Avatar The Last Airbender Fan Fiction ❯ Life Behind the Curtain ❯ The Appearance of the Master ( Chapter 4 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Life Behind the Curtain
By: ChiaraBrie
Disclaimer:  I do not own any rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender. This story is purely fiction, from a fan.
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"It's an essential part of training to provoke strong emotions. But as you know, one mark of a good slave is the ability to let the anger go and continue working, continue serving, continue offering respect and deference. Now, if the anger and shame and hurt can then change to love or affection or lust -- well, that's our mark as a sadomasochist, isn't it?" - Laura Antoniou.
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Chapter Four:  The Appearance of the Master
Down the hall, make a right; continue around the bend, four doors down on the left.
The instructions were simple enough, yet Katara was having trouble remembering them. Down the hall, make a right…
She stopped near a small crevice made by a giant flower arrangement to catch her breath. Her mind was still reeling from her conversation with Princess Azula, and she couldn’t seem to get passed the clouds around her head. Looking down at her hands, it was almost like she could still feel the flames near her skin.
The conversation in the room behind the red door was blunt and concise—as well as blood chilling. Just like Azlua, she thought. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, yet it flowed over her like a raging waterfall that didn’t allow her to catch her breath.
In the room, the Princess had released her talons from Katara’s shoulder, only to pluck one of the flowers stuck in her ornamented hair. Azula had come around to face the water bender, holding the red lily inches from her nose.
“Like this flower you are delicate, alluring, and appear harmless. That is the nature of a flower. That is the nature of a whore,” she told her in a drawling voice without pause.  “That is what we will need from you.”
Katara was instantly confused.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is it not my duty to attend to the Prince?” The smile on Azula’s face made her instantly regret her question.
“Yes, in a sense. For all apparent purposes you belong to Zuko. But he is not the one who paid for you. Remember that. Remember who you answer to. Remember who your master is.”
“You, my Princess?”
“Precisely. And on a grander scale, the Fire Lord himself.”
Azula then placed the flower into Katara’s hands, and continued to pace around her in silence.  When she thought back on it that was the moment which scared her most: not knowing where the serpentine Princess was in the darkness or what was to come next.  She was so preoccupied with the clicking of Azula’s heels that she didn’t notice the flame that began to consume the petals in her palms.
Katara gasped as the flower became a light in its entirety, slightly scorching her hands before she dropped it to the floor where it sizzled and burned out.
“Fire is an excellent way to get rid of pesky problems…or people.” Again Azula emerged from the shadows, connecting eyes with the water bender.
“But it leaves its mark.”  Katara looked at her palms, and noticed the black soot and slight redness the tiny flame left behind. It was nothing a little water couldn’t wash away.
Azula let out a sarcastic sigh as she kicked the remains of the flower away from Katara’s feet.  “Sadly, this was a lesson I should have learned sooner…”  Katara could swear that Azula was speaking from experience, but couldn’t figure out what it was regarding.  What, or who, did this crazed woman burn down?
“That’s where you come in.”
Breaking from her trance, Katara emerged from behind the vase and smoothed down her clothes. She didn’t have much time to linger; she was already late for her appointment with Prince Zuko.
“Continue around the bend…” she whispered to herself, repeating the directions out loud. It would not do for her to get lost in these labyrinth hallways.  Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she was at the door to his room, which was as tall and menacing as he appeared to be the first night she met him.
She was nervous to see him again, that was for sure. But remembering Azula, who could be anywhere in the palace, the other side of those doors offered a welcome haven. Even though they were siblings, Katara could sense an immense difference between the two.
She knocked lightly on the wood, letting the sound echo throughout the room, and waited patiently for a response. When she got none, she knocked again.
Silence.
Was he even there? What should she do? She certainly could not wait in the hall. And so, finding no alternative, she let herself in. The room was just as it was a few nights ago, everything immaculate and in its place—everything except the Fire Nation Prince, who was on his balcony with his back towards the door. He did not even turn around when she entered. Since he did not object to her presence, Katara took that as a sign to proceed.
“My Prince, what an honor it is to see you again.”
Zuko turned his head to the side, acknowledging that he heard her. Was it her imagination, or were there traces of tears in his eye?
“So, is this going to be a reoccurring thing?” It took all of Katara’s strength not to get angry with him. Anyone else she knew would love to have a beautiful woman kneeling at their feet, ready to please them however they wanted. Here he was, the banished Prince, who did not seem to care—or even want—to have such a gift.
“If that is what you want.” Katara hoped the bitterness was masked behind her practiced tone. Finally Zuko turned to face her, and had a scowl planted on his face.
“What are you wearing?” he asked. Katara looked down at the lavish robes and jewels that she was decorated in, unsure of what he meant.
“Does…this not please you?”
“You look like polished prostitute.”
