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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 2 years

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When I Found You (Pt. 13 of 19)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader | Negan X daughter! Reader

Word count: 2 K

Summary: You saw Negan build his empire, saw your father become a monster, a murderer, and never had the courage to stand your ground. So everything you do it help as much people as you can, carrying the guilt of being part of it. But one day, your world is shaken when you find him, the man with blue eyes locked up inside a cage. You decide to help him, to keep his community safe. And for that, you'll have to pretend you and Daryl are in love... But how long until the lie becomes the truth?

Warnings: Some sensitive topics such as mentions and light descriptions of self-harm. (I kept it light, so don't worry about graphic descriptions.)

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{The Walking Dead Masterlist}

A/N: I wanna thank (and give a lot of credit) to to absolutely awesome friend @multific, who helped me with a lot of ideas, and also with the final editing of the text. Love you, girl!!

Not The End

“(Y/N), you can't be serious,” Jim says, arms crossed. You asked him to come, alone, but only now you told him why. Daryl wants only one witness for each because, unlike the fake relationship where the whole world needed to be aware of, this is real. People will know when it's time. “This was supposed to be a–”

“I know what this was supposed to be, Jim. This was your idea and it worked. It still works but... I fell for him.” Blushing, you look down. The white dress you have on, the only one you own, is hidden by an overcoat. You thought it was too much, but Daryl had walked past the bedroom and saw you in it, and when he smiled and said you were beautiful, you knew you had to use it.

“...When did it happen?” His voice is lower now, and when you look up, you see a hint of something you don't understand. “It's not like I'd ever try to stop you but marriage? Isn't it a little too fast?”

“It is.” Nodding, you smile. “You know I believe in love. Even after the world broke apart and I promise you what I feel towards Daryl is love in its purest form and... I believe he feels the same.”

Jim sighs, suddenly pulling you into a hug. “If he ever breaks your heart, I'll break his bones.”

“Thanks, Jim.” Giggling, you pull away. “You're the only true friend from the Sanctuary, so I wanted you to be my witness.

“And who will be his?”

“Please tell me this isn't what I think it is.” The voice makes you turn around, finding Rick standing next to Daryl.

“Let's get inside,” Daryl says, and you give him a shy smile before entering the church.

Your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it'll jump off your chest. In the last week, you had doubts. Seconds thoughts even. This is huge, and you spent almost every evening talking to Daryl about it. You don't want him to feel pressured, and he reassured you he's not. Well, Daryl doesn't bend, and you know he'd never do anything he didn't want to.

“I see you're all settled,” Gabriel says from his place by the altar, where the small group walks to.

“Daryl, brother,” Rick says, and you see through the corner of your eye when they both stop. But you keep walking until you reach Gabriel, trying not to overhear anything. But it doesn't seem like Rick is making any effort not to make himself heard. “You don't have to do this. We're safe, this... You don't have to do this for us.”

“Ain't doin’ this for ya. ‘M doin’ this for me.” Daryl says, and you keep your eyes on the floor, arms crossed. “I love her and she loves me. And I never thought neither of those things would ever happen and...” He sighs, and you can imagine how he's struggling to say these things. “She's the one.”

Biting your lip, you feel heat spreading through your face. “Alright.” Rick mumbles. “But if this is real, you have to call the group. We're a family. Everyone has to be here.”

At that, your heart skips a beat. It's not that you want to keep Daryl away from them, but you don't feel welcome. And you certainly don't want to feel their hate on this occasion.

“ ‘M not sure (Y/N) will–”

“Rick's right.” You're quick to say. “They're your family, Daryl. They have to be here.” Swallowing your thoughts and pains, you look at him with a small smile.

“Then Negan should be here too.”

“No.” Walking over Daryl, you shake your head. “If this is about us, and not about some plot to keep Alexandria, there's no reason for him to be here.”

“He'll be sad.” Jim cuts in, getting your attention. “He might be insane, but he loves you.”

Sighing, you recognize the truth in his words. “Them someday we can make some sort of ceremony there. But now... It should be just us.” Taking Daryl's hand, you look at him.

