The Code

Exhaustion

Korra's fever did not break for two full days. Amon kept her near the fire, with the folds of his outer robes bunched beneath her head to cushion it from the hard ground. Once or twice, he risked leaving her to catch some game to roast over the fire. Korra remained motionless beside the flames, occasionally tossing and turning, moaning in her fitful sleep. Sweat glistened on her brow and across her upper lip. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. Occasionally Amon caught the whispered name of "Tenzin" or "Mako". Her airbending teacher and that young firebender she played with in the pro-bending arena.

The problem was, in her weakened and near-comatose state, the Avatar wouldn't accept any food. He'd considered force-feeding her, but he figured she might choke herself to death before she got any nutrients. He'd have to wait until she recovered. He hoped that would be soon; he didn't want her wasting away in this pathetic state before their ultimate face-off. That wouldn't be good for the image of his revolution.

Korra cried out in her sleep again, the cry strangled and panicked. Amon glanced over at her. She'd curled herself into a ball again, and her breath came in straining pants. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

"Mom," she whimpered. "I got—I've got to..."

She trailed off, fisting her hands in the dirt of the cave floor. An agonized, wordless whimper rocked her body.

"I can't," she cried. "He's going—going to take my—bending..."

Amon froze. The girl's whole body was trembling, and teeth were gritted. Her ragged pants filled the cave, filled with a raw terror he'd never seen before. Just a few days before, her fear would have enthralled him. But now, as he came to the realization that he was the center of her nightmares, he couldn't feel anything aside from guilt.

Moving to kneel by her side, and not knowing what else to do, Amon rested the back of his hand against her cheek, hoping that a human touch would calm her. His instinct proved true. Korra took a slow, shuddering breath, and her rigid shoulders relaxed into the ground. Her contorted face became peaceful, and her whimpers died away into exhausted sighs. He gently smoothed his hand across her cheek, momentarily distracted by how soft it was. His fingertips trailed down her neck, across her chin, to the edge of her mouth. A frown formed on his own brow. He'd grasped this very same jaw while threatening her on Avatar Aang Memorial Island. He'd taken her chin in one rough hand and deliberately scared the daylight out of her, then left her abandoned, alone with her fear, on the cold stone floor of the temple. For the second time that day, a twinge of guilt rose in his chest. What kind of monster was he, that would take it upon himself to make this girl's days—and nights—a living hell?

He had to shake himself. He jerked his hand back from her. This was the Avatar, not some ordinary girl. Korra was his greatest enemy, the bane of his existence, the very opposite of everything he stood for. Her greatest power lay in her ability to pervert the elements, to bend nature's forces to her will. Her very existence was an abomination. He couldn't allow himself to think of her as a human being, with feelings. She was a title, not a face. An image, not a warm, very human, girl.

But as he gazed down at her still, helpless form, he could not bring himself to separate the oppressive title from this simple...beautiful...creature. He let his eyes trace her features. The subtle upturn of her nose, the thick dark lashes rimming her eyes. The way her dark locks of hair curled at the ends, framing her face. Her soft, full mouth. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. How many years had she? Eighteen, nineteen? Far too young to shoulder the heavy burden of the spirits. Her arms were dark and toned, strong from years of training. The work of the White Lotus. He remembered what she'd said to him, the night before, about her days with the elite Avatar-training group. She'd only been able to see her sister once in a span of years. How the title of the Avatar had taken over her life. Most young Avatars were chosen at age sixteen, then fitted and readied for their lifetime of training and enhancing their powers. But Amon had heard that Korra had been taken from her home at a far earlier age, before she'd even left the tender years of childhood. Against his will, he felt a soft pang of sympathy for her. He could relate. Yakone had destroyed both he and his brother's childhood, whipping them into shape to be the greatest benders in the world. Amon shook his head, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest.