I had to think hard about a good artistic way to interpret this. It wouldn't have been hard to write but I am incredibly burned out on writing at the moment. I've sketched and scanned the last two Amosami week drawings and I should have those up sometime tomorrow. This one is safe for work, but the other two definitely aren't.
Synopsis: Asami speaks in the first person, unable to accept the reality of Amon’s death. Comparisons drawn between Asami and Eva Braun, and what it’d be like if Asami was in that sort of relationship with Amon. Pseudo-diary format. Triggers: self-esteem issues, depression, abuse, death. Not recommended for those under 16.
*in word, this doc totaled 5 pages single spaced. It's long.*
December 11, 170 ASC
He’s dead.
At least, that’s what the newspapers said. Every newsstand across the city, every young boy carrying a newspaper and shouting the headlines, every muffled static voice coming through the radio. Every single word uttered of him was followed with the whispered phrase. I covered my ears, avoiding the rumors being spread by the commoners throughout the marketplace.
“That Amon? He’s dead. They found his charred body washed ashore in the harbor, and they actually managed to identify him with records from an Equalist dentist. Apparently the doctor didn’t even know his name, just identified him as ‘The Boss’. Who knew he cared so much about his teeth?”
“Amon? He’s dead. Don’t you read the paper?”
Nothing would cease the endless noise, the rumble of the overjoyed masses that once worshiped the man. But he was a lie, a fraud, a speck of fool’s gold in a barren mine of human intelligence. Then, there was me.
The people stop and stare if they’re not too engulfed in their heretical joy. Some would avert their eyes; others would stare with gazes of shallow pity. The daughter of a traitor to their republic, albeit one who tried to save it. Occasionally, I’d receive a congratulations or a passive thank you; I inherited a crumbling fortune while trying to save the world, yet I wasn’t the avatar. I was just one of her shadows.
I have always been a shadow; casting doubt, confusion, the perfect pale disguise tied up behind emerald eyes with pretty carmine lips.
Only one has taken refuge in me for it.
He couldn’t be dead. I just saw him last night, completely and wholeheartedly alive.
------
December 12, 170 ASC
Lies, lies spurted from the poisoned lips of the news media like a gushing, infected blister. The same toxin spread through the people as it would the bloodstream, infecting every cell in the body of the city. I couldn’t listen. It’s a disease. I can’t allow myself to fall for the deception, because I know they’re wrong. Unbelievable, how just weeks ago the man was worshiped as the messiah of a new age, and now he and all his officers were on trial. My own father was among those already sentenced to life in prison without chance of release.
That didn’t bother me; whenever my father wasn’t obsessing over vengeance, focusing on how to cut back the factory union’s influence, or wallowing in his own self-pity, he would drink bourbon and remind me of how much I looked like my mother. Once, he almost tried to touch me. My father regretted my defense classes in that instant, but forgot entirely in the morning.
I told him about the incident once in confidence, for I sometimes felt he was the only one I could trust. I hoped he would cease his movement’s ties with my father as punishment. But he simply ran a single finger through my hair, pushing the foremost piece back behind my ear tenderly.
“I’m so sorry, my princess. But once the revolution ends, I promise your father will never try to hurt you again.”
I couldn’t accept that, so I fled, vowing to never trust him from that moment on. He put his agenda before me, and that was preposterous. He had told me again and again, “Asami, when this is all over, you and I will rule together. You are my princess now, but soon, you will be my Queen.”
And I had listened. I had believed him. I knew his darkest secrets, so I thought he would never lie to me.
------
December 13, 170 ASC
Two days after I cut myself off from him, I ran over a young firebender with my moped. I thought that, just maybe, this young man actually may be able to protect me from my father. He would never value that monster over me. Soon after, I thought I could change things. I thought I could prove to him how wrong it was to put my father before me, and show him how badly he needed me. I could sabotage his entire revolution, and no one would ever know of my ties if his plan crumbled to pieces. Not even my father was aware of our relationship.
But if he succeeded, he would need to make amends. He couldn’t survive without me. He couldn’t maintain a rule without his shadow, his… his queen.
That was what he said night before last.
“I’m so sorry, my Queen.”