“Well, it'll be your family too now,” Rick says, clearly not very happy about it. “I'll call them.”

“Okay.” You whisper, nodding as he walks away.

“Yer alright?”

“Mhmm.” Smiling, you tiptoe to kiss him. “He's right, your people have to be here.”

“Well, well,” Gabriel says, and you both look at him. “I noticed something white under this coat. Why don't you take that off?”

“Oh.” Giggling, you take the overcoat off, laying it on the pew next to you. “I know it's silly but I'm being forced to wear that.”

“It's yer wedding. Ya have ta’ wear white.” Daryl complains.

“It's the end of the world, haven't you heard? It doesn't matter which color I use for my wedding.”

“The world might be endin’, but we're both here.” He says in a low voice, only for you to hear. “Ain't the end for us.”

Blushing, you smile, nodding. “You're right, Daryl Dixon.” Pecking his lips, you wonder if you had anything to do with his change of heart. In the beginning, Daryl wasn't so... Hopeful. But you like this look on him.

It doesn't take much time until the group starts getting here. Of course, some of them surround Daryl, asking what the hell is this about. And you, standing away to give the man and his family some privacy, watch next to Jim as Daryl struggles again. He's not good with feelings, but he's making an effort to explain it. To explain to you.

“For the last time, are you sure about this?” Jim asks again, looking down at you.

“I am.” You're still speaking when Gabriel steps forward, raising both his hands.

“Alright, people. Alright.” He begins. “I know how you must feel, it was a surprise for me as well. A joyful surprise. But now, shall we begin? Is anyone who should be here missing?”

“Aaron said he was coming. I have no idea why he isn't here yet.” Rick says, and Gabriel nod.

“Well, if anyone has anything to say, please speak now.”

“I think it's quite obvious that this is insane,” Michonne says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I get that she's helping us. And yes, I'm thankful. But I don't think it's necessary to–”

“This isn't fake anymore,” Daryl answers, arms crossed. “Ya know why I just called Rick to be here? ‘Cause I knew you'll think this is just some shit ta’ make Negan believe what we had was real. It isn't like that anymore.” He looks at you, a small, quick smile taking over his lips. “So it doesn't matter if ya believe it or not. What matters is that we do.”

“Thank you.” You whisper.

“I can't say I didn't see this coming,” Carol says, arms crossed as everyone moves to give her some space. “It was quite obvious to me.”

“How so?” Rosita asks a hand on her hip.

“After half a year stuck at the Sanctuary I thought we'd get a very grumpy Daryl back. Instead, he came home with a girl on the back of his bike, holding on to him as if they were together already.” She talks fast, and scanning the place, you notice as some people seem thoughtful. “Then he moved in with her and I just could notice it in his eyes whenever he spoke about her.”

“Can't disagree with that.” Rick's son says, shrugging his shoulders. “He makes heart eyes whenever he looks at her.”

“Alright. If ya don't have anythin’ else ta’ say–” Daryl is interrupted but the church's door opening up.

Everyone turns around, and a joyful Aaron comes inside. With a bouquet in his hand. “Sorry, I'm late.” He chuckles, walking fast towards you. “But since it's a wedding I figured you'd need this.”

Taking the wildflowers from his hand, you blush again, smiling. “Thank you.” It warms your heart that Aaron didn't even think twice. He's probably the only one from the group who's truly happy about it.

“Can we now proceed with the ceremony?” Gabriel asks and Daryl takes your hand, both turning to face the priest. “Good. Let's begin.”

• • •

Not everyone came to congratulate you, but you were amazed that Carol, Rick, Carl, and Tara came to talk to you. It does feel like they may be starting to get used to you. But still, you don't feel welcome.

But soon after the ceremony, it doesn't matter anymore. Being with Daryl, fully for the first time, is amazing. You do feel like you're together now, as one. And this is real. Completely, ultimately real. You had him on a whole different level, and it felt amazing. Almost too good to be true. But it is, and right now, as the morning sun comes through the window, lighting the bedroom, you feel a kind of joy you never felt before.

Daryl was right. Thanks to him, Alexandria is home.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He says and you toss around, finding him coming from the bathroom and sitting on the bed, shirtless and hair still damp. “Gotta wake up.”

