he needed to say something else or let their awkward silence take over again, “I was wondering, um, why do you wear your hair like that?”

“Like what?”

“With the… loopies, and all the beads,” he finished lamely, with a vague gesture in her direction. “Not that I don’t think it looks nice, of course – it does – and not that I think you did it because you thought I’d like it, I remember it was like that in the throne room. It’s just so… intricate. It must have taken a long time to do.” He looked up to find her frowning at him, and regretted saying anything at all. “Forget it. You don’t have to answer.”

“No,” Katara said. “It’s alright. It’s not a secret, I just never thought you would be interested in that kind of thing.”

“All your people have braided hair, and everyone’s is different.”

She smiled, and fiddled with a loose lock that had fallen over her shoulder. “It’s a way of showing people who we are,” she explained. “There are braids to show our lineage, our role in society, who we are as people. It’s not practical for everyday, because it does take a lot of time to do, but on formal occasions it’s a symbol for others to recognise.”

“Is this a formal occasion, then?” Zuko asked.

She shrugged. “My nanny is old-fashioned. And I think it gives her something to do – she’s afraid all our traditions will fade away now that the South has allied with the Fire Nation.”

He nodded, noticing the slight purse of her lips when she spoke. “I think… we might not be that different, in some ways. Here, the length of a person’s hair matches their status. It’s not as common now, but a few generations ago, some noblewomen had special servants who followed them just to carry their hair. If a person gets banished, there’s still a ritual where all their hair gets cut off, so that they become less than nothing.” He had only seen the ceremony only once, after Admiral Zhao had failed to subjugate the Northern Water Tribe, but the memory of the man’s frantic pleading and the silver flash of the knife stuck in his memory.

“It sounds harsh.”

It was his turn to shrug. “It’s the sentence for traitors.”

For a while, silence pressed on them again. Zuko cast around for something to say, knowing that his mother would chide him for being so ungallant, and that anyone else at court would leap at the chance to hold a conversation with a foreign princess. Then his eyes caught a flash of blue.

“Can ask about your necklace?”

Katara blinked at him in surprise. “My��?”

“It’s the same one you were wearing before,” he explained, watching her fingers reach for the intricately carved disk.

“I – it was my mother’s,” she said. “It’s all I have left of hers.”

“She’s dead?” he shouldn’t have asked, of course he said the wrong thing, now there was no way to –

“A lot of people I know are dead now,” she snapped. She turned away to look at a passing flock of sparrowkeets, but he didn’t miss the way she swiped at her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know if I ever lost my mother…” His hands clenched on his knees. The right question – he had to find the right question to make up for his blunder. “If – if you don’t mind me asking, what was she like?”

He didn’t think she would answer, and resigned himself to spending the rest of the trip in awkward silence, until he heard a sniff and the barely whispered reply.

“She was brave.”

They made it to the market without Zuko managing to embarrass himself further, and he was determined to keep it that way and prove himself a better host than he had been so far. What his mother – or Azula – would say if they ever found out he made Katara cry, he didn’t want to imagine. So instead, he threw himself into showing her the market.

At first, the stallholders seemed wary of him, but after a few embarrassed moments where a pottery seller bowed all the way to the floor in front of him, they seemed to get the message and he and Katara became just another pair lost in the crowd, albeit on with a contingent of guards following after them. He relaxed. It had been years since he walked among his citizens so openly.

He had been worried about the people’s reaction to Katara – after all, she was the daughter of the man who had waged war against them for over a century – but within minutes her easy manner had charmed everyone within earshot. The old women on the stalls fawned over her like a pet; they admired the quality of her gown and praised her taste in porcelain, and altogether did a much better job of cheering her up than Zuko himself could ever have managed. Occasionally Katara turned to him, finding the fast jabber of their dialect too difficult for her unpracticed ear. He was only too happy to translate for her. It made her smile.

All too soon, their guards became loaded down with reams of silk, packets of tea, and rather a lot of expensive jewellery, and looked rather disgruntled about it.

