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Chapter Text

The first time the spirit appears on Hakoda’s boat, they’re doing routine searches of the South’s waters.

Reports of Fire Nation ships patrolling the southern seas have become common, and there have been several instances of raiders settling on lonely Earth Kingdom and Air Nation islands and pilfering the towns. Not that the Fire Lord would ever claim the ships as his own– no, they would always be rebels who pillaged the ship, and the Fire Lord would do nothing to stop any Fire Nation citizen from terrorizing any Earth Kingdom town of their choice.

The South hadn’t been hit yet, of course, but Hakoda had recently adopted an attitude of prudence when it came to the Fire Nation. They’d ended the war on their ‘own’ terms, though most know this meant Iroh usurping the throne from under Ozai and receding all Fire Nation soldiers intercontinentally. It’d been quiet– one day, Fire Nation soldiers patrolled all areas of the Earth, and the next, their camps were deserted and their boats gone from every shore. Iroh had adopted an attitude of omission when it came to admitting they’d seceded, simply stating the Fire Nation was spending time to refocus its needs. One hundred years of conflict was simply ignored by the Fire Nation, and no one knew if it would restart again.

Hakoda had a hard time believing it wouldn’t. The conflict would wage when everyone was least suspecting, and these raids were only the beginning. Even when the war was over, which Hakoda had worked towards for years, he would never rest. Hakoda wouldn’t simply sit by and watch the South get razed to the ground again when the tribes were just regaining their footing. So, he’d taken a boat of willing tribesmen to patrol Southern waters every few weeks to ensure no harm would come from errant raiders, at least until the threat had been limited.

It’d been silence entirely so far– no black smog or black steel ships dipping into the South’s waters, and Hakoda had just begun to admit he’d been too cautious when Bato had stumbled into his cabin, alarmed.

“Chief,” Bato let out, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes glancing towards the door. Bato was naturally a calm person– he didn’t stumble, he didn’t get out of sorts, and always seemed to have a plan of some sort. He was orderly, first and foremost, which reminded Hakoda of his own little plansmaker at home. Sokka, who was still thirteen, and unsure if his father would ever come home for good.

Suffice to say, Bato stumbling over his words and worried was a sight to see.

“Bato,” Hakoda said, standing from his desk cautiously. It was clear there was an issue, and Hakoda was already picturing the steel ship headed towards their homeland. It’d be the only thing to get Bato so out of sorts.

“There’s something– someone above deck,” Bato blurted. Hakoda’s face dropped, and he was quick to dart out of the doorway past Bato.

Hakoda was imagining a sole Fire Nation soldier on deck, and running through why that was so impossible. There couldn’t be an unaccounted someone on deck, mostly because it was not quite possible to get on deck after setting sail, unless they put down their anchor or sent out a buoy. 

Despite the logistics not computing in Hakoda’s head, he trusted Bato enough to rush on deck, where three of his crewmen grouped around the stern, instead of tending to their posts. It was the three people on night duty tonight– the sun had already set long ago, and Hakoda was just about ready for bed. Instead of manning the ship, these crewmen were hovering at the very end of the ship, weary.

“Taqqiq, Panuk, Aput,” Hakoda nodded, addressing each of them respectively.

“Chief,” Taqqiq said, chewing her lip anxiously. “There’s someone… a…,” she hesitated, looking over at Panuk wearily.

“A boy,” Panuk finished, fiddling with his tunic. They were far enough north and far enough into the warm months to forgo a parka, though Panuk still wore wrappings on his arms, like Sokka had taken to recently.

“A boy?” Hakoda asked dubiously, and Bato soon emerged from the doorway behind him.

“If you would’ve listened to me explain,” Bato sighed, coming to stand beside Hakoda, while also effectively blocking his view of the bow.

“A boy is on the ship?” Hakoda asked, trying to see past Bato, and putting a foot forward to examine before Bato caught his arm.

“We’re unsure what it is exactly,” Bato said, stepping before his line of sight again.

“Looks like a boy to me,” Panuk said sarcastically, and Hakoda turned towards him in time to see Taqqiq elbowing him in the gut. Hakoda raised an eyebrow at them both, and Taqqiq was quick to arrange her hands behind her back politely.

“Would someone be clear with what’s happening on my ship?” Hakoda demanded, looking between Bato and the group of three currently looking at him with wide eyes. When Hakoda made eye contact with Aput, they wearily pointed past Bato towards the bowsprit. Hakoda couldn’t see what they were pointing at, with Bato blocking his view of the bow, but Hakoda was quick to take their literal pointer and move past Bato without caution.

Hakoda had to move past the foresail before he saw what the others were talking about. Rather who, because there was very much a boy standing before the bowsprit, looking out on the water.

The first thing Hakoda noticed about him was that he was small. Not that he was Fire Nation, not that he had his hair in a phoenix tail, but that he was too small for the robes he was nearly drowning in. The robes were red, of course, denoting his status as the enemy. But he was small enough that he looked more like a child than any soldier threatening the ship. All he was doing was standing vigil at the very edge of the forecastle, looking out at the water instead of towards the ship at his adversaries.

And there was the matter of how he got onto the ship in the first place. There was no feasible way a boy could manage to get onto their ship, unless he was a stowaway, and they hadn’t touched land anywhere other than the tribe.

Hakoda stopped before stepping onto the forecastle, looking back at his crewmates. Bato had followed him, but stopped a few steps behind him. He was looking at him for direction, and beyond the sails, the others were, too.

What was one to do with a child of the enemy? How had he even gotten here, and why?

Hakoda hesitantly held out a flat hand, a sign for the others to stop and stay where they were while he handled the issue. However he was going to do that. Bato hesitantly nodded, letting Hakoda do as he pleased.

Hakoda turned around towards the boy, taking the few steps up towards the raised forecastle, making extra noise with his footsteps to try to gain the kid's attention. His gaze remained firmly on the ocean waves, which were particularly rough that night. Hakoda gave up any hope of the boy turning towards him of his own volition, so Hakoda quickly crossed the last few feet between them and stood directly beside the boy. He didn’t stand to look at the ocean like the boy was, but he stood firmly looking down at the kid. Only then, when he was in his peripheral vision, did the kid turn and look up at him.

A thick bandage sat wrapped on his left eye, the eye that was turned away from Hakoda. It was jarring and frightening to see on someone so young, such a large bandage covering half the child’s face. He tried to swallow down his unease and approach the situation no differently. This was not an otter penguin with a broken wing, but a Fire Nation child threatening the environment of his ship.

The boy glowed in the moonlight uncannily. There was talk in the poles about how pale Fire Nation people were– they were eerily bright like meteors in the sky, like harbingers of destruction. This was a different type of bright; the boy almost seemed incandescent. His eye was bright despite the night, and his skin was almost glowing.

Hakoda waited for him to speak, but the boy simply looked up at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to speak.

“Excuse me,” Hakoda began politely, because it seemed the boy was passive, if anything. “Can you tell me why you’re on my ship?”

The boy maintained his silence. Hakoda furrowed his brows, his patience wearing a little thin. He stared down into the eye trained on him, and noticed in the dim moonlight that his eyes were golden. It was a rare color, even for the Fire Nation, and one that made his gaze even more haunting.

“Can you tell me who you are? Where you came from?” Hakoda asked, hoping this line of questioning was less futile.

Nothing. The boy stared at him, glanced to the sea wearily, then towards the starboard side of the ship. He pointed out that side of the ship like it helped.

“Why are you here?” Hakoda asked again, his last open-ended question before he gave up entirely. Maybe the kid responded better to yes-or-no questions, considering he didn’t seem very verbal.

The only movement the kid made was reaching his hand to touch at the edge of his bandage. It could be unintentional, a nervous tic, maybe, but with the limited answers Hakoda was getting, it seemed as good a lead as any.

“You’re here because of this?” Hakoda asks, pointing with a hesitant hand at the bandaging. Even though his hand was a foot or two away from the boy’s face and in a non-threatening, loose point, the boy flinched backwards. Hakoda pulled back his hand, an uneasy feeling returning to his stomach.

The boy didn’t answer at first, but after intertwining his hands and chewing at his lips, he shrugged.

Hakoda wasn’t unfamiliar with people going nonverbal– Aput didn’t talk much at all, and Hakoda’s own children have gone on many silence-related streaks, though those were mostly because of frustration or grudges. Katara could stay silent for hours while pouting. Still, he was used to reading people who were talking little-to-none, and that shrug was as much of a yes as he would get.

“Are your parents waiting for you somewhere?” Hakoda asked, accepting that he simply wouldn’t know how this boy managed to appear on his ship. It was an act of Tui and La, for all he cared.

The boy broke eye contact with him at this question, turning away from him. Still, he shook his head quickly, like he was trying to dispel the thought from his head entirely. Before Hakoda could inquire further, the boy did the one thing he expected the least: he spoke.

“I’m cold,” the boy murmured, his eyes flicking towards the ocean, then towards the full moon in the sky.

Hakoda didn’t expect the boy to speak at all. He partially assumed he was entirely mute, and partially assumed that he simply didn’t want to speak to Hakoda. There wasn’t much to say to the simple statement of frigidity– Hakoda didn’t have an extra parka on him, and he was uncertain about inviting him inside.

“Well, I’m Hakoda,” he replied instead, smiling. He was hoping for a laugh, or a small smile, but the boy just looked at him with a plainly confused expression. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his clasped hands were tensing and untensing. Hakoda realized to a foreigner his name must sound strange, and maybe the joke didn’t land as well as he’d hoped.

“My name is Hakoda,” he amended, watching as the confusion melted from the boy’s face. “I’d like to help you get somewhere safe,” Hakoda added, reaching a hand to touch the boy's elbow before aborting the motion entirely. He was still weary. Every tale about vengeful spirits tricking tribesmen with deceptions like the sound of babies crying and wounded animals made Hakoda hesitate. This felt like some type of trick, but every paternal instinct wanted to help this boy without parents waiting for him somewhere.

“I’m cold,” the boy repeated quietly. Maybe this was a part of the trick. Maybe Hakoda gave him a parka and he transformed into the vengeful spirit he was. Maybe he sat him by a lamp, and he took it and burned the wooden ship to the ground. He tried to recall how to ward off bad spirits. Something with a spirit water ritual? Not that he could manage that on his ship.

“Are you a spirit?” Hakoda asked instead, feeling both guilty for dismissing the boy’s needs and also suspicious of said needs in the first place. It was an awful twin-flame feeling to have.

The boy fidgeted with his hands, picking at his robe and touching his bandage. He settled for a moment, silence settling thick between them. Then, the boy shrugged again, but this one was more genuinely uncertain.