“Mhmm.” There's something you notice again. How Daryl seems not to turn his back away from you. Yesterday night you let it go, but now it's quite clear. “You have scars on your back, don't you?” It's obvious to you since you have some on your thighs that won't heal. And you would never let anyone see.

He looks down, mumbling something you don't understand before nodding. “Nothin’ go past ya.”

“Wanna tell me? Because you don't have to. I won't try to look if you're not ready to show me, Daryl.” Sitting up, you blush when the sheets fall, exposing your body. Shyly, your cover-up. It'll take some time to get used to it.

He sighs and, without saying anything, he moves, so his back is turned at you. You quickly take in the scars, his skin lit up by the morning sun. “It was my father.” He says in a low voice.

“I'm so sorry, Daryl.” It breaks your heart to know he went through that. Your father might be Negan, but he never did anything like that. And would never let anyone else do it. You know little about his life before, but you never thought it was that bad. Slowly, you start kissing his back, right on the scars. You can never change the past, but you'll make sure to give him all the love he didn't have. All the love he deserves. Moving the kisses through the scars, you go to his neck and jaw, until you're face to face with him again, kissing his lips.

He softly caresses your thighs, and you know why. You both feel the same, that your scars are something else uniting you. “We gotta go.” He mutters when you pull away to breathe. “I know exactly where this will lead if I let ya.”

“But weren't we supposed to have a honeymoon?”

“Maybe someday, but today we both got chores. Don't ya have ta’ train the teenagers today?”

“Yup.” Pushing yourself up, you walk to the bathroom with the sheets wrapped around you. “I was thinking we could use one of the Saviors methods. Well, a version of it.” Stopping by the door frame, you turn to look at Daryl again. “Instead of throwing them in a death match with the walkers, we could break them into smaller groups, put them together with the most experienced on runs, and go outside. So they could know what's like to be out there and work on their strategy.”

“Sounds like a good idea. Let's talk ta’ Rick about it and get it done.”

“Alright.” Smiling, you nod and get inside the bathroom.

You're dressing up when you smell breakfast, and that's when you notice how hungry you are. So you rush downstairs, still drying your hair with the towel.

When you find Daryl making scrambled eggs, you can't help but smile. It's not the first time he makes you something to eat, but it's always amazing. And you never take for granted. “Have anyone ever told you how hot you look cooking?” You say, walking over the kitchen island.

“Here we go.”

“I'm just being honest.” Laughing at the funny face he has on when he gives you your plate, you start eating. “Good as always.”

“Thanks. I–” Loud, obnoxious knocks make him shut up. Getting serious all of a sudden, you both move at the same time, opening the door to a nervous Carl.

“Hi. Sorry. There's this group outside with guns pointed at us and demanding the gates to be open. Father is trying to deal with it but I think you could be of more help.” He gestures at you, and you simply nod.

Rick may be able to stop them from getting in. But you will make sure of it.

@riverscyberwife @spenciepoo338 @beatitlikeabongodrum @amberritonicole @totheonethatloveshernext @the-artistic-animal @shatteredlovesick @cole22ann @thecraziestcrayon @cloud-laufeyson @arthurdeservedbetterrip @greeneyedladysthings @ruinedbythehobbit

#daryl imagine #imagine daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl x reader #imagine daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead imagine #imagine the walking dead #negan imagine

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maculategiraffe · 5 years

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won’t you meet me at the gates to the garden

Little snippet: Nora and the gang, at the Castle, Halloween night. ~1500 words, and a lot of that is quotes from The Canterville Ghost.

Happy Halloween, my darlings.

They can’t celebrate Halloween the way she remembers it, back in Sanctuary Hills, or before that, when she was a kid. Dressing up in fancy store-bought costumes, based on TV and movie and radio superheroes: Grognak, the Silver Shroud, Mistress of Mystery. Nora remembers going as a cat, a cowgirl, a witch, a hippie in thrift-store bell-bottom jeans and a peace sign painted on her cheek. More nervous than excited, holding out a pillowcase or a pail for a neighbor to drop something into.

