Chapter Text
The sun rises red on the icy horizon, spreading a golden blanket of light over the snow. Sokka sits at the edge of the windowsill in his watchtower, one leg folded so his chin rests on his knee, the other one dangling beneath him. He usually uses these quiet moments to sharpen his boomerang, but this morning, he just stares ahead.
There is a whisper of what this day should be buzzing between his ears. He’d get his third mark. The first one he would have received upon dodging the ice at fourteen. The second for the first seal he hunted and harvested by himself at seventeen. And finally, his third marking would be earned by defeating his dad in a fight in front of the entire tribe.
Well, not necessarily his father. The tradition only required the young man to defeat a warrior from the Wolf Cove in hand-to-hand combat. But Hakoda had chosen to face his father when he was twenty, the Chieftain before him, so Sokka dreamed about doing the same.
The ritual will be nothing like he imagined. In fact, there won’t be a ritual at all.
Sokka sighs, pressing his fingertips hard against the ice until it hurts, until they go numb. There aren’t any soldiers left to fight him. Hakoda and all the other adult men in the tribe have gone to aid the Earth Kingdom against the Fire Nation. All of them–except Sokka.
It’s like he can see it before him. His finger draws a line where the ships were anchored, warriors dressed in thick furs hauling supply bags, adjusting the ropes and throwing heavy boxes with weaponry. He continues the movement until it lands on the exact spot where Hakoda knelt before his thirteen-year-old son.
Sokka grimaces when he remembers how pathetic he was at that moment. Arms wrapped tightly around a bundle of whatever he could gather in a hurry. Face black, grey and white in traditional war paint. Eyes big and desperate.
“I’m coming with you,” he said then, trying to sound old and strong. It came out as a whine.
“You are not old enough to go to war, Sokka,” his father said. “You know that.”
“I’m strong, I’m brave–” he argued, fingers shaking. “I can fight.”
Sokka remembers the ghost of a smile tugging his father’s cheeks at that; he remembers how it only spurred his desperation. He wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted to be a valuable warrior for his tribe. He wanted to destroy those who killed his mother.
He didn’t want to be left alone.
“Please, Dad,” he pleaded.
Hakoda sighed and stepped closer. His hand was warm and heavy against Sokka’s shoulder, melting his hopes away. “Being a man is knowing where you’re needed the most. And for you, right now, that’s here protecting your sister.”
His words were like arrows, slicing through Sokka’s chest. There was no blood, but he felt as if his life was pouring from the wounds. The life he dreamed of, the life he had until that day. “I don’t–I don’t understand.”
“Someday you will,” his father said, pulling him into a hug. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”
Sokka’s gaze burns against the sunlight, but he doesn’t blink. He twists his lips. He looks up. He wipes his eyes. Nothing works–a tear rolls down his cheek.
Protecting your sister.
Pushing himself to the snowy ground outside the wall, Sokka rolls the words inside his thoughts until they’re grazing his nerves. He is running, allowing the oxygen to burn his lungs and trying to warm his body for the morning drills. His mind is screaming.
He knows he should face his duty with honour, the Moon and the Ocean know he tries to. Yet there is a shadowy presence, lingering just outside his conscious thoughts, that questions…
No.
The mere thought goes against everything he has been taught. Katara is the last water bender in their tribe. And Sokka is the last thing standing between Wolf Cove and any threat.
Sokka has circled the island five times when he finally stops, panting with his hands on his knees. He doesn’t allow his body to cool and moves straight to his morning drills. Sokka is no longer the little boy his father left seven years ago; strong muscles cover his body, and he is a foot taller than Hakoda was–or so his Gran Gran tells him.
The sun is high by the time he is finally satisfied with his practice and strolls back to the tribe. He tousles the hair of a few children on his way, reminding them of the training session that afternoon. Tapping his forehead in greeting to the elders, Sokka threads through the snow-built yurts until he arrives at his own.