“Is that why you’re kind of…” Hakoda paused, looking at the boy for a moment, “...glowing?”

The boy looked up at him, alarmed, before turning around entirely and running off the forecastle and disappearing behind a sail. Hakoda cursed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, hoping that the others were below deck lest they start freaking out. Hakoda followed after the boy like he followed a wounded animal, mentally writing down that the spirit thing was likely a sore subject.

Hakoda walked past the foresail, and there was the kid wedged between the mainsail and the main mast.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Hakoda said gently, hoping to not scare the boy off. He looked over towards Hakoda, his one good eye peeking out from the wood like a snow mole-shrew, looking at Hakoda like he’d insulted his entire family lineage. The others, which Hakoda saw were still gathered on the aft, could certainly hear and see them now. The boy didn’t seem to notice they had company.

“I’m sorry,” Hakoda said, taking another step forward. His single footstep echoed heavily on the wooden floor, and within a glimpse and the next, the boy disappeared in a sheen of meteor-dust.

“I’ve heard of spirits that wander the oceans,” Taqqiq said jovially while shoveling palauga into her mouth. Hakoda only planned to be in the communal areas to eat for a few minutes, but the crew had begun engaging him in conversation the second he entered the room. Today, they had a bounty of food considering the day before was spent fishing, and they’d gotten enough resources from a trade port on the Air Nomad Islands to make palauga. The bread was popular with Taqqiq, and when plates were set down for eating, she was the first to make a dent in it.

“So have I,” Hakoda said, trying not to engage too deeply to spark a whole conversation with his crew. He didn’t particularly want to talk about the spirit boy from last night. There was no denying he was a spirit, considering how he vanished in thin air. Hakoda could only hope he wasn’t a sign of bad luck or a curse put upon their ship.

“Never seen spirits so… humanlike,” Taqqiq continued, looking over at Panuk for solidarity.

“You’re making the chief’s meal spoil, Taqqiq,” Panuk said, instead of helping her out. Two peas in a pod those two were, not that they’d act like it. They shared a bed and clothing, but still pretended that they reviled each other. For Spirits’ sake, they snuck into each other’s igloos like they owned the place, but they still insulted and spurned each other like children.

“The spirit is gone from the ship. I’d like everyone to proceed naturally,” Hakoda sighed, stretching out his bad leg. He’d barely eaten, but was still considering leaving for his office.

“That was the first spirit all of us saw in real life, besides the Selamiut,” Panuk protested, setting aside a salmon bone that remained in his meat.

“The Selamiut were once human, too,” Aguta chimed in from where he stood by a port window. He’d already eaten, and was sipping tea quietly. The Selamiut were some of the only spirits most were able to see in the south, and the Fire Nation denied the credibility of them at all. The Selamiut were people who died tragically and lived on in the sky. In the winter months, you could see their torches light up the sky in color.

“Do you think he’s one of them?” Taqqiq exclaimed, smiling over at Aput, who was the most spiritual of any of them.

“It’d make sense. Maybe he died and is on his journey through the abyss,” Aguta said, shrugging. Hakoda lingered on the word died, and he remembered the huge bandage taking up the boy’s face. Aput furrowed their eyebrows.

“The honor of becoming one of the Selamiut is meant to be reserved to tribesmen,” Aput protested. They rarely spoke, so when they did, their words were treasured and valued. Clearly they didn’t agree much with the idea that the boy was on his journey to the sky. Hakoda wasn’t very spiritual himself– he was weary of some, appreciative of others, but they always seemed like faraway things, things to pray upon to guarantee a good hunt, or to help an animal’s spirit pass on.

The others silenced, clearly ashamed or thinking it over.

“Maybe he deserved the honor, too,” Panuk shrugged, and that was the end of that conversation. Aguta communed with Hakoda on supply runs, Bato stopped by to ask about further navigation with the crewmen, but no one seemed very eager to talk about the spirit-boy anymore.

The second time the spirit appears on Hakoda’s ship is three days after the first. Three days had passed, Hakoda had accepted the boy had moved to the next section of his journey, and the others had stopped talking about it as much. Three days later, and Hakoda was willing to accept he was gone entirely, so of course, the second he accepted this, Bato entered his office again with similar news.

This time, Bato wasn’t frightened at all, and simply said, “the spirit is back,” while lounging on Hakoda’s door frame.

Hakoda sighed, standing from his chair and following Bato to the main deck. This time, it was early evening, with the sun’s presence still in the sky, and the boy was curled with his back against the mainmast, hiding his face in his knees. Immediately, it was clear what he was ‘hiding’ from, because Panuk was ten feet away, observing the boy. Hakoda sighed again, knowing whatever help Panuk thought he was giving was only scaring the spirit further.

“Panuk,” Hakoda called, walking swiftly over to the mainmast.

“Chief,” Panuk said jovially, and far too loud for the boy who cowered further into his knees. Hakoda put his finger to his mouth in a be quiet gesture, and Panuk raised his hands in submission and backed away.

Hakoda approached the boy, crouching to his level. Even on his knees, he towered above the boy a bit, so he sat with his legs crossed in hopes it was less intimidating. What was Hakoda even meant to do with the boy? If he was on his journey to becoming one of the Selamiut, like the others thought, was Hakoda meant to help him? It was an arduous journey, but the boy had already gotten past the Air Nomad Islands, while presumably coming from one of the Fire Nation lands, which was a far enough journey to make.

Hakoda deliberated what to say to help, but long enough had passed that he just needed to say something.

“Hello again,” Hakoda said, wondering why it was his job to help this spirit. Aput was the most spiritual, though they seemed dubious of the boy’s origins, and weren’t likely to talk with him. Even then, Aguta had more decent of spiritual knowledge and belief than Hakoda.

The boy’s eye peeked up from his knees. The large bandage still covered his face, so Hakoda only saw his right eye, which was as golden as the yellow streaks in the Southern Lights.

“It’s nice to see you,” Hakoda smiled, trying to do his best to comfort a stranger’s child. What was he even meant to say? What was his goal here?

His words seemed to work, though, because the rest of the boy’s head came up from his knees, though he was looking at Hakoda like he was deliberating whether he was a danger or not.

“Are you cold?” Hakoda asked, because it was practically the only thing he knew about the boy. The boy furrowed his eyebrows, either in distaste or deep thought, before he nodded slightly.

“Would you like to come inside? It’s warmer in there, and I can get you some proper furs,” Hakoda offered, considering it was best to help spirits when he could. This boy didn’t seem vengeful, and his coldness was something Hakoda could treat. He didn’t exactly know when or if the boy would disappear again, but inviting someone inside was always a good show of hospitality.

This time, instead of nodding, the boy let out a quiet, “okay.” It warmed Hakoda's heart oddly.

“Very well, then,” Hakoda said, wiping his pants with his calloused hands and standing up. He considered offering a hand to help the boy up, but the adverse reactions he'd had to Hakoda being in his personal space, and the fact that he didn't know if spirits could make physical contact with humans at all stopped him. He let the boy get up on his own and led him past errant crew members and Bato to go to his cabin. He certainly wouldn't want to introduce the kid into a communal space and freak him out, so his captain's quarters would have to do.

The outside wasn’t all that cold to Hakoda, just whippingly windy, but the second the boy stepped into his cabin, he let out a quiet breath that seemed slightly pleased. Hakoda circled around his desk, organizing the surface for the boy. The boy’s hands sit folded politely on his thighs, and he remains standing, looking at the floor.

“I can fetch you tea,” Hakoda offered, considering it would make the boy feel warmer. They bought tea on the Air Nomad Island trading ports, though Hakoda still preferred the Labrador tea his mother made him when he was sick. It was what a lot of southerners preferred, but it was harder to come by down south.

The boy’s head turned upwards in a barely concealed gesture of interest. His eye was wide, gleaming and reflecting the light of the lanterns in the cabin. The flames reflected in his eyes made him look oddly more Fire Nation. That fact had slipped from Hakoda’s mind, despite the red robes and golden eyes. Hakoda shouldn’t demonize children of any nation, but he expected a Fire Nation child to be at least a little… volatile.

“Right, I’ll get Aguta. You can stay and sit down,” Hakoda said, smiling and briskly walking out of the cabin. All things considered the boy was timid, and low-maintenance.

Hakoda rushed a normal amount to get to the communal area to find Aguta and ask him for a cup of his tea. Taqqiq was smoking rolled tobacco, which was certainly prohibited underdeck. She was quick to try and put it out, but the smell lingered in the room. Taqqiq winced in the direction of the chief, but her smoking habits were a conversation for another day. Aguta was sitting next to her with a cup of tea, like he usually had at this time of night. The fact that Aguta, who was older than Hakoda, was letting Taqqiq smoke up the underbelly of the ship mystified him, but again, a conversation for another day. There was a boy waiting for tea in his quarters.

“Do you have any extra tea, Aguta?” Hakoda asked, refusing to look Taqqiq in the eye and her very covert facial expressions of grimaces. Everyone knew of her vice in smoking, but for some reason she thought it hadn’t made its way to Hakoda yet.

“I have plenty. Are your tastes finally developing?” Aguta asked, grinning.

“No, it’s not for me. It’s for the spirit boy. He’s back,” Hakoda said, sighing, knowing they would get all out-of-sorts about his reappearance.

“He’s back?” Taqqiq asked, apparently over not drawing attention to herself.

“Yes, but we can discuss it later. Right now, he’d like some tea,” Hakoda stated. This was motivation enough, because Taqqiq and Aguta stood and rushed to pick out and brew the tea for him. They had to go to the kitchens for boiled water, because open flame was only permissible there and in the lanterns that kept things well-lit in the nighttime.

Eventually Hakoda was handed a cup full of tea. It was in the largest teacup they had, and the thought warmed Hakoda that Taqqiq and Aguta were trying as best they could to be hospitable to the spirit.

“Can we see him?” Aguta asked, touching the braid in his hair that held two beads. One for his wife back home, and the other for his baby boy. There was one other bead on the other side of his face for a girl his wife had lost in childbirth. It was clear the behavior was unconscious, but even clearer what it subconsciously meant– Aguta missed taking care of his own boy.

“I… maybe if he stays around. He was pretty freaked out about Panuk, and I don’t even know if he trusts me right now,” Hakoda sighed, feeling bad for having to turn down Aguta. He’d tried to get Aguta to stay home from these patrols, but he was similar to Hakoda. He loved his kid, but not being out protecting them meant he always felt they were always at risk. They’d seen enough southerners get kidnapped and killed to never settle that it wouldn’t happen to their family.

