HOLY SHIT MAN WE MADE IT! I'm super stoked about this one guys, which is why I won't take up too much of your time. As usual, of course, you will find adult language to be as common as my dog rolling onto her back and huffing until I rub her belly. ALLON-SY!

Maelstrom, Part Three

THE OLD WOMAN SAT IN A CHAIR BY THE SEA, AND WAITED.

Out upon the water, not too far from where she sat, things were happening. A massive Fire Nation ship, all hard metal and jagged points and ragged lines, sat at anchor, thrumming with shouted orders and unconcealed menace. Lights twinkled, and torches ran to-and-fro, men in scarlet-and-black rushing about, barking in what to the old woman sounded like an ugly, harsh, guttural language. For a moment, she found herself unable to truly believe that those people out there on the water could be from the same land, speak the same language, worship the same gods, as the two citizens of the Fire Nation that she had come to know and love and care for. She thought of a boy with half-a-face, the perfect husband for her beloved granddaughter, always so quiet and morose and awkward, thought of the girl who was his sister, with her impeccable manners and her golden eyes burning with defiance and pride, and just couldn't quite believe it.

But it doesn't matter what I believe, does it? I'm just an old woman, waiting to meet her fate.

When she saw that two launches were detaching themselves from the hulk that had brought them here, saw that the launches were packed with soldiers, spear-points twinkling like stars in the flickering light of the torches, she closed her eyes. There was nothing to see out there that interested her, nothing at all.

She closed her eyes, and waited, humming a soft, gentle tune, the one her mother used to sing to her at night, in a warm, quiet house, far, far to the north.

Sokka didn't even look up at the soft rapping at the door; if anything, he barely noticed it. He had been lost in his own thoughts for a long, long time, or at least, that's what it felt like. He was sitting in his room, in a chair facing his bed. Scattered all across his bed were all kinds of odds and ends, everything he might possibly need for the journey he was about to undertake. He reached out, ran his fingers lightly over the compass his grandfather had given him, fiddled with the boomerang he had made when he was twelve, cast a glance at the spear propped up in the corner, the spear his own father had given him, the day he passed his ice-dodging trial.

He sat there, surrounded by his life, surrounded by the reminders of everything he had held dear, since the moment he had first drawn breath, and realized he didn't want to go.

The rapping came again, gentle, quiet. He heaved himself back in his chair, tipping himself back with a booted foot pushing on his bedframe, his fingers lacing into a cradle behind his head. Without looking at the door, he said, "It's alright, Gran-Gran; you can come in."

The door opened, slowly, carefully, and he turned to watch his grandmother make her way into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her with a gentle thud. He didn't bother to stand up, fawn over his mother's mother, pull out a chair and wrap her in a blanket; after all, his sister didn't take after their mother's side of the family for nothing. He knew exactly what his Gran-Gran would say, if he tried to do any of that: I'm old, young man, but I'm not decrepit. Quit your fussing and sit down before I make you.

Gran-Gran chuckled, in that strange, low, raspy manner that the elderly have. She settled herself on the edge of Sokka's bed, pushing a few of his carefully arranged items out of her way, as was her right. She tapped her cane, once, twice, thrice, her gnarled hands carefully arranged on the knob at the top. "You know, my boy, I have to ask: How did you know it was me?"

He shrugged, not even bothering to not look smug. "Well, it's easy, really: Zuko would just stand outside the door, shuffling and coughing until I came out to him, Katara doesn't knock so much as bang, and I doubt Azula even knows how to do something as pedestrian as knocking on a door."

Gran-Gran smirked, nodding as if he had imparted something of great wisdom. "You do have a point there, Grandson."

He spread his hands, as if to say, Yeah, I'm brilliant; no need to flatter me. "Well, Katara's not around, so I get to have those from time-to-time."

Gran-Gran laughed. "That's true…though, if I'm right about the journey you're about to embark upon, she might finally let you have the last word by the end of it."

To that, Sokka could only scoff, in a very conscious imitation of Azula. "Please. The day that happens is the day penguin-seals fly." He took another look at his grandmother, let the front legs of his chair return to earth with a thump. "You alright, Gran-Gran?"

Gran-Gran, to his surprise, shook her head. "No, dear heart, I'm not alright. My grandchildren, both the ones of my blood and the ones of my heart, are about to run off into the wild blue yonder, pinning their hopes on a fifteen-year-old boy who's voice has barely cracked yet."

Sokka sighed, his shoulders slumping, a hand wandering up to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah…Aang can get a bit squeaky sometimes."

"He's a good boy."

"I never said he wasn't," Sokka said, raising a finger into the air. "He's just…you know…"

"Fifteen," his grandmother finished for him.

"Heh…yeah…though, you know, I've been thinking…"

"No."

That brought him up short. He jerked up in his chair, hoping that he didn't look as confused as he felt, I have a reputation to maintain here, Inner Sokka. "Um…huh?"

Gran-Gran just shook her head, her lips pressed thin in a smile he couldn't help but call sad. "I said, no. You have to go, Grandson."

He grimaced, heaving a mental groan at how his hand was rubbing the back of his neck again. I have got to stop hanging around Zuko so much; His Royal Awkwardness is starting to rub off on me. "Yeah, but…Dad left me in charge here, didn't he? Doesn't that mean that my responsibility is to stay here?"