The savoury scent leaving through the door drags an appreciative hum from Sokka. “It’s smelling good, sis–”
“Where were you?” Katara asks, pointing an accusatory wooden spoon at him. “Can’t you be bothered to help at home?”
Sokka’s smile falls. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” she hisses. “In fact, you are always excusing yourself, aren’t you? Going on your brooding exercise sessions–”
“Katara,” he says exasperatedly.
“Don’t Katara me,” she snarls. “I wish I could just get up and leave the house for a walk as well, but instead I’m here warming my belly on the fire to make sure you don’t get hangry–”
“And who killed the seal whose fat you’re using as fuel, hm?” he asks, crossing his arms. “It was in one of my morning walks that I got the fish you cooked and the seaweed.” A muscle ticks on his jaw as he steps closer. “I’d love to be able to simply wake up and warm my belly on the fire, but if I don’t go into the freezing world, we have no food, Katara. So give me a fucking break, if you will–”
“Here’s your lunch.” She pushes a bowl into his chest. “I’ll prepare the canoe.”
Sokka frowns. “What?”
“Well, you just said I haven’t been helping get us food, right? I will fish with you today, then. Make it right. It might be a good opportunity for me to practice my waterbending.”
Sokka watches her push the fur they use as a door, the blinding white light momentarily swallowing her figure before the fabric drops back, and he is bathed in darkness. He would slap his face or curse his sister if he could, but his stomach growls menacingly, so he just sits on the ground and inhales his lunch.
Ten minutes later, he is resetting all the ropes from the canoe. Katara had thought they would be better if they were symmetrical.
“The currents aren’t symmetrical,” he explains, tying it roughly. “They are going east, so we have to lean west to keep a straight line.”
She grunts, crossing her arms from where she sits. He rolls his eyes and takes the seat across from her. He uses the oars to push the water, deftly navigating to avoid ice, while going to where the currents are warmer, and more fish are available at the surface level. Deep-blue caves, sky-high glaciers and snowy islands dotted by sun-bathing seals move past them as they paddle through the calm, dark waters. The light filters through the ice formations, tinting Katara in soft blues and catching on the beads of her hair.
His scrawny sister is growing up, her tongue is sharpening, and it should bother him, but at this point in his life, he is just glad she is alive. Sokka smiles silly. Maybe he could teach her how to fish.
The hours roll around them like snowballs, accumulating failures and frustration. Sokka is used to this; fishing and hunting are more about the wait than anything else, but he notices Katara growing restless. Adjusting his grip on his spear, he spots a cod. Last week, he missed taking it home, and they had to eat stewed sea prunes for days. “It’s not getting away from me this time.” He turns to his sister. “Watch and learn, Katara. This is how you catch a fish.”
He aims, his lips rolling in concentration. Behind him, there is a gurbling sound of water. Before him, his dinner is swimming, oblivious.
“Sokka, look!” Katara shrieks.
“Shhh… You’re gonna scare it away. I can already smell it cooking–”
“But Sokka! I caught one!”
Sokka has it. It’s right in front of him, in perfect position. He raises his hand to throw the spear–
Freezing ice water showers down over Sokka’s body, burning his skin, drenching his fur and sending painful jolts up his spine. With the confusion, the cod has swum away, and Sokka turns furious to his sister. “Why is it that every time you play with magic water, I get soaked?”
Can’t she see that getting fed is more important than whatever it is that she is trying to do?
Katara sighs. “It’s not magic, it’s waterbending. And it’s–”
“I know,” he spits with anger. “An ancient art, unique to our culture, blah blah blah!” He turns his back to her, the damp clothing is making him shiver, and the words stumble out of him before he can think better of it. Or think anything at all. “Look, if I had real powers, I’d keep my weirdness to myself.”
He doesn’t mean it. He knows the importance of her skill, or rather, he knows the importance both their parents gave to it–his mother especially. But he was already having a shit day before missing his prey and getting drenched by cold water. He extends and flexes his arm against the reflection under the canoe, trying to see the extent of the trouble. If he doesn’t get dry and warm soon, he could die here. He knows Katara isn’t able to go back by herself, let alone carrying him too.