She didn’t like how you weren’t supposed to say please. Trick or treat, as if you might do something bad to people who didn’t placate you with candy. She didn’t like that idea as a kid. Still doesn’t.

Now Shaun’s the only kid around of trick-or-treating age, and he’s not the type to enjoy filling a sack with sugary treats at others’ expense, anyway. He’d rather run around distributing any available treats to his brothers and sisters, and the other settlers at the Castle.

He’s enough like Nora that he doesn’t much like the idea of disguises, either. Monsters are too real, these days, to take pleasure in the dressing-up of someone dear and familiar as someone, or something, less so.

And the dead are-- well, Nora doesn't believe in ghosts, not that way, not seasonally. If Nate can be here with her, and if there isn't a good reason why he shouldn't be, then he's here a lot more often than once a year.

(She hopes he isn't. She hopes he's with Shaun-- their first Shaun-- in heaven. He believed in heaven, completely. She's about fifty-fifty. But if there is one, Nate's definitely there, and she can't imagine whoever's in charge wouldn't let him have his son with him.)

This time of year, she thinks more about the war, the bombs falling. Ghosts, kind of, but not the fun, spooky kind.

But this year they’ve carved jack-o-lanterns, out of gourds and winter melons, scooping out the seeds to roast with a little salt and a little oil, carving cheerful, jagged-toothed moon faces and setting candles inside. She was just going to show Shaun how, but then everyone else wanted to join in too. After tonight-- after a night of bright faces all over the courtyard, grinning and spilling light-- she'll gather the gourds and melons and cook them, so the meat of them doesn't go to waste.

It's Dee's turn to read aloud tonight, and he’s picked Oscar Wilde's "The Canterville Ghost.” He’s reading outside instead of in the library, so they can all enjoy the jack-o-lanterns, for the little time they last. The night's cool, but not cold; her kids curl against each other, for warmth and for love. Shaun sits in her lap. Hancock's arm rests on her shoulders. A real lantern, not a jack-o- one, lights the page, and Dee's face, in that spooky, atmospheric campfire way. Dee has such a great voice for reading. It's low and gravelly and dramatic as he reads,

"Right in front of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hair fell over his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which were of antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles and rusty gyves.

"'My dear sir,' said Mr. Otis"-- Dee's voice switches registers, turns prim and nasal, so that everyone's laughing even before he goes on-- "'I really must insist on your oiling those chains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficacious upon one application, and there are several testimonials to that effect on the wrapper. I shall leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with more, should you require it.'"

Dee switches back to the dramatic voice to continue, "For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in natural indignation; then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor, he fled down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting a ghastly green light. Just, however, as he reached the top of the great oak staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figures appeared, and a large pillow whizzed past his head! There was evidently no time to be lost, so, hastily adopting the Fourth dimension of Space as a means of escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, leaned up against a moonbeam to recover his breath, and began to try and realize his position. Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three hundred years, had he been so grossly insulted."

Shaun is having a fit of the giggles in her lap, struggling to breathe. Everyone's laughing, as Dee keeps reading, about the family that just refuses to be scared.

"He laughed his most horrible laugh," Dee reads, "till the old vaulted roof rang and rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door opened, and Mrs. Otis came out in a light blue dressing-gown. 'I am afraid you are far from well,' she said, 'and have brought you a bottle of Doctor Dobell's tincture. If it is indigestion, you will find it a most excellent remedy.''

"Oh my God," says Victoria, laughing. "It's Mom!"

Even Dee cracks up at that, and loses his place for a second. Nora laughs, breathless with happiness, with her family around her, in the darkness that makes the flickering golden light so incredibly lovely.

The story takes a sadder, sweeter turn towards the end, when the daughter of the family befriends the ghost. Dee's voice goes soft, gentle, when he does her voice:

"'I am so sorry for you,' she said, 'but my brothers are going back to Eton to-morrow, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy you.'

"'It is absurd asking me to behave myself,' he answered, looking round in astonishment at the pretty little girl who had ventured to address him, 'quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and walk about at night, if that is what you mean. It is my only reason for existing.'