------
December 14, 170 ASC
If he is truly dead, I shouldn’t be alive. I’d be a shadow without a figure, nothing to separate the silhouette from the sun. No one knew about us from the start; maybe my permanent silence is what fate intends.
It’s been three days since I’ve left this bed; the butler keeps trying to bring me the paper and open the curtains, but I don’t want the light.
I’m too afraid I’ll disappear without him.
------
December 15, 170 ASC
Five days, five days with no word, and he returns. A hand on my shoulder in the middle of the night, and I felt the warmth of his body as he wrapped his arms around me in my hazy sleep.
I knew he was alive!
I never doubted him.
When I awoke, he was gone. But I understood; if it was discovered he was alive, every officer of the law in the Republic would be after him.
He would stand trail.
He would be sentenced to death.
I can’t bear to think of that; his reality needs to be kept a secret, and so does mine. I can’t ever let Korra, Mako, Bolin or any of them know my true nature, know my real life. If I am to die, I want to die a champion of righteousness, not the mistress of what they see as evil.
------
February 10, 171 ASC
The butler had the physician visit me today. He thinks I’ve lost my mind. The only thing I’ve truly lost is my soul. Two months, and my King has not returned.
Where have you gone, my King?
------
March 13, 171 ASC
Every day without him, I suffer. I stopped eating, so they took me to this… place. Nurses watch me as they force me to eat, and then monitor that I don’t try to force their repulsive food back out. Maybe if they actually fed me quality food, they wouldn’t need to worry.
Mako and Korra visit me.
They seem to think this is about them.
I pity their narcissism.
------
September 6, 171 ASC
I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure I am a shadow with no figure a Queen without her King
-----
October 27, 171 ASC
The days grow shorter once more, as does my patience. The doctors think this is simply an eating disorder.
I suppose there’s no textbook definition for a broken heart.
-----
November 2, 171 ASC
Has this all been some terrible dream? I pricked my finger, and though blood drew, I felt no pain. I see him in my sleep now; I feel the warm embrace of his arms in the darkness of the night. His strong, opal eyes stare into my soul and remind me of how much he loves me. He seems determined that I am the one who isn’t alive, for I dream of being in the same bed with him in a wooden chair aside my bed. His long, dark hair grazes my cheeks, and though it tickles, I’m unable to laugh.
I’m unable to move.
Unable to react.
Yet, the doctors by this bed in my dreams seem to think I’m alive.
Am I the woman who dreams of being a butterfly or the butterfly who dreams of being a woman?
I cannot comprehend what this all means, but for so many months, I’ve had dreamless sleep. Why now? Why do I see him now as I rest my eyes? I must rest more. I must try to break free.
For this is surely the nightmare. This cannot be the reality I am from. My reality is him; my reality is being with my King.
-----
???
Korra came to me today… alone. She told me she was sorry, and that she blamed herself and her relationship with Mako for what she described as “my poor mental heath”.
I scoffed, and told her “Well, I refuse to apologize for your vanity.”
She seemed perplexed and upset, relaying to me that she wasn’t sure what I meant by vanity. Vain, vile creature. If anything is her fault, it’s the loss of my King.
So I told her.
I told her I blamed her for Amon’s death. I blamed her for my crumbling life. I blame her for nothing at all yet everything in the universe.
Then, she had the guile to ask me why I cared.
------
I can’t break through to him in my sleep.
I’ll need to get more creative.
I’m coming, my King.
I’m coming.
I’m coming.
--END OF HOSPITAL EVIDENCE RECORD, PATIENT 1009678 SATO, ASAMI.--
POST-MORTEM DIAGNOSIS: ENVIRONMENTALLY ONSET SCHITZOPRHENIA. INITALLY BROUGHT IN FOR WHAT WAS THOUGHT TO BE DEPRESSION PAIRED WITH AN EATING DISORDER.
FUTURE PERCATIONS TO BE TAKEN: WITH REGARDS TO PATIENTS PERSONAL ASSESTS, LOOK FOR WARNING SIGNS OF MORE SERIOUS DISEASE.
Summary: AU. Who'd have thought the Future Industries CEO masquerading as the Equalist leader, and the youngest nonbender son of Yakone would share their lowest point.