“You’re calling me weird? I’m not the one who flexes my muscles every time I see my reflection in the water.”
He turns to glare at her. Katara really has no fucking idea of what he carries inside him. Maybe this means he did a good job. Still, it is painful not to be seen.
The canoe jerks violently, and Sokka’s head whips just in time to see a northern current spurring them through the ice-filled waters towards an iceberg. He wastes no time, grabbing the oars and thrusting them to navigate, to survive.
Protect your sister.
Protect your sister.
Protect your sister.
Katara screams, cutting through the echo of Dad’s voice inside his skull, “WATCH OUT!”
He rows left, avoiding collision, then quickly changes sides, so they don’t smash against an ice rock.
“To the left! To the left!”
Sokka’s arms shake with the effort to resist the current and propel their weight towards the direction he wants. He groans. The canoe is moving faster, the ice is closing in on them, Katara is screaming, and he can only think of how much of a failure he is.
Two ice islands smash against each other, shoving Katara and Sokka flying midair. They land heavily on a tabular iceberg that sways with their weight. Katara slides dangerously close to the edge, but Sokka drives his spear into the ice and holds her feet so she isn’t plunged into freezing water.
They lay there, catching their breath, the possibility of death hovering above them like a taunting bird. Sokka looks around: the canoe is gone, and he has nothing on him but his spear and the soaked fur he is wearing. No one to ask for help. They are going to die here.
No, they can’t. Protect your sister.
“You call that left?”
He can’t believe his ears. He flips to her, venom dripping from his lips as he sneers, “Don’t like my steering? You should have waterbended us out of the ice.”
She gets up. “So it’s my fault?”
It’s no one’s fault, but it’s my responsibility, Sokka thinks. His father gave him one mission, and he is failing. “I should have left you at home.” It’s true, but he doesn’t stop there. “Leave it to a girl to screw things up–”
“You are the most sexist, immature, nut-brained–” The water around them starts rocking angrily with her words. “I’m embarrassed to be related to you.”
Something shatters inside him, shards flying in all directions. It consumes Sokka: blinding hot pain, furious cold shame. She is the only family he has left, and she resents it. Well, so the fuck does he. Sokka closes around the feeling, letting it simmer and boil while he rests his forearms on his knees, staring at the white snow.
“Since mom died, I’ve been doing all the work while you’ve been off playing soldier,” she says, delusional. Has she been living the same reality as he had?
Sokka has no time to argue, though, for a giant iceberg behind her starts snapping. “Katara…”
“I even wash all your clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks?” she screams. “Well, let me tell you: NOT PLEASANT!”
That does it. A crack zigzags its way upwards through the ice, water sloshing roughly.
“Katara!” he snaps. “Settle down!”
“No! That’s it! I’m done helping you! From now on, you’re on your own!”
With a thunder, the ice breaks in two, and the impact of their crashing against the water sends a giant wave towards Sokka and Katara. They hold on to the little island they’re in, Sokka holding his sister’s back. She is crying, and his heart seems ready to burst out his mouth.
Once they finally slow down, he turns to her. Relief floods his system, and he teases, “Okay, you’ve gone from weird to freakish, Katara.”
“You mean, I did that?” she asks, voice small with wonder.
“Yep, congratulations,” he mutters.
A bubble of bright blue light begins to grow in the deep waters beneath them, expanding until it is larger than any house in their tribe. As it comes to the surface, Sokka realises it is not really a bubble, but a strangely glowing sphere of ice. Inside it, there seems to be a… boy?
He turns to his sister, but finds her feet have carried her closer to the thing. Cursing at her lack of survival instincts, Sokka steps towards her and grabs her arm, just in time to see the boy lighting up like a bolt.
“He’s alive,” she screams. “We have to help him–”
Before he can tell her what a horrible idea that is, Katara has taken his club from his back and is running towards the ice.