“Well that’s Panuk,” Taqqiq chided, before Aguta subtly elbowed her in a sign to be quiet.

“Okay. Go take that to him and get him to rest,” Aguta settled, ushering Hakoda away and down the hall.

Hakoda returned to his office with his hands warm from the teacup, and he gently opened the door so as not to startle the boy and have him disappear like before. Oddly, the boy was still standing where Hakoda had left him two minutes ago, not taking any of the chairs or even the messily made bed to sit down.

“Here,” Hakoda said, standing in front of him. He settled the cup into the boy’s hands. He immediately held it up to his nose and smelled the tea, his eyes slipping shut in bliss for a moment.

“Do you want to sit down?” Hakoda asked after a few more moments had passed of the boy simply enjoying the smell and steam coming off of the cup. His hands were wrapped around it, not using the handle. If Hakoda did that, he would be burned, but he sensed maybe the same didn’t apply to a spirit. Or, the boy was a firebender and his body didn’t handle heat like others.

The boy looked up at the words, seemingly having forgotten Hakoda was there at all. “Where would you like me to sit?”

It was shocking to hear the boy’s voice in a sentence longer than two words. The question was odd, and Hakoda was almost tempted to ask if he wanted to sit again, but it felt like that would only run them in circles. Besides, tea was best enjoyed while resting.

“Anywhere is fine. The chairs in front of my desk, if you’d like,” Hakoda shrugged, moving himself to sit at his chair behind the desk. The boy followed his directive, sitting in the chair in front of Hakoda and setting the teacup in his lap and looking down at the liquid.

“What’s your name?” Hakoda asked. Hakoda was again uncertain on what to do or say. It wasn’t a good idea to ask about whether or not he was a spirit, considering he shut down last time that happened. It didn’t seem the boy wanted to talk about the circumstances of how he got here. That left him with little to nothing. He figured, if the boy was talking, he could at least put a name to the face.

The boy shifted the teacup in his hands silently before speaking. “Zuko.”

Hakoda smiled slightly, just a tight upturn to his lips. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’m glad to have you on my ship.”

“Are you a captain?” Zuko asked timidly, finally making eye contact with Hakoda. His tea was still too hot to drink, but he smelled it again, seemingly for comfort.

“Er… well, I guess,” Hakoda shrugged, unused to the title. He commanded boats for most his life, sure, and he had the captains quarters on the ship, but he didn’t particularly use the word for himself.

“You guess?”

“I’m more used to 'chief,'” Hakoda laughed lightly, but the boy’s face schooled from confusion to surprise quickly.

“You’re the chief?” Zuko asked incredulously, putting down his cup. There were wavers of fear in his voice, and Hakoda tried admirably to ignore them. At Hakoda’s moment of silence, Zuko continued. “North or South?”

It took a moment to parse out what Zuko meant by his question, before quickly realizing he was asking the nation he belonged to. He was reminded of the fact that the cultural differences weren’t blindingly apparent to everyone.

“South, and I’m technically only the chief of the biggest tribe there. The Fire Nation considers me Chief of the whole south, though, which is a little ridiculous,” Hakoda commented, before realizing that disparaging Zuko’s nation might not be the best course of action. Even though he’s kind of docile, members of the Fire Nation have the fiercest and most volatile patriotism Hakoda’s ever seen.

“But…,” Zuko begins, a draw in his brows, before he seemingly lets go of the thought and stays silent, looking down into his cup. “Chief Hakoda,” he whispered to himself, as if settling with the idea.

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Hakoda remained silent for a while and pretended to organize the papers on his desk to keep busy. The boy blew on his tea briefly before sipping at it.

“Do you like it?” Hakoda asked after a few sips.

“It’s different,” Zuko said, looking into the cup and the leaves on the bottom. Hakoda couldn’t tell if this was a positive or negative aspect, and it wasn’t really an answer to the question.

“It’s from the southern Earth Kingdom, I think,” Hakoda said. Zuko took another sip, his eyes fluttering open and closed with the steam coming off of the cup. After a while more in silence and with the tea seemingly comforting the boy, Hakoda chose to speak again. “Do you want to talk about why or… how you’re here?”

Zuko broke from his tea, setting down the cup in his lap again. Hakoda was giving him the option to speak on it instead of confronting him head on. Asking was really the only way he could figure out their course of action, considering he didn’t know Zuko’s intentions or wants with appearing on his boat. If it was like the others thought, and he was on his journey to the sky to be one of the Selamiut, how was Hakoda meant to help? Did Zuko want help?

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Zuko said, his eyes firmly rooted on his lap. He swallowed like it was hard to speak, and Hakoda felt a well of empathy he didn’t want to feel.

“I’d like to help you, I’m just unsure how,” Hakoda admitted, laying his hands flat on the desk and leaning in to speak.

“I don’t know why I’m–,” Zuko cut off again, his voice breaking. Not with tears, but like he couldn’t force any more words out. He swallowed roughly, before taking another sip of the tea. He cleared his throat, glancing up at Hakoda for only a brief moment before looking down again quickly. He didn’t continue speaking.

“You don’t know how you’re here?” Hakoda filled in, regretting putting the boy through such agony, but knowing he needed a little information before moving on.

Zuko nodded roughly and shortly, though his eyes wouldn’t meet Hakoda’s.

“Do you know why?”

Zuko bit down hard on his lip, in a way that worried Hakoda about the boy unintentionally hurting himself. His hand moved from the teacup to touch the edge of his bandage yet again, but this time the movement was clear and intentional. Zuko wasn’t giving a verbal answer, but a clear physical one.

“Okay,” Hakoda settled, letting out a breath from deep in his lungs. “Do you know why our boat specifically?”

“I don’t–,” Zuko struggled to speak, opening and closing his mouth. A croak came out, before a few words followed. “I need to be here.”

Those five words were clear, and enough for Hakoda to believe him. Why Zuko was so adamant on this, he didn’t know, but he was willing to help him. It was the role of tribesmen to help the spirits, to guide animal’s spirits to safety when they had to kill them, to treasure Tui and La for the reasons for their wellbeing.

Tribesmen would always give back to the spirits, even a small Fire Nation boy who seemed unwilling to confront his own reasons for becoming one, which made perfect sense if he was journeying through the abyss to become one of the Selamiut. The Selamiut had died in tragic ways– Zuko didn’t need to confront his own end. For now, he could reside on their ship while he made his journey to the next life.

When Zuko finished his tea, Hakoda took the cup and invited him to sleep on an extra bedroll. Hakoda gave him the option of sleeping in the communal area or a private room, and though Zuko had a hard time voicing his choice, he chose privacy. Hakoda was willing to give him all he needed.

And the next day, when he checked the private room he’d put Zuko to sleep, he was gone from the bed roll entirely. He wasn’t anywhere else on the ship, either. Hakoda settled this time, because he knew Zuko would be back soon enough.

Chapter Text

Zuko knew he lived in a world between life and death. He was not quite alive, but not quite dead, and there was no terminology available to him to describe such a thing. One moment his physical body was tangible, and the next he was a ghost.

Zuko journeyed through darkness– walking thin land, stowing in ships, and drowning in waters he couldn’t die in. He lived only at night, when spirits roamed. He didn’t know what he was– alive or dead, tangible or invisible. Whether he was alive or not did not matter– he knew like the sun rose and set that this was the land of the living. Everything was lined in correct order: if he stowed and slept in a ship, he woke the next day in that ship.

He kneeled in a large room, thousands of eyes on him, confused on how he ended up here. He was just trying to swim through impossibly choppy waters, and he was in a large hall he recognized. His kneeling was familiar, the shadow of a person in front of him was familiar, and his love and fear for the shadow were married in a terrifying matrimony– death, death, death. He stood in the hallways of a large house that was fuzzy; he was visible and yet ignored. This was the world of death– he was considered for execution at every moment and fuzzy faces taunted him with the threat of it. He tripped and fell, made a thousand mistakes that put his body half in a funeral pyre. These were disorganized, cluttered memories, filled with cobwebs and skeletons that never would burn. These were memories of a past life he couldn't picture fully with family he couldn't name.

He came back to himself, or the more present version of himself, in the same choppy waters. He was swimming with no direction, and when the waves overtook him and he began to drown, he never died. He only lost himself again– he lost himself to that large, large house or that hall, or in an unfamiliar infirmary with voices above his head. He lost himself to the land of the dead and found himself in the land of the living; lost himself and found himself, over and over again.

When Earth Kingdom traders found him in the bellies of their ship in the land of the living and they began to scream, he lost himself to the heat of a summer palace. When he drowned for the hundredth time, he lost himself to that hall with a thousand eyes and a terrifying shadow in front of him. When he burned in these places of death, he found himself on his perilous journey through the living again.

Zuko's mother had told him that before the moment of death, Agni replayed your life four times over in front of your eyes. He wondered if this is what these cluttered visions were. If these memories were Agni repeating his failures four times over while he tried, tooth and nail, to make his way through the land of the living and get to that place beyond life. Maybe this was reincarnation. Zuko traveled through his current life and was punished by his last all the while. 

With the living, he was being drawn to a place he couldn’t name– a place beyond the sky where he could escape this abyss, and he intrinsically knew where it was. He knew where it was like he felt a string tugging at his waist, and he knew he must get there. He needed to escape the drowning, the hiding, the past that he kept getting dragged back to when he lost himself.

And once, he found himself on a ship. It was chilly and the wind was whipping, and he was cold. He wasn’t on a funeral pyre, he wasn’t drowning in warm waters, the flesh under his bandage wasn’t burning and pulsing in heat. It was nighttime, and he was cold. And it was peaceful. People found him, but they weren’t screaming or dragging him off the boat. They let him have his space, and he met Hakoda. He knew he was safe here, where everyone looked so unfamiliar and larger than life.

Hakoda said that word– Spirit– and he was lost again.

The third time Zuko found himself on the boat, he appeared in the storage room where he last slept. The bedroll Chief Hakoda had given him is rumpled, the pillow skewed and the fur blanket undone. It looked like someone just got out of bed, but Zuko knew he'd been missing for an indeterminable amount of time. When he reached down to touch the bedroll, it was as cushiony as when he last touched it, but long gone cold.

Zuko stood, still shaken up from the land of death. His memories were always fuzzy when he came out of it, but he knew there had been the smell of burning flesh on his arms, a face of a firebending teacher, and a young girl he saw a lot. She was probably his sister, but the details were fuzzy, even when he was living it again. Of course, he’d been hurt, but when he looked down to his arms where the burn scars should be, there was nothing.

