Fic // Moment Always Vanishing
Title: Moment Always Vanishing
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Characters/Pairings: Aang's Parents, Aang.
Rating: PG
Notes: Dumping my headcanon about the Air Nomads all over you. I owe my thanks to meredyd for betaing this for me!
They meet in the thin air above the Southern Air Temple. She circles him on her glider, laughing as she just barely darts out of his bison’s flight path with each pass she makes. Her laugh mingles with the cold breeze. It is carried toward him, light and airy, and he feels it within his own lungs.
Her long dark hair whips around her like a fluttering curtain, and even from a distance he can see her wide silver eyes sparkling in the mid-afternoon light. Her grin is wide as she teases him, egging him on for a race.
He readily complies, and they spend the rest of the afternoon chasing each other through the clouds, the moisture collecting in their hair and clothes, the chill southern winds clinging to them like a tightly wound bandages. Their sky bison circle below them, enjoying the day in midair just as much as their companions. The two of them fly together until the sun has nearly set behind the mountains that surround the temple.
When they finally land in the temple courtyard, he bows to her.
“I’m Anil.” He says, a bit reserved.
She bows in return, a playful grin curves towards one side of her face.
“Nima.” She laughs, and grabs him by the arm, pulling him towards one of the temple's many alcoves. She is bathed in orange. Orange sunset, orange robes.
Anil decides that the rest of the monks can wait.
Nima only sees him when the four temples converge for some common purpose- they seek each other out: laughing, kissing, sometimes doing more. The nuns always taught her to detach herself from worldly desires- and she does. She seeks no commitment from him, only the joy of companionship. He is someone to talk to, someone to fly with. Together they play pranks on the other teenage nomads, their shared humor echoing throughout the halls of the temples.
The Air Nomads value freedom and fun, and with Anil, Nima finds both.
When she is eighteen years of age, Nima discovers that she is pregnant.
The nuns of the Eastern Air Temple tend to her without question. Her mentor, Kamala, is there to support her throughout her trials. She is joined by other expectant mothers in the inner sanctuary of the temple, and she spends her days in peace. The thought of Anil is a mere shadow on the horizon, but as her pregnancy progresses, she finds herself thinking of him more often. Would her child have his dark brown eyes, his easy smile? Of course, she knows she will never truly know her child- he or she will be raised communally, just as she was. Just as Anil was. She suddenly realizes that it is only fair for him to know of the life that he helped bring into the world.
“Sister Kamala, may I have permission to speak with the father of my child?” She asks the old woman after one evening's meditation.
“Of course, my dear.” Kamala embraces her in a tight hug, her face wrinkling into a wide smile. “As always, you are free to come and go as you please. May the wind be strong at your back.”
And so, already six months in and showing, she tells Anil the news on one of the balconies of the snowy Northern Air Temple. At first he is shocked. After all, he had gone half a year without seeing her, and now she unexpectedly returns to him carrying his child? It is hard for him to swallow, but after a few moments, he embraces her, tears tickling the corners of his eyes.
“A child is a great blessing upon the world,” she says, and he can tell she is repeating wisdom from the older nuns.
“And I’ll be there to make sure he gets to our world safely.” He promises into the crook of her neck. The snowy air encircles them, embracing them in a layer of sharp cold, but the warmth of their bodies is such that they do not notice.
Three months later, in the time of autumn when the leaves are in full color, Nima gives birth to a son.
She holds him for an agonizingly short amount of time- it is unwise to let an attachment form, as the elders say. Anil stands nearby, ignored by the older nuns for the most part. They understand that it is sometimes the father’s natural desire to help his partner through the birthing process.
“He has your eyes,” he says in wonder as Nima hands the crying newborn off to the midwives.
“You do get to name him, Nima,” Kamala says gently.
“Aang.” She breathes out. Peaceful soaring.
“And so it shall be. He will be raised in the Southern Temple. Thank you, Nima, for blessing our people with a healthy son.”
She chokes back tears, still exhausted from the hours of labor.
“May the wind be always at his back.”
For their remaining years, their paths collide infrequently. Each goes days, months, years without seeing the other, but it is without despair or complaint. They invariably reunite in the skies, and in each of their brief times together, it is as if they never parted.
Nima and Anil are true nomads- their lives are spent in transit. They own nothing; they claim no land as their own. If either of them were to leave this world, life for the other would continue. The love they share is transient, it shifts and adapts like their own swirling element that surrounds them and holds them aloft.
Occasionally, Nima wonders about her son. She knows very little about him. She knows that he has grey eyes, she knows his name is Aang, and she knows that he is being raised by the monks of the Southern Air Temple.
In her travels, she sometimes meets large groups of young airbenders visiting the other nations with the elder monks as chaperones. It makes her remember her own childhood; when she was not learning from the nuns at the Eastern Air Temple. She traveled the world, learning its ways. As she greets groups of young boys respectfully, she imagines that one amongst them is Aang.
It makes her smile to know that at least her child is living the very childhood that she loved.
