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fandomweekly2026-01-18 03:12 pm
ladygriddlebone) wrote in fandomweekly2026-01-18 03:12 pm
Entry tags:
[#287] Fanning the Flame (Avatar)
Theme Prompt: #287 - Hot Water
Title: Fanning the Flame
Fandom: Avatar (Cameron movies)
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Varang seeks a sign. Pre-canon.
Varang climbs. Sunlight beats down on her, its heat oppressive and relentless. Here there are no trees to provide shade or shelter. All life was obliterated long before this journey. There is only Varang and a desolate landscape of rocks and ash and heat.
Hunger hollows her belly and thirst has clawed her throat into a ragged wound, but still she climbs. There is no path through the destruction, so she must find her own way past scattered boulders and loose scree and slopes so steep that one misstep could mean death. But Varang does not misstep.
She is here looking for—something.
She is not sure what, only that she will find it here. In this place and at this time.
Varang pauses. There is something unusual here, she is suddenly sure. She scents the air again, and there it is: water.
This place is dead, dry as old bones. But there is water somewhere nearby. She follows the scent, thirst clamoring ever more fiercely in the meat of her body, until she finds the source.
This hot spring is not what she came here seeking… or maybe it is, after all. The heat of it becomes an inexorable draw as soon as she sets eyes on the unlikely pool. It sits caught among a pile of stones, trapped and heated by the same fire that swept down the mountain and destroyed her childhood, her home, and her people. Varang scrambles closer, heedless of the stones that go tumbling down the slope in her wake.
When she reaches the pool, she drops into a low crouch, dips her head low enough to watch the steam waft upward from its source. She tests the water with a curious hand and finds that it is hot enough to scald. But she does not pull her hand away. She sits with the pain. She lets it bring her back to life.
This may not be what she thought she came here for, but there is fire in this water and that intrigues her.
She wants to go in. She wants to dive deep and let the fire-and-water consume her.
It seems hot enough almost to boil her alive. Again she has the impression of a predator lying in wait—the craggy stones fangs in a gaping maw, the pool the creature’s blazing-hot throat. She slips into the water anyway.
It is water, but it is all heat, suffocating heat. Varang holds her breath and hangs in the wet, the heat, the moment that seems to last forever, until the crushing need for air blacks out her vision and forces her to the surface.
She gasps for air and inhales steam and water as much as air. It is too hot. She is overheated. She feels like she is drowning. She should get out, should get away. But though she kicks her way back to the edge and leans upon sun-baked rocks that now feel wonderfully cool beneath her folded arms, she lingers in the water.
Time slips past in fits and starts. What is real fades in and out, interspersed with what must certainly be only hallucinations. Soon Varang is only vaguely aware of how long she has been here, how long she has given herself up to fire in water.
In one lucid moment the rising steam makes the sky seem to shimmer, almost sparkle, as stars begin to pierce the fading daylight.
Awareness returns. She realizes the heat has made her delirious. It is increasingly obvious that this place is dangerous. Remaining here is a risk.
But she must stay.
She is certain of it. She has been right about everything that has led her to this place, and she intends to keep on being right. So she stays, and she waits for a sign.
And it isn’t long before she hears the distinctive cry in the deepening dusk: nightwraith.
She sees it only as a dark shape far, far above, blacking out the stars as it crosses between her and them. But she knows this is what she came here for.
The others of her clan still huddle in their wretched, ruined village far away down the mountain. They have been clinging to life there ever since the fire came down to destroy them, but their existence is a pathetic one. There is little water and almost no food; starvation is a fact of life. Their olo’eyktan ails, his life steadily fading. Soon he will die, as so many others have died since the disaster. It is an open secret that his ailment is due to Varang’s tender care.
If the clan’s decline is allowed to continue, it will not be long before they are reduced to nothing but bones and ash. But they can still be saved. They can still learn the true path to survival, even glory.
All that is needed is something to fan the flames until the embers become a roaring blaze.
And Varang means for that something to be her.
She slips dripping out of the water as the nightwraith passes from view, and begins a careful creep up the mountain to the place where she knows she will find its roost. It must be going to hunt. And when it returns…
She realizes she is grinning. It is wide and wild, so intense it hurts her face. A giddy excitement courses through her, like she feels when she thrusts her hand through an open flame. When it returns, she will make this nightwraith hers.
Already she can imagine the reaction when she arrives at the village astride ska’avum. The others have doubted her all this time even as fire and ash revealed deep truths to her. They have let despair sink its teeth into them, making them weak and useless where once they were powerful and strong.