A bandage always clung to his face here, and he had no desire to take it off. He knew what was underneath it– a large, damaged wound inflicted when he was kneeling in front of that shadow. He knew it was a sign of his failures, of his dishonor, and it was much more appealing to hide it away. He knew it was the reason he was being pulled to a land beyond life, that place in the sky. But these were the few things he intrinsically knew. Most of the rest was confusing and fuzzy, no matter how many times he was shoved back into that deathly life of burning and failure.

When he found himself on his journey again, things were much clearer. People’s faces weren’t covered in shadow, he remembered the names he learned, and time was much more linear.

Zuko looked at the door to the storage room wearily. He was cold, and he wearily took the blanket from the cushy bedroll and wrapped it around himself. When he found himself, he was always wearing the same cold infirmary robes. There were many more constants in this land.

He didn’t know whether or not to go outside or if it was safer there. Chief Hakoda was much nicer than other people he’d met while trying to travel, but Zuko wasn’t sure how long his hospitality would last. This place felt right, though. Both because everyone was calmer and kinder, despite how large they loomed and unfamiliar their features were, and because there was something in him telling him to stay. Here, that rope tugging him somewhere he couldn’t name rested, and he felt at ease.

Zuko didn’t want to leave the room, lest he run into the man who asked him a ceaseless number of questions before Chief Hakoda came and took him inside. He was overwhelmed, and he would only get overwhelmed again if he went outside. Here, in the storage room, he didn’t need to sort through his memories or who he was. He could huddle in the warm blanket and half-way nap. He could rest, something he hadn’t gotten a minute of in the past however long.

Zuko napped, or something close to it, for a while. He was warm– not cold, not burning– and he didn’t want to leave the bedroll he’d snuggled into at some point. The room was quietly dark with light seeping through the crack in the door like a nightlight. Zuko was afraid of fully dark rooms and what might lurk in them. The crack in the door was like the flame he used to conjure late at night in his bedroom when he got too scared. It felt much safer than fire, though, not that he was even sure he could conjure flame now. Maybe it had all burned out of him.

His rest didn’t last forever, because what was only a small light coming through the door became a flood of light burning his eyes. Burning. Someone was opening the door and was going to see him curled on the bedroll. He wasn’t terrified, like he was of that shadow he called father, but he was scared of reprimand. He was scared Chief Hakoda’s extension of help would cease, and he was going to be dragged kicking and screaming off of the ship by one of his crew.

The shadowed figure in the doorway let out a quick, “oh!”, and Zuko yanked the furs above his head. He let out a shaky breath, knowing he’d been spotted but hoping to be ignored.

The door remained open, but Zuko heard footsteps going the other way. Maybe he would be ignored? Zuko pulled down the fur blanket to rest just beneath his eyes, still wincing at the light but hesitantly keeping an eye on anyone who would approach.

For a minute or two, Zuko almost believed he would be left alone with the door open, but then two people appeared in the doorway again. He didn’t like the feeling of their eyes on him, and it was stressing him out, the way they were able to look down on him. He didn’t want to disappear again, which happened a lot when he was stressed or in danger, so he pulled the blanket up over his head again and tried to breathe.

“Zuko?” Someone asked, and Zuko was able to register the voice as Chief Hakoda’s. He wanted to speak and answer, he really did, but no words would come out, and he felt safer under the blanket. He knew that ignoring people of authority when they spoke was bad, one of the most awful things he could do, but he just couldn’t. Sometimes words just wouldn’t come out of his mouth and he couldn’t help it. His tutors hated when he did that, and he got enough burns to prove it.

“I’m happy you came back,” Chief Hakoda said, and it made something shift. It was confusing, but Zuko heard someone sit beside his bedroll, and he shifted the furs down slightly to see out of his one eye. Chief Hakoda was sitting with his legs crossed– an impolite and informal way to sit, Zuko knew. It looked silly on someone so big, and Zuko sat up a little, just enough to get his head off of the pillow. There was still another person in the doorway. A woman, the one who’d briefly spotted him and left.

“That’s Taqqiq,” Chief Hakoda said, looking at the woman himself. He must’ve seen Zuko looking her way.

“Hey, Zuko,” Taqqiq said, and Zuko quickly sat up with his knees under him. He gave a quick introductory bow as a reply. Nothing verbal, but it was a slight show of politeness in his awful presentation so far. He didn’t even stand up, but seeing as the Chief was sitting, that might also be rude.

“Oh, I don’t need any bowing,” Taqqiq said with a light laugh coming after. Zuko hesitated, looking over at Chief Hakoda. Bowing to Taqqiq showed respect to both her and Chief Hakoda, and he wasn’t sure whether to take her word or if it was some type of test.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Taqqiq followed up, and Zuko was very, very uncomfortable. Meals and providing and limiting things to Zuko was probably Chief Hakoda’s authority, so he wasn’t sure how to answer. The real answer was he didn’t feel much hunger or thirst anymore, though eating and drinking was still enjoyable. It was probably much better to not feel hunger– he wouldn’t suffer through food restriction punishments anymore.

At Zuko’s silence and desperate looks to Chief Hakoda, the man spoke. “You can have tea, or come snack with the rest of the crew. Dinner won’t be for a while.”

“I don’t need anything,” Zuko said truthfully, looking between Taqqiq and the Chief.

“You can have as much as you like,” Chief Hakoda said, and those words coming from Father or his tutors would be a trick, but Chief Hakoda seemed earnest. And if he wasn’t, Zuko would be able to face the consequences of giving in.

“Could I have some tea?” Zuko asked, touching the fabric belt of his infirmary wear. He’d really like to be out of it– he wears it sometimes when he’s sent back to the past. In some memories he’s writhing on a private infirmary bed with infected bandages on his face and people arguing above his head. His clothes feel haunted, and he’d like to be wearing anything else. Especially because the infirmary clothes are so uncomfortable.

“Of course,” Chief Hakoda says, standing up from where he sits. He holds out a hand, a large, calloused palm for Zuko to presumably take in hand. Zuko pauses carefully. This initiation of touch couldn’t be anything baleful, could it? No one who ever hurt him reached to touch him in such a careful way, but he was unused to even kinder people in power extending something like this.

It’d been so long since he held someone’s hand. Zuko tentatively put his hand in Chief Hakoda’s. The contact was brief– he lifted himself up, and took back his hand to himself. It still felt wondrous to make contact with someone and not hurt or be hurt.

Chief Hakoda led him to another room, one with domed ceilings and cushions set out in the middle of the room. It was a dining area, but without a kotatsu to set dishes on. Immediately, Zuko spotted the two other people in the room and felt their eyes on him. One was the man that he met abovedeck the last time he visited. The one with endless questions he couldn’t answer. He wished he could hide in some way. He remembered he used to duck himself in his mother’s robes like a turtleduck to hide himself from errant eyes on him.

“Panuk, Siku,” Chief Hakoda said to the two other men. “This is Zuko. Panuk, you’ve met him.”

The man who’d talked to Zuko above deck, who Zuko now knows is Panuk, nods. “Sorry if I freaked you out.”

Taqqiq came up to Panuk and punched him on the upper arm. Zuko knew roughhousing was normal between troops and soldiers, but such behavior in front of the Chief was wildly irresponsible. Chief Hakoda didn’t even bat an eye.

“Siku, can you go into the kitchens and ask Aguta for a cup of tea for our guest?” Chief Hakoda asked. He seemed to be firmly ignoring the whispered bickering going between Taqqiq and Panuk.

Siku was a large, foreboding man. He was almost twice the size of Panuk, and even bigger than the Chief. His eyes were firmly landed on Zuko, but Zuko tried not to make any eye contact. It seemed like a clear threat of territory. Siku seemed dangerous, and Zuko didn’t want to even get close to crossing a line.

Siku exited the room, presumably to the kitchen, and Zuko let out a quiet breath. He still wasn’t comfortable with Panuk, or Taqqiq, but they seemed pretty preoccupied with each other.

Hakoda sighed, sitting down at one of the central cushions in the room. Zuko looked between him and the cushions, conflicted on what to do. Sitting down next to him would be too comfortable, but standing while he was sitting could be seen as a disrespect of power. Before he could think about it longer, another person walked into the room.

“Bato,” Chief Hakoda grinned, and while Bato seemed slightly surprised to see Zuko, his eyes soon shifted to the Chief.

“Hey,” Bato grinned, sitting down on a cushion beside the Chief, one leg extended and the other hitched up. “You can come sit, kid,” Bato said, looking over at Zuko. Zuko was quick to follow his instructions, sitting on a cushion far enough away to be respectful of their space. Taking directions from someone under the Chief when he was probably under only the Chief’s care irked Zuko, but they didn’t seem very strict on rules and customs here.

“Is Aguta bringing out an afternoon snack? I heard him cooking,” Bato asks, looking over to the Chief.

“Yeah. You all eat too much,” Chief Hakoda said jovially. Zuko took in the casual way they were both sitting, and shifted his kneeling to pull his knees close to his chest and rest his chin on top of them. He figured everyone was casual enough to not kneel constantly.

“We’re sailors, Hakoda!” Panuk chimed in from the corner where he was still standing with Taqqiq.

“Barely. We’re doing water patrols, and you’ll be back in your own bed by the end of the week,” Chief Hakoda said, rolling his eyes.

“Water patrols?” Zuko interrupted, too curious to stay quiet. He thought they were soldiers off at war. It was foolish to waste manpower with boats patrolling waters rather than fighting the–... Zuko didn’t particularly know who’d they’d be fighting. He couldn’t remember what war was happening, and why, only that there was one, and trying to remember struck a headache.

Taqqiq and Panuk shared a look at his question, one that showed that they didn’t know how to answer Zuko’s curiosity.

“Just making sure boats don’t dip into Southern waters,” Bato filled in, curing the silence in the room.

“Is someone threatening your tribes?” Zuko asked, looking between Bato and Chief Hakoda for answers.

“Yes and no,” Bato answered. “It’s fine. We’ll be home safe soon.”

There’s another question Zuko wanted to ask, one about where he’s going, but the words don’t come out. He pressed his mouth against his knees, hiding the bottom portion of his face. Conversation picked up again, but Zuko looked at the burn on Panuk’s arm and the burn covering Taqqiq’s right foot, and he knew exactly who they’re fighting.

When he realized, he didn't want to be there anymore. He knew they were fighting the Fire Nation, and for a moment he knew that he was Fire Nation. A sick feeling settled in Zuko’s stomach, not from any sense of national pride, but because if they were fighting the Fire Nation, that means they were naturally against Zuko. Zuko has had his own fair share of fights with people of his own nation– he knew very well what it meant to be burned, but he also knew what it meant to burn. He’d conjured fire, the same fire that burned Panuk and Taqqiq. He suddenly felt more like a detainee rather than a guest.

