A/N: Okay, I know I should be writing Future Fire Lady, but this idea has been stewing in my head for a couple of months now. The first line just popped into my head a couple of days ago, and I had to obey my instincts!

WARNING: This is a dark fic. It will not be happy sunshine and rainbows. There will be character death, at some point. That's why it's M for mature, plus I'm sure I'll test my bounds on writing something lemony.

This is just a short little bit of a chapter, more of a test. Do you like it? Are you curious? Should I continue? Please tell me in a review!

This is what I was born to do.

It had begun as any other day would in the South Pole, waking before the sun could peek over the horizon. There were so many chores to be done before the bitter cold of blizzard season set in, and being one of the youngest woman in the Tribe did not exempt me from my duties. I had to shake Sokka awake harder than usual, but other than that, I felt no difference.

Our meager existence was not much, but it was our honored, traditional way of life. I should have known the Fire Nation wouldn't leave us in peace, even though we are hardly a threat. A light snow had started somewhere between morning and noon, forcing me under a makeshift overhang outside of our family's shelter.

I was in the middle of scooping the meat out of the oysters Dad and Sokka had brought back when the day became one I would never forget. I had only ever seen the snow turn black once before, when I was very young, but I knew what it meant.

Fire Nation.

I recoil from the phrase as if someone has slapped me and the bitter taste of bile rises in my throat. I am outwardly calm as I carefully set down my knife and the last clam. We have planned for this day for what feels like a decade, but I am only eighteen. It has been merely five years, I remind myself with a tight throat. The day that Dad started instructing Sokka and I in our mission.

It was foolish, really, because no one knew how long it would take for the Phoenix King to overtake Ba Sing Se and the massive expanse of the Earth Kingdom. Because after he was satisfied with them, he would turn his wretched eyes to our sister tribe to the North, and then to us. We, who are so insignificant on his great maps of the world, will be his downfall.

I'm not nearly as good as Sokka, but there's no way I'll admit it out loud. He's got a cleverness that is unparalleled in anyone I've ever met (that number is few in itself) and I know that he will be our victorious savior. The thought of the big dolt saving the world brings a small smile to my face, but I let it slip when I think of the task at hand.

The village knows what to do. The elders and those who are aged closer to Dad are standing at the edge of our settlement, the young ones nervously tugging at their parents' sleeves in anticipation. Sokka comes to find me, just as we've agreed. His face is grave, and I swear he looks just like Dad in that moment.

That's not right, we're still so young, I think vaguely, but I answer myself as I am apt to do. Time to grow up.

I am afraid. I am deathly afraid.

I grasp Sokka's hand as if he were a life preserver and I'm drowning in the cold, salty ocean. He gives mine a reassuring squeeze, but doesn't look at me. I steel myself as we walk together through the crowd of familiar faces. These people, my people, who I have grown up among, are watching me with sad eyes. The adults at least, because while they don't know what I am exactly going to do, they have the tiniest inkling.

I try not to look at them.

Dad is somewhere near the front, since he is our Chief, and his face is hard like ice. His eyes soften with some fatherly emotion when he acknowledges us.

This is the last image I will have of my father.

There is a ship, just one, but it is clearly a war ship. Clearly Fire Nation. The massive metal beast bursts through ice floes as if they were tiny snowdrifts, and before I can properly gather myself, it is before us all. When it crashes into the edge of the snow, I falter as it shakes the ground beneath. Sokka steadies me, barely shaken himself, and that look of fierce determination is in his eyes.

We are ready, because this is our destiny.

This is what we were born to do.

The gangplank lowers, and the face of the man I've been taught to hate appears: Fire Lord Zuko.

He is just as repulsive as the stories say, that constant scowl and that hideous scar covering one side of his face.

I hate him.

No, I loathe him.

I hate everything that he stands for, and everything that he has done. He was the one who did what the Dragon of the West could not. Taking Ba Sing Se in the name of his father had put the arrogant young man back into Ozai's good graces, but apparently not that good, since he was sent to "conquer" our patch of ice.