"'It is no reason at all for existing, and you know you have been very wicked.'"

"That sounds like Emily," says Michael, and everyone laughs again, and the story stays funny for a bit, until Dee's voice, his gruff rusty ghost-voice, changes:

"Far away beyond the pine-woods, there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers.

"Virginia's eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.

"'You mean the Garden of Death,' she whispered.

"'Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.'"

Nora's eyes are stinging, now. It's Dee's voice, the tenderness and the pain in it, the yearning.

He reads on, and little Virginia bravely helps the wicked old ghost be laid to rest, and everyone lives-- or dies-- happily ever after, and everyone is quiet for a bit. Shaun's asleep, slumped on Nora's arm and chest.

Nora's heart is full, overflowing. He made me see what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.

Max says, "Good stuff. Good pick, Dee."

Dee shuts the book, as everyone murmurs agreement, and says, "Thanks. I thought, you know-- I kinda forgot about all that heavy stuff, there at the end."

Cog says, "It was funny. It was good."

"Thank you, Dee," says Danse gravely.

Dee waves them off. "Yeah, OK. Bedtime. For people that sleep. Look, 2.0's already out."

The night rustles and creaks with everyone's rising, flashes as they move through light and dark.

Nora stays still the longest, Shaun breathing in her lap. Wondering, or imagining.

She isn’t afraid. If they're here, the beloved dead, called by her longing, or by the thinness of the veil tonight, then they belong here, just outside this circle, making the dark gentle for the living.

And if they're not--

(Emily’s voice, remembered: Sleep is a sweetness, so I hear it said.)

Someday she'll be with them, wherever they are.

But no hurry.

"Here, ma'am," says Michael, reaching down. "I'll carry Shaun to bed."

She shifts, lifts her smallest son towards her tallest, feels her husband's hand on her back, as Michael lifts Shaun's sleepy weight from her, as she begins to rise.

#fiction #how life goes on the way it does #nora bowman #grief

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asongstress1422 · 5 years

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A Lady's Warning

Zutara Fanfic – Part 5 of Bride from the Water Tribe

Summary: Katara was taken to the Northern Water Tribe by her grandmother; she was to be protected at all cost, for she was the last of the Southern Water. Once they got there, the North refused to teach her trying to strip her of her worth and turn her into what they wanted, a calm biddable healer to birth the next generation. They failed. And so as punishment they sent her to be a political bride to the Fire Nation. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 AO3

As the dinner wore on, Arnook and the other Tribesmen kept their tablemates entertained, interlaying talks of economic growth and trade with grander stories of past Hunts. That is, they kept the men entertained, the wives and daughters were too well bred not to be disgusted, or too entranced, to put a stop to the story of a man getting his stomach ripped out by a polar bear dog.

“And you, Lady Katara,” one of the younger sons of the Kazen House seated next to her asked, amber eyes heated with an emotion that made Katara’s skin crawl, “have you ever been on hunt?”

A memory floated up, like memories were want to do when triggered; mostly forgotten til suddenly clear. Katara was five, or there about, and father was taking her brother Sokka out for his first hunt and she had refused to be left behind.

It is still early in the season, Hakoda, she remembered her mother's voice laughingly taking her side, one failed hunt will not cause issue. She still remembered the shock on everyone’s faces when her father had thrown the spear in the pristine blanket of snow Katara had indicated and dug out a skewered white rabbit-fox. She remembered being so proud of those mitten’s her father had made for her.

Arnook’s seething voice interrupted her thoughts. “We do not allow our women to go out on hunts,” he told the boy in controlled derision. “Their presence disrupts the prey and makes it harder on the men. Their place is in the home.”

Katara fought a sneer. Her tongue clenched between her teeth as several of the earth nobility nod in agreement to the Water Chief's words. It was something she never understood, this faulty reasoning that denied half a people based on perceived inability. In the South every person had a duty to provide for the tribe in whatever capacity they could. Katara’s own mother’s aim with a spear second to none and before the snows closed in she would go on the last few hunts. Yes it was dangerous but it was no more dangerous then when her father went out. It was how the tribe survived.

