#gdi Hakoda what were you thinking

[setaripendragon]

ATLA Soulmates AU - Ursa/Hakoda

I know it’s been ages since I last posted anything from this little collection, but inspiration struck, and I’ve been wanting to write something for these two for ages, so I pounced on the idea. I’ve actually got ideas for a couple more of my weirder ATLA ships, but... idk if I’ll write them. (You can find all the other ATLA Soulmates stories under my Avatar The Last Airbender tag, along with a few other things ^^”)

One of the small benefits to fighting the Fire Nation, Hakoda’s found, is that the Earth Kingdom is generally very grateful to the Tribe for driving the Fire Nation off. Sometimes they’re given supplies, sometimes they get free drinks at the local inn, and sometimes they get whole parties thrown in their honour. Hakoda is honestly glad for those instances, because it’s hard enough keeping morale up when they’ve been away from home coming up on two years now, with no end to the war in sight. Celebrations of their valour keep the men from despair, and remind them that they are making a difference.

This time, they’re on some sort of village square, a patch of soft grass and small fruit-bearing trees at the heart of the village, and there have been lanterns hung on every branch, and strings of paper flowers and – curiously – fish stretching overhead. Someone has set up a communal cook-fire, someone else is going around pouring sake freely, more than a few of the Tribe are off dancing with the locals, and the kids are rushing about underfoot, re-enacting the fight.

Hakoda lets himself get drawn in, and refuses to dwell on the people he wishes were there. Instead, he lets Tarkik shove a cup of sake into his hand, and heckles some of his more reticent men into joining the dancers, and listens with great amusement to Aguta’s – much exaggerated – retelling of the battle for a few wide-eyed toddlers. Then he decides that he really ought to get some food to go with all the sake that’s being pushed on him, and heads over to where the fire is set up.

An elderly couple appear to be responsible for making the food, while a woman Hakoda assumes is their daughter distributes it to the fluctuating crowd around them. Hakoda is still on the fringes of said crowd – although already they’re eagerly making way for him – when it happens.

A couple of children run by, brandishing sticks like swords, and they pelt past the young woman while she’s trying to hand out a bowl of stew. One of them bumps her, and she drops the bowl, spilling steaming hot stew over her arms and the hem of her dress.

And Hakoda feels it burning all down the inside of his own wrist, with sharp speckles of heat further up towards his elbow. He stops dead in his tracks, hardly daring to breathe, because that- that can only mean one thing. He stares, dumbfounded, as the woman hisses in pain, then grits her teeth against it and stoops to pick up the bowl.

She’s beautiful, is his first, stupid thought. Pale skin like he’d never seen before he left the South Pole, and dark hair done up in a simple bun, wearing a now slightly stained dark green dress. She’s beautiful, and she shouldn’t be here. Because Hakoda remembers the numerous burns he felt as a child, never enough to count as an attack, always small, always on hands and arms, elbows maybe, little glancing bursts of heat along-side the aches of over-worked muscles and the bumps and bruises of falls.

He’s known all his life that his soulmate was a fire-bender. It was why he’d resigned himself to never meeting them, and settled down with Kya. And he’d been half convinced, after Kya’s death drove him to convince the Tribes to join the war, that he would meet his soulmate on the battle field, and only know them for what they were when he felt his own sword biting deep.

Instead, it’s like a moment out of the old tales, only with grass instead of ice and flowers instead of snow. The fire-bender straightens, bowl in hand, and finally notices him, standing there and gaping like an idiot. Her gaze catches on his, and her eyebrows fly up at whatever she sees on his face, a touch of wariness bleeding into her eyes where there wasn’t any before. Her golden eyes. Spirits, Hakoda hasn’t seen a gold that pure on any Fire Nation soldier yet. How hasn’t everyone realised what she is?

But they haven’t. The old couple Hakoda had mistakenly taken to be her parents begin fussing over her, the woman dabbing at her sleeves with a wet cloth, and the man asking her if she’d like to run home and change. She shakes her head, dismissing the idea, and then finally turns away from Hakoda when the child that knocked her calls an apology.

“It’s alright.” She tells him kindly. “Just be a little more careful from now on, okay?”

“Okay!” The child agrees, and then pelts off to rejoin the others.

It reminds Hakoda that, of course, she has children of her own. Two of them, unless something happened to one or both of them. He wonders who their father is, whether she’s married or not, and on recognising why he cares, resigns himself to finding out, because he obviously can’t just walk away from her without at least trying to figure out why the spirits decided that a fire-bender of all people was the right person for him.

He finally manages to make his feet move, to carry him over to where she’s standing, back by the cook-fire and ladling out a new bowl of stew. She looks up when he gets near, pulling up a smile that looks just a little bit false to him, a little bit strained. He suddenly wants to make her laugh, for real, and he knows Bato would hit him for what he’s planning if he were here, but…

“Are you Fire Nation?” He asks. She nearly drops the second bowl of stew, would have, if Hakoda hadn’t been prepared, and reached out to catch it. Their fingers tangle around the sides of the bowl, and her eyes jump up to his, wide with alarm. Hakoda offers her an easy grin. “Only, you’re so hot you could hardly be from anywhere else.”

There’s a long silence. Longer than Hakoda is used to getting for his terrible sense of humour, and he’s just starting to worry that he miscalculated, when she laughs. It’s edged with a hysterical note of relief, but Hakoda doesn’t care, just grins in the face of her incredulous mirth, proud of himself, no matter how many judging stares he’s getting from… just about everyone close enough to have heard him.

“Does that line ever work for you?” His soulmate wants to know, and she’s trying to sound unimpressed, but it doesn’t really work through the smile she can’t suppress.

Hakoda shrugs. “It made you laugh, so you tell me.” He points out cheerfully, taking the bowl from her hands and setting it aside without taking his eyes off her. She opens her mouth to reply, even as her eyes drop down briefly to follow his movement, and then she freezes, eyes going wide all over again. Warily, Hakoda looks down as well, and sees… Gold. Smears of gold like paint on the sides of his fingers, half covering his nail there, nearly touching his knuckle there.

“Oh.” His soulmate says, very quietly.

Hakoda very carefully curls his fingers into loose fists so that no one else will see. He doesn’t know if anyone in this little Earth Kingdom town would even know what Fire Nation soulmarks look like, but if he can figure out that’s what they are, so could anyone else, and he doesn’t want to expose her. Not yet. He might, if he finds out she’s here as a spy of some sort, but… He doubts it. He wants to doubt it, because she’s his soulmate, and surely – surely – his soulmate wouldn’t be the sort of person who would spy for the Fire Nation.

“Yeah.” He agrees wryly. His soulmate’s breath catches audibly, and before he can drop his hands back to his sides as inconspicuously as possible, she reaches out and catches hold of them in her own. Her touch is light at first, tentative, but tightens into a squeeze after only a moment. Her eyes find his again, and she looks… not quite scared, but vulnerable, uncertain, and painfully hopeful. “I’m Hakoda.” He introduces himself, voice soft.

His soulmate swallows. “Ursa.” She whispers in response, so quietly that Hakoda can barely hear her, never mind anyone else. “My name… is Ursa.”