Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, so show me a little leniency XD Rated M for language and themes.

They were hopelessly outnumbered. Fire-benders were closing in. His mind ran through all the possible exit strategies, none of them would work. His gut was telling him that they wouldn't all be able to make it out of this, and he knew that by now, his gut was always right.
"Sokka! Have you got a plan for us yet?" Katara yelled from behind him.
He closed his eyes momentarily in defeat, then called back, "Yes. Get Aang out of here, I'll hold them off."
"Bad plan Sokka! We're all going to get out of this!" Aang said, his anxious voice carrying clearly over the sound of the battle.
"We can't all get out of this. You're both too important to the movement to be lost now. Especially you Aang."
The youthful voice of the Avatar protested weakly, "You're important too. You're my chief strategist."
"You have other strategists Aang. Now, take Katara, get on your glider. I'll throw a smoke bomb, you glide over them and get out of here."
"But..." Katara began, but Sokka cut her off, "No time to argue. Go! NOW!"
He tossed the smoke bomb, and watched his friend and his sister fly to their freedom. The smoke began to clear far too quickly, and Sokka found himself backing involuntarily against the canyon wall. Shaking himself out of his momentary lapse in courage, he raised his sword and charged at the fire-benders, yelling wildly.

A rough hand shoved his face into the dirt. He spat out the mud and grass, and tried to lift his head, catching a glimpse of gilded red shoes before his head was shoved back down again, accompanied by a threatening whisper, "Keep your head down in the presence of the prince, rebel scum."
Wisely, he kept quite.
"Who are they?" someone hissed arrogantly, the prince, Sokka guessed.
"Rebels my lord."
The prince sighed, "And why have you brought them to me?"
"My lord, the Firelord said that you were to sentence them."
"Send them to the Boiling Rock," he said dismissively.
He found himself pulled up from the ground roughly as the line of prisoners shuffled to their feet. Prison Sokka thought I can handle that. I could even break out. His mind was already churning out dozens of escape plans. A soft command brought his plans short, "Wait, I want to see this one."
The guard shoved Sokka out of line. A pale hand cupped his chin and lifted it, "What's this one's name?"
"Sokka, of the Water Tribe," he replied proudly.
"Shut it," the guard growled, back handing him, sending him stumbling. The guard continued, "Chief strategist for the rebellion."
"Leave him with me."
"Yes my lord," the guard growled, chains rattling as he unchained him from the rest of the prisoners. He rubbed his wrists and lifted his head to examine the Firelord's son. He was pale, nearing on sickly. His jet black hair was pulled back into a topknot, one golden eye glinted dangerously, the other was obscured by a scar that covered half of the right side of his face. The prince couldn't be much older than Sokka, though he looked much more mature than the slim Watertribe boy.
"Get him cleaned up," the prince commanded, "Then bring him to my tent."

A servant appeared from nowhere and motioned for him to follow. She led him to a tent, and brushed inside. Sokka followed cautiously, and was confronted by stacks of boxes. The girl sorted through one pile, then finally pulled out a red and black uniform and tossed it to him. Once again she motioned for him to follow her, and, reminiscent of a puppy, he did. The next tent was much smaller, and the girl didn't enter this time. She held the flap open for him, "Wash yourself quickly, put on the uniform. I'll be waiting out here."
Sokka did as he was told, washing himself quickly, and fixing his hair back into it's customary wolf's tail. When he walked back out, he met the girl's eyes, blue like his own.
"You're water tribe!" he exclaimed.
She nodded mutely, "Follow me."
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, as he followed at a trot, "Am I a servant now?"
She stopped outside of an elaborate tent, pain in her eyes, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" he replied, confused. She shook her head and stepped back to allow the guards to escort him inside.

