Chapter Text
It's as simple as breathing. Just a moment's thought and there the water is floating above his fingertips. There's never been a time when Namjoon has called out for it, and it has not answered back. Out of all things he knows about life, he knows that this is a truth that cannot— will not ever change. No matter what obstacles or opponents or hardships Namjoon may face, by Tui and La's grace, water will always remain a steadfast companion to him.
Ironically enough, at a time like this, Namjoon feels awash with sentiments of both love and hate because of it. How can he not when the water he so dearly loves and cherishes is formed as a weapon against him?
It rushes at him now, a thick whip of water, and Namjoon's fingers curl at the sight of it. He grabs hold of it and redirects it. Breathes deeply as he circles the water above his head and then lashes it forward.
"Come on…!" he rasps, as the water moves towards the figure ahead of him. It moves closer and closer and closer and closer until—
The strike lands.
The opposing man stumbles back a step, but there's little time for Namjoon to feel any relief. The man swiftly summons an intercepting wall of ice from the snow on the ground and bats Namjoon's stream of water away like it's merely a bumbling fly. He then mercilessly launches the wall of ice Namjoon's way. Namjoon is only so lucky to be keen enough to cleave it into two haphazard halves with another whip of water.
The separated blocks of ice go soaring past him, bringing with them a large gush of wind in their wake. Namjoon feels the fur of the hood of his jacket brush roughly at his neck as the breeze whips by, and the small, beaded braid that always hangs from above his temple knocks harshly at it, almost as if in reprimand for the imminent danger he's found himself in. He swallows.
What a close call.
"Okay, Namjoon," he mutters to himself with a slight shake of his head, "Stay calm. Focus."
Inhaling deeply once more, Namjoon keeps his hands up in a defensive stance and watches as the opposing man tilts his head and meets Namjoon's gaze with one with as much warmth as one would give a stranger... though the other man is anything but.
Namjoon exhales.
They've been going at this for a while now. Longer than twenty minutes, he thinks. It's a little hard to tell when Namjoon might possibly be trying to avoid death by the hands of a man with over forty years of waterbending experience. A man who uses 'teaching' as a guise for ruthlessly attacking his students as he pleases. A man by the name of Master Pakku.
Master Pakku moves into a slight crouch and aims his hands out before him. Namjoon hardly has a moment to blink before long, unforgiving shards of ice are sent his way. With a flick of a hand, Namjoon deflects them, sending them crashing into the distance behind him. It does nothing to stop Master Pakku's onslaught of moves though.
As quickly as the other man's shards disappear, waves upon waves of water emerge before Namjoon as the other man pulls them from practically every source available— the snow on the ground, the bursting fountain nearby, the basins of water settled by the buildings close to them, everywhere. It takes nothing more than a moment's glance for Namjoon to know that this is not something he can totally stop on his own. Not when he's as tired as he is now. His hands have already begun to tremble from overexertion.
He can still try though.
Namjoon roots himself into the snow below him. Compels the snow that is around his feet into a thick, chilling ice that encircles them and keeps them steady. No longer than a second later, the wave is before him. He palms at the wave, pushing it back with all his might. The ferocity of the wave's own push against him tells him that Master Pakku is doing the same, forcing the will of his wave against Namjoon.
Namjoon pushes and pushes and pushes. Grits his teeth when he feels the water begin to lick at and surround him. Suddenly, he hears more than feels the ice around his feet make a deafening crack before it finally gives way. By then, it's only a second more before the wave consumes him completely, and Namjoon is both soaked wet and laid flat on his back.
Needless to say, it's truly disorienting.
As the adrenaline that comes with the battle begins to ebb away, Namjoon's left with his head spinning and a deep aching from the lashings he has just sustained. It's only the sound of approaching footsteps in the freshly wet snow that brings him back to where he is. He blinks upwards as a shadow moves forward and overtakes his face.
Of course, it's Master Pakku who bends over him. His smile is a little cruel, a little too mirthful.