Katara bit her bottom lip, holding back angry tears. Granted, her profession was not a noble one. In essence, she slept with men for money. But there was so much more to it than that. She was trained to please, in every aspect of life. She was groomed to be a prize for men, not a doormat which they wipe their feet on. It was the lowest insult to be compared to the women in the brothels, who had multiple clients throughout one evening; to be compared to the women who were used since they were children until they were too old to hide the wrinkles beneath the paint.
A trained concubine, such as herself, was viewed above all that. At least they were supposed to be.
But she would not let her tongue slip. Not again, especially with him. She had let too much go already. And so she took a breath, and looked him in the eyes. Remember your training.
Perform.
“If it will make you happy, I will go undress.”
Zuko looked away from her, ignoring her attempts of seduction. It seemed his mind was preoccupied with other things.  He did not speak to her again, but returned to his brooding balcony leaving her to her own doings.
She decided she better go change. It was obvious he did not find pleasure in the whole charade of master and concubine. He responded last time when she was bare, in every sense of the word. And so she would try her best to duplicate that.
Katara let herself into the adjoining bathroom, and began to run a bath. With some difficulty, she undid the expensive robes she was tied up in, letting them fall in a pool on the floor. She pulled out the flowers braided in her hair, and winced slightly as she plucked out the pins holding them in place.  Lastly she washed her face of the expensive makeup, revealing her fresh skin underneath.
When the water neared the edge of the tub, Katara turned off the faucets and lowered herself in. The hot liquid instantly defrosted her limbs which were tense with the day’s activities. She could feel the muscles in her body loosen, and she tried her best to close her eyes and relax.
When she felt sufficiently clean, Katara emerged and reached for a towel.  The swishing water made some noise, but she distinctly heard the sound of two voices outside the door.
“How is he?” That was Zuko’s voice, and she could hear the desperation in his tone.
“The same, if not worse,” came the high pitched voice of an older woman.
The sound of the large slamming door told Katara the woman had left.  When she felt it was safe, she tip toed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Zuko was still pressed against the door where he had let out the guest, his hand raking through his mop of black hair. It looked like he was trying to pull it out.
“Is this better, my Prince,” she ventured as she stepped into view, indicating to her natural state.
Zuko looked up at her, like he had forgotten she was even there. She watched his eyes, which again looked like they were threatened by tears, as they bored down into her.
“No. It may never be better.”
Katara knew he was not talking about her.
Zuko moved from his place by the door, and came within an inch of Katara. She stood still as he ran his fingers through her wet tresses, and felt his way beneath her towel. He undid the tie which kept it to her body, and neatly placed it on the divan.
“Prince Zuko,” she began to say, wanting to ask him if he was ok. Sometimes she forgot that her heart was not the only one bleeding in this world. And as she saw him come undone, from his clothes and within himself, she could see his wounds ran just as deep.
What, my scarred Prince, has happened to you?  
He took her again that night with a ferocity that Katara had never known.
Zuko whipped her onto the bed and plowed into her all the pent up anger she had seen in him earlier; he rained down all that grief those old woman’s words had given him. She did not cry out when his teeth bit into her shoulders when he exerted himself. She did not mind when he grabbed her breasts roughly, or when he bruised her flesh.
There was an immense sadness to the entire act, and she knew that on some level she was helping him.  And despite what she wanted, or believed about herself, she knew that she felt something toward him. Something she had promised never to feel for someone ‘above’ her.
She pitied him.

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When Katara awoke the next morning, Prince Zuko was gone.
There was nothing left from the night before but a few marks that were already fading on her skin.  Thinking back to how they were caused sent shivers up her spine. She wouldn’t say she enjoyed herself—so far, nothing sexual she has seen or experienced has elicited that—but she did not detest the act either.
For once, she didn’t feel dirty.
Perhaps it was the why of it all that changed. Her evening with the Prince was more than just business for him. This time, he slept with her to release his sadness, and to release his pain. And what’s more—she joined him.
Granted it was a selfish act on her part. Pleasure is not permitted for you, Akane would say. But it was her little secret, no one had to know.  Only Zuko. There was something so amazingly serene about living in the moment, letting the body act without the direction of the mind. Allowing the wounds which flowed deeply in both fire and water come to surface, and be released in sweet ecstasy, if just for a moment.
She had never slept so soundly.
But as quickly as the serenity came, it was disturbed.  The bedroom door burst open without so much as a knock to reveal a pair of crouching old women with identical hairstyles and clothing enter the room.
“Up you get!” one of them said.
“Do not dawdle!” said the other.
Instantly Katara realized she was still naked beneath the sheets, and waited for the women to give her some privacy.
“Excuse me,” she said to them, “would you mind?”