Once more, Gran-Gran shook her head, even as her smile and her voice remained kind. "You do have a responsibility to your people, Sokka, which is why you have to go. Ah," she said, raising a hand as he opened his mouth to speak, "don't interrupt your grandmother, show some respect. Listen to me: You have a responsibility to your people, but above and beyond that, you have a responsibility to the world and, finally, to your family. Your sister is going, your brother-in-law, your sister-in-law, and that sweet boy. Your destiny is no longer here, Grandson." She turned her hand into a finger, and pointed towards the north. "Your destiny is out there."

He slumped back in his chair, knowing he was beaten, glad he had been, because, well, he didn't want to go, but he desperately needed to, all at the same time. "You're right, Gran-Gran."

She rolled her eyes and laughed, her smile finally reaching her eyes. "Of course I am, Sokka. When am I not?"

"Heh…and here I thought I was the confidant one."

"You didn't get it all from your father, young man."

"No," he admitted, standing up and wrapping his grandmother in a tight hug, "I didn't." He gave her a final squeeze, then stepped away. "I love you, Gran-Gran."

She stood, leaning heavily on her cane as she made her way to the door. "I love you, too, Sokka. Now, get packed, or you'll spend the first month of your Great Big Adventure listening to your sister berate you for being late once again."

He was already getting to it. "Yes, Gran-Gran…"

Tokugawa Jiro, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, all of eighteen-years-old, shook his head, his features twisted as if he had just bitten into something sour. "I don't like this."

Beside him, his sister, Tokugawa Fumiko, the sixteen-year-old Princess, just rolled her eyes, hand resting on the hilt of her katana, already striding towards the strange old woman holding her strange vigil by the shore. "You don't like anything, Brother Mine."

"Well," Jiro said, taking a few quick, awkward steps as he caught up with his sister, while all around them, soldiers fanned out through the silent, pitch-black town, "I like you."

Fumiko came to a stop, rounded on him, eyes filled with what could only be described as disdain. "Then, Brother Mine, you're even dumber than I thought."

He tried not to wilt under her glare, he really did. "Could you please stop calling me that, Fumiko?"

She just rolled her eyes and turned back to the old woman. "Make me."

He had nothing to say to that, but, then again, I never do, do I? And he had nothing to say to that, either.

They had finally reached the old woman. Everything about the set-up made alarm bells ring in Jiro's head. There was the town, fairly sizeable by local standards, but dead-quiet, without so much as a flickering candle to be seen. He couldn't hear a sound, nothing beyond the whisper of the wind and the jangling of little talismans against evil spirits ringing in the breeze, and as for the old woman? She just sat there, hands carefully arranged atop an old, weather-beaten cane, smiling as if she had been expecting them, as if they were little more than a couple of kids who were about to be late for dinner.

It made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Good evening," the old woman said in polished, urbane Inuktitut, as Jiro and Fumiko came to a stop before her. She tapped a finger against the wood of her cane, once, twice, thrice, before looking up at the endless vault of the night sky. "Nice night, isn't it? Not so much as a wisp of cloud to block our view of the stars."

Jiro frowned, but before he could say a word, his sister beat him to the punch. "You're a Northerner," she said, pursing her lips in thought. "I can hear it in your voice."

The old woman's smile grew, and she dipped her head. "So I am. It seems, no matter how long I live here, I can never quite shake that accent. And you," she continued, arching an eyebrow as she examined them, utterly heedless of the soldiers stomping through her town, "are from the Fire Nation."

Fumiko scoffed, so at ease with the strange situation that, not for the first time, Jiro found himself worrying for his sister's sanity. "Well, you're just full of wisdom tonight, aren't you, you old hag?"

If the woman was bothered by the insult, she didn't show it. If anything, to Jiro's eyes, she seemed to almost draw strength from it. "You know," she said, still with that maddeningly serene smile on her face, "it would do you some good, to take a lesson from your brother in manners."

Fumiko let out another scoff, jerking a thumb at Jiro. "What, from him? Surely you jest."

The smile vanished, and Jiro couldn't help but feel that somehow, someway, this old woman was dangerous. "Oh, not from him. I mean your other brother. You know, the Crown Prince Zuko."

Jiro watched, entranced, as what little levity his sister was capable of drained from her face. Her eyes became hard and cold, and Jiro looked to the old woman, amazed at how little she seemed to care that she was perilously close to death.

"And what," Fumiko snarled, fist tightening on the hilt of her katana, "would you know about that little waste of space?"

"Well," the woman said, still smiling, eyes almost laughing, "I know that he's an almost painfully awkward, shy young man, that he's ten times the prince this little whelp could ever hope to be, and that I couldn't have asked for a better husband for my granddaughter."

That night, for the first time in his life, Jiro saw what his sister looked like when she was surprised. "What."

The old woman threw back her head and laughed, continuing to chuckle as she heaved herself out of her chair, patted the wrinkles from her clothes, turned on her heel, and began making her way into the heart of the town.

"You see, young ones," she said, not even bothering to look over her shoulder to see if they were following, "my name is Kanna, and I think you and I have a great deal to talk about."

Fumiko's shock didn't last for long. She rounded on her brother, sending Jiro rocking back on his heels, jabbing a finger so hard into his armored chest that he winced on her behalf.

"Listen carefully, Brother Mine: This woman knows something, and I'm going to find out what it is. Meanwhile, tear this town apart, piece-by-piece if you have to. If there's so much as a chair intact by the time I'm done, I'll make sure Father knows how badly you've failed him."