"Nice try," he says, "Perhaps next time you'll know better than to attempt to withdraw from my lessons before I tell you you're ready to do so. I'll see you in class, Namjoon."
Then with his arms folded behind his back, Master Pakku departs with not another glance spared at Namjoon.
And, well, that's the end of that.
🌙
Well, not really.
See, as much as Namjoon would like to hope for otherwise, he's found himself to be in a bit of a predicament. A bind, one might say. Because in spite of Master Pakku's very clear command (or threat?) to him, Namjoon quite literally cannot make it to his bending classes.
Perhaps if it was a matter of his own choice, Namjoon would relent and immediately give into his teacher's demands. In spite of Master Pakku being… Master Pakku, Namjoon has always been a diligent student. He always sits up front during demonstrations. Always takes time out of his leisurely visits to the North's libraries to read up on various techniques in scrolls. Always makes time to hone his waterbending skills after his lessons are over.
A small part of this is because Namjoon likes to learn. He likes to read. Likes to broaden his understanding of various phenomena in the world, whether it be related to bending or otherwise.
But the larger part of it though?
It's because water… water is a part of who he is.
Namjoon, being both a member of the Northern Water Tribe as well as a dedicated waterbender, has been born and raised under the hands of the moon and ocean spirits, Tui and La. Two great spirits who, somehow, found something worthy enough in him to bless him with the ability to bend water at his convenience.
In all his years of life, he still has found no greater console than the feeling he gets when he dances water in the palms of his hands. Especially on a night where he's able to do so by the ocean's side while the moon is at her fullest. To feel the full moon’s gentle light caress him and guide his bending… to feel the ocean freely flow above his palms… It's a gratifying feeling. One that makes him feel the most whole. Like his heart is truly beating.
It's a feeling that he would never neglect if he had a choice… which is the crux of the whole entire situation. Namjoon hasn’t much of a choice in anything, really— not in the continuing of his bending lessons and certainly not in many other aspects of his own life.
Truthfully, when it's all said and done, having his bending lessons be cut short is practically nothing compared to the other decisions the tribe's leaders have made for him over the years.
Because, really, what is losing the privilege of attending his bending lessons compared to the misfortune of being a waterbender who has been forced away from the ocean's and the full moon's gaze for the majority of his life?
How long has it been since it was decided, for the sake of the tribe's own wellbeing, to restrict him from something so essential? Some thirteen years or so? Just a few days after he turned seven, it should be.
Perhaps it's a bit dramatic to say when Namjoon's only twenty and still has so much time to experience and know the world, but… it feels much longer. A separation such as this cannot merely be quantified by days or months or years. No, it's something that is felt. Something that is simply known.
And Namjoon knows it on the most primal of levels— the physical.
As he finally rises up from the ground and pulls the water from his encounter with Master Pakku out of his clothes, he can't help but notice the way his hands still tremble. There's an obvious disgrace in the resulting shape of water that forms as he moves it from his clothing to the air. The water's nothing more than a massive, unseemly bubble when for someone who's been bending for as long as he has— who loves water as much as he does— it should really be more smooth and rounded.
Unimpressed, he drops it down to the ground with an unflattering splat.
"How shameful," he tuts with a quick shake of his head.
In quick, heated moments like the battle he just had, where the only goals are to attack and be attacked, the true state of his bending may go unnoticed for the most part. His movements may still hold touches of clumsiness, sure, but they are effective in what they set out to do.
When Namjoon had compelled the water to lash forward and land a strike on Master Pakku, for example, it had done so. And that is fine to an extent. At the end of the day, a strike is a strike is a strike no matter the manner in which it is achieved.
Still, it's in the simple, raw moments like these— a mere pulling of the water from one place to another— where it becomes most obvious: Namjoon has been away from the ocean and the full moon for too long. Far too long.
It doesn't take too much brain power to acknowledge that there's a huge difference, really, between the level of skill in a waterbender who knows the ocean and moon on a personal, physical level, and one who doesn't. Even if Namjoon studied and practiced all hours in a day, there's nothing that could make up for all the time he's been forced to spend apart from them. Nothing except for time itself.