“Katara! No! We don’t know what that thing is!”
Protect your sister.
It’s hard to do it as she jumps from ice to ice and starts hitting the sphere with all her strength. When it explodes, a hot jet of air assails them, jostling both siblings as ragdolls backwards. Sokka can’t see anything in the whirlwind of whistles, bright lights and smoke. But he can hear it–the roaring blast that is close to tearing his eardrums.
Protect your sister.
Sokka holds his spear before them, terrified of the glowing figure that stumbles in their direction. But eventually, the boy–because that is what he is–falls. And of course, Katara throws herself at her knees next to him, tending to the mysterious being as if he were her child. He looks like a child: bald head, tiny body, round cheeks and weird drawings of arrows all over his pale skin. But his clothing–it is odd. Yellow and orange robes that have no place in the South Pole. Maybe he is wearing something underneath…
“Stop it,” Katara hisses as Sokka pokes him.
The boy’s eyelids flutter. “I…need…to…ask…you…something.”
“What is it?” Katara leans forward.
“Come closer,” he whispers.
She obeys.
“Closer.”
She does.
Sokka is ready to kill the little boy if he tries anything.
“Will you go penguin sledging with me?”
Sokka doesn’t hear Katara’s response. His shock at the unprompted invitation pales in comparison to the gasp that tears out of his throat when the boy floats himself upwards.
“How did you get in the ice?” he asks, positioning himself before Katara and pointing the spear towards the foreigner. “And why aren’t you frozen?”
“I’m not sure,” he says. Then, he climbs on the ice wall behind him and starts grunting something they can’t understand.
Sokka and Katara walk around the obstacle. He can’t believe what he sees. Lying on the ground is a giant, six-legged and furred beast with matching arrow signs as the boy. With big, brown eyes as big as a plate and a nose larger than a seal, it stands tall between the shards of ice. It has reins attached to its horns that go all the way to a seat wrapped on its back.
“What is this thing?” Sokka asks.
“This is Appa, my flying bison,” the boy replies.
“Okay,” Sokka mutters. In situations like this, he sometimes resorts to protective sarcasm. “This is Katara, my flying sister.”
He wanted to say ‘sister bison’, but who knew what she would defrost if she got angry again? In any case, Sokka knows they must really leave that place. The young boy might not be dangerous, but that Appa thing surely is. He needs to guarantee Katara is out of the way by the time the bison decides to eat.
His mind is working at a thousand miles per hour when he hears a snoring sound, as if the beast is sniffing the air. Sokka grabs Katara, ready to run, but instead of attacking them, Appa sneezes a slimy, green snot at Sokka, covering him from head to feet.
As if being soaked, stranded and in danger weren’t enough, now he is drenched in a flying bison’s phlegm. He is furious, dropping to the ground and trying to wipe at least his hands and face on the snow around him. He can’t think straight while feeling it against his skin.
“Don’t worry,” the boy says. “It will wash out.”
Sokka feels ready to kill him; his hands flex at his side, adjusting the grip on his spear.
“So, do you guys live around here?”
As Katara opens her mouth to reply, Sokka shouts, “Don’t answer that!” He gets up from where he stood. He is talking without thinking. “Did you see that crazy bolt of light? He was probably trying to signal the Fire Navy–”
“Oh yeah,” Katara mocks, pushing his spear away. “I’m sure he is a spy for the Fire Navy. You can tell by that evil look in his eye.”
Sokka scoffs, shooting his little sister a disbelieving glare. Since when were someone’s eyes enough of an indicator of their character? Could she be that naive?
“The paranoid one is my brother Sokka,” she says. Then, pushing her hair behind her ear in that silly way girls usually do, she adds, “You never told us your name.”
Sokka’s gaze bounces between the stranger and his sister. He doesn’t remember hitting his head during the explosion, but it clearly is what happened. Bato once fell from a glacier and spent a week seeing weird shapes around people. That is the explanation for why it seems like his sister is into this scrawny, big-headed boy. He must be what? Sixteen?