For a split second, Jiro wasn't there. He was fifteen again, watching as Azula and Zuko were lashed to the same whipping post, out there before the entire court, the guardsmen making sure they could get a good look at each other, for all that Zuko was half-blind and delirious from the pain of his burn. He felt his father's breath on his ear, desperately tried not to flinch as his father's words cracked like the whip that a guardsman was giving a few test flicks through the air over Zuko's head.

Watch closely, my son, and see what happens to those who defy me. Watch closely, and remember for the rest of your days the price of failure.

Jiro nodded, mind blank, emotions carefully stored away, just as he did then, just as he did now.

"Understood, Sister."

Fumiko gave him a short, savage nod. "See that you do, Brother Mine." Her last barb delivered, she turned on her heel, and strode off after the old woman named Kanna.

"You know, dear heart, you don't have to pace for five minutes outside the door before you come and talk to me. You did right by my granddaughter, which means you have nothing to fear from me."

Zuko stopped dead in his tracks, once more wondering if all old people could read minds, or if it was just that his thoughts were outrageously transparent. Fighting a blush of embarrassment every step of the way, he leaned over, peering around the wall and into the kitchen, where the woman he couldn't make himself stop addressing as Lady Kanna was calmly stirring a pot of delicious-smelling broth, smiling to herself, as was her wont.

"Oh…um…hello, Lady Kanna," he said, sliding around that wall and into the kitchen, rendering the old woman a perfectly correct bow, no doubt my etiquette teacher would be impressed. "I…um…well…heh…"

Kanna just shook her head, clucking her tongue against her teeth. "How long have we known each other, young man?"

"Um…three years, my lady."

"Hmm…and in that time, how is it that you're still terrified of me?"

Because, instead of stopping your granddaughter from running off on some harebrained adventure, which has a very good likelihood of getting her killed, I not only enthusiastically supported her, but just finished helping her pack? "Well…um…you see, back home…"

Kanna turned her head just enough to give him a look out of the corners of her eye that reminded him strikingly of his wife. "Are you about to trot out that whole, respect to one's elders thing you keep falling back on? Because, correct me if I'm wrong, that hasn't stopped your sister from giving me hugs and calling me Gran-Gran."

Oh, Azula. Three years we've been away from the Palace, and you're still getting me into trouble. Not that Zuko would have it any other way, as his wife often pointed out to him. "Well…um…that's my sister, you know?"

Kanna giggled, almost like the little girl Zuko suspected she still was at heart. Uncle would've loved you. "Yes, that is your sister, isn't it?" She turned her full attention back to her pot, pursing her lips in thought before grabbing a handful of something Zuko couldn't get a good look at and sprinkling it into the broth. "What can I do for you today, my dear?"

That's an excellent question: What am I doing here? Zuko was pretty sure that he used to know, but it seemed to have flown from his mind. "Well, you see…"

"Mind if I ask you a question?"

He blinked, what little he had had in a coherent train of thought now completely vanished from his brain. As usual; everywhere I go, there's some Water Tribe woman making me splutter like a fool. "Of course, my lady."

"Why the wedding bands?"

He frowned; he had been expecting a lot of questions (maybe even a few beatings, for not even trying to stop Katara), but this had definitely not been one of them. He looked down, at his left hand, at the band of gold winking from the ring finger. Back home, the high born often adorned their wedding rings with jewels, the more jewels, the higher born the wearer. Had he remained a prince, no doubt he would've had one worth more than most of his subjects made in a year. As it was, though, his band was plain, a simple loop of gold, and he loved it for that.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Well…it's just that…every nation, it seems, has something to mark out a married person. In the Earth Kingdom, for example, they wear bands of iron on their right ring fingers, to symbolize how the bones of the earth bind them all together, while in the Northern Water Tribe-"

Kanna shot him another look, though, as ever, it was without so much as a hint of malice. "I'm well aware how these things work in the North, young man."

He tried not to gulp, he really did. "Oh, right, of course. Heh…um…but, yeah, in the Fire Nation, we have the same thing, only with bands of gold. Gold is considered the highest of the metals, never rusting, glimmering like the fire that burns in our people's hearts. In other words-"

"It symbolizes a couple's eternal bond, both in this life and the next, in a way that does honor to the element that binds your people together."

He chuckled, bowing his head in acknowledgement of her wisdom. "That's about the long-and-short of it, my lady." He frowned, dropping his hand back to his side. "Though, if I might ask-"

She was way ahead of him. As usual, he thought with a subtle grin. "You know, when Katara told me about those rings, that she would be wearing one of them, I have to admit, I wasn't keen on the idea. She had a betrothal necklace, after all; what more did she need? But then she told me what you just told me, and I realized that what you two have? It's unlike anything I've ever seen before, or am likely to see again. And when I saw the way her eyes sparkled as she tried the ring on…well…"

Kanna turned her face away from her broth for the first time, looked Zuko right in the eye.

"That was when I knew she had chosen the right man, no matter what the future held in store for her." She rolled her head from side-to-side, as if chewing on her words, before turning back to the broth. "Was there anything else, dear heart?"

All he could do was shake his head and bow. Out-witted once again. "No, my lady. That was…that was all."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, from what I last heard, the Avatar is once more trying to get some delightful-sounding little detour put on the itinerary, and my grandson is probably desperately in need of some back-up."

