The keys clattered to the floor. “Oh Spirits,” the guard muttered, picking them up. Aang ground his teeth. He smashed the little bits of air together under the keys once again hanging from guard’s belt and held them. His wrist bent against the shackles, and the cushion of air holding the keys moved with the guard all the way to him. He relaxed.
When he had eaten and drunk, and they had swiped away the dribbles, he flexed his fingers and carried the keys just barely higher than their hook on the belt all the way out of the room.
~*~
He practiced. Every day he practiced, every day and every evening, until he could do it every time. And then he waited. And smiled.
~*~
He held the keys, and as the guards rounded the corner out of the room, Aang eased them up with one hand, the other pushing a whisp of air down on the hook, lifting it oh so slowly so the guard wouldn’t notice they were gone. The keys shot to him.
He lowered them to the ground, panting and closed his eyes until he couldn’t wait anymore. His arm twisted in the shackle, and the keys jumped up. Fingers twitching, he pulled up key after key until one fit in the lock. His arm slumped to his side. Sweat coated his forehead. He found the next key and freed his first leg, and then the other, before, at last, his other arm.
And he fell to the floor.
His legs shook. His arms shook. Slowly, laboriously, he pushed himself to his knees and crawled.
The floor inched past. He counted the planks of wood and breathed, letting the blood flow. It felt like hours until he rounded the doorway, but it probably wasn’t. He... hoped it wasn’t.
The hallway wasn’t empty.
The realization hit him like a punch to the kidneys. He sank into the shadows and tried to breathe. The guards passed by and didn’t notice. They weren’t really looking.
He crawled further. Time seemed to stop for him.
“Hey!-” Aang ripped the air out of his lungs.
Everything sped back up. If he could crawl and run at the same time, that’s what he’d be doing. He didn’t know what to call it. “Please don’t be dead,” he begged. As soon as he was out of sight, he rammed air into the guard’s lungs and lifted himself into the air. And stumbled. And lifted himself into the air. And stumbled. And lifted himself into the air.
There were a cluster of war balloons and airships. Aang’s hands were week on the basket, but the knots came undone with a flick of his fingers.
~*~
The stone was good, black volcanic glass. A few sharp knocks against the beach rock gave him a razor sharp edge, and that was what he needed. The hair caught and clung to the stone, but he sliced, and sliced, until it all fell away.
There were lines of blood on his scalp from the uneven blade. He stayed on the beach until they healed and he could walk, and then until he could run.
~*~
He brought the air together and forced it high into the balloon and let the winds carry him north to the pole. The wall shimmered in the moonlight, blue and impenetrable and frightening. But behind the wall...
“Aang!”
“Katara! Sokka!”
~*~
In the tiny, insignificant province of Gaoling, the governor had a native born second. The Bei Fongs prospered no matter what. As his daughter grew older, lost in a subordinated country in which she couldn’t be hidden away, she stomped her way through high society. Only her scarred, waspish secretary who ducked his head as Fire Nation citizens passed, could hold her back for a while. He was a blessing to the family.
He was standing behind her the day the messenger dashed in to tell the governor the news of the Avatar’s escape. She could feel his heart beat faster. She could feel him smiling.
Aang isn’t rescued by the Blue Spirit and is inprisoned for a long time. 2/2
The keys clattered to the floor. “Oh Spirits,” the guard muttered, picking them up. Aang ground his teeth. He smashed the little bits of air together under the keys once again hanging from guard’s belt and held them. His wrist bent against the shackles, and the cushion of air holding the keys moved with the guard all the way to him. He relaxed.
When he had eaten and drunk, and they had swiped away the dribbles, he flexed his fingers and carried the keys just barely higher than their hook on the belt all the way out of the room.
~*~
He practiced. Every day he practiced, every day and every evening, until he could do it every time. And then he waited. And smiled.
~*~
He held the keys, and as the guards rounded the corner out of the room, Aang eased them up with one hand, the other pushing a whisp of air down on the hook, lifting it oh so slowly so the guard wouldn’t notice they were gone. The keys shot to him.
He lowered them to the ground, panting and closed his eyes until he couldn’t wait anymore. His arm twisted in the shackle, and the keys jumped up. Fingers twitching, he pulled up key after key until one fit in the lock. His arm slumped to his side. Sweat coated his forehead. He found the next key and freed his first leg, and then the other, before, at last, his other arm.
And he fell to the floor.
His legs shook. His arms shook. Slowly, laboriously, he pushed himself to his knees and crawled.
The floor inched past. He counted the planks of wood and breathed, letting the blood flow. It felt like hours until he rounded the doorway, but it probably wasn’t. He... hoped it wasn’t.
The hallway wasn’t empty.
The realization hit him like a punch to the kidneys. He sank into the shadows and tried to breathe. The guards passed by and didn’t notice. They weren’t really looking.
He crawled further. Time seemed to stop for him.
“Hey!-” Aang ripped the air out of his lungs.
Everything sped back up. If he could crawl and run at the same time, that’s what he’d be doing. He didn’t know what to call it. “Please don’t be dead,” he begged. As soon as he was out of sight, he rammed air into the guard’s lungs and lifted himself into the air. And stumbled. And lifted himself into the air. And stumbled. And lifted himself into the air.
There were a cluster of war balloons and airships. Aang’s hands were week on the basket, but the knots came undone with a flick of his fingers.
~*~
The stone was good, black volcanic glass. A few sharp knocks against the beach rock gave him a razor sharp edge, and that was what he needed. The hair caught and clung to the stone, but he sliced, and sliced, until it all fell away.
There were lines of blood on his scalp from the uneven blade. He stayed on the beach until they healed and he could walk, and then until he could run.
~*~
He brought the air together and forced it high into the balloon and let the winds carry him north to the pole. The wall shimmered in the moonlight, blue and impenetrable and frightening. But behind the wall...
“Aang!”
“Katara! Sokka!”
~*~
In the tiny, insignificant province of Gaoling, the governor had a native born second. The Bei Fongs prospered no matter what. As his daughter grew older, lost in a subordinated country in which she couldn’t be hidden away, she stomped her way through high society. Only her scarred, waspish secretary who ducked his head as Fire Nation citizens passed, could hold her back for a while. He was a blessing to the family.
He was standing behind her the day the messenger dashed in to tell the governor the news of the Avatar’s escape. She could feel his heart beat faster. She could feel him smiling.
The hunt was on again.