It's a weakness of his. A blatant one.
One he thinks anyone could see if they watched him bend long enough— Actually, that's stating it lightly. It's one that he's sure not a single person in this tribe is unaware of.
Because ever since that one fateful day Namjoon had lived all those years ago, things have changed. Namjoon had changed, the tribe had changed, their whole entire way of life had changed, and, quite suddenly, Namjoon was no longer allowed to know the ocean and the full moon. At least, not in the same capacity that the rest of the tribe is able to do.
Yes, from that very day and onwards, when little Namjoon, only seven years of age, raised his hands up to greet his loyal companion called water, there were no longer proud words of you are sure to be a powerful bender someday, the water already knows you so well, she loves you so, Tui and La has surely blessed you. Those words and all comments similar to them have long since gone.
Instead, now, what Namjoon endures is this: wary gazes as he moves water, the majority of his bending practices needing to be spent in private and away from his peers as a result; his placement in cold, unfeeling, windowless rooms at the onset of every full moon, Namjoon never being able to properly feel the moon’s light in its entirety again; his trips to the ocean's side limited, and his actions always having to be monitored whenever he had to be near it, especially on days of or nearing the full moon.
The only aspect of his life that hasn't changed in the aftermath of that day is this: water remains his steadfast companion.
Even if Namjoon is awkward. Even if Namjoon is clumsy and bumbling with it in the air. Water will answer. Water will return to him. It's a fact as sure as the air in his lungs or the heart that beats in his chest. For that, Namjoon is grateful. Truly.
...If only that alone could negate the embarrassment he suffers from his current situation.
After his confrontation with Master Pakku, the feeling all but swells within him, mixing with sentiments of disheartenment and humiliation. Because, like everyone else in the tribe, Master Pakku had been aware of all of this. Of the tribe's leaders' mandates to Namjoon. Of Namjoon's resulting incompetence. Of Namjoon's steadfast reverence of water, the ocean, and the moon despite it all.
Master Pakku had been aware, and as Namjoon's bending professor, he was sure to have known that, in spite of it all, Namjoon, of all people, is not the type of person to ever neglect his bending lessons unless he had a true reason to do so. Not only has Namjoon's attendance been immaculate, but in the past, Namjoon had to fight to even be allowed to take such bending classes.
Yet Master Pakku still met Namjoon's simple request to withdraw from his lessons with a bending challenge. Instead of a simple answer of no, or the questioning of why, there had been if you are so ready to leave my classes, Namjoon, then by all means, you should be well equipped to face me in a duel.
At the time, Master Pakku had been standing right outside of his school's doors, Namjoon having caught him just before he was set to begin his lessons. The man's hands were crossed behind his back, and his expression was completely placid.
The chill had been so heavy in the air. It'd felt so thick, so stifling that Namjoon had almost thought he'd been inhaling frost straight into his lungs.
Namjoon remembers in that initial staredown he'd shared with Master Pakku before the fight began that he'd had the distinct, but passing thought that, in the upcoming days, a storm was coming— one that would be heavy and utterly unforgiving. Since he was young, he could always sense a snowstorm's arrival like a second nature. Could taste its approach in the air.
Yet, in spite of this, as Namjoon met Master Pakku's gaze, he knew the pinpricks of a shiver he'd felt down his spine were not from the piercing cold. No, it surely was from Master Pakku's steely gaze alone.... The man was completely serious about his bending challenge to Namjoon.
Now, Namjoon is no fool.
He'd known the battle to be lost the very moment it'd even been suggested. Master Pakku is a waterbending master, after all. What threat can Namjoon ever hold against him?
Yet— yet.
Namjoon is a man of the water tribe— a man of pride, as meager as it may be. He's the descendant of countless men who've helped bring the tribe into the safe, enduring prosperity that it is in right now despite the ever-present dark threats that plague it. In spite of the many qualities Namjoon lacks, that blood still runs in his veins. He knows it does— he sees the culmination of such blood each day in the efforts of his own father.