The Kazen boy’s eyes rolled over her wishfully once more before he turned back to the other’s conversation, leaving Katara ignored in the room full of people.

After dinner the guests once more mingled with one another.

There was no hiding the main point of all the pomp and circumstance was to see that the Heir to the Fire Nation got a wife. Noble families from all over the world had gathered with the goal of marrying their eligible daughters into the best position imaginable. And while every girl and her family wanted a crown, anyone who had clung to power through the century long war would not let themselves be blinded to the fact that there were twenty other families vying for it as well. So while all the candidates simpered and flirted with the Crown Prince, their parents were cultivating second or even third avenues into high enough noble houses to cut the sting of not nabbing the golden goose.

Chief Arnook was playing the game one step further. Actively seeking a Fire Noble to give Katara too but, as it was not for something as noble as marriage, he did not have to cast his net on only eligible sons.

“She is rather eztotic.” The eyes that raked over Katara were predatory.

The current head of the Kaminari House was here with his wife and four children. Katara had seen them in passing on several occasions as the they had arrived even earlier then she and her people had. The eldest daughter Lady Sai, who was maybe a year older than Katara, was the clan’s candidate. A quiet, reserved beauty that sadly trailed Lady Choe’s and her entourage. He had also brought two other daughters, the youngest being fifteen, both a bit more outgoing then Sai, in hopes of tempting the prince.

The man’s son and heir had also joined the family in the capital. He had the same look in his eye as his father as he and several other young lords prowled the palace.

“She,” Katara growled cooly, feeling her blood boil, “has a name.”

Arnook grabbed her arm, bearing down with considerable pressure. A warning. “My apologies for her behavior,” he smiled conspiratorially with the other man. “She is spirited.”

“Spirited can be fun,” the man raised his cup to his lips, “if it is controlled correctly.”

Fear burned through Katara’s righteous anger. She could feel the liquor in his cup, feel as he swallowed and it rushed down into his stomach. Asking her, begging her, to shape it to her will. To use it in anyway she saw fit.

Nauseous, she tore herself from Arnook’s hold. Uncaring of the eyes that were on her or the people she ran into, she shoved her way though the crowd. Her breath clawing its way out of her throat in ragged pants, vision cutting in and out. Once second all she saw was the the bright, elegant, fire nation party where people looked at her and thought ‘barbarian’. The next was the cold, dark stretch of ice where she proved she was one.

She had no idea were she was going knowing only that she need to put as much distance between herself and the insidious temptation that rolled through her body.

Outside, the little voice inside her head urged on a calming whisper . The rightness of the idea had her stumbling through an exit.

The soft wind brought with it the tang of salt that centered her firmly in the present. The moon hung big and ripe against the black velvet sky and she was thankful she did not have to spend another one of Tui’s nights on the ocean. Katara could still hear the party going on inside but it was so much easier to ignore, the noise further tempered as she stepped off the wooden porch into the tranquility of the flower garden. Closing her eyes Katara tilted her face up relishing in the stillness after so much sensory input.

The blending of past and present sensations, the coolness of the air and the smell of sea in the dark, helped Katara get the best of her anxiety. Allowed her grab hold of the memories and push them down where they were back out of sight. Where she did not have to remember the monster she had let herself become. Was still tempted to become.

“I thought it was only water-benders that felt the moon’s call,” Katara looked up to see Lady Chou sashaying down the stairs into her sanctuary, “but it seems all you people have ties to it. How primitive.”

She was in an elegant amber dress embroidered with hundreds of blood-red roses that accented the curve of her body and matched the color of the tint on her lips. It was a more modern dress, sleeveless with a delicate scooped neckline that showed her arms and collar bone to advantage. Katara had overheard more than one woman growl over its beauty.

“I’m here to offer you some friendly advice.” Her smile was fake, the fury in her eyes was not, as she came to a stop infront of Katara. “You will never marry Prince Zuko. He will marry a Fire Nation woman. You, and all the other women, are here only as a show of good faith. So do not press your luck.”

Katara was rather surprised that the Hotaru candidate was insecure enough to be issuing threats so early in the game.