The stranger opens his mouth, and for a split second, Sokka is afraid he will get the boy’s snoot as well as the bison’s on his face. But his fear proves unnecessary; when the boy sneezes, it is a blast of air that comes out, thrusting him at least ten feet high.
He lands swiftly and then sniffles. “I’m Aang.”
Sokka can’t believe his eyes. “You just sneezed and…” He points to the sky where the boy, Aang, had just been. “You flew ten feet in the air.”
“Really? It felt higher than that–”
“You are an air bender!” Katara gasps.
“Sure am!”
Sokka has had enough. He throws his spear over his shoulder, wrapping his hand around Katara’s slender wrist to take her back to the safety of their tribe. He has no idea how they’ll get there, but he isn’t staying a second longer with that Aang guy. “Giant light beams, flying bison, airbenders… I think I got midnight sun madness. I’m going home to where stuff makes sense.”
He stops before the ocean, trying to gauge a strategy to cross it without dying.
“Well, if you guys are stuck, Appa and I can give you a lift.”
His baby sister wastes no time before running towards the bison. “We’d love a ride! Thanks!”
Sokka crosses his arms. ”No There’s no way I’m letting you go on top of that fluffy snot monster, Katara–”
“Are you hoping some other kind of monster will come along and give you a ride home?” Katara is already climbing Appa. “You know, before you freeze to death.”
To be honest, when he woke up that morning, Sokka did not expect to have a good day, but it never occurred to him that it could be this bad. Every cell in his body is screaming in alert to the risks of this situation. He is going against all the teachings of his father. There hasn’t been news of air benders for over a century, they run into one that has been hiding inside a ball of ice, and now they are taking him home?
Besides, he wasn’t joking–the beam of light might very well have alerted the Fire Navy…. and then what? They have barely been surviving; the tribe has no resources to face an attack from fire benders.
Still, Sokka is usually great at finding creative solutions for the dangerous situations in which he finds himself–or Katara. But in this moment, he can’t think; he can hardly breathe. His finger is pointing at his sister, but he lets it drop and climbs along with her in the flying beast.
The journey home is painfully awkward. It starts with Aang attempting to make the beast fly, but it merely jumps and lands in the water with a wide splash. It becomes clear that Appa prefers to float, then Katara begins behaving like a giggling fool, flirting with the strange boy.
Their village is small, with a little more than a dozen children, and even fewer teenagers… but Sokka didn’t know his sister would be so desperate, throwing herself at the first boy that appeared in the South Pole. There aren’t many options, but Sokka never had trouble finding lips to kiss and a body to warm his tent at night.
Katara’s behaviour is embarrassing, and she spends most of the night attempting to talk with the strange boy. Sokka watches as they both sleep; he doesn’t dare do the same. No, he watches the starry sky, searching his cloudy mind for a clear path on what to do with this newcomer, and makes sure the bison takes them to their village.
“Sokka,” his grandmother greets him by the gates, her voice rough with worry. He is carrying his sister in his arms. “What’s wrong with Katara?”
“Nothing, Gran,” he reassures her, not stopping until they reach the tent she shares with Katara. “She’s just sleeping.”
“Just sleeping? What’s wrong with you, boy?” she is hissing at his back. “It’s almost midnight–we thought you two were dead!”
“Well, we aren’t,” he says sharply. “There was an explosion, we lost our canoe and–” He inhales and then runs a hand through his hair. “We met someone.”
“Someone?”
He nods, moving back to the outside. A few of the other elders are standing around Appa, within a safe distance, whispering their disbelief and fear. Sokka moves past them and grabs the teenage boy, carrying him inside as well. He contemplated leaving him there, but it was cold, and he had saved them. He only wishes his pity won’t cost his village too much.
Sokka doesn’t sleep that night, pacing near the wall with eyes fixed on the horizon. He squints, breath coming quick and shallow. He is terrified, it goes all the way to his bones and shakes him mad, that he’ll eventually see a Fire Navy ship coming to destroy what he lives to protect.
