Avatar The Last Airbender Fan Fiction ❯ Eternal Dance ❯ One-Shot

Recently finished Wintersmith, and I couldn't resist the bit about the dance.

I realized every time I read one of Terry Pratchett's books, I end up with fanfiction for Zutara.

Also, I've been reading quite a few Zutara fics with masks involved. It might've rubbed off on me somewhere.

 

#48: Dance

Eternal Dance

 

Katara nervously adjusted her mask as she stared forward. She was stupid, this was stupid, and all around her were firebenders, watching and waiting. The golden mask shielded her face, but she felt as if everything about her was an obvious give away. Before her stood an obviously nervous young man in the light blue mask, looking around for some way out. He had no escape.

 

The announcer, a man with a mask like a human's face painted white, smiled down at the crowd. Or, he would have, except his mask did all the smiling. Five other men stood back, all dressed in white, masks to match each other's. These men had jangled up behind her, grabbed her, and placed her on the stage before she could speak a word of protest. Now Aang, Sokka, and Toph were probably searching all over for her.

 

…Probably not Toph. Toph would love to “watch” this.

 

Still, she was now being forced to take part in some Fire Nation tradition, and she had no idea what to do.

 

“Sir,” she whispered to the announcer, trying to wheedle out of this, “I don't know the steps to this dance.”

 

She could not perceive the look he was giving her beneath the mask, and was unsure if it meant she had been given away, or if he would just let it go.

 

It was neither. Of course.

 

The man spoke with a playful tone. “Not to worry, miss,” he nearly sang. “You're not the first woman to come up here unprepared. It's quite simple really. Just watch.”

 

That's all she had to do? Watch some dancers? This sounded easy!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the man shouted. “I present to you Sir Winter and Lady Summer!”

 

And suddenly Katara knew exactly what was going on, and it would not be that easy. It seemed like so long ago, but she remembered celebrating the change in the seasons (or in their chase the change from long winter nights to long summer days) with a ritual. A boy and a girl were chosen at random and forced to dance around each other. Long ago there had been a band of “players” who made the music, and the two would dance between them. She read stories of times older than that, where the entire thing was so elaborate, it could go on for days. It was common courtesy to buy the dancers a drink afterwards.

 

She prayed the tradition was the same here.

 

Katara had seen the dances before, but never been apart of them. She had always been too young, and then the men went away, and there was no one to make the music or dance with. She was sure if she thought hard enough, though, the dance would return to her. Her mother had danced it, she heard, when she met her father. (She had not danced with Katara's father, instead with another boy who was later punched out by Katara's father, but Katara would probably never know of this.)

 

She was playing Lady Summer. She would have to dance with a boy she would never hope to meet again. At least then she wouldn't have to make excuses for her lousy dancing.

 

The music was beginning. The thing about the music for the dances was that you couldn't not dance to it. You were not allowed into the dance, but tapping your foot around it was not taboo. She could already see the audience moving already, some of the younger children dancing with each other. She glanced at the boy across from her.

 

He was sending a clear message: “I do not dance.” But he had to. It was in the Rules. No one knew where the Rules came from, but everyone knew them. And this was one of them.

 

Slowly he approached her, giving glances to either sides of him in case he had missed an exit, then bowed. She curtsied in return, and they locked hands. Katara knew it could only take a few faithful steps to get caught in the rhythm, but the boy was unable to move. He didn't want to. This was bad. She'd have to get him going. The sooner she got out of this, the sooner she could find Aang and leave.

 

She stepped towards him, and he instantly stepped back. She sort of yanked him to left, surprising him, and as a sort of rebellion he pulled her back. She leaned into it and forced him to twirl her for a simple short second. The music felt like it was lifting her, and suddenly they were no longer in control of their bodies. They were spinning around, going left right, sometimes up and down, and the whole world was a flurry of shapes and music that seemed to resonate with her body. She was very close to this boy now, closer than she really ever remembered being to a boy, except Jet, but her mind mostly focused on the pull she felt from him, as if everything she put in he took and turned it around on her, and unending circle of energy and life. She couldn't see anything accept a blue mask pulling her about the stage.

 

And then the music stopped, and so did they. She was out of breath and absolutely exhilarated, and she could see he was the same. They bowed to the crowd, the announcer gave them a cheer, and then they tried to run off.

 

But the white-masked man stopped them.

 

“You forgot one part,” he chided playfully.

 

The boys face had turned a bit red, and Katara tried to remember the rest of the story.

 

“You must bring him warmth so he can melt away.” The man's voice alone made her blush, and when she remembered the end, she went scarlet.

 

“I have to kiss him!” she tried to protest. She couldn't kiss strange boys! Especially not in front of huge groups of people.

 

“It's the only way to end the Story,” the man said. He backed into the dancers, and Katara stared at the young boy beside her. He was trying not to stare at her.

 

“I guess I have to kiss you,” she said awkwardly. It was Tradition, after all, and one can't go and mess around with Tradition.

 

Quickly, she leaned forward and pecked the boy softly on the lips, instantly jumping away as if the touch had burned. There was something familiar about being so close to him, in a strange sort of way. She gazed at him a bit longer before closing in again. After all, a peck wouldn't chase away the winter.

 

Their lips touched a second time. They held longer, and even the boy seemed less reluctant. Perhaps he wasn't a stranger to kissing under such circumstances. The kiss was sweet, somewhat awkward, but in a nice way. Katara pulled away, smiling at him.

 

This time, the white-faced man let them leave with no more interruption.

 

“Sorry about that,” Katara murmured to the boy, because being polite never hurt, and she might have made a somewhat-kind-of friend.

 

He turned to face her, and she glanced at the mask before staring at her feet. Then she looked again, her eyes growing wide. The mask did not fully cover his face, and she could recognize scar tissue around one of the eyes, and she was absolutely certain it would be shaped like a flame if he pulled back his hair.

 

“You're…” Then she stopped, because the boy was backing away. She should scream. She should run. She should warn Aang.

 

But instead, she cleared her throat. She gave a little wave. “I hope I get to see you without your mask someday,” she said, and for some reason it meant more than she'd wanted it to.

 

He paused for just a moment before running into the crowd.

 

Katara touched her own mask, pulling it away from her face to stare at. She smiled, fitting it back on.

 

She could be Katara of the Water Tribe any day. Today, she was Lady Summer.