“Why the sour face?” A deep feminine voice asked from above him. The noise made Zuko jump and look up at Taqqiq, who was suddenly standing beside him. Zuko tried to subtly shuffle a little further away, just enough distance so he was still in his own bubble. He didn’t have words to speak, so he kept his mouth pressed against his knees.

He saw Hakoda’s slight frown from the corner of his eye, but he paid it no mind. He suddenly wished that cup of tea would come quicker, so he had something to calm himself. He felt himself slipping– his vision was getting hazy, and he felt lightheaded. He was going to disappear again.

A man Zuko hadn’t seen came into the room with a plate full of food that Zuko didn’t recognize. What he did recognize, through his vision blacking out, was the steaming mug of tea in his other hand. Zuko straightened up, kneeling yet again and settling his hands in his lap. The room full of people was extraordinarily uncomfortable now, and he tried to focus on the cup of tea headed towards him to steady himself. He didn’t want to go back to his memories, he didn’t want to live in that land of fire.

The plate is set down first, then the cup of tea beside him. Zuko took it into his hands and stared down at the light colored tea in the cup. It wasn’t the black teas that were imported from the Earth Nation, surely. Zuko didn’t care much for the flavor, but for the comfort. The feeling of a warm drink soothed his body and reminded him of some nonviolent memories with a person he couldn’t recall.

“Is everything all right, unakuluk?” The tea man asked from above him. The word was unfamiliar, but clearly kind, and Zuko adjusted his shins to try and sit more comfortably while kneeling. The tea man kneeled, just a small distance away from Zuko, picking one of the pieces of food off of the plate. It seemed to be a type of bread, but nothing like the cloud-like stuff he used to have with his tea. It wasn’t intricately shaped– you could see the press of fingers in the dough that made its way to its final form.

Zuko looked up from his tea to notice no one was looking at him anymore. They were all taking a few of the steaming breads and chatting, almost like Zuko’s presence wasn’t abnormal at all. He looked the tea man in the eye, and he’s smiling while ripping pieces of his bread and eating them. He was smiling at Zuko.

“What’s that?” Zuko asked quietly, not wanting anyone to hear other than this man.

“Palauga,” the man answered, taking another piece and offering it to Zuko. Zuko hesitantly took it, setting his teacup on the ground near his knee to properly handle the bread. His nerves were settled, and suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he was upset at all. Zuko took a small bite of the bread, noting its denseness. He liked it.

“Good?” the man asked. Zuko nodded.

“What’s your name?” Zuko asked hesitantly.

“Aguta,” the man answered. “And yours?”

“Zuko,” he answered, taking another small bite of the bread. He’d always been a slow eater, but he didn’t think these people would mind.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Aguta said, and because Zuko didn’t know much else to do, he nodded, trying to hide a small smile by taking another bite of the palauga.

People kept on eating, Zuko drank his tea, and he kept quiet, his eyes darting around to the different people in the room. Crew filtered in and out, only giving cursory introductions and acknowledgement to Zuko. The afternoon was peaceful, and when he asked to return to the bedroll in the storage room, he was allowed.

It was dark, and a little lonely, but he laid down for another nap and rested.

When Zuko awoke, it wasn’t to a ship rocking. It wasn’t to a crack of light seeping through a wooden door, but to a hot, suffocating room. It was dark, not very well lit. He sat at a desk, kicking his feet slowly while reading one of the plays his mother had lended him. There was a knot of anxiety growing in his stomach, one that messed with the food that he’d just eaten.

He didn’t remember how this day had transpired, and didn’t remember why he was so anxious, but it was soon clear when a shadow appeared in his doorway. The figure was small, but she had shadows encasing her face like that man here he was so terrified of.

“Zuko,” the high pitched feminine voice called. The girl was young, and Zuko had the sense they were siblings, but he’d never seen any sister taunt and terrorize this way. His eyebrows knit in frustration, and he threw the scroll onto his desk, knowing what was coming. The anger was something protective, though. He knew all he really felt was terrified.

“Father is quite upset,” she said, sighing like it was unfortunate news coming to her. “Your display at dinner didn’t please him.”

Zuko stayed quiet, his hands curling into tight, hurting fists at his knees. There was no words he could use to defend himself, because he knew that he messed up. There was no denying their Father’s frustration in him.

“I heard him talking to some servants. Funeral pyre came up quite a lot,” the girl said.

“Stop that, Azula,” Zuko said, even though he couldn’t remember her name just a moment ago.

“I’m just telling you the truth!” Azula exclaimed, the gleam of her white teeth the only sign of a smile.

“No, you’re not,” Zuko protested, but it was more to comfort himself than to oppose her.

“Poor Zuko. You’ll be lucky to be alive in a month.” The girl lit her hands in fire, and the memory burned away.

The next month, there is a funeral. They do burn a pyre, but Zuko isn’t on it. It’s empty, with only the portrait of Zuko’s mother at the reception to place who it's for. The reception is crowded and hot, and Zuko feels like he’s burning himself. He’s seated at the front with Father and Azula, and when he begins to lose his composure and cry, a large hand grips the back of his neck tightly. To anyone else, it might look like a comforting gesture, but the hand slowly begins to heat and burn Zuko’s skin. He can’t tear away, or jump, or sob out in pain, so he stands and takes it, hoping that it at least makes him less of a coward.

The next day there’s a firm red handprint on the back of Zuko’s neck. Not enough to scar, but he’d have to wear high-collared clothing for a while. Tears sprung every time the injury scraped on his collar, but he wasn’t allowed to see a doctor for gauze and salve. This was his punishment– the pain and the silence. He prayed to Agni that persevering would make him better, that this lesson would work, and he would emerge from this flame stronger.

Zuko found himself outside of the Chief's door. The back of his neck ached, and a thick feeling of shame surrounds the injury, but little came to him on why or how he got it. When he reached a hand to touch his neck, it's bare of any burn or scar. There was nothing but a phantom pain he feels deeper than the skin. Pain and silence, a wound that hurt with no memory of how it got there, or physical wound as proof at all.

Zuko wanted to knock on Chief Hakoda's door, and he also wanted to curl into his bedroll and rest. The storage room was a bit of a distance away, and he found himself quietly wanting that same, kind contact Chief Hakoda initiated. He wanted to hold his hand and not get burned like he would in the past, even if he wasn't actually brave enough for something like that. 

He also didn't want to walk to his storage room and bump into anyone. They'd want to talk to him, and it'd be kind, but still too terrifying for him to be certain he wouldn't disappear again. His memories from this past visit weren't clear, but he knew of a funeral and sorrow and terror, and he didn't want to return. He didn't ever want to return, but especially now, when he could still feel a phantom wound at his neck. 

He brought up a light fist to knock it at the Chief's door, half hoping the room was vacant entirely. He didn't know what to expect, or what he hoped to gain from clinging to the chief like a kicked puppy. It's not as if the Chief would heal his nonexistent wounds. He knew it was foolish to expect comfort and kindness from the ruler of a nation, or tribe, but he knew he was naturally tactless. 

He knocked anyway, because despite every instinct in his brain telling him he'd only get hurt, or turned away rightfully, something in him still wanted. 

The door soon opened before Zuko had any more time to regret or deliberate. Chief Hakoda stood above him similar to how Zuko's father of the past stood above him: imposing and large, with the strength to hurt. Chief Hakoda didn't hurt, though, he only ushered Zuko inside with large hands that Zuko had a hard time believing didn't light on fire.

“Welcome in, Zuko,” Chief Hakoda smiled, arranging all the papers and scrolls on his desk like he did the last time Zuko came into his office. Zuko didn’t mind the mess– it was a little comforting seeing the bed in a state of disarray and papers strewn about the desk like Chief Hakoda was a real, fallible person. 

Zuko sat at the same chair he sat in last time, crossing his legs on the cushioned seat. It was unbelievably informal, but he hated sitting stiffly and the Chief didn’t even bat an eye. He didn’t have any dirty shoes on, so it wasn’t blatantly disrespectful to Chief Hakoda’s property. 

“I don’t have much for you here, unfortunately,” Chief Hakoda said, sitting on his own chair across from Zuko. He looked so oddly paternal, like how Zuko’s own mother looked. Or his cousin, before he–.... Zuko wondered why he was a Chief in the first place. The idea of an iron fist didn’t fit him, and he seemed too kind. 

“Do you have children, Chief Hakoda?” Zuko blurted, looking down at his lap. His bare feet were bound to be dirty and bloody from weeks– months?– travelling with no shoes. But they were as perfect as when he started this journey, and he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck remembering how scars didn’t stick on his body anymore. His feet ached, of course, but there was nothing to fix. 

“I do, actually. Why do you ask?” 

Zuko shrugged. He tried to imagine the way Chief Hakoda cared for his children: if he acted like a proper father when it came to them, or if he was more like Zuko’s mother, or like how he was with his crew. He tried to imagine a father like that, and it felt like trying to imagine a turtleduck without its shell, or drinking tea without a teacup. 

“Just Hakoda is fine,” the Chief added after a moment of silence where Zuko didn’t speak. 

“You’re a Chief,” Zuko said, blinking up at him in shock. 

“I’m also a father, son, and husband. I don’t ask my mother to call me son Hakoda. ” Chief Hakoda said, like it was that simple. Hearing someone in such a position of power deny the right to their honorable title was an antithesis to everything Zuko believed. Though, he remembered how his father was always Father, but his mother was allowed to be Mom, and briefly Mama, when Zuko was young enough to call her that. But his father never swayed on names and titles. 

Zuko’s cousin allowed him to slip on titles and names as well, though Zuko couldn’t remember now what title or name he was supposed to be calling his cousin. Most of what he could remember of his cousin were warm visits and kind words, even when the world was so large and scary. Maybe the world still was to him. 

“But that’s– it’s different ,” Zuko insisted, his words starting to dry up. Not for lack of opinion, but for his inability to voice it. Zuko knew it wasn’t as simple as Chief Hakoda made it seem. There were certain titles for certain people, and while Chief Hakoda could get away with his kids calling him dad, or something equally informal, leadership wasn’t something you could get away with blatantly disregarding. At least, Zuko couldn’t. 

“I know the Fire Nation has different customs. You can call me Chief, if it’s more comfortable for you. But I don’t even force Panuk or Taqqiq to call me that, so know it’s nowhere near a requirement,” Chief Hakoda settled. Zuko quieted, but he still couldn’t think of a Chief as just… Hakoda, even at his insistence. 