The following morning, Katara is ecstatic to introduce Aang to the village, and the village is, if not excited too, then intrigued by the strange air bender. Sokka decides he will live that day as any other, sharpening his boomerang near his tent, where Aang slept alone.
Gran-gran makes herself acquainted with Aang, and the village children all shriek and clap as the boy shows off his airbending tricks. Sokka isn’t bothered; even he must admit it is entertaining to see the boy flying with that weird staff. But the subtle smirk that threatened to form on his lips vanishes when Aang lands face-first on his watch tower.
That construction is more than seven generations old! It is paramount for their defence mechanisms; the only way they can spot the Fire Navy with time enough to gear up or escape. It takes Sokka one hour every day to simply apply new layers of snow, making sure it stays as large and solid as his father left it for him.
His father…
What would he say? Hakoda left Sokka to take care of the village, and Sokka couldn’t even take care of a fucking tower. He stomps his way through babbling and giggling children, trying to salvage what he could from that mountain of snow. This boy is trouble; Sokka knows it deep in his spine. The feeling is so unsettling that goosebumps flare all over his body, and he feels sick.
Soon, everyone moves to their chores, and to Sokka, this means the training of the young warrior of the tribe. Of course, it isn’t as glamorous as having rows of other young men like him standing at attention. No, the Southern Water Tribe has a little more than a handful of boys old enough to hold a club but young enough to fight if push comes to shove.
Still, he gives them all the seriousness of the situation in his speech. “Now, men, until your fathers return from the War, they're counting on you to be the men of this tribe–”
“Wow! Everything freezes here,” Aang says dumbly as he leaves the bathroom. The children burst into cackling, immediately leaving their posts and running towards him.
Sokka groans in frustration, wiping his face. “Katara, get him out of here! This lesson is for warriors only.” But the children are already following Aang to play slide in Appa’s tail. It makes Sokka see red. “Stop it!” he yells. “Stop it right now! What's wrong with you?! We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”
Is he the only sane person in this place?
“What war?” Aang asks, frowning.
Sokka shoots him a glare, hands on his hips. “You’re kidding, right?”
Aang doesn’t look like he is. Thankfully, an otter penguin distracts him and pulls the young boy to a further spot.
“He’s kidding, right?” Sokka repeats as his sister steps closer to him, arms folded before her chest.
“I’m not sure,” Katara says. “Sokka, I have been thinking and… how long do you think Aang was locked inside that iceberg?”
Sokka turns to her, frowning. “Well, he wouldn’t survive more than three days without water–’
“I think he might have been there for a hundred years,” she says. “Think about it: he is an airbender, they haven’t been seen in a century. He doesn’t know about the war and–”
“Katara, this is nonsense,” Sokka says because he needs it to be true.
People have died, his family died, because of a century-old war that could only be stopped by the avatar. Sokka knows fear; he has been living with it since the day he was born. It grows inside him, shaping itself to fill every corner and crevice of his body. He has learned to overcome it to fulfil his duties. He has become a friend of his fears.
But never before has he feared something as much as he fears having hope.
Hope is dangerous.
He barely registers Katara leaving, his eyes lost in the distance. Sokka thinks about his mother, the way her voice was thick and warm as she lulled him to sleep. Sokka thinks about his father and how much he misses the weight of Hakoda’s hands on his shoulders. Sokka thinks about himself and the life he has been living. There is not a second of his existence that wasn’t shaped by the Fire Nation and its cruelty. He wonders what it would be like to live without, to live with, to live by…to simply live. Not to survive. Not to endure. To simply be.
Yellow floods the sky in a flare of power coming from the old Fire Ship that haunts their tribe. Sokka doesn’t need to think twice; he knows Katara decided to take Aang there and that the boy managed to signal their location to the Fire Nation.
Every day, every minute of his life since his father’s departure has led to this moment. He starts barking orders around.
“Women, children and the elderly get inside,” he says, “Bundle up your possessions, we might have to run– Karo, prepare the canoes!”