But after this, they will not doubt.
After this, they will know.
And under Varang’s leadership, purified by flame, they will be powerful and strong again.
Title: Fanning the Flame
Fandom: Avatar (Cameron movies)
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Varang seeks a sign. Pre-canon.
Varang climbs. Sunlight beats down on her, its heat oppressive and relentless. Here there are no trees to provide shade or shelter. All life was obliterated long before this journey. There is only Varang and a desolate landscape of rocks and ash and heat.
Hunger hollows her belly and thirst has clawed her throat into a ragged wound, but still she climbs. There is no path through the destruction, so she must find her own way past scattered boulders and loose scree and slopes so steep that one misstep could mean death. But Varang does not misstep.
She is here looking for—something.
She is not sure what, only that she will find it here. In this place and at this time.
Varang pauses. There is something unusual here, she is suddenly sure. She scents the air again, and there it is: water.
This place is dead, dry as old bones. But there is water somewhere nearby. She follows the scent, thirst clamoring ever more fiercely in the meat of her body, until she finds the source.
This hot spring is not what she came here seeking… or maybe it is, after all. The heat of it becomes an inexorable draw as soon as she sets eyes on the unlikely pool. It sits caught among a pile of stones, trapped and heated by the same fire that swept down the mountain and destroyed her childhood, her home, and her people. Varang scrambles closer, heedless of the stones that go tumbling down the slope in her wake.
When she reaches the pool, she drops into a low crouch, dips her head low enough to watch the steam waft upward from its source. She tests the water with a curious hand and finds that it is hot enough to scald. But she does not pull her hand away. She sits with the pain. She lets it bring her back to life.
This may not be what she thought she came here for, but there is fire in this water and that intrigues her.
She wants to go in. She wants to dive deep and let the fire-and-water consume her.
It seems hot enough almost to boil her alive. Again she has the impression of a predator lying in wait—the craggy stones fangs in a gaping maw, the pool the creature’s blazing-hot throat. She slips into the water anyway.
It is water, but it is all heat, suffocating heat. Varang holds her breath and hangs in the wet, the heat, the moment that seems to last forever, until the crushing need for air blacks out her vision and forces her to the surface.
She gasps for air and inhales steam and water as much as air. It is too hot. She is overheated. She feels like she is drowning. She should get out, should get away. But though she kicks her way back to the edge and leans upon sun-baked rocks that now feel wonderfully cool beneath her folded arms, she lingers in the water.
Time slips past in fits and starts. What is real fades in and out, interspersed with what must certainly be only hallucinations. Soon Varang is only vaguely aware of how long she has been here, how long she has given herself up to fire in water.
In one lucid moment the rising steam makes the sky seem to shimmer, almost sparkle, as stars begin to pierce the fading daylight.
Awareness returns. She realizes the heat has made her delirious. It is increasingly obvious that this place is dangerous. Remaining here is a risk.
But she must stay.
She is certain of it. She has been right about everything that has led her to this place, and she intends to keep on being right. So she stays, and she waits for a sign.
And it isn’t long before she hears the distinctive cry in the deepening dusk: nightwraith.
She sees it only as a dark shape far, far above, blacking out the stars as it crosses between her and them. But she knows this is what she came here for.
The others of her clan still huddle in their wretched, ruined village far away down the mountain. They have been clinging to life there ever since the fire came down to destroy them, but their existence is a pathetic one. There is little water and almost no food; starvation is a fact of life. Their olo’eyktan ails, his life steadily fading. Soon he will die, as so many others have died since the disaster. It is an open secret that his ailment is due to Varang’s tender care.
If the clan’s decline is allowed to continue, it will not be long before they are reduced to nothing but bones and ash. But they can still be saved. They can still learn the true path to survival, even glory.
All that is needed is something to fan the flames until the embers become a roaring blaze.
And Varang means for that something to be her.
She slips dripping out of the water as the nightwraith passes from view, and begins a careful creep up the mountain to the place where she knows she will find its roost. It must be going to hunt. And when it returns…
She realizes she is grinning. It is wide and wild, so intense it hurts her face. A giddy excitement courses through her, like she feels when she thrusts her hand through an open flame. When it returns, she will make this nightwraith hers.
Already she can imagine the reaction when she arrives at the village astride ska’avum. The others have doubted her all this time even as fire and ash revealed deep truths to her. They have let despair sink its teeth into them, making them weak and useless where once they were powerful and strong.
But after this, they will not doubt.
After this, they will know.
And under Varang’s leadership, purified by flame, they will be powerful and strong again.