“What’s that smell?” Katara asked, interrupting a man in the middle of trying to sell her a jade figurine of a flying ostrich-horse. “It smells wonderful.”

Zuko’s stomach rumbled. “It’s the spices from the food market,” he said. “It’s in the lower part of the bazaar, so it’d be better if –”

“I want to see.”

“Katara – no, wait!” He reached out, but she had already slipped through the crowd. “Does she always have this much energy?” he asked the Water Tribe guard captain. The man only gave him a sullen roll of his eyes before lifting his armful of packages higher and following after his charge.

The streets became more packed the further they went through the market, and soon not even the threat of the royal guard could stop Zuko from being jostled, but he didn’t care. His eyes were fixed on the flash of lilac bobbing ahead of him through the crowd. He didn’t understand how Katara found it so easy to dodge her way through the mass of people, but eventually even she was brought to a halt.

The alleyway to which she had led them was bisected by a wider avenue, cordoned off with red silk ropes to hold the crowd back. Street-sellers took advantage of the crush to shout the benefits of their wares to those close enough to listen, but it was not enough to drown out the clamour of bells and drums coming nearer and nearer. It must be a festival.

Still trying to push the crowd out of his way, Zuko didn’t really care which one. He barely noticed when the lacquered paper statue of the Painted Lady rode past in its palanquin, adorned with garlands of foil flowers and sticks of sweet incense, because he was too busy watching as Katara stretched up on tiptoe to get a better look, just as caught up in the celebration as everyone around her. He also noticed the beggar sidling up to her, attracted by her fine clothes.

“Please, beauty, would you help a poor old man?” he asked, raising a wooden bowl to her with his head ducked low. “Spirits shine on your generosity, oh flower of the…” He glanced up and in an instant his face contorted into a snarl. He dropped the bowl with a screamed curse and raised a crippled fist to strike.

Before Katara could react, two of the Fire Nation royal guard burst through the crowd and sent the beggar to his knees. He struggled against their hold.

“Witch!” he shouted. “Barbarian! Go back where you came from and freeze! You dress proper, but we all see what you are! We don’t want –”

The beggar’s face went slack with fear, a rope of spit dribbling down his stubbled chin. Katara followed the line of his gaze and found Zuko at her side, a hand protectively on her arm as he glared down with a cold fury that made her heart skip faster in fear. Then he turned to her, and the burning gold of his eyes softened, and somehow that was worse.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes – yes, I’m fine.” She let out a slow breath, more shaken than she would have liked to admit, and eased her hold on the soup in a nearby noodle stand. A few more seconds, and she might have blown her cover, exactly as Hama feared. All their plans, ruined in an instant because she let her guard down.

“What should we do with him, Your Highness?” one of the guards asked.

The beggar whimpered. The spectators, intrigued by the unexpected entertainment, formed a loose ring around them. Zuko licked his lips and leaned close to Katara.

“The insult was to you. What do you want done?”

She blinked in surprise, trying to find an ulterior motive behind the words, but the prince’s expression was earnest, honest even. She looked around for inspiration. Justice worked differently here, and she would have to be careful. The statue of the spirit passed over the heads of the crowd, and gave her an idea.

“Tell me about this festival, and His Highness will be lenient,” she said.

The beggar looked to Zuko, who nodded once. “Tis the festival of the Painted Lady. The acolytes of the sages bring her from the shrine at the mountain spring through the temples of the city so that she may bless them and receive offerings that bring the rain. She… intercedes when humanity angers the spirit world, most forgiving lady, and brings health to the sick, vengeance to the wronged – mercy to those unjustly punished,” he added hopefully.

Katara nodded, her mind already working. “Thank you. You have enlightened me. Prince Zuko?” she felt him shift beside her, drawing up so his voice could carry across the street.