Zuko frowned. Oh, gods, what now? Is it that Unagi bullshit again? "Ah…then I better get going…"

"Yes," Kanna said, smiling all the while, "you should, before your sister gets involved."

Zuko felt his eye go wide as a saucer. That's all we need. "Ah, yeah, definitely…" He started to turn, stopped himself, turned back, fired off a quick bow, muttered, Thank you, my lady, and ran out the door.

For quite possibly the first time in her life, the Princess Fumiko was confused. It was a new sensation for her, and one she was discovering she liked not in the least. Nothing quite seemed to make sense, not this random old woman who seemed not the least bit afraid of her (another new sensation for Fumiko), and definitely not the way that this same old woman was now pressing a bowl of rather enticing-smelling broth into her hands. Not entirely sure what else to do, Fumiko frowned at the soup, lifting it up for a long, careful sniff.

Which immediately sent the old woman, who was settling into a chair with her own bowl of broth, into hysterics. "Oh, young lady, I can assure you, it's not poisoned."

Fumiko popped an eyebrow, wondering if this strange old hag could read minds. "How can I be sure of that?"

The old woman shrugged, taking up a spoon and digging into her broth. "For one, I wouldn't even know how, and for two, unlike your father, we of the Water Tribes don't stoop to such lows."

Fumiko felt herself bristle at the barb. Sure, she thought, it's true; Father loves a good drop of poison. Still… She got ahold of her feelings, calmed down, annoyed that the wrinkled insect before her would dare to get a rise out of her. Don't you know what you're trifling with, you old bitch?

Somehow, Fumiko had a feeling that the woman knew exactly who she was trifling with, and didn't give so much as a tinker's dam.

Which only confused Fumiko more.

"That's one way to look at it," Fumiko admitted, deciding to play the waiting game. She reached forward, snatched a spoon, and took a big mouthful of the broth, her eyes popping in surprise. "I have to admit, this is quite good."

The old woman beamed. "I had a feeling you'd like it. As a matter of fact, of all the things I cook, that's your sister's favorite."

Fumiko looked down into her bowl, so as to keep the old woman from seeing the look of shock on her face. "So, you know Azula, too, I take it?"

"Of course I know Azula. Wherever Zuko goes, Azula is bound to be close by."

Fumiko nodded. "That's true. Still, I have to ask-"

The old woman stopped her with a raised hand. "All in good time, my dear, all in good time."

Fumiko smiled, throwing every ounce of her limitless menace and cruelty into the expression. "You do realize that I could have you tortured. All I need do is snap my fingers, and the rest of your miserable life will be spent in pain like you can't imagine."

Over the course of her life, Fumiko had learned much. She had learned how to wield the blue flames, how to be cold and heartless and calculating. She had learned to hate her brother Jiro, and at her mother's side, learned the subtle ways in which a woman could rise above her appointed station.

What she hadn't learned, though, was how to deal with someone who wasn't afraid of her.

Because the old woman wasn't, not in the least. "Oh, that's nice," she said, as if for all the world Fumiko was little more than a small child who had drawn a terrible picture and was sure it was a masterpiece. "Care for something to drink?"

"I mean it," Fumiko snarled, polishing off her broth (because good food was good food, and the dreck they served on the ship her brother thought was his was just that, dreck) and setting the bowl aside. "I can give the order with no more thought than if I was stepping on a fly."

The old woman nodded, pursing her lips in thought. "True…but on the other hand, a woman as old as I am? There's no guarantee I'll live long enough to give you what you want, nevermind the fact that a girl as smart as you knows exactly how useless torture is."

Fumiko was still confused, but now, she was intrigued. The old woman spoke the truth: For all that Fumiko worshipped her father, she could never get over his rock-solid belief in torture. Either the subject will resist until death out of spite, she had explained, time and time again, to her brother, or they'll snap and tell you whatever they think you want to hear to make the pain stop. Jiro, of course, didn't get it, which was just one more reason why Fumiko had no intention of letting him take the throne from her.

"That's true," Fumiko admitted, deciding to follow this badger-mole hole down as far as it would take her, who knows, it might be interesting, and I can still kill her at the end if I feel like it, "but on the other hand, maybe I'm just a heinous bitch who likes to watch people suffer whenever I get bored."

"That's funny," the old woman said, polishing off her own bowl and leaning forward to ladle herself some more, "because, see, your older sister used almost the exact same words when I asked her to describe you. I mean, sure, there was much more obscenity, but that's Azula for you, lovely child that she is."

Fumiko made a face, not even bothering to hide her chagrin. "Azula, a lovely child? You're full of jokes tonight, hag."

The old woman leaned back in her chair, diving into her broth with aplomb. "You know, a wise man once told me that insults are the last refuge of a weak mind."

"A tutor once tried to tell me that. I had him whipped to death for his impertinence."

"Yes, Azula told me that story, too."

"Is there anything these people calling themselves my siblings didn't tell you?"

"Hmm…besides how, when Zuko was whipped, your father had Azula tied to the same whipping pole as him, so that she had to look him in the eye? Or about how she bit her tongue until it bled, because he'd had you, for all that you were no more than thirteen, tell her that Zuko would get five extra lashes for every peep? Or perhaps-"

"That's enough!" Fumiko roared, jumping to her feet, the fire in the hearth roaring to life, pulsing in time with her heart.

The old woman continued to smile. "Oh, I've just begun, young lady."

Fumiko scoffed, struggling to get her temper under control. "Of that, I have no doubt."