Previously:
part 1:
http://fannishcodex.tumblr.com/post/36040401327
part 2:
http://fannishcodex.tumblr.com/post/36119711899
A/N: For amosami week day 4 prompt ‘hopelessness.’ I...skipped day 3 because 'Lackadaisy' stumped me. Let’s see if I can do this basic AU premise across all the days: a sort of age/role reversal between the two combined with other AU elements. Also, some info on ages in this fic: Amon=17, Asami=27, Tarrlok=27, Yakone still alive, Hiroshi and his wife dead, rest of cast should be canon ages. And Asami Sato with a secret identity, so as the Equalist leader, her code name is The General. Also, I know it's Amosami Week, but this is getting pretty plotty with their 'ship more as a subplot I think?
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Legend of Korra.
Link: "Amon leaned back, trying not to blush, trying not to take in the scent of her perfume."
If ever there were a carefree love in the world, it certainly wasn't theirs, he mused as he watched the young girl fidget in her sleep. No doubt she'd be groaning from nightmares again any minute.
If ever there were a girl who deserved such a carefree love, it would be her. But she chose him. And that in itself was her downfall.
Summary: AU. A fight between the revolutionary forces and Team Avatar and their supporters goes horribly wrong when Asami is badly injured. To make matters worse, she’s kidnapped and dragged away from her friends, back to an Equalist hideout…
Rating: T
Pairing: This one features Amon and Asami, but is mostly Asami-centric, I think.
-
Asami is fast, dodging two punches from electric gloves so much like her own, and pushing Mako out of the way of two chi-blockers that had been creeping up behind him, in his blind spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a silvery gleam of metal shooting toward her, and she twists away--
But she’s not fast enough. The thrown knife catches her in the shoulder, burying itself almost hilt-deep in the soft spot between her upper arm and chest, and the pain is unlike anything she has ever felt before. It is white-hot and blinding in its intensity, and the shock and pain rips an agonized scream out of her throat. Despite her best efforts to stay upright, she staggers, her knees giving out beneath her, and she collapses to the ground, hard. There’s blood everywhere, blossoming from the wound in her shoulder, staining the dark red material of her shirt and jacket until it becomes near black. Through the fire and smoke and confusion, she sees the look of horror on Mako’s face, hears him cry her name in shock.
He rushes toward her, only to be cut off by a squad of chi blockers. Asami tries to get up, to help, but the pain is unbearable and she’s still bleeding, and the fall had stunned her. The knife is still lodged inside her, making all movement in her right arm impossible. Should she pull it out? Or will that make the bleeding worse?
She tries to wrench it out, on impulse, and she can’t pull the blade out more than a couple of inches before the pain makes her vision go black. Mako, she wants to say, but all that comes out is a choking noise.
A shadow blocks what little of the moon’s light she can still see, and Asami looks up with difficulty, fighting the urge to retch. Her left hand is covered in her own blood; her head is spinning. When she sees the eerie, familiar cream-and-red mask looming above her, at first, she thinks it’s a hallucination. But then she’s conscious of another voice nearby, talking fast, obviously frightened. “I didn’t mean to hit her, sir, I was aiming at the police officer behind her. I wouldn’t have targeted Sato’s daughter, I know that our instructions were to retrieve her alive--“
Amon says nothing. He takes a step closer and bends down, and Asami scrabbles against the gravel and pushes herself backward as best as she can, with her shaking legs and left arm and next-to-useless injured right arm. “No,” she manages, this time, looking around desperately for her friends, but the only people who surround her - creating a barrier around her - wear the black and olive green uniform of the Equalists, as well as their luminescent green goggles. “No--“
Through the fog of pain, she sees two Equalists shake their heads pityingly. “Poor girl,” one of them says. “Completely deluded."
"Brainwashed," agrees another.
Amon’s mask reveals nothing, of course, not even when she kicks out and thrashes with her good arm and tries her best to activate the electric glove on her right hand. Unfazed, he gently lifts her up into his arms, supporting her with one arm underneath her knees and one under her back. “Hiroshi will be pleased,” he says, and Asami shivers uncontrollably at the sensation of being so close to him, of feeling his voice, as much as hearing it. “This mission won’t be a complete loss after all.”
Asami punches him in the chest as hard as she can with her left hand. Amon exhales slowly, his grip on her tightening, and then everything goes black.