“The Southern Water Tribe are our allies,” he announced. “Any violence against Princess Katara or her entourage will be taken as violence against Ourselves, and with the same laws and sanctions for all citizens thereby.” A sob from the beggar. Zuko dropped his voice and turned to him. “In honour of this holiday, and because this lady called upon my mercy, you are spared punishment this once. You should use the opportunity to rethink your condemnation of the Water Tribes.”

Slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving Zuko and Katara with space to breathe. One of the guards shoved the beggar’s bowl into his hands and pushed him away with a grunt, clearly unhappy to let him go.

“My lady, we should get you out of this heat,” Attuk said, looming next to Katara. “You’ve had an upset, and your ladies will want to know you’re safe.”

“You’re right, of course,” she replied, her eyes falling on a stand selling fireworks and souvenirs from the festival. “That was a lucky escape, we shouldn’t push our luck.” She glanced at Zuko, who was busy giving orders to have the palanquin brought to them, so she beckoned her guard captain closer. “There’s something I want you to do for me.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Probably not.”

In what seemed like no time at all the guards bundled her and Zuko into the palanquin, then piled the day’s shopping into a handcart with an extortionate amount of gold for the driver, and gave orders for the goods to follow on. This time, they rode with the blinds shut, which made the box dark and stifling, and Katara was reminded of the dismal hold of the Fire Nation ship that had brought her to the capital.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Zuko said after a prolonged, terse silence.

She jumped. The heat tried her temper, and her need to be polite, to demure, only made her want to water-smack something harder. And what if any of the guard suspected what she had almost done?

“He was afraid of you,” she replied. “That man. Do all the people who have served in the military become beggars here?”

“What?”

“The man’s insignia. I recognised it. He was a Southern Raider once, and now he’s less than nothing.”

Zuko opened his mouth to reply, but frowned instead and turned away. “I didn’t think you would feel sympathy for someone like that.”

“Why?” she asked. “Because he was once ordered to attack my people? Because for all I know he killed those I cared about?”

“Well, yes.”

She shot him an icy look, her voice low like the approaching hum of a blizzard. “Who was it giving the orders, Prince Zuko?”

“He attacked you!” he cried. “Why aren’t you mad at him?”

“Because I know what fighting makes people do,” she snapped. “War is just a distant thing to you here, just a lot of maps and little bamboo counters like it’s a child’s game. But I grew up with it. I lived it.”

He looked like he’d been struck, and too late she tried to block the dam of her anger, chastising herself for her outburst. If he didn’t suspect her before, then he certainly would now that she had all but accused him of genocide. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, she made a point of fussing with the arrangement of her sleeves and skirts so she wouldn’t have to look at him, all the while aware that he had yet to stop staring at her.

When the palanquin was finally set down and Attuk drew up the blinds, she couldn’t stumble out fast enough. Even the baking sun was a relief since it meant she could feel a breeze on the back of her neck, and with her front gate so close she could almost feel the blessed creep of ice along her skin.

“Lady Katara, wait.”

Zuko stepped out of the palanquin, holding a box wrapped in gold paper.

“Thank you for the excursion, Prince Zuko,” she said formally. “It was most diverting.”

“I have something that belongs to you,” he blurted, then paused to rub the back of his neck. “Well, it belonged to your father, but he’s at the South Pole, so he can’t – and… here.” He thrust the box into her arms, colouring scarlet when she finally overcame her confusion enough to rip the paper off.

She gasped when her father’s hunting pouch fell into her hands. It was badly charred, the stitching popped and her mother’s intricate dyework almost destroyed, but she would recognise it anywhere. With shaking fingers, she undid the straps holding it closed, and the warped leather opened to reveal all the tools she had known since childhood: the awl, the spark rocks – even the antler scraper he had made from his first kill had survived. She knew the stories her father told through these objects, had felt the pain that throbbed through all her people in the throne room on the day the Fire Lord burnt it, and now here it was.

She choked back her tears. “Why are you giving me this?”

“It’s yours,” Zuko replied. “You should have it.”