"Heh…do you accept that your older siblings are not only alive, but have been here for three years?"

Fumiko didn't want to, but she nodded all the same. "Fine, I accept that. Father will be tickled pink at the idea of his useless older children cavorting around in furs like barbarians."

"No doubt…but will he be as amused by the knowledge that Zuko has taken a wife? Or that those same useless children discovered the Avatar?"

Fumiko stared. Fumiko blinked. Fumiko gaped.

Fumiko sat back down, and waited.

"Katara, just what on earth are you doing?"

Katara looked up at the doorway and smiled at her grandmother, before turning her attention back to the sink, where her arms were currently submerged up to their elbows in soapy water. "The dishes, of course."

Gran-Gran rolled her eyes and huffed, shaking her head. "Surely you're joking. This is your last night in your homeland, definitely for a long time, possibly for…for…" Gran-Gran's voice cracked, and Katara tried not to flinch at the sound, concentrated on her dishes. "It's just…why on earth would you spend this night doing the dishes?"

"Because," Katara said, working hard to keep her voice light and even, "who knows when I'll be able to do this again? And besides, you made us dinner."

Gran-Gran sighed, slowly making her way into the kitchen. "Of course I did. It was the least I could do."

Katara nodded. Her face was suddenly red, and her eyes stung. She told herself it was the fault of the soap, maybe she had gotten some in her eyes, yes, that's it. She didn't believe this, but she told herself all the same, just as she ignored the lump in the back of her throat, or the way her hands shook under the bubbles.

As usual, though, Gran-Gran didn't believe a word of what Katara didn't even bother to tell her. A hand came to rest on Katara's shoulder, and a voice, soft but firm, said, "Look at me, child."

Katara took a deep breath, lifted her hands from the sink, bent the water from her arms. Only then, when she was sure she had herself composed, did she turn to face her grandmother.

Katara could've handled almost anything just then, anything at all, from demons coming from the depths of the Spirit World to Fire Lord Ozai himself. Yes, she could've handled anything…

Anything but the sight of tears spilling from her grandmother's eyes.

Katara's breath hitched in her throat. Without thinking, she hurled herself into the old woman's arms, held on to her for dear life, her grandmother holding her just as tightly, and let herself go. She sobbed her heart out, and together, the two women had themselves a good cry.

It was, Katara would later decide, one of the best decisions she had ever made.

By the time they were done, they were perched on two stools, wiping their eyes, the dishes forgotten in the sink. They held each other's hands, knuckles turning white with the strain of an inevitable parting, neither them wanting to admit that this might be the last time they ever saw each other.

"I don't hate you, Katara."

Katara sniffed, trying to shrug as nonchalantly as her brother and her sister-in-law could, but failing as she always did, because her and her husband were alike in more ways than even they were aware of. "Are you sure…?"

Gran-Gran released one of her hands, reached up, brushed some fresh tears from Katara's cheeks. "I could never hate you, sweetheart. From the day you were born, I knew that you were meant for something more, something grander than anything you could find here. Your destiny was never here, with us; it was always out there, waiting for you, tugging at you, pulling you away from me."

Katara sighed, gave Gran-Gran's hand a squeeze, wiped her nose with her free hand. "Heh…I just…I need you to know that I never hated it here."

"You think I don't know that? You just felt constrained, restricted, held back. Why else do you think that the only man good enough for you happened to be a prince?"

Katara didn't even try to hold back the blush that blossomed across her face. "He is pretty incredible, isn't he?"

"Yes," Gran-Gran admitted, chuckling softly, "and someday, the gods willing, he might even believe that."

Katara scoffed, a sound not at all marred by her tears. "The gods have nothing to do with it, Gran-Gran."

Gran-Gran laughed. "Of course not; it's just a saying, dear." She gave Katara's hand a final squeeze, let go, and stood. "Feel better?"

Katara nodded, wiping away the last few tears as she stood. "Much."

Gran-Gran nodded, once, very solemnly. "Good. And while we're here, if you absolutely insist on doing the dishes, do me a favor and make sure you actually put them away for once."

Katara giggled, wondering when she would ever feel like a carefree little girl again. "Of course, Gran-Gran."

"Good. Now, I'm going to go fetch your husband, because I like how dry everything gets, and besides, he's the one I can rely on to put everything away exactly how I like it."

Katara was already turning back to the sink, smiling from ear-to-ear. "Yes, Gran-Gran."

She would hold on to how good it felt, to say those words, all through the darkness that was to come.

The old woman told her story in a soft, kind, gentle voice, sounding for all the world like the grandmother everyone wished they could have. She never even stopped smiling as she told it. She never faltered, never blinked, never hesitated, never stumbled over her words. She just kept eating her broth until she'd had her fill, and then she took up her cane, set it between legs, and rested her hands on the top, still talking, never missing a beat.

She told of a brutalized boy and a traumatized girl, of the guards coming to her in the morning, looking embarrassed as they told of sobbing in the night, and how disturbing it was to discover two people who could somehow have nightmares quietly. She told of a granddaughter who had chosen, long ago, to ignore her fear, to never be helpless again, and how she fell in love with a prince with half-a-face and the unique ability to become tongue-tied over anything. She told of a grandson who became friends with a princess who never slumped in a chair or slouched as she walked, and how they both plotted to get their siblings together, because they knew what was best for them. She told of her own son-in-law, who wanted to hate the boy and the girl from the nation that killed his wife, but couldn't, how his hatred died the day he ran into the boy in the town bathhouse, and saw what a hundred whip scars looked like. She told of a beautiful wedding on a day when snow fell soft and gentle from the heavens, all while the bells of talismans sang like angels.