The inside of the tent was even more elaborate than the outside. A curtain hung near the back, and from behind it the same arrogant voice called out, "You may all leave now."
The guards left Sokka standing in the middle of the tent, more confused and anxious with each moment. A few moments more passed before the curtain was brushed back and the prince entered. He'd removed his topknot, and his hair fell into his eyes. His lips curled into a sickening smile, "I knew that you'd clean up well."
He paced around him, a hunter examining its prey, "I'm beginning to think that perhaps, the uniform was a mistake. Take it off."
"What?" Sokka squeaked out, his stomach sinking fast.
"Your uniform, off. Now."
He tried to back away from the steadily advancing prince, looking around desperately for some type of weapon. He spun around, and tried to dart out of the door. A hand caught his arm and pulled him back around. Hot breath brushed against his face, "Don't disobey me. Strip."
He snapped his fingers, and flames began to dance along the hem of the tunic. Glaring at his captor, Sokka pulled it over his head.
"And now the leggings."
Sokka gritted his teeth and slipped them off. The prince's rough hands dragged down his chest, landing on the band of his underwear. He felt the flame as it seared away the band, and left him naked.
"Down on the floor slut."
"No," Sokka said weakly, his mind struggling against denial.
"What did you say to me?" the prince demanded.
"No!" he said louder.
His stomach sank as the prince's smile widened. Fire sprung to his hand, and he snapped it, turning it into a whip, "I want to hear you scream."

Sokka did scream, despite his best attempts at silence. He lay on the floor of the prince's tent, the pale man still straddling his hips.
"You're mine," he whispered darkly, "And now everyone will know it."
A small flame lit on his finger, and he pressed it against the tender skin of Sokka's stomach. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as the prince traced the symbol of the Fire Nation, and then, on top of that, another character, one that the prince echoed, "Whore."
Then, abruptly, he stood up, "Now, clean this mess up."

With shaking, weak legs, Sokka struggled to his feet and pulled on his leggings, wincing with each movement. He gathered up the soiled linens, and walked out of the tent. The same Water Tribe girl waited for him. Pity filled her eyes as she looked at him. Stepping forward shyly she took the load from him, "I'll help you with these."
They walked side by side to another tent. She indicated to a bin, "Dirty laundry goes here."
She moved to another pile, "You can retrieve clean linens here, and replacements here. As Prince Zuko's personal servant, you'll be responsible for all of his laundry, cleaning his tent, his personal grooming, and any other, services, he requires."
"You don't," he hesitated, "You aren't disgusted. By me."
In response, she pulled up the hem of her tunic. A brand, similar to Sokka's own, was on her left hip bone, "Princess Azula."
Bile rose in his throat, "It's different, for you. I'm a warrior of the tribe, I should have died by my own hand, rather than let him..."
"Shh..." she whispered, "No one is going to die, especially not you. We'll make it through this, and once the Avatar wins this war, no one need know what we did to survive."
A spark of hope lit in his chest, and it showed clearly in his eyes. She smiled at him, "What's your name?"
"Sokka, Hakoda's son, southern water tribe."
"Kya, Northern water tribe."
Sokka's breath caught in his throat, "That was my mother's name."
"It's destiny then, that we meet," she said lightly, "Now, let's get you fixed up."

She led him to yet another tent. Older servants bustled around, many of them with the dark skin and blue eyes that marked them as Water Tribe. Kya nodded respectfully to them and led Sokka to a curtained off section. She had him lay down, then disappeared. She returned with a bowl full of water and a soft cloth, "This is going to hurt."
"I can take it," he replied with forced bravado, "I'm a big boy."

She flashed him smile, then pulled up his shirt. The skin had already begun to blister badly, she hissed sympathetically, then began to clean it gently. When she finished, she took out a dressing and applied it liberally. The cool salve relieved some of the pain, then she placed gauze over it, and bound it on tightly.

She allowed him to sit up, then said quietly, "As for the soreness you probably feel, I can't do anything about that. It will fade, given time."
"Thank you, for everything," he said gratefully.
She shrugged, "It's the least I could do."
"No," he said seriously, "It isn't."

They smiled at each other, and left the tent. Days passed like that for Sokka, bumbling his way through his new servitude. His friendship with Kya grew, her gentle smile could coax him him from the darkest of moods. A month had passed, his brand healed into a scar, but he still shuddered at the touch of the prince.