“No, I mean, what do you want in return?” This couldn’t just be a gift, not here in the Fire Nation, so far from home where everything came at a price none but the wealthy could pay. But she watched as Zuko frowned, pursing his lips together to choose the best words, and a tiny flutter of hope sparked in her chest.

“I saw how much it meant when the Fire Lord burned this, although before today – when you told me about why your people wear braids in your hair – I didn’t know exactly why,” he said eventually. “What happened was… It was not honourable. I know this won’t fix things, but… well… Giving it back felt like the right thing to do. You owe me nothing for it.”

“I… thank you.” She licked her lips, trying to work out what to say, because the least she could do now was be polite. “And… thank you for earlier, as well. For protecting me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in.”

They stood for a moment in silence, bashful rather than awkward, until Zuko finally remembered he was meant to be leaving. He bowed crisply, a smile tugging at his mouth, and turned to go.

“Lady Katara?” he asked, spinning on his heel again.

“Yes?”

“You already have an invitation to my mother’s garden party, but I was wondering… perhaps you wouldn’t object if I… if I escorted you?”

Katara glanced down at the bundle clutched against her chest. “I wouldn’t object,” she answered slowly.

“I… good.”

He climbed into the palanquin. She turned and stepped past her guards into the cool sanctuary of the mansion. The palanquin bearers tramped away. She was underneath the magnolias before she realised that she, too, was fighting back a smile.

#zutara #zuko #katara #zuko x katara #avatar: the last airbender #atla #my writing #story: the things we hide

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whereismyridinghood · 8 years

Text

It’s a piece of work I wrote today on bus(the time was really boring), I had time to write it and translate most of it, imagine how long I’ve been on it.

It would not be a part of my post fanfic, but it’s happening in the same time line(or should it be world line?), a period of time after the point of where that fanfic would end.

Not sure about the event happened and the characters appeared cause I didn’t really think clearly of every detail, but there will be an plot like this in this world line’s future.

--------------------------

When someone finally finds Ruby standing at the door, her face is all pale.

"Ruby, why are you here?" Qrow is the first one to stand, and he approaches quickly to this girl who seems even paler with her flame-colored clothes. However she sidesteps and dodges him, then silently walk toward another man sitting next to the desk. This orange-haired ex-criminal doesn’t move, but just waiting without a word for her to get closer and closer.

She stands in front of him and takes a deep breath, "Roman, it was you who did that?"

The room is filled with a heavy silence, everyone is holding their breath. He answers her question calmly, "Yes, it was me."

Then silence again, but all of them can tell the red girl's hand clenched and trembling. She seems to say something several times, but end with a blank. Finally she runs out of the room without saying anything. Some of them go after her, but Roman just sits there. After a period of time, Qrow comes back. He gives a disgust glimpse to that man like always, but then frowns his eyebrow, finally sighs and for the first time pats his shoulder, "Oz's talking to her." Roman just gives him a nod.

They catch that girl and take her to an empty room.

Qrow is the first one eagerly explaining to her, "Ruby, that man sacrificed by his own will, it's a plan, you see the result. Nobody really wants this, but we have to!"

Ruby replies almost cold, "No matter the dead one volunteered or not, it makes no difference." She stared at Qrow's eyes, "It was he who killed, that never changes."

Qrow don't know what to say at the moment, just keep staring at her. Ozpin pats him and gives him a sign to leave him with her alone. He knows Qrow is messed cause he cares too much. Qrow hesitates and then agrees, and takes Yang who got here after knowing the thing with him.

Yang gave Ruby a final look before her leaving. The pain and struggle on her face make her hating that man so much than ever. Her little sister shouldn't have such an expression on her face, and this is all his fault. If it was before, she might go for him and do something, but now… She knows that she can't do it anymore, because she knows how that feels to love someone, too. She secretly touches the lace band around her wrist, a smile floats on her face, but then disappears after she recalls Ruby's face.

When there are only Ozpin and Ruby in the room, he fetches a chair and sits in front of her. "You want some tea, Ruby?"