“No time! Lo will get your clothes. I have your breakfast.” One of the women, Lo, left the room to fetch her things. Meanwhile the woman who remained, named Li, gave Katara a simple breakfast in bed. Before she had even finished, Li ripped the tray away and made room for her sister who carried the garments.
Katara held up the clothes they offered her, and was surprised to find a simple ensemble of black loose pants and a fitted shirt.
“I think there must be some mistake, surely—” she tried to say before Lo cut her off.
“Princess Azula picked these out herself. Put them on quickly, you don’t want to be late.”
Late for what? She wondered. At the mention of Azula, she knew it could not be something good.  She got dressed in the simple clothing, relishing the feel of free movement that she had not known since she was young. She was almost happy about the wardrobe change until Li reach up to her neck.
“This must go,” she said to Katara, indicating her mother’s necklace.
“Ok, I’ll just put it with my things,” she sighed as she took off the pendant.
“No, it must go entirely. It will not do to have a Fire Nation servant clad in anything other than the insignia. Surely you will not need this while you are here.”Instantly Katara froze as she watched the woman snatch the priceless necklace from her hands.
“No, please, I won’t wear it,” she tried to say, but the old woman ignored her with quips about being late and needing to hurry.
“Please,” Katara cried over their voices, anger rising in her like a flame. Li just turned and smiled, a smile that she had seen so expertly copied on Azula’s face, and knew she was not getting it back.
“Give it to me!” she screamed at them. The vases against the wall burst with explosions of water as Katara was unable to control herself.  The two old women just stood their ground, obviously used to such childish outbursts.
“Come along,” said Li, or Lo, Katara wasn’t sure. And she didn’t care. All she felt was an acute emptiness move in where only minutes ago a small sense of peace settled in.
She wished she could crawl back into bed.
Unfortunately there was no time for that. The old twins led Katara through the palace and out the back door, where she crossed a vast garden to a small house behind the tree line. In front of her, Lo and Li were attempting to have a conversation in whispers, as though Katara could not hear:
“I can’t believe they let her out. I hope the guards will be enough.”
“Princess Azula is not far behind, she can control her.”
“But she did escape once. Can she do it again? Is this…whore, worth the risk?”
Both of them looked over their shoulders, and eyed Katara mischievously.  She just stared back at them with blank eyes. She was used to this kind of talk around her.  Lo and Li continued leading her to the house, which she noticed was heavily guarded for such a small space.
What were they expecting?
“Go on in,” said Lo.
“Don’t be late,” said Li. As if the few steps she needed to take were going to waste much time.  Katara gave them one last look of hatred before doing what she was told, and opened the double doors.
Inside was an open matted dojo with nothing decorating the walls. There was only one window, and it was a large opening above head. It shed light down like a curtain over the floor, shadowing the outskirts of the room.
What surprised her most was to find another gray haired woman kneeling down in the center, her long untidy hair covering her face.  Her clothes were worn and ragged, stained with dirt and mildew on the trimmings.
When she lifted her head, Katara saw the saddened face of a prisoner, whose lips were dried and curled over large teeth as she spoke.
“They call me many things here. Names you have probably heard yourself. Filth. Scum. Worthless.”
Katara moved forward to join the old woman in the light, trying to figure out just what it was she was doing here. She let the woman speak.
“Back home in the Southern Water tribe, they called me Hama.”
Southern Water tribe? She’s from home! What is she doing here? It took all her restraint not to run to this woman, to beg of stories from her native land. It was the closest she has been to her home since she left. But the woman did not look happy to see her. In fact, she looked down right miserable. If she was working under Azula, Katara couldn’t expect her to be pleased…
Suddenly it all fell into place.
“There are those who cannot be trusted. We need a way to weed them out,” Azula had told her, back in the room behind the red door.
“You will need to be quick, efficient, and most of all undetectable. If I sense any weakness, I will snuff it out.”
But what could that mean for a concubine? Unless Azula needed someone who could move where she could not; someone who could gain access behind closed doors; someone nobody would suspect.
“There are many stains which need to be lifted,” she had told her.
Stains. Like the wine on the carpet that she cleaned the first night with Zuko. And Azula had seen it all, and understood what she was— a water bender.  Fire can leave its mark, Katara realized, but water leaves no traces.
The kneeling woman named Hama rose before her, and raised her hand in the air. Swiftly, she made a wide circle, and brought her fingers before Katara; they were now coated in ice pulled from thin air.
“But you, Katara…you can call me Master.”
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Author’s Note: I hope I am not being too vague in my writing. I don’t like to spell out everything that is happening, but it is an author’s job to give enough information to allow the reader to figure things out on their own.  Hopefully that is coming across.  However, if certain things are not clear plot-wise yet, that is by choice. I have to keep something for the next chapters!
Once again your reviews have really inspired me. Thank you to all that have taken the time out to leave me comments here. Your words mean more than you know.
ChiaraBrie