The Hotarus were a powerful family well known for their firebending. Lady Chou was not recorded as having the power of her ancestors but she was comfortably in the seventh percentile of bending ranks; strong enough to produce small controlled bursts of flames but tired too easily to put forth the energy required for stronger forms. Not that it detracted from her overall score in the marriage mart. With the ties to her house and potential power pass on to future conquerors she was still a decent enough choice for the Crown Prince.

Katara frowned. Why would this woman risk showing her weakness when-- then it hit her, “you do not believe the prince will choose you either, do you?”

It was hard to tell if the lady paled in the faint light but she did lose some of her loveliness as her face contorted in a sneer. “How dare you speak to me like that, you dirty little water peasant.”

Katara sighed. She hoped for his own sake that the Fire Prince chose a mate with more control. Shaking her head she turned away. “Go away, little firefly, I do not have the stomach to be the balm for your ego.”

“You dare to turn your back to me!” There was a hiss and the orange glow of fire cast the the bushes of periwinkle flowers in sharp relief.

Katara spun, sinking into a defensive crouch keeping her eyes on her opponent. Reflexively her hands went to her waist but the waterskin she carried for half her life was gone. That brief fumble kept her from destroying all the Water Tribe’s carefully laid plans as a figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Lady Chou!”

“Prince Zuko,” she gasped, quickly dropping her fist and extinguishing the flames as she slapped her gilded mask back into place.

The prince stepped between the two women, his back mostly to Katara as he glared at his countrywoman. “You know bending is not to be use as a weapon on palace grounds unless you are in an Agni Kai. You also know, as Lady Katara is not a bender, she can not be challenged. What do you have to say for yourself for threatening one of my guests?”

The woman’s mouth gaped like a fish, eyes flickering between Katara and the prince. Any thing she could have said would have only landed her in even hotter waters and she new it.

Katara only wanted this over and done with. Stepping from around his back, she bowed her head to the prince, bringing up her clasped hands inside her trailing silk sleeves. “It was my fault, Fire Prince, I spoke out of turn. Lady Chou was merely defending her honor.”

She turn to the Fire Lily and bowed again. “Lady Chou, I meant no offence with my careless words. I humbly beg your forgiveness.” Katara straightened, a thread of iron lining her voice in a way only another woman would hear. “However if you find the slight too great for forgiveness I would accept your challenge of an Agni Kai. Though I am not a firebender I am skilled in combat. I would bring no shame to either of our names in such a fight.”

As a threat it was well done. Katara was not backing down but giving her opponent the chance to look merciful, while also threatening her with a loss of victory if it came down to it. It could only benefit the both of them if Lady Chou chose to take the white flag and she knew it too.

“No, Lady Katara, the fault is mine.” Though she did not like it, the fire lady accepted the peace flag, her words and smile sickly sweet. “You are ignorant of our culture and I was too quick to anger over an unknown slight. An aspect not fitting to my position as Daughter to the Horatu to a foreign dignitary. Please forgive me.” The fire nation girl bowed, keeping her head a half inch higher than Katara’s, granting herself a higher social rank.

“Without hesitation, Lady Chou.” With a biting smile Katara bowed the exact same height she had done before, showing the girl she saw the shallow bow as the slight it was ment and simply did not care.

“Lady Chou, I’m sure your father is looking for you.” The prince’s voice was coldly proper as he issued the thinly veiled dismissal.

Fire flared in Lady Chou’s eyes. This little bout showed that she was quick to anger and retaliate, a facet not good in a post-war Fire Lady, and her look said she blamed Katara for bring it out in her. She would need to do a lot of back pedaling to recover the ground she had lost this night with the prince. With a properly executed curtsy the Horatu’s bridal candidate left without another word.

Once the other woman had disappeared back into the palace the Fire Prince turned to Katara and bowed, head lower than even her’s had been to Lady Chou.

“I am sorry one of mine thought to bring you harm.” Katara looked over him with cool eyes, hoping to hid her discomfort at having anyone bow to her like that. She watched him swallow and realised he was nervous though his voice did not betray him. “If your people would give me the chance to see that this will not happen again, I would consider it a great honor.”