She looks at him and shakes her head, "No, thanks headmaster Ozpin."

This man gives her a smile, "You know, you don't have to call me like that anymore."

Ruby just shrugs, then starts to talk, "You don't need to explain to me, I know what's happening, I'm not that stupid."

"But you still can't forgive him accepting this task, making our plan going smoothly, and successfully taking back our important stronghold, can you?"

Ruby bites her lips and keeps silence.

"Everyone has their time doing wrong things, even I had done something bad beyond your imagination. Roman Torchwick had done a lot of bad things, but I would not call this time one of them. Ruby, things do not have value, people have."

"I told you I understand, and I know him more than you!" Ruby uncontrollably growls, and then, she knows it's selfish, but she can't help asking out, "Why is he?"

"Because he can do the best, Ruby, that's why."

After a small silence, she asks again, "Why not tell me?"

A sense of apology floats to Ozpin's eyes, "I'm sorry Ruby, but we old guys always feel it safer to keep secrets under control, which means it’ll be better if less people know it. He didn't want to conceal it from you, actually it was Roman Torchwick who insisted to let you know when he accepted the task, and it was us forbidding him from doing so."

However, Ruby feels more hurt, "No need to lie to me, if Roman wants to tell me…" She doesn't finish her sentence, but makes her mind clear. If he the ex-master-criminal wants to do it, a single ban cannot stop him.

Ozpin obviously understand that, as he looks a little bit smiling, "That's why Ironwood against him taking the task. But Ruby, did you ever think about where you were that time? "

Ruby’s tongue-tied, she was on her mission then. In fact she should not be here now, she just accidentally came back earlier.

"But he can use scroll…"

"You know it's not safe. It's difficult to communicate with scrolls now, no need to mention the danger of interception."

"So a letter sent by crows…"

"Ruby."

This girl closes her mouth.

Ozpin softens his tone and pats her shoulder, "I guess you'll need some private time, just think about it my child. I will send someone getting you some tea."

He leaves with a final words, "I know you feel terrible Ruby, but don't let your pain hurt the one you love."

Ruby curls up in the chair, burying her face in her knees.

She knows she was just pouring her pain on him, she can't do it to others, so she can only blame him.

After getting this clear, she feels much worse. Besides that plan thing, now adds new to herself and him.

How would Roman see her and think of her? How can she ever face him?

She kept her pose for a long time, until she finishes adjusting her mood, but still don't know what to do next.

And in that while, she hears the sound of door opening, she guesses that's the tea man Ozpin had talked about. This is a precise time point she thinks, surprise about how he knows her. However she don't want others see what she looks now.

"Please put it there, I need more time." She keeps burying her face in her knees and says.

She hears the sound of tray putting on the table, but that person doesn't leave, on contrast the footstep approaches to her. She feels a little bit irritable.

"I said, I need…" But she pauses, finally notices something. Ruby raises her head, sees the orange-haired man looking at her smiling, and then opening his arms.

She stumbles into his arms, and for the first time today, her voice chokes with emotion.

"Roman…"

He gently touches her hair, pats on her back with comfort.

"Why didn’t you explain to me?" She embraces him tightly and asks with choking.

"You were way more painful than me as a bad guy, Red, if I explain, how your pain can release?"

She cries even louder, buries herself into him, "You should blame me."

"For what?" Roman kisses her hair, "That's why I love you."

Fin.

Somehow I feel using the simple present tense here is kind of weird, is it just a wrong impression or it is weird… I’m confused about what tense I should use…

Roman and Ruby here are way more different from the one in the main body of my fanfic, and that’s because they met each other and go through a lot of things together, and they both grow up through it. And they will go through more, and change more, till the end the trust and love they give each other will beyond all imagination. Yeah It’s a world line like this. I like that kind of love that in which “you raise me up, to more than I can be” for both two, that’s the most fantastic love I myself can ever imagine. And for Roman and Ruby, for this ship, I believe they can definitely do it.

And that’s why I love them so much.

#rosewick

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