-
Her vision returns, hazy and unclear, as they return to the airship. Her protests go unheard, ignored, as the smoky, cold night air is replaced by the still, sterile confines of the inside of the ship. She hears a strange sound mingling with the engines, and it takes her a while to realize that it’s her own crying. Not from the pain so much anymore, but the mingled rage and helplessness that threatens to choke her. She’s supposed to be with her friends, not in the enemy’s grasp. If she had been a little bit faster, she could have avoided this.
Amon can feel her pulse quickening, and behind the mask, his gaze focuses on the wound in her shoulder. The knife is still wedged into her skin; the bloodstain spreading, soaking the thick, expensive wool of her jacket. She looks pale, her breathing erratic, and still, even in this state, she looks at him with such loathing. Foolish girl. But she is back where she belongs now, and she will learn the error of her ways soon enough.
He bloodbends her into unconsciousness again, quietly, subtly. It will make things easier.
The medics on board offer to take care of her, but he tells them that he will see to it himself. It is the least he can do, after she - the beloved only child of one of his closest allies - was injured, despite his promises to Hiroshi that the Equalists would never target Asami, regardless of her problematic alliances. His lieutenant takes over the command of the ship, and Amon carries Asami to the medic’s headquarters.
He rests her on the examining table. The stainless steel is so cold that it chills his skin, even through his thick gloves. Then he observes the injury for a few moments.
He prepares all the necessary materials, before pulling the knife free of Asami’s shoulder, as carefully as he can. He applies pressure to the wound, and somewhat awkwardly unbuttons her coat, tossing it aside. She wears a blouse underneath, and he removes that as well, ignoring the way his skin flushes. It leaves her in just a soft pink brassiere, and after a moment of hesitation, Amon takes her coat and carefully drapes it over her body, leaving only the wounded area uncovered.
He can’t help but think of how simple this would be to heal. He has easy access to water, most of his Equalists are in another part of the ship entirely, and the entire process, from start to finish, would only take about ten minutes. He dismisses the thought in the next moment - how would he explain the miraculous recovery to the others? It would be sheer idiocy.
Amon cleans the messy wound carefully, wiping away the blood and fabric fibers that cling to it, before bandaging it. It will scar, most likely.
When he is finished, he washes Asami’s clothes, removing his gloves and scrubbing the blood out until his fingers ache.
-
When Hiroshi receives the phone call informing him of Asami’s return, he leaves the airfield immediately, to return to the main base. He runs straight to her bed in the infirmary. He holds her hand and smooths her tangled hair back from her forehead and kisses her cheek, and fights back tears.
“Thank you,” he says, voice choked with emotion, to the masked man standing silently at his daughter’s bedside. “Thank you so much for bringing her back to me.”
Amon looks at them - still a broken, incomplete family, thanks to the triad member who had broken into the Sato’s mansion on that fateful night, but still a little more whole than they had been, just a day ago.”You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “It is part of the Equalist mission to preserve families, to keep parents and children, spouses, and siblings safe from the damages and dangers caused by bending.”
Hiroshi smiles at him tentatively, and Amon knows what he’s thinking. The sympathy that he’s feeling, for the boy his leader had once had been - the simple farm boy, whose entire family had been killed by a firebender. He nods, a silent farewell, and turns and leaves.
That night, he dreams of the icy barrenness of the North Pole, and of Tarrlok and Yakone.
-
Amon next sees Hiroshi two days later, in a meeting. His friend looks pale and tired, dark shadows under his eyes, and he remains quiet for most of the discussion. It’s a marked contrast to his usual robust appearance and enthusiastic demeanor. After everybody leaves the war council room to go their separate ways, he asks Hiroshi to stay for a moment, and asks him what’s wrong.
Hiroshi grimaces. It’s cool in the room, but his brow is coated with a thin layer of sweat, which he mops at with his handkerchief. “It’s Asami,” he replies, looking down at the floor. “It was just a stab wound, the same thing as what happened to Danzou last month, but Asami isn’t getting better like he was. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness, and every time I visit her, her fever is worse. She’s been hallucinating since last night.” His features contort a little. “She saw me and started asking for her mother.”
The despair is written all over his face, and Amon rests a hand on his shoulder lightly, his mind racing. “I’m sorry.”