Oh. He was not bowing as a show of respect, he worried about a retaliation from her people. For some reason it was easier to accept that he was trying to placate her, made the guilty feeling in her chest fade.

“Do as you will, the others will hear nothing from me.” She turned her from him facing once more the ethereally painted gardens. “I am sure your guests are missing you.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him stiffen.

“I am sure you are right.” There was a bite in his voice when he bowed to her again, shallower this time; a prince to a commoner. “I bid you good evening, Lady Kaszka, I mean, Lady Katara .”

She listened to his heavy tread up the wooden steps as he marched his way back to the party. Yes, he was well and truly riled. A joyless smile curled her lips with only the moon there to witness it.

The next day signified the start of the pattern that would become the bridal candidate’s lives.

Morning and evening meals were to be given over to the Crown Prince, a way to get to know the women on an individual basis. Dinners were the more coveted option as they were the longer, typically more formal, meal. The line up was almost solidly saved for the Fire Lilies a few well connected Earth Kingdom women thrown in for appearances sake. Breakfasts were relegated to everyone else, including Katara who was schedule for two and a half weeks away. The morning meal had the tendencies of being rushed as the bridal candidates were set to meet for as a group activity at nine the morning.

Katara was not keen on it, seeing it nothing more than a waste of everyone’s time, though it would keep Arnook’s showings of her relegated to the not already scheduled times. Either the mid-afternoons, the hottest part of the day when few people wanted to be out, or to the early evenings, when everybody who was anyone already had other engagements. She was hopeful the new time constraints would keep that ship in the bay for a while longer. Though she knew that sooner rather then later it would put into dock and she would need to deal with it.

The Candidates first activity as a group had been a walk through the gardens, for which the palace had a plethora. As the walked through the flowers, the women played one upman games between themselves to keep the prince’s attention, flirting shamelessly when they had it.

Katara had distanced herself from that, more fascinated by the plants. There was a forest deep in the High North but, just like the spirit oasis, it was a sacred place not meant for humans. Here the sheer variety of flowers and of food producing plants was mind boggling.

Nivedita, the serving woman that had first made Katara feel welcome in the palace, was one of the dozen attendants there to fetch drinks and hold umbrellas for the nobility. She was kind enough to trail after answering all of the questions the young water tribe girl had that she could. When one of the other Ladys called her off to run an errand she left her in the capable hands of her cousin, Shanna, who was far more knowledgeable on the carefully tended plots of kitchen vegetables and rows of fruit trees.

The next day was a quick guided tour through the palace led by the the prince himself. And by quick, Katara was sure there were some points where his rapid pace had forced a few of the Lilies into a jog to keep up. He pointed out the sights, spewing historically significant trivia as fast as he could mouth the words. Not that he gave the other candidates time to actually look at the pieces with the pace he set. The few questions some of the more courageous women ventured to ask were curtly answered as he marched them past.

The pieces he brought to notice were all ones Katara had seen before. Tapestries, vases, and few ornate ceremonial pieces of armor and weaponry that were in the main clutch of the very public Entrance Hall. She knew there were more interesting items deeper in the palace, protected more by their obscure locations then any security measure. Like the Dragon Fang blade that held a place of honor in the library. The tapestry that hung above the War Room, hundreds of years old but still so vibrant in color, that told the story of a fallen star that created the Fire Islands and the First People. (The Water Tribe had a similar story passed down in the oral tradition. Though in theirs it was a piece of the moon that fell and gave the great orca’s, animals touched by Tui and La, the ability to transform themselves to live on shore.) Or the jade teapot that was painstakingly carved with the visage of a coiling dragon, the marker claiming it predated the first Fire Lord, that sat in a sheltered alcove in the west wing.

Instead of even hinting at any of these, the prince made a tight circle going only a hallway deeper than the foyer before depositing them in the same place. The women were shocked when after the fifteen minute sprint he bowed himself out claiming urgent business.

Katara was happy with the extra few hours this early breakup gave her before Arnook began to wonder where she was.

Breakfast on the third day came with a note.

#bride from the water tribe #bride of the water tribe #fanfic #my fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #zutara #mine #part 5

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