Zuko stayed quiet, and after a while of hearing Chief Hakoda shift, he spoke. “Do you have siblings, Zuko?”

Zuko looked up again, his eyes furrowing slightly. He tried to recollect his memories to best answer the Chief’s question. He remembered a girl, but he wasn’t sure who he was. They were similar in age, but it’s not like they were close in any way, he didn’t think. 

“A sister, I think,” he replied quietly, trying to pull some type of memory to describe her. There were only flashed and muddled ones, nothing he could pinpoint. 

“I have two little ones,” Chief Hakoda said, tucking his singular braid behind his ear. There are two beads on it, separated from the rest of his hair and hanging on the right side of his face. 

“Little ones?” Zuko asked, wrinkling his nose at the wording. When describing children, adults preferred to use strong one or something akin to flame .

“Yes. A boy and a girl,” Chief Hakoda replied.

Zuko paused, squirming in his seat in a way that would get him a smack on the wrist. Chief Hakoda seemed too lost in his wistfulness to notice, so Zuko tucked his hands under his legs to feel the pressure. 

“Are they good?” Zuko asked, dipping his head closer to Chief Hakoda like they were about to share a secret. Zuko didn’t know why he asked– it was a stupid question, but adults liked to complain about their children sometimes. Maybe Zuko could see the Chief’s tolerance and where it ended, if he did complain. 

“Good?” Chief Hakoda furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Zuko like he’d spoken another language. “I guess so.”

Zuko chewed on his lip, knowing that uncertain answer was as good as a no. He tried to imagine how old Chief Hakoda’s kids were, how awful they’d have to be for Chief Hakoda to think they’re bad. He was tempted to adjust the way he was sitting to be more formal, even if the pressure on his hands felt nice. He had a thousand more questions, but also had the inability to word them. 

“They’re not bad,” Chief Hakoda added, as if reading Zuko’s mind. “I just don’t judge my children on their… goodness, or value to me. No one should.”

Zuko didn’t reply. He didn’t want to argue the point, even if he disagreed, and he didn’t have the words to say what he wanted. He shouldn’t argue either, especially not with Chief Hakoda. He wanted to ask why Chief Hakoda was letting him on his ship and taking care of him. Chief Hakoda didn’t have anything to gain, in fact, he was losing supplies by the minute. Zuko brought a light hand to his neck, digging his nails into the nonexistent burn. It still hurt like he was touching at a burn, and he pressed harder.

It wasn’t like Zuko was a real, human child to feel sympathy for. He was… whatever he was. He almost wished Chief Hakoda would throw him off the ship again so he could drown. It’d be familiar, and he’d stop fumbling through every conversation with the people on the ship.

“I’m tired,” Zuko lied, pulling his hands from underneath his legs and fidgeting with them. He felt guilty for lying, but Chief Hakoda complied, of course, guiding him to his room with a light, warm hand on Zuko’s back. He helped Zuko into bed, and Zuko could almost imagine being tucked in with a kiss to the forehead, or a quick story, but he wasn’t a child, much less the Chief’s child. He had children of his own. 

Hakoda quietly let Zuko nap, but Zuko didn’t sleep at all.

Chapter Text

Zuko came and went, and the small storage room that held maintenance items and extra fabrics, both for sails and clothing, became known as his room. Most of the time, he disappeared and reappeared in that same room, and no one cared to pick up his bedroll every time he left. The crew was careful to open the door, in case Zuko was there sleeping, or sitting how he pleased in silence. Hakoda made it well known that the boy would do as he wished, even if it meant dying the sails pink.

He’d gotten significantly more verbal, which made communicating a little easier, though Zuko still went silent at odd times, Hakoda didn’t think it was a bad thing. He communicated how he wished. The last visit, Zuko had knocked on his office door and they’d talked about children and family. Hakoda tried not to ask every question that came into his head, because it was extremely clear Zuko’s memory was warped, from the way he had no idea who could be threatening the south, to his own uncertainty answering any questions. But he wanted to know why Zuko thought the way he did about children and goodness, and why he was so insistent on being formal, even when his body squirmed in discomfort at kneeling or keeping his hands flat.

Hakoda knew why because he knew the nation the boy was from, and as gently as he tried to answer questions and right some wrongs, it hurt every time Zuko flinched, shrunk away from questions, or even implied what type of environment the Fire Nation was like to grow up in. And the large bandage swathing his face was enough of an answer, but it still wasn’t good enough. Hakoda wanted reason, but there was no reason a child should have an injury so large or put such standards on goodness.

Hakoda was also fighting desperately to let Zuko be. He was most likely just a spirit passing through, and wasn’t one of those cases where he could take the boy in. The way he disappeared and reappeared made that apparent.

The next time Zuko reappeared, the boat was landed on southern shores of one of the Chuje Islands. They were camping out for the night, waiting out a storm passing through. After their stop on the Chuje Islands, Hakoda planned to go home. They’d been gone from home for a week, and everyone seemed homesick, or at least directionless. Both he and his crew were getting tired, and it didn’t seem Fire Nation raids would be a threat to their Tribes, at least not anytime soon.

Hakoda wondered what would happen to Zuko when they weren’t sailing any longer. Would he find his way to the South Pole, or wherever else he was headed? By the time they were in the south, it wasn’t likely they would even see Zuko again.

It was understood that after this night on the Chuje Islands, they’d cut through the South Sea to get home and rest, so they were preparing for a jovial bonfire that night, even with the slight rain that might get swept in from the storm.

Bato and Hakoda swam in the water in the late afternoon, even if Hakoda felt far too old to properly play-fight in the ocean anymore.

The others seemed far too excited for the prospect of a bonfire and gathered wood to toss in a sand pit they dug. Taqqiq and Panuk seemed engaged in a contest for who could chop the most wood, and half of it ended up in a stack to send home, and the other was piled into the sand pit of an ever-growing bonfire. Aguta and Siku were rounding up all the alcohol they could find, and Aput was resting in the sand, laying down with a scroll draped over their face. Despite Hakoda’s attempts to do all the paperwork, Aput was the one who managed negotiations and trade the best. All of the other crewmen sat in the sand talking loudly, or were actually being helpful and finishing setting up tents and bedrolls for each person for the night.

Bato simply rolled his eyes at Hakoda’s suggestion to help, and gently pushed him further in the water.

They were a ways away from the boat, but saw clearly as Aguta waved from the top deck like it was an urgent matter. He held a bottle of alcohol in his hands, so the drastic effect was dampened.

“Zuko!” Aguta yelled towards them in warning, and Bato laughed, nudging Hakoda.

“Looks like your kid is back, Koda,” Bato teased, and a deep blush spread from Hakoda’s neck. Even after years of not being kids, Bato still made him feel like a teenager being teased.

“He’s not my kid,” Hakoda protested, looking at Bato like it was the farthest thing from the truth. Bato tugged on his arm to bring him inshore and towards the boat again to take care of the problem.

“Everyone comes and gets you when he appears,” Bato pointed out, but Hakoda ignored his point and trudged further towards the shore. Even a small distance north made a difference, because the water was refreshing rather than the icy cold waters in the South Pole. One of many regrets of Hakoda’s perpetual stay away from the South was that he’d become much less resistant to cold, and even got used to the heat in Earth Kingdom waters.

Hakoda walked deep enough in the water to reach the ladder that was able to be hooked overboard, and waited for Aguta to lower it to him. When he was able to reach the ladder, he climbed up it quickly.

“Those anaana instincts are really kicking in, Chief!” Bato teased loudly from a few feet inshore, and if Hakoda’s hands weren’t busy climbing, he would’ve made a gesture unseemly for a Chief.

He quickly hopped on the main deck, looking around. Zuko wasn’t on the deck, only a few bottles of collected alcohol and Aguta, standing with a frown.

“He’s in his room, Chief. Seemed pretty freaked out when we came in,” Aguta said, leaning on the side of the deck, trying to appear unbothered, but the slight twitch of his brow told Hakoda something was worrying him.

“Did you knock? Or check to make sure he was there?”

“Yeah, and Siku peeked his head in, but the kid was camped out behind a crate of canvas and when we pulled it back to look for alcohol, he fled and started yelling.”

“Is Siku still there?”

“In the hall, I think. Wanted to make sure the kid didn’t accidentally burn the ship down while in his mood,” Aguta said, rolling his eyes slightly at the idea.

“I don’t think he can firebend. Spirits can’t bend, can they?” Hakoda asked, trying to think back to his spiritual teachings.

“No. Siku's being idiotic,” Aguta said, sighing, clearly stressed and ill at ease.

“I’ll head down,” Hakoda determined, turning away from Aguta before he could say anything and heading below deck.

By the time he made it to the doorway of Zuko’s storage room, Siku was chewing his nails and leaning against the wall parallel. It was odd to watch the father of two do such a thing, but Hakoda could remember a time when Siku was 17 and Hakoda was 10, and he thought he’d never met anyone more mature. It was a clear misperception, because Siku was now 42, and still stole alcohol and got drunk like he was the same teenager about to go to war. He also still noogied Tuktu like they were children, and Hakoda would even argue he was more mature at 17.

“Siku,” Hakoda greeted, eyes darting to the door that held the aforementioned child.

“Hakoda,” he replied, his face pulled in a half-wince as he pulled his nail from his teeth. “The kid… well, he’s more out of it than Sokka when he had that fever and was running around the village and into all the igloos.”

Hakoda laughed breathily, though it quickly turned into an exasperated sigh that sent him leaning against the wall across from Siku. He wasn’t quite ready to enter the room yet, and he was very much out of his depth.

“Siku, what do I even do?” Hakoda asked, quieting his voice. The wood in these ships held sound well, but he still didn’t want any risk of Zuko overhearing. Siku’s face schooled a little more, and Hakoda wiped a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes and hoping the answer would become clear after he did that.

“Help him as best you can?” Siku said, but it was expressed more like a question up to Hakoda.

“But how?” Hakoda asked, looking at Siku for all the answers.

“I don’t– The kid is Fire Nation, and the others think he’s going to be one of the Selamiut, which means he’s probably deserving of honor. I don’t know what he is, but he’s… he doesn’t even look real to me. All the children I’ve met are tribes’ children, plus some Earth Kingdom ones. But he’s a kid’s spirit, right? So treat him like a kid in need of help.”

Hakoda heard the hesitation in Siku’s voice. Hakoda knew his views on the Fire Nation and how it was likely to extend to their children. Siku had seen twenty-four years of war while sailing, and he had a reciprocal view on violence. The Fire Nation killed, and the only way they listened was if they killed back. A child from the tribes in the hand of the Fire Nation would get no kindness, so Siku believed a Fire Nation child here shouldn’t either. But spirits, separate from their bodies, no matter their origin, were deserving of respect.

