Chapter Text
“Estenbaren maino den, taino hesti icelem eten pilem!” [Let me go, you filthy snow-eating peasants!] Zuko bared his teeth up at his captors. He waited for their reactions to the slurs, but none came. The two, blue-clad teenagers eyed each other with uneasy shrugs and blank stares. It was obvious they had no idea what he’d said. They should have been insulted at the very least.
He smirked. But any initial satisfaction he had over his discovery quickly faded as the rough fibers of the rope around his wrists cut into his skin. Rough, sappy bark dug into the back of his neck. The sticky residue seeped onto his clothes, embedding itself deep into the fibers of the material in a way that would take someone weeks to scrub out.
The girl in blue whispered to the boy at her side, “I know you said you were going to knock him out, but I didn’t think you’d hit him hard enough that he couldn’t think straight.” She crossed her arms, dark eyebrows knitting in a huff.
Her companion shrugged, “You said we should catch him. I caught him, didn’t I? If you wanted him to be able to talk to us, you should have been more specific,” The girl shushed him, but the boy carried on, “We don’t have to whisper, Katara. It’s not like he can understand us anyways.”
“Aino compen taino agni. Atno sen het mainor erren taino accen ti owen ficelem fi briem i hetti burren ti len eht commoni langem,” [I understand you perfectly. It’s not my fault you seem to have fish for brains and never bothered to learn the common dialect], Zuko snapped in reply. The dialect that the Water Tribe teenagers were using wasn’t hard to understand. But the syllable shapes would be awkward on his tongue. He had no interest in stumbling his way through insulting them in their own language.
He’d been lucky enough to have Uncle with him every other time they were around. Uncle never had any hesitation about using the Water Tribe dialect. It was a chance to show off the skill. No matter how butchered it sounded.
“What good is capturing him if we can’t even get any information out of him?” She asked.
Zuko rolled his eyes. Common existed for a reason. While he could understand them, he wouldn’t reward their lack of preparation by making things easy for them. He wouldn’t be giving them an invitation to interrogate him either, “Si, wat sen tainor angi plennem newi ehtat taino owen maino, Ficelembriems?” [ So, what is your grand plan now that you have me, Fishbrains?], he taunted.
“Well, he can’t try to capture Aang right now. That’s one good thing.” The boy’s eyes narrowed on Zuko, “Why do I feel like that wasn’t him complimenting us?”
“Probably because we tied him to a tree. Would you be complimenting us if it was you?”
Zuko had to fight to keep his lips from twitching, even a hint of humor could give himself away. He forced himself to focus on the bindings around his wrists. Something soft and oddly thick had been wound between his fingers and layered over his palms. He flexed his knuckles, but the cocoon of material surrounding his hands wouldn’t budge. Fish for brains or not, they’d been clever. To free himself from their bindings and the tree he’d have to cut himself loose. If he tried to bend, the cottony substance would catch alight and burn him before he could free himself.
His eyes scanned the stone ruins where the Avatar and his companions had set up camp. A circle of rocks had been hastily erected just beyond the reach of Zuko’s boots-a makeshift fire circle to keep him from burning down their camp, or at least slow his progress if he decided to bend with his breath or feet. Much further from him, three bedrolls had been haphazardly arranged around a smaller fire circle.
Zuko caught a glint from the corner of his eye. The handles of his swords stuck out from beneath an unused tarp. He could just make out the decorative trim of his mask beside them. They’d taken his things and thrown them in the dirt. Some thanks he’d gotten for risking everything to release the Avatar from the stronghold.
The Avatar himself was fast asleep, snoring just as loudly as the sky bison beside him. Dragging Zuko’s limp frame away from the stronghold had worn him out. He’d barely been awake when Sokka’s boomerang collided with the back of Zuko’s skull and hadn’t roused since. Which was just as well, as far as Zuko was concerned. The Avatar was oddly fluent in the Fire Nation tongue-not just the sorts of words one would learn in a book either. He spoke like he’d learned it by talking with street urchins.
Whether he knew Common or not, once the Avatar woke up, Zuko had a feeling he wouldn’t be left alone. He flexed his fingers again, trying to shake the stuff off his hands. The bindings held firm. No matter how he twisted, he couldn’t break free. All his maneuvering got him was more sap in his hair, and glares from the Water Tribe teenagers.
“Knock it off, Zuko,” the one called Sokka ordered.
Zuko thrashed a few times more, making sure to end the struggle on his own terms rather than the ones set for him in a language that he wasn’t supposed to understand. Better a scraped neck and more sap stains than giving them what they wanted. He spat toward their feet. A foamy glob landed inches from Katara’s left boot.
Both glared, but neither moved any closer, “Ainam steeli expetem fi tainor plennem,” [I’m still waiting for your plan], he said.
“Do you think if we just ignore him that he’ll eventually stop all the yelly, flaily stuff?” Sokka asked.
Katara shrugged, “He has to know that we don’t understand him. Either that hit completely rattled his brain or he’s doing it on purpose.” Her tone got sharper.
Zuko’s eyebrow raised before he could help it. Maybe the girl didn’t have fish for brains. He had to watch himself.