In Anil’s thirtieth year, the elder monks announce the identity of the current Avatar. News travels fast among the nomads, and this is a matter of some scandal- this announcement is four years early, only twelve years after the recorded date of Avatar Roku’s death. It is a bad omen, they say, but this does not register within Anil’s thoughts.
Avatar Aang.
He runs into Nima four weeks after he hears the news. They sit together on the saddle of her sky bison. From the look in her eyes, he knows that she is all too aware of the monk’s latest announcement. Her eyebrows are knitted together with apprehension, the wrinkles in her forehead distorting the arrow that is tattooed there.
“Why did they have to tell him so early? Twelve years… twelve years is not enough to take on that kind of responsibility!”
“What is done is done, Nima. It is unwise to dwell on past events.” He takes her hand in his own, rubbing his thumb against the triangle of blue etched beneath her skin. She leans in to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses the nape of her neck, gently.
“Our son is the Avatar, Anil.”
“We have never known him. He is a child of our people.” She sighs deeply, the gust of air fluttering through his robes.
Not a fortnight later, more news travels, this time grave.
The Avatar has disappeared.
In those last months, Anil and Nima watch from their separate corners of the world as innumerable Air Nomads settle within the sanctuary of the temples. The conflict over the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom is growing more and more violent by the day, and the airbenders resolve not to be caught up in it. Until the Avatar returns, the monks say, we must not become entangled in conflict. We must respect all life.
And so, the nomads retreat to the cliffs and spires of their temples. Nima settles in the Eastern, and Anil the Northern. The elders tell them that within this sanctuary, their people will be protected from any type of hostility. Each day, more news of the rising conflict reaches the temples, disrupting the evening meditation.
Storm clouds are gathering.
On the day that her world comes crashing down around her, she thinks of her son.
She wonders if he is safe, if he will survive. Panic clenches her chest as she tries anything, anything to escape the flames beneath the blood red sky. She hears every sound in excruciating detail, the sound of the white hot fire roaring throughout the sanctuary, the sounds of the young girls screaming, of bison roaring in pain and confusion.
She huddles into a corner, tears streaming down her face. How did it come to this?
The last thing she sees is Anil’s smile, but on the face of a younger boy. The flames encase her, and she sees no more.
A hundred years later, the son of Anil and Nima sits on the back of his own bison. A very pretty girl looks at him with curiosity, her long braid whipping in the wind.
“So you never even met your parents?”
“No, I don’t even know what their names were. But it’s okay. I had Gyatso.” He smiles in her direction, but he can tell the idea of growing up without a mother and father bothers her.
“And I’m sure they had each other.” He adds, and her expression lightens by the smallest amount.
The clouds swirl below them, chasing each other around the thin southern sky.
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Characters/Pairings: Aang's Parents, Aang.
Rating: PG
Notes: Dumping my headcanon about the Air Nomads all over you. I owe my thanks to meredyd for betaing this for me!
They meet in the thin air above the Southern Air Temple. She circles him on her glider, laughing as she just barely darts out of his bison’s flight path with each pass she makes. Her laugh mingles with the cold breeze. It is carried toward him, light and airy, and he feels it within his own lungs.
Her long dark hair whips around her like a fluttering curtain, and even from a distance he can see her wide silver eyes sparkling in the mid-afternoon light. Her grin is wide as she teases him, egging him on for a race.
He readily complies, and they spend the rest of the afternoon chasing each other through the clouds, the moisture collecting in their hair and clothes, the chill southern winds clinging to them like a tightly wound bandages. Their sky bison circle below them, enjoying the day in midair just as much as their companions. The two of them fly together until the sun has nearly set behind the mountains that surround the temple.
When they finally land in the temple courtyard, he bows to her.
“I’m Anil.” He says, a bit reserved.
She bows in return, a playful grin curves towards one side of her face.
“Nima.” She laughs, and grabs him by the arm, pulling him towards one of the temple's many alcoves. She is bathed in orange. Orange sunset, orange robes.
Anil decides that the rest of the monks can wait.
Nima only sees him when the four temples converge for some common purpose- they seek each other out: laughing, kissing, sometimes doing more. The nuns always taught her to detach herself from worldly desires- and she does. She seeks no commitment from him, only the joy of companionship. He is someone to talk to, someone to fly with. Together they play pranks on the other teenage nomads, their shared humor echoing throughout the halls of the temples.
The Air Nomads value freedom and fun, and with Anil, Nima finds both.
When she is eighteen years of age, Nima discovers that she is pregnant.
The nuns of the Eastern Air Temple tend to her without question. Her mentor, Kamala, is there to support her throughout her trials. She is joined by other expectant mothers in the inner sanctuary of the temple, and she spends her days in peace. The thought of Anil is a mere shadow on the horizon, but as her pregnancy progresses, she finds herself thinking of him more often. Would her child have his dark brown eyes, his easy smile? Of course, she knows she will never truly know her child- he or she will be raised communally, just as she was. Just as Anil was. She suddenly realizes that it is only fair for him to know of the life that he helped bring into the world.
“Sister Kamala, may I have permission to speak with the father of my child?” She asks the old woman after one evening's meditation.