So when Master Pakku had raised his hands and positioned himself for a confrontation… so had Namjoon. He had to. He could not let the affront of shying away from a proposed duel cling to his person. He couldn't. Not to mention the fact that if Namjoon did somehow manage to out maneuver Master Pakku in the battle, it would have been a valid way for him to honorably leave his classes.
And so the rest, unfortunately, was history.
As for now, though?
Namjoon stretches. Eases sore limbs that hadn't even had the opportunity to be warmed up before he'd been launched head first into a duel. Relishes the minor relief his muscles feel. Relishes the calm of the moment.
It's only morning.
Despite the whirlwind of events that has just transpired, despite the whirlwind of thoughts that still swirl in his head— to the rest of the tribe, the day is only just beginning.
People are still waking up; men and women alike are beginning to trickle out of their homes in order to start their days. Namjoon sees bender girls walking towards Master Yagoda's healing classes a distance's away, water pouches at their sides, and their chatter more hushed than typical. His fellow male bender classmates also pass him by, and Namjoon notices how their eyes fail to meet his own as they trail into the school.
Briefly, he wonders how many of them witnessed his fight with Master Pakku and its dismal ending before, for his sanity's sake, he tries to stop himself from continuing down that embarrassing line of thought.
Tries.
Almost immediately, as if hearing Namjoon's thoughts themselves, one individual separates himself from the stream of bender boys making their way into the school. He stands tall, with his shoulders squared and assured in a way only someone of his status— someone who is considered the pride and future of the tribe— could. His blue eyes are sharp and judging as he faces Namjoon directly.
Of course.
Sungho.
Out of all the people to have seen the fight, Sungho just had to be among them.
"What was that?" Sungho asks, a slight huff of incredulous laughter to his tone, "Did you actually think you could challenge Master Pakku? You of all people?"
Namjoon is silent for a moment. It's one thing for Namjoon to doubt himself. To recognize his own limitations. It's another to hear it spat from another's lips.
Namjoon swallows and forces himself to think over the sound of his heart thudding loudly in his ears and the feeling of the blooming heat in his cheeks. He thinks of the handful of straggling students still nearby, observing the conversation. He thinks about how they'll talk. He thinks about how somehow, some way every word of this conversation and every detail of his confrontation with Master Pakku will surely get back around to his father.
And he feels it again.
That meaningless pride of his.
There's just something within it that is unfailing. Even when it's at odds with Namjoon's own sense of self-preservation.
So Namjoon does what he probably ought not do— he doesn't walk away. He does not back down. Instead, he squares his shoulders too. Raises his chin up and looks down at Sungho with the few centimeters of height he has over him. The distance between the two of them, on more than one level, is not as great as it may seem, after all.
"Thank you for the concern, Sungho," Namjoon answers, but there is little gratitude to be found in his voice. Only a bitter steeliness he's become accustomed to having over the years of confrontation with the other man, "If you really must know, it was actually Master Pakku who challenged me. Perhaps he saw something worthy enough within me to warrant it."
Sungho outright laughs now. Throws his shaved head back, clutches his stomach, and all. The intensity of such laughter is almost impressive to behold when all Namjoon can hear in its tones is cruelty, and all he can see in Sungho's eyes is cold, mirthlessness.
"Worthy enough? The only thing that I saw you were worthy of was the humbling you recieved. Look at you now," Sungho spits, and his eyes roam over Namjoon's form with unmistakable contempt, "Still damp. Can hardly even pull water out of your own clothes. Pathetic. Not even the help of Tui and La themselves can save you from the sorry state you're in. You're lucky Master Pakku didn't grant you your wish and remove you from our class anyways just for all the trouble."
Namjoon feels his jaw jut as he steps forward again. Despite the height difference, like this, Sungho and he are practically eye to eye now. Namjoon can almost see himself reflected in the depths of Sungho's cool blue orbs.
"Look, there's far more to the situation than you would be able to understand, it's senseless to make a scene about it. You're only making yourself look foolish."