Guards pour out of the ship, but they have no duty to fulfill here. There will be no ruckus, no uproar today as the Southern Water Tribe is obliterated from existence. He stands proud in front of them, but what has he to be proud of? There is no pride in subduing a race of people because they're different from you.

"I claim this land in the name of Phoenix King Ozai."

Sprits, even his voice is annoying. It sounds like he hasn't spoken in days, and the way it rasps is like two blades scraping together. After no reaction from our village, the Fire Lord motions for whatever a masked guard is holding off to his left. It is a Fire Nation flag, and he plants the pole firmly into the ice.

"You are all now Fire Nation prisoners. Form a single file line to board the ship immediately."

I narrow my eyes as he turns his back to us, and it's now or never. Rumor has it Fire Lord Zuko has a liking for feisty women. I drop Sokka's hand and scoop up a handful of snow, packing it quickly before launching it at my target.

Smack!

Right in the back of the neck, excellent. He turns around quickly, enraged that anyone should ever defy him. Of course, I am the first one he lays eyes on, being the foremost person now and my hands still flecked with snow. I am afraid, but I am also filled with hatred.

He stalks over to me, but I do not flinch. I meet him glare for glare, and for a moment there are no words. When I think he's about to walk away and dismiss me as a non-threat, I do what comes naturally and spit right in his face.

Surprise makes him stagger backwards a step, but he is quick to retaliate and yanks me to my knees by my braid. I refuse to cry out, to let him win. Instead I continue my defiant stare as he begins to berate me.

I want to rip his guts out.

He calls for one of the guards to bind my hands and lead me onto the ship. He just loves to collect rebellious women into his harem, and none of those Northern Tribe women have nearly enough spunk, so I'll be a fantastic addition, he says. Cue Sokka, whose anger is probably real at this point, and he tackles my tormentor to the ground. Unfortunately, the Fire Lord is still holding my braid and I am plunged into the snow along side them. I splutter and gasp at the cold sting of the snow, and I am forgotten as the guards and the Fire Lord are restraining my brother. He's struggling, making death threats, some of which are quite creative, and tries to lunge at the leader of the Fire Nation again.

"I'm sure you'll make a nice plaything for Azula," the man in red sneers, and all of the blood rushes out of Sokka's face. I bet I am just as pale, because that is not in the plan and the Princess has quite the reputation. We'll just have to be flexible, is all. No problem, we've got this.

I share a quick, reassuring glance with my brother while my hands are being tied behind my back before I'm roughly led onto the hulking metal giant. I don't look back, because I'm afraid I'll cry if I do.

There will be no room for crying, Dad had said when I was thirteen.

He was right.

My personal prison is not deep within the bowels of the ship, as I expected, but rather somewhere in the middle. Well, I suspect as much, because I can hear rusty iron doors open and shut, probably for the rest of the villagers. Where is Sokka? Where am I, for that matter? It was a stretch to assume we would be together, but I had hoped against hope.

A resigned look at my surroundings shows that there is a sleeping mat in the corner, but nothing else. With no windows, all I have to stare at are my four steely walls and the door. I sit in the corner upon my mat opposite the door, staring it down like my life depends on it. Maybe it does. After all, I'm not exactly sure what the protocol for initiating a new addition to a harem might be, but I'd guess horrible sex.

My stomach clenches at the thought, but the idea is nothing new to me. Now I'm regretting Dad's advice, to give my first time to one of the village men even if the youngest was ten years my senior. Now I will be dishonored in such a manner that it sickens me, and I clutch at my stomach to get a grip on reality.

Be brave, Katara.

Dad's words resonate through my being, and somehow I find peace. I will sacrifice my honor for the good of the world, if that's what it takes. I don't know how long it is before someone, a guard, opens the door to my cell and tells me that the Fire Lord has summoned me.

I stand, my chin raised defiantly as I silently agree to be led. They don't hold me by the arms or bind my hands, but their posture is tense in preparation for an attempt at escape. Those fools.