“Of course, my dear.” Kamala embraces her in a tight hug, her face wrinkling into a wide smile. “As always, you are free to come and go as you please. May the wind be strong at your back.”
And so, already six months in and showing, she tells Anil the news on one of the balconies of the snowy Northern Air Temple. At first he is shocked. After all, he had gone half a year without seeing her, and now she unexpectedly returns to him carrying his child? It is hard for him to swallow, but after a few moments, he embraces her, tears tickling the corners of his eyes.
“A child is a great blessing upon the world,” she says, and he can tell she is repeating wisdom from the older nuns.
“And I’ll be there to make sure he gets to our world safely.” He promises into the crook of her neck. The snowy air encircles them, embracing them in a layer of sharp cold, but the warmth of their bodies is such that they do not notice.
Three months later, in the time of autumn when the leaves are in full color, Nima gives birth to a son.
She holds him for an agonizingly short amount of time- it is unwise to let an attachment form, as the elders say. Anil stands nearby, ignored by the older nuns for the most part. They understand that it is sometimes the father’s natural desire to help his partner through the birthing process.
“He has your eyes,” he says in wonder as Nima hands the crying newborn off to the midwives.
“You do get to name him, Nima,” Kamala says gently.
“Aang.” She breathes out. Peaceful soaring.
“And so it shall be. He will be raised in the Southern Temple. Thank you, Nima, for blessing our people with a healthy son.”
She chokes back tears, still exhausted from the hours of labor.
“May the wind be always at his back.”
For their remaining years, their paths collide infrequently. Each goes days, months, years without seeing the other, but it is without despair or complaint. They invariably reunite in the skies, and in each of their brief times together, it is as if they never parted.
Nima and Anil are true nomads- their lives are spent in transit. They own nothing; they claim no land as their own. If either of them were to leave this world, life for the other would continue. The love they share is transient, it shifts and adapts like their own swirling element that surrounds them and holds them aloft.
Occasionally, Nima wonders about her son. She knows very little about him. She knows that he has grey eyes, she knows his name is Aang, and she knows that he is being raised by the monks of the Southern Air Temple.
In her travels, she sometimes meets large groups of young airbenders visiting the other nations with the elder monks as chaperones. It makes her remember her own childhood; when she was not learning from the nuns at the Eastern Air Temple. She traveled the world, learning its ways. As she greets groups of young boys respectfully, she imagines that one amongst them is Aang.
It makes her smile to know that at least her child is living the very childhood that she loved.
In Anil’s thirtieth year, the elder monks announce the identity of the current Avatar. News travels fast among the nomads, and this is a matter of some scandal- this announcement is four years early, only twelve years after the recorded date of Avatar Roku’s death. It is a bad omen, they say, but this does not register within Anil’s thoughts.
Avatar Aang.
He runs into Nima four weeks after he hears the news. They sit together on the saddle of her sky bison. From the look in her eyes, he knows that she is all too aware of the monk’s latest announcement. Her eyebrows are knitted together with apprehension, the wrinkles in her forehead distorting the arrow that is tattooed there.
“Why did they have to tell him so early? Twelve years… twelve years is not enough to take on that kind of responsibility!”
“What is done is done, Nima. It is unwise to dwell on past events.” He takes her hand in his own, rubbing his thumb against the triangle of blue etched beneath her skin. She leans in to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses the nape of her neck, gently.
“Our son is the Avatar, Anil.”
“We have never known him. He is a child of our people.” She sighs deeply, the gust of air fluttering through his robes.
Not a fortnight later, more news travels, this time grave.
The Avatar has disappeared.
In those last months, Anil and Nima watch from their separate corners of the world as innumerable Air Nomads settle within the sanctuary of the temples. The conflict over the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom is growing more and more violent by the day, and the airbenders resolve not to be caught up in it. Until the Avatar returns, the monks say, we must not become entangled in conflict. We must respect all life.
And so, the nomads retreat to the cliffs and spires of their temples. Nima settles in the Eastern, and Anil the Northern. The elders tell them that within this sanctuary, their people will be protected from any type of hostility. Each day, more news of the rising conflict reaches the temples, disrupting the evening meditation.
Storm clouds are gathering.
On the day that her world comes crashing down around her, she thinks of her son.
She wonders if he is safe, if he will survive. Panic clenches her chest as she tries anything, anything to escape the flames beneath the blood red sky. She hears every sound in excruciating detail, the sound of the white hot fire roaring throughout the sanctuary, the sounds of the young girls screaming, of bison roaring in pain and confusion.
She huddles into a corner, tears streaming down her face. How did it come to this?
The last thing she sees is Anil’s smile, but on the face of a younger boy. The flames encase her, and she sees no more.
A hundred years later, the son of Anil and Nima sits on the back of his own bison. A very pretty girl looks at him with curiosity, her long braid whipping in the wind.
“So you never even met your parents?”
“No, I don’t even know what their names were. But it’s okay. I had Gyatso.” He smiles in her direction, but he can tell the idea of growing up without a mother and father bothers her.
“And I’m sure they had each other.” He adds, and her expression lightens by the smallest amount.
The clouds swirl below them, chasing each other around the thin southern sky.