"And that's where you're wrong. I don't understand?" impassioned, Sungho slaps a hand to his chest, "This is my tribe. My people. I know more about this life, about this world than you ever will. No matter how long you've lived here, no matter who your parents are, you will never be someone who will ever understand us. You will always be an outsider. An outcast. The sooner you learn that, the better."
And before Namjoon can get another word in edgewise, Sungho scoffs once more and storms up the stairs leading into the classrooms. Namjoon is left standing with only the chilling breeze and overly nosy onlookers for company.
He can't help but think it's funny.
Unlike Master Pakku, who rendered Namjoon powerless with the mere pull of water at the palm of his hands, Sungho manipulates the tides of shame and dishonor with equivalent adeptness, makes them mercilessly twist and turn and crash within Namjoon's core and ensures that Namjoon feels even lesser than he already did.
Sungho has always been quite good at doing that. Really, Namjoon should be used to his words. He's heard them all before from both Sungho's lips and the mouths of others. None of it is new.
Yet.
It still hurts.
It hurts but there's so little Namjoon can do against the feelings such words have fostered. He can only look at the shame and dishonor he feels in the eyes and try not to mind it too much when he only sees his own reflection staring back.
This is his fate.
Not just for the day, but for his life, really. Getting into uncomfortable situations and arguments and fights and for what? To uphold decisions he doesn't even agree with? To appease his elders even if it's at the cost of himself? What is he doing? What can he even do?
Namjoon wishes he could go back to yesterday. All the meaningless yesterdays where, perhaps he was not perfectly happy, perhaps he was lacking and deprived in various manners of himself, but at least he'd had his bending lessons, as arduous as they could be, to look forward to. At least there was that.
There was a certain peace Namjoon had within his spirit in just having that. A certain wholeness within himself that he could maintain just by routinely being allowed to have water in the palms of his hands.
If Namjoon could have yesterday, he would surely attend his classes, privately practice his bending off on his own later, sequester himself away in the tribe's libraries for a while, before quietly meeting his family at home for dinner, and being happy with it all.
How nice would it be to do that? To return to that normal? It would practically be a comfort in the face of his very present, current discomfort and shame. It's so easy to be drawn towards it.
Namjoon so badly wants to follow that path and make his home there. He truly does. He would do it… were it not for the question he was proposed only a mere night's ago.
It had been slipped to him in the most disarming of ways, of course— at his family's dining table. In between bites of stew, Namjoon had to swallow down a new reality he hadn't really ever expected to be confronted with. Not anymore, anyways.
It was his father who had spoken the words, but in Namjoon's mind it was a chorus of voices. All older ones, all proper ones, all voices of those who had helped lead the tribe for a long time, who had seen more of the world before it'd grown dark, who knew more about peace in its most true and unadulterated form and not in the precarious state it is in now. Those voices melded into one, and they asked him: "Isn't it long past time for you to assume your duties, Namjoon?"
Now one truth that may be stated about Namjoon's father is this: a question posed like that wasn't truly a question, and it certainly wasn't a suggestion either. A question like that? Well, it's an order.
In that moment, as Namjoon had processed the request, he had, at first, only been able to gaze at his father. He took in the countenance that was almost a mirror of Namjoon's own save for the harder lines he bore from battle and age. He took in the darker shades of blue that lived in his eyes.
His father had been sitting right at the head of the table, as he always does both inside and outside of their home, and he'd look both completely at ease and domineering in such a position.
So much power was held in one man, and Namjoon inherited none of it.
Even when Namjoon had tried with fumbling, weak words to deny his father's question, it'd felt like the words were just words off a bland script. They'd had no impact or influence in the real world. They touched no one, and they helped no one, much less Namjoon himself. They were just words said to say words. After all, Namjoon knew, his father knew, and everyone involved in making the decision knew how this would all end.
How it's all ending now.
So as Namjoon stands outside of Master Pakku's building, he does not heed his teacher's command. He does not follow his classmates into the building. No, instead, he turns and walks away.
What other choice did he have, really?