“He’s not mine,” Hakoda insisted, because he needed both Siku and himself to internalize it. “He has all these ideas on honor and respect that I don’t know how to deal with, and he’s… hurt, in one way or another. He’s not one of mine. I don’t know how to heal him.” After a few seconds of silence where his words settled heavily, Hakoda laughed in self-depreciation, looking up at the ceiling hopelessly.

“Maybe he’s effectively ‘one of yours’ for his stay. He needs someone, and maybe it can be you for a week or so. Help him how you would Katara or Sokka,” Siku resolved.

Hakoda settled with the idea for a minute, before sighing and accepting.

“Why don’t I get you a towel and some proper clothes from the cabins, and then you can head in?” Siku said, looking Hakoda up and down. It was only then that Hakoda remembered he was still in his wet swimwear, and his hair was dripping. It was probably better that he got properly dry and changed, so he nodded and Siku went off to the barracks to fetch something for him.

When Siku returned, he toweled off quickly and pulled on someone else’s clothes. They looked to be Siku’s– his wife always did a special type of stitching and embroidery on the hem of his tunics.

A quiet crashing noise from the room pushed him off of the wall and made him brave enough to enter the room. He tried to take Siku’s words to heart, tried to think of Zuko not as a strange spirit that he didn’t know how to guide, but as one of his own kin in need of help. He ducked into the door of the storage room and saw what Zuko had knocked down. It was a pile of wood made for ship repairs, though it was sitting precariously in the corner of the room and now pieces of wood were scattered about the floor. Luckily, none of them had split or broken.

He couldn’t see Zuko, though, which was concerning, but probably better that he audibly introduced himself instead of barging into Zuko’s space without warning.

“Hey, Zuko. It’s Hakoda,” he said, carefully closing the door behind him. He desperately wished there was a lamp somewhere in here, but he had to rely on the small window letting in light on the far wall. “Is everything okay?”

A small, quiet sniffle was the only sign someone else was in the room. It came from underneath a stretch of canvas that was now unfolded and lumped against the wall to Hakoda’s left. It was extremely pitiful and wrenched Hakoda’s heart. This time, he didn’t try to suppress the well of ruth that his heart generated at the sound and the certainty Zuko was hiding under a spread of uncomfortable canvas.

“Did Aguta and Siku startle you?” Hakoda asked, walking quietly towards Zuko’s covered form. “Are you here?” he added, more as a tactic to get Zuko to reply than any real confirmation.

The pile of canvas moved, and a head was pulled from the fabric. Zuko’s long hair was a mess, and Hakoda resisted the need to brush and pull it into a suitable style. Maybe he could offer, once Zuko was calmer. It looked like he’d been pulling at his hair, which didn’t sit well with Hakoda. There were tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Hey,” Hakoda said, smiling slightly. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Zuko shook his head, but pressed his back against the wall as Hakoda sat a few feet in front of him. Hakoda considered what he’d say to Katara and Sokka in their times of distress before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry if Aguta and Siku startled you,” Hakoda said, knowing there had to be more to his upset than that, but having no other way to begin to soothe Zuko. Zuko didn’t reply, just traced careful fingers on his right arm with knit eyebrows and eyes that looked like they were going to spill tears at any moment.

The way he looked– chewing on his cheeks, head ducked, eyes filled with tears, and arm cradled like a broken wing– told Hakoda he was hurt somehow. He looked like Katara when she got a sprained ankle.

“Is your arm hurt?” Hakoda asked, and Zuko looked up, startled at Hakoda’s words. He nodded quickly after; a short, impassive nod.

“What happened?” Hakoda questioned, immediately concerned, wanting to shuffle closer and help but not wanting to scare away the boy.

“I don’t… I broke it. In the past,” Zuko said abruptly, chewing on his lip.

“Did it not heal right?” Hakoda asked. It would make sense, considering the fact that Zuko’s arm looked perfectly fine, but the pain should’ve hurt him before this. Maybe he twisted it again, and that’s why it was hurting so badly.

“No,” Zuko protested, louder like Hakoda didn’t understand. “In the past. When I wasn’t here.”

“Before you came here or… or when you’re not here?” Hakoda asked, trying to consider the logistics of what Zuko went through as a spirit. Hakoda had wondered where Zuko went when he disappeared, but he thought he might be trying to traverse the water, or simply going invisible, or something of the sort. But he never considered he could be escaping to somewhere, especially not the past.

“Um,” Zuko said, adjusting his ‘broken’ arm and wincing. “When I’m not here. In my memories.”

“That’s where you go?” Hakoda asked, shocked. Zuko nodded. “Do your injuries there carry over?”

“Sort of,” Zuko said, but didn’t elaborate. “It hurts.”

“Okay,” Hakoda said, breathing deeply. He knew how to fix something like this. “I can get you something to help the pain, unakuluk,” Hakoda said, accidentally letting the nickname slip like water out of his mouth. Zuko clearly didn’t know what it meant, nodding detachedly and standing up hastily. He stumbled, his head clearly going fuzzy, and before he could change his mind, Hakoda was up and helping Zuko steady himself. He kept his hand in a gentle cradle on Zuko’s right arm, not gripping it too tightly.

“Alright?” Hakoda asked, looking down at the boy. Zuko, once he got steady and in order, pulled himself away, flushing.

“I’m fine,” Zuko insisted, not looking up or meeting Hakoda’s eye. It was painfully endearing, and Hakoda resisted the urge to adjust Zuko’s hair and preen.

“Okay. I’m going to make you some willow water.”

“Willow water?” Zuko asked, forgetting about his embarrassment and tilting his head to look at Hakoda.

“It’s a pain reliever. Willow bark steeped in water,” Hakoda said, straightening Zuko’s left sleeve which had folded up. He noticed the fabric was thin and slightly scratchy, and he added new clothes and a pair of shoes to the list of things to do for Zuko when he was ‘one of his own.’

“I’ve never heard of that,” Zuko said, seemingly not minding Hakoda’s tidying and contact with his good arm.

“What do you do in the Fire Nation?” Hakoda asked, pulling his hand back to himself.

Zuko seemed to think for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip, before answering. “I don’t know. I don’t think I was allowed painkillers very often.”

“Pain killers,” Hakoda repeated the unfamiliar words. “Such violent language.”

“Do you just call them pain relievers?” Zuko asked.

“Typically, yes. Just a cultural difference,” Hakoda shrugged, turning slightly to leave and let Zuko follow. “Let’s get this willow water for you.”

Hakoda opened the door to exit the room with Zuko behind him, and found that Siku was still in his same spot against the wall across from the door. Hakoda stepped into the hallway, and expected Zuko to stand beside him, but he ducked halfway behind Hakoda at the sight of Siku. He was almost pressed to Hakoda’s back and reminded him all-too-well of a polar bear dog pup hiding behind its mother for protection.

“Siku,” Hakoda greeted again. He was still holding the towel Hakoda used to dry off; it was slung over his arm.

“Seems you’ve found a leech,” Siku said in their tribe’s language, most likely to not offend or scare Zuko.

“I have. Do you know where Aguta’s willow bark is?”

“Hm,” Siku said, touching his bone earrings in thought. “Does the little one have pains?”

Hakoda nodded shortly, feeling Zuko’s left hand brush against Hakoda’s. Before Zuko could hastily pull away in perceived indignity, he held Zuko’s hand softly in his own. Zuko’s hand froze up for a moment before relaxing and weaving his small fingers in Hakoda’s larger ones.

“I believe it’s somewhere in that large healing chest he shares with Tuktu,” Siku replied. “In the common room, of course.”

“Thanks. I’ll have a fun time sorting through that,” Hakoda joked, at which Siku laughed. Tuktu was one of the tribe’s proper healers, but Aguta considered himself something of an apprentice and collected far too many herbs and medical supplies that all ended up piled in a chest.

“Of course. Is there anything else you need?” Siku asked. Hakoda looked down at the half of Zuko’s body peeking out from behind his own, and at his bare feet and uncomfortable robe. “I can get Aguta or Tuktu to find the willow bark for you and make it proper,” Siku offered.

“Alright,” Hakoda decided. “I’ll get the little one some clothes,” he said in the tribe’s language, letting Aguta and Tuktu figure out the willow water while he took care of Zuko.

Siku left to fetch Aguta, and Zuko ducked out from his position behind Hakoda when he was gone from the hall. Zuko squirmed in place, rolling from the balls of his feet to his heels on his bare feet. He kept his hand in Hakoda’s, and still looked to be in pain.

“What do you say to some new clothes and shoes?” Hakoda asked, squeezing Zuko’s hand lightly for comfort.

“Is… is Siku getting the willow water?” Zuko asked, looking down the hall where Siku had left.

“Yes,” Hakoda said. He glanced down to Zuko’s feet and wondered how they didn’t hurt from being bare for so long.

“New clothes?” Zuko reiterated, seemingly remembering what Hakoda had asked him in the first. Hakoda didn’t know how he’d react to an offer of non-Fire Nation clothes, but he seemed eager.

“We have some in a room somewhere. They’ll be a little big, but maybe more comfortable than what you have now. And I think you need some shoes to walk around on wood all day,” Hakoda added with a smile, and Zuko looked down at his feet, then glanced at Hakoda’s shoes.

“My clothes are infirmary robes,” Zuko said unceremoniously, biting at his lip again. It looked like he was doing it hard, and Hakoda worried he would begin to bleed. The implications of the words didn’t miss Hakoda– it wasn’t clear before if Zuko was the spirit of a dead boy, but adding the fact that he was wearing infirmary robes and a large bandage swathed his face, it became more of a real possibility.

“Do you want to keep them?” Hakoda asked. Zuko looked back up at him and shook his head vehemently.

“They’re not very comfortable. And… I’d wear blue?” Zuko asked. Maybe he did have qualms about the color and therefore nation the clothes were from. Red was probably what Zuko was used to, and blue clothing might be a slight to his identity.

“We don’t have much else. Maybe there’s something beige or white in there,” Hakoda replied.

“No, blue is okay.”

Hakoda smiled slightly, before pulling his hand out of Zuko’s and walking to open the room a few doors down. There were chests of clothes and other personal items others might need, and Hakoda rifled through them until he found the smallest tunic and pants there were. Judging by size, they would still be large on Zuko, but it was the best they had for now. He grabbed the smallest pair of summer mukluks to finish it off, and passed the clothes onto Zuko.