The tribe is bustling with his instructions, everything running as smoothly as he could hope for, but his heart bumps violently against his ribcage. He is not ready for this. He wants to cry, to call his father. He wants to run, get Katara and escape.
Protect your sister.
How is he supposed to do this?
The children’s joyful squeaks yank him back into focus, and Sokka sees Katara and Aang approaching. The little ones circle around them, asking for more magic tricks.
“I knew it!” Sokka jabs a finger at Aang. “You signalled the Fire Navy with that flare! You're leading them straight to us, aren't you?”
Katara moves straight to Sokka, shoving his chest. “Aang didn't do anything! It was an accident.”
It’s almost laughable if it weren’t for their impending death. Sokka’s eyes sweep across their village: children, elders, women… he wonders how many of them he’ll see burn tonight. His gaze lands on Aang, who is sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah. We were on the ship, and there was this booby trap, and, well–”
Grandmother gasps. “Katara, you shouldn't have gone on that ship! Now we could all be in danger!
“Don't blame Katara. I brought her there. It's my fault–”
“Aha! The traitor confesses!” Sokka raises his club and points at Aang. He hasn’t killed a man yet, but he is ready to if it means saving his people. His tone is icy when he says, “Warriors, away from the enemy. The foreigner is banished from our village.”
Katara’s hands ball into fists. “Sokka, you're making a mistake–”
It crumples something vulnerable inside Sokka to see his sister saying that, siding with a boy she has known for less than a day. Sokka always chose Katara before any other thing in his life. Ocean and Moon, even his parents chose her above anything else. His mother died to save her. His father went to war so she would be allowed to bend water.
And still… she chose someone else, or maybe the novelty he brought. Maybe she is choosing herself and the shiny life she could have as a waterbender.
“No, I'm keeping my promise to Dad,” he snarls. “I'm protecting you from threats like him!”
“Aang is not our enemy!” Katara cries. “Don't you see? Aang's brought us something we haven't had in a long time: fun.
Sokka’s jaw drops. “Fun?!” Maybe she was too young, maybe she doesn’t remember properly what it was like. “Katara, we can't fight firebenders with fun!”
“You should try it sometime,” Aang says.
Even if he wouldn’t admit it to his consciousness, a part of Sokka always felt pity for himself. He was not special, he didn’t have magic powers–he was just a normal boy in a shitty world. But now, looking at his sister, he realises that being powerless gives him an advantage neither Katara nor Aang have. It gives him pragmatism.
“Get out of our village,” he whispers venomously. And, as Aang doesn’t move, he shouts, “Now!
Katara turns to Gran-Gran, reaching for her wrists and tugging. “Please, Grand! Don’t let him do this—“
“Katara, you knew going on that ship was forbidden. Sokka is right. I think it's best if the airbender leaves.”
Katara was always wild, but Sokka would never expect her to say what she does. “Fine! Then I'm banished, too!!” She crosses the gathering towards the boy, grabbing his arm. “Come on, Aang, let's go.”
Sokka moves quicker than lightning, stepping between her and the foreigner. “Where do you think you're going?”
“To find a waterbender. Aang is taking me to the North Pole.”
“I am?” Aang asks. “Great!”
Sokka’s hand falls.
Protect your sister.
But how can he protect her from herself?
Should he pin her down? Tie her up? It doesn’t seem like something his dad would want. But how would Sokka know? He hasn’t seen his dad in years, so many things he has to do without the guidance he most needs.
“Katara!” he breathes. It’s hard for Sokka to comprehend her decision because his actions are all guided by one thing. “Would you really choose him over your tribe? Your own family?”
He sees it in her eyes, the decision. The water tribe is small, isolated and poor, and their family has been reduced to almost nothing. Sokka can understand Katara’s need for more. Understanding doesn’t make it less painful, though. The anger inside him melts and swirls into a sickening maelstrom. Sokka can’t be mad at Katara; he loves her more than anything.