Fumiko really wanted her to be done then, but she wasn't. The old woman had made a promise, that she had barely begun, and she kept it, every last syllable. She told of an impossible boy and his impossible bison, freed from an impossible ball of impossible ice. A boy who had lost everything, but still managed to smile, still managed to laugh, to giggle, wild and free. She told of a plan, to wait until the winter storms ended, until the tribe's warriors came back from the Earth Kingdom, to begin the impossible boy's training in quiet solitude at the bottom of the world.

The old woman's expression darkened then, but her voice didn't change, and the smile never left her face, even as she told of the dark rumors, of a massive warship flying the personal standard of the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, of fishermen disappearing into darkness, of the occasional body tossed forth from the sea, horribly mutilated, throat slashed from ear-to-ear. She related a hurried meeting, in the depth of the night, and then she told of another night, when, with a shake of the reins and a strange call that sounded like yip-yip-yip, the impossible boy urged his impossible animal into the sky and flew away until they all became one with the stars.

It was only then that Fumiko found her voice. Later, she would convince herself that it was because she had been waiting for the perfect moment to speak, ignoring the fact that she only spoke again when the old woman settled into silence, bowed her head, and indicated that the princess could speak.

"What…what are you saying? Where are they?"

The old woman sighed, clucking her tongue like the kindly old grandmother that she was. "Oh, my dear, weren't you paying attention? They're gone, have been gone for four days. After they left, we evacuated the town, and for two days now, I've been sitting here, waiting for you. Did you understand this time, or do I need to draw you a picture?"

Fumiko had heard enough. With a roar that wasn't quite human, she jumped to her feet, rounding on the chair when it banged as it hit the ground and turning it to dust with a ragged ball of pale blue flames. She roared again, over and over, until she was standing over the old woman, gripping her by the shirt front, Fumiko's free fist nothing but fire, fire and death.

"Laugh now, you old bitch!" she screamed, heedless of the fire pulsing with the beat of her heart in the hearth, the fire that roared and crackled and burned. "Not so funny now, am I?! Come on: LAUGH!"

And the old woman smiled, and did as she was told. "Okay, young lady: Ha."

It was the last thing Fumiko had ever expected anyone to do, and when it happened, her mind went blank. She knew what to do with fear, with anger, with rage, with defiance, even.

But she didn't know what to do with this.

"What?" she croaked, the fire dying from her fist as she released the old woman's shirt.

The old woman frowned as she patted the wrinkles from her clothes. "You heard me: Ha. You don't frighten me, little girl, not you, not your brother stomping around out there with a crown on his head he doesn't deserve, not your monster of a father. You're bullies, plain and simple, and your time is at an end. So," she said, rising to her feet, slamming her cane down on the floor with a resounding thud, "if you're quite finished, I would like you to go, so that my people can come back to their homes."

"We'll see what you have to say when I have this shithole burned to the ground."

The old woman shrugged, undisturbed. "So be it. We've rebuilt before, and we'll rebuild again."

Fumiko wasn't listening; she was already on her way to the door. "Whatever, you barbarian whore. It doesn't matter. Live, for all I care, until the day I bring your grandchildren's heads to you on spikes."

"Maybe so," came the response, as Fumiko stepped out into the night, "or maybe they'll bring me yours." That was the last thing Fumiko heard, as the door slammed shut behind her, which was why she didn't see the old woman named Kanna, known far and wide as Gran-Gran, sigh, shake her head and mutter, "Not that they would ever do that; they have more class."

Not that the Princess Tokugawa Fumiko would have cared.

"Can't sleep, my dear?"

Azula didn't flinch; to be honest, she wasn't even surprised. Their last hours in the Southern Water Tribe, their last few moments in what had become the only home she'd ever truly known, and here she was, arms wrapped tight around her body, looking up at the distant stars. Everyone was supposed to be catching a few hours of sleep, since Aang had admitted that traveling by air bison took some getting used to.

But I can't, can I? She was pretty sure no one was. There was a shout and garbled laughter, from where she knew Sokka was having final few drinks with some of the boys. She was pretty sure the squeals and giggles she heard were from Aang and his newfound friends, enjoying Aang's newfound passion for the Southern sport of football. And as for her brother and her sister-in-law…

Yeah, yeah, I get it, you won't have a bed to call your own for a long time. Could you at least put a towel under the door? Keep down a bit? I dunno…anything?! Not that she was mad; she wasn't. After all, if she was honest with herself, the world could've been quiet as the tomb in which her mother's urn had rested all her life, and she still wouldn't have been able to sleep.

Azula sighed, turning around until she got a good view of Kanna, standing at the foot of Azula's little hill, smiling up at her. "Hey, Gran-Gran," Azula said, giving a feeble wave, feeling none of her brother's awkwardness about using the woman's preferred title. "You, too, I take it?"

Kanna shrugged, waving Azula's question aside. "Oh, you know these old bones. Sometimes they let me rest, and sometimes they don't."

"That must be a pain," Azula observed.

Another shrug, another hand batting the concern away. "You get used to it. How're you, my dear?"