Hiroshi shakes his head wordlessly. “…The medics said that the wound is infected. The blade must have been dirty. They’ve been giving her medicine, but she doesn’t seem to be responding to anything. I’m so worried. I can’t lose her--“
He stops abruptly, and Amon makes his decision. “Why don’t we go see her?” he suggests. “During the course of my travels, I learned quite a lot about alternative medicine. There might be something I can do, or some advice I can provide to the medics.”
Hiroshi agrees immediately, obviously relieved.
-
Asami is playing in the sitting room, racing her two favorite Satomobiles - she and Mama had built a track and obstacle course around the room earlier. The red one is winning, thanks to its stronger engine power, and she beams. Her game is interrupted when she hears the door open in the entrance hall, and she sits up straight, Satomobiles forgotten.
She runs to the entrance hall, her socks slipping on the marble floors. “Daddy!” she cries, thrilled.
He sweeps her up into his arms and spins her around in the air when she runs to him, and she laughs with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck. He’s home early today, early enough to go to Central Park with her and Mama. When she asks if he will come along with them, he beams, pulling out a fresh loaf of bread from the bag at his side. “Of course! I even bought something you can give to your little turtleduck friends.”
Asami kisses him on the cheek. “You are the best daddy.”
When she pulls away, her home is gone, and she is in a dark room, and everything in her body hurts. Daddy is still there, but his face is covered in lines, and he looks old and sad and so different. Instead of Mama, coming out to greet them, holding her jacket and the keys to the Satomobile, there is a man with no face standing beside them instead, and Asami cries out in fright.
Her father touches her on the forehead. “It’s okay, princess.” His voice sounds far away, like he’s talking to her from underwater, like he does when he and Mama swim with her in the pool. “You’re going to get better. Everything is going to be all right.”
Asami stares at them, and behind them, she can see home; see her mother leading them to the car, as she and her father follow closely behind. Her parents’ fingers are intertwined, and her dad’s hand rests on her shoulder. She can’t keep her eyes open any longer because they ache too much. He’s wrong. Nothing is going to be all right again.
-
Asami wakes from a vivid dream of racing through the streets of Republic City in her Satomobile with her friends, with a violent start. She’s not alone in her room. The soulless, disembodied not-face - mask, her mind supplies belatedly - is there again, near her bedside, but her dad isn’t.
Amon, she remembers, in a rare moment of lucidity, and the memory makes her cringe. Amon Amon Amon. Bad. His ideals had corrupted her father - made him think that all benders were evil - turned him into a hate-filled extremist - ruined everything.
She doesn’t realize she’s saying it aloud until Amon shakes his head and places one finger on her lips, very gently. “Shh,” he says, mildly. “Don’t overexert yourself.”
Asami hisses and tries to bite his finger, and Amon snatches it back quickly. He leaves her bedside for a few moments, and when he returns, the air around them seems to thrum with the gentle melody of classical music. Radio, Asami realizes belatedly, and against her will, reflexively, she begins to relax.
“Your father told me you liked this,” Amon says, so casually it’s unbelievable. It’s beyond the realm of her comprehension, that this man she has only heard preach words of violence and hatred, is capable of sounding so…polite, so normal.
Yes. She does like this music. Her mother had played the piano. She had actually composed a short sonata and named it after Asami, in honor of her sixth birthday, the last of her daughter’s birthdays that she had been alive for.
Asami closes her eyes. Her arms hurt so badly, from the wound and the intravenous needles stuck inside them, that she can’t lift them to wipe away the hot tears dripping from underneath her eyelids.
She tries to stay awake, still disturbed by Amon’s presence, but it’s like she can’t keep her eyes open, for some reason. The music lulls her into a trance-like state.
How do you like this one, sweetie? Mama asks, turning the page of her music book, as Asami sits beside her on the bench, leaning her head against her arm. This is called the Moonlight Sonata. It was composed in the Water Tribe, in honor of their Princess Yue.
The memories are almost enough to take the pain away. Almost.
What’s the Water Tribe, Mama?
Her mother had explained it to her in great detail, painting vivid pictures with her words - of the snow-covered poles and frozen seas, and the people who lived there. She had been more educated than most people about cultures around the world, having studied world cultures at Republic City University.
