Chapter Text
Hakoda’s knuckles whitened on the spear shaft. He thought of his daughter, little Katara, the first time he’d held her in his arms and known without a doubt that he would tear down the whole world for her to be safe and happy. He remembered her first steps, the way she looked up at him when she called him “Dada,” the way her laugh sounded, the way she looked when fast asleep.
In front of him, kneeling on a raised dais, the young Fire Lord waited, scarred face impassive.
Hakoda thought of the broken home, his wife dead on its doorstep. He thought of the villages, empty but for the unburied bodies, of the orphaned children and widowed mothers and a nation on the brink of extinction. He thought of everyone he had lost, everyone he still stood to lose, everyone who had been killed until he stood, the last chieftain of the Southern water tribe, in front of a man who offered an end to the war. For the price of one girl.
He thought of Katara again, little Katara, his precious daughter. And he thought of the bodies he’d buried, the others he’d left, the children he’d tried to bring to safe places only to return to find more broken homes and broken bodies, the endless cycle of killing and being killed for as long as he could remember. And he knew that he couldn’t stand it anymore.
Hating himself for his cowardice, Hakoda finally managed to answer the question. “Yes,” he choked. “I have a daughter.”
The tears of shame burned like fire.
Katara said nothing when Hakoda told her.
Sokka leaped to his feet in rage. His sister, sold to the Fire Nation for a coward's peace? His father, surrendering the tribes to the enemy under the guise of treaty?
Hakoda listened to Sokka’s fury, but he watched Katara. Far too young to be so old as she thought, remembering blood in the snow.
She touched the stone around her neck, the stone that now would be the only one she had ever had. She looked at her grandmother, whose eyes were sad and old and as tired as Hakoda's.
Then she said yes.
Sokka's eyes welled with tears, and his anger choked into crying, as his grandmother gathered Katara--little Katara, far too young to be married to a stranger in a strange land--into her arms.
Hakoda walked out into the snow, unable to bear looking at his family.
He sat in silence alone for what felt like hours until he heard the tent flap open and Kanna's footsteps approach. He couldn't bring himself to face her.
"Mother-"
"She's fourteen." Kanna's voice was low and trembling.
"I know."
"She's a girl, she's your daughter, my granddaughter, and you're selling her."
"What would you have me do?" Hakoda yelled.
"I would have you fight!"
"And achieve what?" Hakoda gestured at the village. "Look around, Mother! We have been fighting, and we're losing! Do you know why they asked me? I am the only chieftain left. All of the tribes, they've all been invaded, defeated, killed---there is no winning, Mother. But there can be survival. Don't you see? It's a way out. It's the only way out."
"It's surrender, is what it is."
"I know. I know it's surrender, it's betrayal, it's cowardice, but..." he buried his face in his hands. "...Spirits forgive me, it's peace."
Kanna stood silently for a moment, then finally spoke. "I am an unfortunate woman," she said quietly, "for my son to die before me in my old age."
There was a finality to the sound of Kanna's footsteps in the snow as she walked back to the tent.
Hakoda wanted to weep, but couldn't.
Hakoda should have been dressed in his full battle regalia, but he had no wish to shame the wolf's head by arranging for his daughter's sale beneath it.
Next to him, Kanna stood with her hands folded into her sleeves. She had not spoken to or acknowledged him for eight days, not since she had declared him dead to her. Hakoda had now lost his wife, daughter, and mother, all to the nation whose ship approached.
The warship ground to a halt on the ice, and the front descended with a hiss of steam.
A short, round, elderly man came down the ramp, and Hakoda recognized the Fire Lord's advisor. He was wearing only light armor, and had no weapons that Hakoda could see---although with the Fire Nation military, that meant very little.
Stumping up to Hakoda, the advisor bowed deeply, then smiled, eyes disappearing.
"Chief Hakoda," he said courteously, "I am General Iroh, advisor to Fire Lord Zuko, authorized to speak on his behalf for his betrothed."
Hakoda nodded. "This is my mother, Kanna."
"Ah, I see now where your granddaughter's great beauty came from," the general beamed.
Kanna's glare could have frozen a storm wave mid-crest.
With a light cough, the general turned back to Hakoda. "I have come to seek permission to take your daughter back to the Fire Nation for the marriage."
"Of course," Hakoda said, indicating the way to the tent. "Please, won't you eat with us?"
"It would be my pleasure," smiled General Iroh.
Hakoda and General Iroh ate just enough for manners' sake, the food tasting like ash in Hakoda's mouth. Kanna refused to partake.
Finally the general spoke. "Chief Hakoda, Lady Kanna," he began, "I have come to seek your permission to take the Fire Lord's betrothed, Katara, your daughter and granddaughter, with me to the Fire Nation."
Kanna scowled. "As the youngest prize for your Fire Lord's collection, no doubt."
Hakoda sucked in his breath, but the advisor only shook his head. "Lady Kanna, you seem to be under a slight misapprehension," he said gently. "The Fire Lord himself is still a boy. The last summer was only his sixteenth."
Hakoda raised his eyebrows despite himself. He had known that the Fire Lord was young, but hadn't thought that he was barely older than his own son.
The general continued. "I know that your granddaughter is very young, but you must understand. There are many who would overthrow my Lord, with ambitions for the nation far fiercer than his. With this marriage, the Fire Lord would bring the Southern Water Tribes under the protection of his reign. There would be no more raids. We would arrange for our Water Tribe prisoners to be returned to your rule. Your laws would be recognized as sovereign on your land, and fishing and hunting rights yours until sight of coast of the Fire Nation islands." He spread his hands. "There is no way these things can come to pass, other than marriage between our ruler and your heir."
"There is another way," Kanna said, her face stone.
"No." The general's hooded eyes were flat as he folded his hands back into the sleeves of his robe. "This summer comes Sozin's comet. A hundred years ago, it marked the end of the Air Nomads. This year, the same who would overthrow my Lord want it to mark the end of the Water Tribes." His gaze switched to Hakoda. "It brings me no pleasure to take a child from her home. But there is no time for her to grow older."
"What of the North?" Kanna asked. "Do they have no chiefs, no eldest daughters?"
General Iroh shook his head. "Lady Kanna, the North has survived. The South has not. Two trees may come from the same root, but only a very foolish gardener would tend to the one that is healthy over the one that is wilting. The stronger will not be enough to save the weaker, but if the weaker falls, the stronger is close behind."
"We are not discussing trees, Firebender," Kanna grated, "We are discussing my fourteen-year-old granddaughter."
"And I am discussing the fate of nations," General Iroh answered, an edge creeping into his own voice. "Lady Kanna, I will not take your granddaughter by force. But you must understand. Either she returns to the Fire Nation with me, or this time next year the Water Tribes will be only a legend."
"The women of the Water Tribes do not take kindly to threats."
"It is not a threat," the General answered. "It is what my Lord is trying to prevent from happening. Does the crow threaten us with the storm, or the lightning with thunder?" He shook his head. "Do not mistake my Lord's generosity for avarice. The end is coming, and it is up to you whether it will be with your nation's daughter delivered to us, or all of your nation's children to the Spirits."
Kanna's silence was long and deafening.
Finally she bowed her head, her shoulders sagging.
Hakoda said what she could not.
"We give our permission."
With a nod, General Iroh stood and bowed deeply. "Your trust is a great honor," he said, and he sounded sincere. "My ship will embark in two days. That should give you enough time for your goodbyes." With another deep bow, he left the tent.
Kanna began to sob, burying her face in her hands. Hakoda stayed sitting next to her, fists clenched.
He still couldn't bring himself to cry.