All Azula could do was shrug, not least because it was a question she had, until a moment before, been asking herself. How am I doing? Here I am, mere hours away from finally setting out on the path I've dreamed of for years, ever since I watched my brother pass out under the blows of the whip, ever since I saw Father's fire meet his face, on the day when my screams matched his own. I should be happy, excited, elated, giddy, and instead, I'm…

I'm…

"I don't know, Gran-Gran," Azula finally admitted, the mask of the princess finally slipping away, something she rarely let happen away from her friends. Her family. "I…I really don't know…"

Kanna shook her head, working her way up the hill until her hand was resting on Azula's shoulder. "Now, young lady, I find that very difficult to believe."

Azula threw Kanna her best smirk, and was rewarded with Kanna's famous laughter. "Hey, it happens to the best of us, you know?"

Kanna nodded, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. "Oh, I know, just as I know that you're well aware of what's wrong."

Azula just threw out another shrug. "Yeah, well…if you figure it out, let me know."

"Alright then: It's okay to be scared, sweetheart."

Azula shook her head, tearing herself from Kanna's grasp, turning her face back towards the stars. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to pour out. You wouldn't understand, she wanted to scream. You weren't there when Father found out I'd thrown a fit because I'd lost my favorite doll, the doll Zuko had made for me for my third birthday. I was six when I lost it, just misplaced it, something little kids do, and I threw a fit, as little kids do. When a servant found it, they took it to Father. Father was furious. He asked me if I was afraid to lose it, and I was six, and naïve, and admitted that I was. He said, Royalty are not afraid, and then he made me watch as he burned it in his hand. From that day forward, I was forbidden from having dolls.

A wry smile creased her lips.

Which didn't stop Zuko from giving me one every birthday, didn't stop me from taking them and hiding them, even when I was too old to play with them anymore.

But she said none of that, settling for, "Are you sure?"

She heard the old woman sigh, listened as she moved around and came to rest at Azula's side. "You were never allowed to be afraid as a child, were you?"

Azula shrugged. "Let's just say that the consequences were rather severe."

"I can't even begin to imagine, but that doesn't change the fact that it's okay to be afraid."

Azula closed her eyes, and pretended with all her willpower that she wasn't about to cry. "But…what could I possibly be afraid of? I'll be with Katara, Sokka, Zuko, the freaking Avatar. What's the be scared about?"

"Oh, that's easy: You're scared of getting your brother hurt again."

That hit Azula like a slap to the face, because, oh boy, was it true. The mere thought terrified her beyond the capacity for words to describe. Here, at the bottom of the world, she couldn't get him hurt. As long as she stayed here, kept him here, he was safe, safe from Father, from Jiro and Fumiko and Step-Mother and Imperial Guards and Rough Rhinos and…and…

He's safe from me…

How she didn't burst into tears, she would never know.

"You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

Azula laughed, though even to her eyes, it sounded a lot like a dry sob. "Yeah…it's easy for you to say that. You weren't there."

"It is easy for me to say, because it's true. It was your father's fault, plain and simple, your father's and your ancestors' and the horrid, miserable world that they created. You know how many times my daughter defied me? Or Sokka? Or Katara? You think I ever laid a hand on them?"

"Maybe a wooden spoon or three," Azula pointed out.

Kanna laughed. "Yes, a wooden spoon or three, but nothing more."

Azula sighed, and very quietly, very subtly, wiped her eyes. "So, you're saying I shouldn't be afraid?"

Kanna let out a scoff that Azula had to admit gave her own a run for their money. "Of course you should be afraid. You're human; you can't help it. I'm just saying that you shouldn't be afraid of yourself."

Azula closed her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"More than I've ever been in my entire life."

How long they stood there, Azula would never know. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but then again, it could have more, it could've been less. Maybe, at the end of the day, it didn't matter. By the end of it, Azula wasn't quite ready to believe Kanna, but, well…

"I promise that I'll try, Gran-Gran."

Kanna nodded. "See that you do. Now, give this old woman a hug, and try and get some sleep."

Azula did as she was told, pulling the old woman into a bone-crushing hug, just the kind that Kanna liked best. "Thanks, you old witch."

Kanna giggled. "There's my haughty princess." She gave Azula a squeeze, pulled back until they were at arm's length. "Don't ever stop being you, Azula. I don't think your brother would ever forgive himself, if that happened."

Azula rolled her eyes and scoffed. "My brother's a goof, and doesn't know what's best for himself."

Kanna arched an eyebrow. "And you do?"

Azula threw out her best scoff yet. "Me? Please. Why do you think I made sure he married Katara?"

Kanna rolled her own eyes, pulled Azula in a for a final hug, then let her go. "Off with you, before I find something productive for you to do."

Azula snapped off a quick bow. "As you will, my lady." With that, she turned back into the village, and went off in search of wherever it was Sokka thought he was safe from her barbs.

If looks could kill, the one Jiro saw on his sister's face as she stomped across the town square would've done the job. Dumbfounded, he went after to her, forced to run in his efforts to catch up with her.

"What happened?" he asked, not entirely sure he was going to get an answer.

To his surprise, he did. "Nothing," she snarled. "Call the men in, get them back to the ship."

His jaw dropped open, and he just about stumbled over his own feet in surprise. "What? Why?"

"Because we're leaving, you idiot. Our useless siblings have been in this gods-forsaken shitheap for three years, and in that time, they managed to find the Avatar."

That brought him up short. "WHAT?!"