Asami giggles, fascinated. Do they really go sledding on penguins? I would like to do that. And swim with turtle-seals!
Mama laughs, tapping her on the nose. I don’t think you want to go swimming with turtle-seals. The water in the arctic seas is cold! Much colder than the coldest water that comes out of our bath.
Asami frowns, now, confused.
…Except, some of the terrible pain inside her is going away. And…water…she can feel it swirling around her, all around her, cool and soothing.
She is struck with the odd urge to giggle. Maybe she’s finally swimming with the turtle-seals. What outrageous thing had Korra once told Mako and Bolin with a completely straight face? That turtle-seals had healing tears? Or that her polar bear-dog had once tore the heel off a fox-wolf’s back paw… She can’t quite remember...
-
When Asami wakes the next morning, she feels a little bit better.
-
Late that night, Amon appears again. He brings a small radio and puts on some classical music, and Asami pulls herself out of a dream-like reverie in order to ask what he did to her last night.
“Nothing,” he says evasively. “I just gave you a new medicine and applied some special ointments to your shoulder, that’s all.”
Asami wants to ask more questions, but her eyes close again, against her will, and she lapses into the same sleep-trance state she had been last night. The last thing she remembers is the sound of the water from the tap, splashing against a basin, and then Amon’s hand on her shoulder.
She dreams of the ocean once more.
-
It happens again and again and again, until Asami loses track of time. It’s always the same. Amon comes at night, at irregular hours. He plays music to calm her down, and even when she feels wide awake upon his arrival, all he does is sit beside her for a few minutes and engage her in casual conversation, before her eyelids feel heavy and her body is seized with overwhelming exhaustion. Asami fights sleep as much as she can, and whenever she is in that half-awake, half-asleep state, she has this pervasive sense of being surrounded by water; immersed in it.
Every morning after Amon’s mysterious visits, she feels better. The pain starts to fade, as does her fever. The hallucinations and her headaches cease. The medics tell her and her father that the infection has receded and her body is finally healing as it should, sounding tremendously relieved. Her body is responding to the medication. That herbal drug and those ointments from the Earth Kingdom that Amon suggested has worked wonders for her.
On the day that the medics deem that she is healthy enough to be released, without having to worry about any further complications, her dad holds her hand and blinks away his tears. He thanks the medics - and Amon, of course - profusely. Amon says that there is no need to thank him, and it was simply a stroke of luck that he remembered encountering those herbal remedies for infections like these during his travels.
Asami watches him warily, guardedly, and thanks him for his care and attention just as politely as her father had. Amon inclines his head in acknowledgement, and she wonders if she is imagining the tension in his shoulders.
She and her father dine alone together to celebrate her recovery. “I asked the cooks to make your favorite,” Hiroshi tells her enthusiastically, as he pulls her chair out for her. “Fried rice and roasted salmon-shrimp, Earth Kingdom-style. Just the way you like it.”
Asami smiles. Her father is so happy and relieved over her recovery that she can’t bring herself to let him know how she really feels about this whole Equalist situation. Not yet.
They have a leisurely meal, and it’s over a dessert of fresh fruit tarts that she brings it up. She had struggled with how to approach the issue, before finally deciding to handle it with her typical forthrightness. She has never been one to dance around anything, no matter how uncomfortable the topic may be.
“Dad,” she says, taking a sip of her sweet plum tea. “Can I tell you something?”
Hiroshi takes a large bite of the dessert, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Of course, princess. Anything.”
Asami hesitates momentarily, despite her best efforts to remain composed. “…Do you think that there’s any possibility that Amon could be a waterbender?”
Hiroshi stares at her incredulously for a few seconds, before bursting into uproarious laughter. Asami circles the rim of her teacup with one finger, averting her eyes. “I’m serious, Dad.”