Maybe he just wishes she felt the same way.
Instead, it is Aang who says, “Katara, I don't want to come between you and your family.”
“So, you're leaving the South Pole?” she whispers, clearly upset. Sokka can’t see her face as he stares at the snow under his feet. “This is goodbye?
“Thanks for penguin sledging with me.”
“Where will you go?”
“Guess I'll go back home and look for the airbenders. Wow, I haven't cleaned my room in a hundred years. Not looking forward to that. It was nice meeting everyone.”
Something nasty crawls up Sokka’s throat at the lightness in the boy’s words, and he crosses his arms, sneering, “Let's see your bison fly now, air boy.”
“Come on, Appa, you can do it. Yip-yip!”
He flicks the reins, but the creature only growls, unmoving.
Sokka grunts, “Yeah, I thought so!”
And then he moves towards the watchtower, ignoring the way the children cry after Aang’s departure, or the way Katara talks back to their grandmother—something she never did before. The Fire Nation could be on their shores any moment now; he has no time to waste feeling sorry about himself.
Less than an hour later, he is standing at the wall when he sees it. An enormous shadow slicing through the icy waters, gliding towards them in ominous intent. As it grows and grows, Sokka realises the ship itself is bigger than their village, and its raised spiked bow will easily destroy their attempt at a wall. Never before had he allowed himself to contemplate, fully acknowledge just how hopeless and pathetic they were–the last remnants of the Water Nation in that godsforsaken part of the world.
He grinds his teeth, refusing to cry. Heart beating loudly in his ears, he adjusts his grip on the club and promises himself he will die fighting and take at least one or two of them.
The ship's approach creates a large crack that quickly travels toward the village and over the wall. It tears through the constructions and nearly swallows a little boy, but Katara manages to save him before it is too late.
“Sokka, get out of the way,” she screams.
He won’t. He doesn’t know what he will do, but running away is not it. As the ship comes to a halt, hissing in alarm, it crumbles a large portion of the wall into snowy ruins that slide down and push Sokka several feet back. The bow opens and creaks forward into a walkway, black tendrils of smoke reaching for the sky as dragons.
Sokka gets up and stands before his people, club clutched tightly.
From the top of the walkway, three men’s shapes materialise amidst the steam. One of them walks forward, clearly higher in command. The two behind hold weapons, big arched swords, and Sokka assumes they are guards. They all wear traditional Fire Military panels that catch the light shining like the sun–Sokka’s father used to say how scary it was to see the golden glimmer in the distance.
Sokka understands it now.
The first man’s face comes into focus. He is unlike anything Sokka has ever seen before. In the Water Tribe, they all have dark skin and blue eyes. If Sokka thought Aang’s skin was pale, though, it is nothing in comparison to this man. The sunlight catches in the smooth, marbled surface–unmarred except for a red, angry scar that covers his left eye. And his eyes… Sokka has never met more hateful eyes than his, glowing golden like two fireballs as he scanned the village, his jaw set.
The fire warrior wears loose, warm grey trousers and long-sleeved inner garments, but Sokka can see how muscular he is under them. Sokka is bigger; he knows he can tackle the warrior down, but it will be best to hit him straight in the head since there are two more coming behind. Sokka decides he will take as many as he can before falling, too.
Everyone has heard about what the Fire Nation did to villages they attacked: destroying houses, pillaging property, stealing children, raping women and taking the men as slaves. Something about the haughty way that first fire warrior struts, his maroon tunic swishing with his brisk steps, chills Sokka’s blood. He doesn’t want that man near Katara–he doesn’t want him near anyone.
Sokka positions his club, assessing the stranger’s weaponry. He has two swords sheathed on his back, heavy leather boots that can crush a hand, and maybe a dagger under the sashed belt on his waist. Unlike the two helmeted warriors behind him, the man has nothing protecting his head, raven black hair billowing with the wind.
That is where Sokka will hit, between those golden eyes. Sokka wonders if the stranger bleeds the same red as him. And then he runs to attack.