She didn't even bother to stop, didn't even bother to look back. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that they left four days ago."

"Oh…should we set fire to the village, kill that old woman?" He didn't really want to kill the old woman, not after all the throats his sister had forced him to slit over the past few weeks, but if it calmed her down, he'd do it gladly. As for the village, well…he just liked watching things burn. It always made him feel calmer, somehow.

Fumiko wasn't having any of it. She just kept marching away, smoke billowing from her ears. "Fuck the town, and fuck the old woman; they don't matter. They've got a four-day head-start on us, which means we need to leave, now."

He couldn't think of anything to say in response to that, so he did as he was told. He didn't stop then, to wonder how she was the one giving orders to him, considering that this was supposed to be his crew and his mission, but then again, he never had, not since the day she learned how to walk.

They were sailing north within the hour.

Kanna followed the sound of giggling children all the way to the Avatar. She stood there, shrouded in shadows, watching him kick the football across the snow. He had done some sort of strange something (what Sokka called Avatar Flim-Flam-Wibbly-Wobbly), and now he spoke their tribal dialect like a native. He wouldn't curse, something Kanna approved of wholeheartedly, but he could yell and shout and play.

He was playing now, sending snow flying up in flurries, shamelessly using controlled bursts of airbending to give his team an edge, something that the other teenagers did not begrudge him, because it was cool. He roared across the field, passing the ball to a teammate, soaring through the air in a great arc, landing right in front of the goal to send the ball racing right between the two thick sticks that marked it out. He threw up his hands and cheered for all he was worth, and both teams lifted him up on their shoulders, chanting his name, even those who were losing, because, from what Kanna could see, if there was a way to lose a football match, this had to be the best.

She thought about going up to him, checking on him, shooing all the children home, sure, all the ones present were fourteen and fifteen and sixteen, but still, it was the middle of the night, and the young Avatar needed his rest. But, in the end, she did none of that.

In the end, she clapped her hands and cheered like the little girl she was at heart, and watched the game continue until Katara appeared and told the Avatar that it was time to go.

It wasn't until Kanna had watched the ship disappear into the night, until after she had taken a war-horn from under her bed and sounded the all-clear, calling her people down out of the hills, that she allowed herself a moment of weakness. She went back into her home, barred and locked the door, sat before the shrine to her daughter in the corner of the living room, where a carved image of her rested, that she allowed herself to cry.

She cried, and when she was done, she prayed, long into the night, for the children she had let fly off into the world. She prayed, with all her heart, that they would fulfill their destiny, and that they would never, ever regret the decision to ride the maelstrom.

So...that happened. I don't know how it was for you, but for me, that was fire in the circus levels of intense. I just...I really like how this all came out, how it all came together. I've wanted to do Zutara Week for years, and now that I've finally done, I couldn't be more happy with the end result. I hope you all liked it, and that you all enjoyed it.

Now that that's done...anything for me to add? Hmm...you know, I don't really think so; this final part pretty much speaks for itself. I'll just toss out a few notes, like how, when I say football, I, of course, mean what Americans call soccer, but what the rest of the world calls football, because, you know, you play it with your feet. I also call it that because my lovely, amazing, Latina wife is very clear that the word soccer is forbidden in our household, and I wouldn't put it past her to find some way to throw a chancla all the way from Mexico to Arlington, just to put me in my place.

What's a chancla, you ask? Ask a Mexican; they'll have themselves a good laugh, while also flinching, if you ask the question like this: What's a chancla, and what does it have to do with mothers?

What else, what else...you know, like I said...this stands on its own two feet. We'll just chuckle at how ATLA fics aren't complete with a sociopathic Fire Nation royal or three, and how I seem to have a strange prejudice against the name Jiro, even though every Jiro I've either met or heard of has been a pretty solid dude.

So, what's ahead? For this particular AU, I really don't have the energy right now for another super-long epic, especially one that, in my eyes, would basically consist of rewriting the entire series, episode-by-episode. I might pop into this universe occasionally for a drabble or two, but mostly, I leave it entirely in your hands. If this inspires you, feel free to take a stab at it; it'd love to see what you come up with, I really would. Same goes for fanart; just toss me the link, so I can see what you do.

That said...it's be awesome to see what this iteration of the Gaang would do with some of the shittier ATLA episodes, wouldn't it? Like the whole one with the two ethnic groups in the long canyon? You just know Zuko and Azula would take one look at that situation and say, Yeah, fuck this. Bail? And Sokka would be all, Yeah, bail, and Aang would turn to Katara and she'd shrug and say, You know, Aang, I think my husband and my sister-in-law are one to something here, and Sokka'd be all, Hey, doesn't my opinion count for anything?!, and Azula'd be all, Nope! And we'd all have a good laugh, episode over before the first commercial break.

And stuff like that.

As for me, well...between my wife and Lady Kaelyn, I have a long-simmering, much worked-over idea for a Harry Potter one-shot that I'm finally going to just write and throw out there, a couple other drabbles from other universes, a big original project to get cracking on, and various other things. Oh, yeah! And finally clearing out my inbox! Sorry about that! I've also discovered that Tumblr is pretty cool; go look me up under kangaroo2010, because I'm going to toss original stuff on there from time-to-time over the next few months.

But that, I think we can all agree, is enough of that. It's been real, it's been fun, but more importantly? It's been real fun! I love you all, it was wonderful to see you, and it's time for me to peace out! Peace!