He coughs and clears his throat, straightening his jacket. “Of course you are. But what on earth gave you such an outrageous idea? Amon, a bender…”
He sounds like he’s on the verge of dissolving into laughter again, and Asami frowns. “It was when he was helping me recover.” She touches her still-bandaged shoulder absentmindedly. “I know you won’t like to hear this, but once, during a skirmish with the Equalists, I crashed my Satomobile and I got pretty scraped up. Korra healed me with her waterbending, and something about the way it felt…I was reminded of it with Amon." She pauses, remembering the sensation. "It didn’t feel like he was giving me any ointment. I know what waterbending healing feels like, and what Amon was doing felt just like that. I swear it. And whenever he came into the room, he would make me fall asleep somehow, because he was running water from the sink to use to heal me, and he didn't want me to know…”
She trails off, realizing from the expression on his face that she’s getting nowhere. Hiroshi shakes his head, resting his hand on hers. “Asami,” he says, kindly, sympathetically. “You were very ill. You were hallucinating.”
She shakes her head hard. “I know I was hallucinating, but this - I know this wasn’t.”
“You must have been,” her father replies patiently. “That’s the only logical explanation. There is no way that Amon is a waterbender! He’s a non-bender, just like us; his family was killed by a firebender--“
Her father sighs. He gets up from the table and comes around to her side of it. He hugs her around the shoulders. “You’ve been through such a terrible ordeal,” he says softly. “I’m sure that a few more days of rest will be enough to clear your head.”
“I’m sure,” she agrees, just as quietly.
Her dad kisses the top of her head. “Now, how about I go and get us seconds of dessert from the kitchen? I asked the chef to make some peach pie, just in case.”
Asami smiles up at him. “That sounds great, Dad.”
He leaves, the heavy metal door shutting behind him with a decisive click.
Asami props her elbows up on the table, puts her head in her hands, and sighs.
She presses two fingers against her injured shoulder gently, and thinks about the Equalist leader, somewhere in this same underground base. Korra had always believed that there was something mysterious about Amon, and it had driven her crazy. He said he was chosen by the spirits to usher in a new era of balance! She would rant, pacing up and down the courtyard on Air Temple Island. Is he telling the truth? I need to know!
There is no mystery, Asami would say calmly. He's just a man, a non-bender, using this story to give his movement some credence. He's probably just a very talented chi blocker, who's temporarily removing people's bending using that.
Now, she's not so sure.
He's just a man, a non-bender.
She closes her eyes and sinks down in her chair, deep in thought.
Amon. Classical music. Water.
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end
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The following three pieces for Amosami Week will be set in the context of this AU, but will also be comprehensible as stand-alone pieces. :)
...I'll probably wait to post the rest for the Delusion prompt, but here's a teaser below the read more.
At least, that’s what the newspapers said. Every newsstand across the city, every young boy carrying a newspaper and shouting the headlines, every muffled static voice coming through the radio. Every single word uttered of him was followed with the whispered phrase. I covered my ears, avoiding the rumors being spread by the commoners throughout the marketplace.
“That Amon? He’s dead. They found his charred body washed ashore in the harbor, and they actually managed to identify him with records from an Equalist dentist. Apparently the doctor didn't even know his name, just identified him as ‘The Boss’. Who knew he cared so much about his teeth?”
“Amon? He’s dead. Don’t you read the paper?”
Nothing would cease the endless noise, the rumble of the overjoyed masses that once worshiped the man. But he was a lie, a fraud, a speck of fool’s gold in a barren mine of human intelligence. Then, there was me.
The people stop and stare if they’re not too engulfed in their heretical joy. Some would avert their eyes; others would stare with gazes of shallow pity. The daughter of a traitor to their republic, albeit one who tried to save it. Occasionally, I’d receive a congratulations or a passive thank you; I inherited a crumbling fortune while trying to save the world, yet I wasn't the avatar. I was just one of her shadows.
I have always been a shadow; casting doubt, confusion, the perfect pale disguise tied up behind emerald eyes with pretty carmine lips.
Only one has taken refuge in me for it.
He couldn't be dead. I just saw him the night before last, completely and wholeheartedly alive.
Summary: AU. Young Amon tells a story to his sick brother. The Equalist Leader Asami listens.
Previously:
http://fannishcodex.tumblr.com/post/36040401327
A/N: For amosami week day 2 prompt ‘fairy tale.’ Let’s see if I can do this basic AU premise across all the days: a sort of age/role reversal between the two combined with other AU elements. Title inspired by Pixar's "BRAVE."
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Legend of Korra.
Link: She noticed clearly how Amon's eyes went straight for her mask first, then her green eyes. It was often the reaction of people newly met.