I am announced when we step into his chamber, and when I do not kneel someone kicks the backs of my knees so that I fall to the floor with a thud. Nobody snickers, but I can feel their mocking eyes as I grit my teeth and push myself up from the floor.

He dismisses the guards with a flick of his wrist, and we are alone. My contempt for him has not lessened and I don't bother hiding it. He simply stares (obviously he has no manners) and finally breaks free to turn his attention to the low table near the wall. A rich, red teapot sits in the middle, steam escaping lazily through the spout.

Without a second glance at me, he settles himself upon a cushion and pours himself a cup. What a strange man, does he always begin his sexual encounters as such? With a nice cup of tea? Spirits, the Fire Nation is weird.

"You may join me," he says after taking a long sip. Ha, as if I need his permission to do anything! But I am resolved not to move. That tea is probably poisoned anyway. He's only pretending to drink it, of course, or he's immune to the poison. Either way, there was no way in the Spirit World I'd share a pot of tea with him!

The man frowns at me, but I couldn't care less what he thinks. He is only a pawn, a tool in the mission for the greater good of the world. I ball my fists unconsciously on my lap in frustration. I wish I could just kill him now before he defiles me.

"Your resistance will not be tolerated in public. The other women will teach you how to act."

Yes, good. They can tell my all of your dark secrets, your weaknesses. It's almost too easy. How will Sokka's progress be affected by being held captive by that fire witch?

I could feel my brow furrow as I thought, and I was startled out of my plotting by that pompous man. He sits his cup on the table with the force somewhere between forceful and a slam, the tea sloshing dangerously inside of it.

"You should be grateful that I saved you, peasant," he practically spits at me. Clearly he thinks he's done something magnificent and demands praise for his eternal kindness. "These Southern Raiders have an abominable reputation."

"I don't need any help from the likes of you." I can feel my lip curl in disgust, and for a split second I consider spitting on him again, but I don't want to wear the gesture out. There's a tug at the back of my mind, but I ignore it. His face displays full on indignation and outrage.

"Should I just let the rest of the crew have their way with you then!" He snarls. It is really unbecoming of him. Fire Lords shouldn't snarl like a wild polar leopard. The man is standing in front of me and pulling me up by my arm before I can even register him moving.

With skin as pale as his, I expect his skin to be cold.

But firebenders are never cold.

His hand is uncomfortably hot as he grips my face, smushing my lips. It was almost like I was making a fish face, like I used to do when I was twelve, but it isn't so cute or funny right now. I tried to purse my lips out of habit, but he held tight.

"Pretty little sapphire in the ice, they're calling you." His voice is dangerously low now, and somehow it's sends a thrill of fear through me that his shouting could not.

He's released my face, but his hand has traveled down my neck to my mother's necklace. I hold my breath, anticipating, but thankfully (or not) he moves down to the neckline of my tunic.

"Your skin in nothing new. I'm sure they've had Northern wenches in their beds before. There is nothing outstanding about your hair or your eyes. It is your audacity." He slips his finger ever so slightly into the fold of my tunic, and I can feel his oppressive heat tingling my skin.

"They'd all kill each other, vying for the chance to be the one who fucked the little Water Tribe woman first; the one to break her spirit." His eyes were narrowed, but they lack the heat from earlier. He looks from my eyes, to my lips, to where his hand rests, to something just over my shoulder.

"You can show your gratitude another time. I have important matters to attend to. Guards!" The sudden elevation of his voice hurts my ears, but I am too busy thinking to fuss over it. Even as the masked men lead me back to my holding room, my brain is mulling over the one-sided conversation.

It is true enough that any other man should have been called a hero for saving me from lechers, if what he said was true, but he wasn't doing it for me.

He was doing it for himself.

After all, why should the crew have their turn with the "pretty little woman" when the Fire Lord could pick and choose his whores as he pleased?

Oh yes, Lord Zuko likes them feisty.

He only wants to break them.