“You can change in here, and I’ll wait outside. If you’re in too much pain to do it, call for me, okay?” Hakoda said, waiting for a nod from Zuko before he left and closed the door. He waited outside before Zuko came out with a frown, holding the mukluks with a frown. He’d put on the rest of his clothes without problem, though his ‘broken’ right arm was hanging at his side still.

“How do I put these on?” Zuko asked, holding up the shoes to Hakoda in his hand. Hakoda helped him pull on the inner lining, pull on the overshoe and lace the strings around his ankles over the inner lining. When he finished, he patted Zuko’s ankle gently and stood again.

“Good?” He asked, watching as Zuko tested out putting his weight on his shoes and stepping.

“They’re comfortable,” Zuko confirmed, bringing his left arm to hold the edge of his shirt which went down to his thighs in its size. The one Hakoda had picked had ocean wave stitching on the hems, and Zuko's thumb mindlessly felt at it.

“I have a question,” Hakoda said, a wrinkle forming in his brow. Zuko looked up at him, still rocking slightly in his mukluks, but not enough to be outright noticed. It wasn't anxious rocking, but something slight and quiet to keep busy. “Your injuries from the past… they follow through to here?”

“Um,” Zuko said, slowing his rocking. “Not really. The pain stays.”

“But your arm isn’t really broken now, right?” Hakoda clarified, worried he missed something. Zuko shook his head. “And that’s where you disappear to every time?”

“Yeah,” Zuko replied, getting a faraway look in his eyes.

“Thank you for telling me,” Hakoda said, smiling down at Zuko even when he wasn’t looking up at Hakoda.

“You asked,” Zuko shrugged, chewing at his lip again, glancing between Hakoda’s eyes and his hands.

Hakoda tried to think of a life half lived roaming the seas and being pulled back to your past. In an odd way, he already lived it. He fought the Fire Nation most of the time and came back home to his past the other half. Every time he saw Katara and Sokka, he felt like he was a part of their past. He felt like a footnote in their life while Kanna did the work to raise them, and he knew even though they were children now, they’d only grow to resent his active part in the war.

He led the first fleet of soldiers after they’d ceased for eleven years to try to protect the tribe from home. Before the Fire Nation began their attacks on the South, able-bodied soldiers volunteered to help alliances in the Earth Kingdom. When the Fire Nation attacked their homeland for years on end, they stopped sailing and stayed home to protect their homeland, however futile it was, because when Hakoda called for their Earth Kingdom alliances to help them in their time of need, it was complete silence, and all of their waterbenders were killed or taken.

For years, they stayed home instead of taking part in the war, but Hakoda had changed that five years ago when he decided to return to the fight with a fleet, no matter how the Earth Kingdom nationals had wronged them in the past.

Hakoda regretted the decision before he made it, while he made it, and every day thereafter. He had no idea if his military support mattered at all, or if he’d missed five years of his children’s lives for nothing.

He lived five years on the open seas, away from home, and when he came back, he saw the uncertainty on Kanna’s and his children’s faces. What was he doing off at war? Why had he made such a decision? But the war was over and Bato advised him to either try to make it up to his children every day that passed, or move on from his decision. Once these raids were quelled, he hoped to.

“Let’s go above deck, and you can drink your willow water in the sun,” Hakoda directed, trying to shove his guilt to the furthest corner of his mind. “We’re docked now, and it’s nice out.”

“We’re docked?”

“Yeah, just to avoid a storm for the night. We’re on the Chuje Islands, if you know where those are,” Hakoda answered.

“Not… I know them, I just… things are harder to remember now,” Zuko said, seeming frustrated when he couldn’t place them. He bit down hard on his lip, and Hakoda was tempted to tell him not to be so rough with himself, but he figured he’d get to that lesson eventually.

“That’s okay. I’m awful with Earth Kingdom town names, even when I’ve been doing trade with them for years,” Hakoda said with a grin, and it made Zuko smile slightly. Hakoda had figured there were some major gaps in Zuko’s memory, both with menial things like island names and more severe ones like

“You don’t spend more time in the South?” Zuko asked, looking genuinely curious.

Hakoda couldn’t drop a nearly one hundred year long war on his memory again when he looked at Hakoda like that. Instead Hakoda rubbed his neck, and said, “we sail a lot. For trade and things. The South hasn’t… prospered for a while.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Zuko apologized, but it wasn’t the apology of a Fire Nation citizen wanting to apologize for their several genocides and wars waged with innocents. It was a child, granting a small apology he didn’t need to give because he didn’t know why he was giving it.

“It’s not your fault,” Hakoda choked out, and soon was turning to lead Zuko above deck to avoid Zuko’s eyes on his face.

Zuko followed him with the eager, short steps of an otter-penguin. It killed Hakoda, hearing the soft, short steps of his feet in his mukluks like a baby chick following its mother. Maybe Bato was right and he was growing his so-called ‘anaana instincts.’

When they made it above deck, there were a few crewmen roaming about and talking to each other, but most of the crew was on shore. Siku was above deck now, watching as the others set up camps on the beach and smoking tobacco surely out of Taqqiq’s supply.

“Put that out in front of the little one,” Hakoda cursed at him, hitting his upper arm with the back of his hand.

“Shit, sorry,” Siku said, before putting it out on one of the metal attachments on the ship.

“You’re going to burn down the ship,” Hakoda groaned, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in frustration at the tobacco, Siku’s place of choice to put it out, and the colorful language around the child who likely had very different ideals on swearing than they did.

“Ay, Taqqiq hasn’t yet, has she?” Siku said, a joking lilt to his voice. Hakoda kept his head ducked and his hand rubbing the bridge of his nose to not show the smile his face was forming.

“Spirits, Siku,” Hakoda said, letting out a breath that could’ve been a laugh or another sigh.

“Tuktu should be up with the willow water in ten minutes,” Siku said, clapping a hand on Hakoda’s shoulder, “sit and get some rest.” Siku then walked below deck to do Tui knows what.

Hakoda lifted his head, and turned to Zuko who was halfway behind him again. “My arm hurts,” Zuko said, but it wasn’t whining or self-pitying like it ought to be, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m sorry, unakuluk. We’ll get your pain relievers soon,” Hakoda promised, letting the nickname slip out more easily this time.

“I wish…,” Zuko faded off, looking out on the water and at the other crew members before looking back at Hakoda. “The sun is nice.”

“I’m glad,” Hakoda said, trying to take in Zuko’s disjointed sentences easily. “What do you wish?”

“That we could put it in a real splint,” Zuko said. “But it’s healed here.”

“We could put it in a sling. I’m no healer, but immobilizing it might help with your pain,” Hakoda suggested, unsure if it would really work. Maybe taking the weight off of it would

“It’s okay, I’ve felt worse,” Zuko said candidly, like it didn’t totally freak Hakoda out. Katara getting a sprained ankle was the most pain Hakoda ever wanted to see her in, and even watching her cry then agonized him. Zuko’s bandage didn’t speak to a painless life, but to hear him admit it like such a level of pain was normal wounded Hakoda.

He had no idea how to reply to such a thing in such a way that would help heal and help Zuko. He wanted to help. Luckily, or unluckily, Aguta came up to them before Hakoda could even attempt to unpack such a statement. He no longer had the bottle of alcohol in his hand– he probably already took all the alcohol onto the shore in their ferry boat.

“Hey, Chief,” Aguta said, before looking at Zuko and nodding in acknowledgement. Hakoda could see the blatant inclination towards Zuko that Aguta was trying to hide. He looked slightly regretful, probably from scaring the boy, but was clearly fighting turning towards him.

“I apologize for earlier,” Zuko said formally, bowing with his hands in a symbol Hakoda had never seen before.

“No need. I’m sorry for scaring you,” Aguta followed up with a warm smile, tucking his beaded braid behind his ear again. He had the longest hair out of any of the crew, even Taqqiq who left long black hairs wherever she went, and it was swept into a wolf tail, except for the long braid he kept out in the front. Zuko looked like he wanted to protest the sentiment, but he was biting back his words.

“Are you staying for the bonfire?” Aguta asked Zuko, clearly forgetting Hakoda was even there now that he could talk to the boy. Aguta was painfully paternal– he’d treat a fish like his own child.

“Bonfire?” Zuko said, looking up at Hakoda in confusion.

“Yes, we’re having a bonfire on shore tonight. There’ll be music and food,” Hakoda confirmed. And an abundance of alcohol, thanks to Aguta and Siku.

“We used to have those,” Zuko said, picking at the edge of his tunic with his left hand.

“Yeah?” Aguta remarked. Zuko nodded. “Well, it’s meant to be a celebration so you can have as much food as you like. And I’ll make you as much tea as you like.”

“I’m having willow water,” Zuko said, finally looking up at Aguta with some eagerness, his apprehension seemingly dissipating a little.

“What happened?” Aguta asked. He wasn’t looking at Hakoda for an answer, just Zuko, his face open and honest, waiting for an answer from the boy.

“My arm hurts,” Zuko said, but he stood up straighter and made himself seem less small. “But it’s not that bad, and it’ll go away the next time I come back.”

“Well, willow water is hardly tea. I like mine with a spoonful of sugar, so you should ask Tuktu for that,” Aguta said, winking at Zuko like they were sharing a secret.

“But I can have tea later?” Zuko asked, rolling his feet in his mukluks again. Aguta’s face melted in clear fondness.

“Of course,” Aguta responded. “I have a lot of different types in my storage chest, so you’ll have to help me pick.”

“I think the proper term would be hoarding,” Hakoda said, looking at Aguta flatly, though a smile grew on his face. Aguta huffed in fake-offense.

“Hakoda doesn’t understand, he’s not a tea savant like we are,” Aguta said to Zuko. Zuko smiled with a wrinkle in his nose.

“It’s hot water with plants in it,” Hakoda protested, leaning back against the boat’s railing.

“It’s hot leaf juice,” Zuko giggled, looking for all the world like the child he was.

“But it’s tasty hot leaf juice,” Aguta said, ruffling a light hand in Zuko’s hair, reminding Hakoda that it was tangled and out-of-sorts in the first place. Zuko nodded enthusiastically, looking up at Hakoda like he was trying to convince him of this fact.

“You win,” Hakoda said, letting out a light laugh. Zuko giggled, tucking his body against Hakoda’s leg. It was the most playful Hakoda had seen him, even with his hurting arm. It was hard not to want Zuko to be his own when he was dressed in Water Tribe clothing that was too big for him, giggling and pushing up against Hakoda for contact.

“Ay, unakuluk, do you want to properly comb your hair?” Aguta asked, smoothing down the part of Zuko’s hair he messed up before pulling his hand away.

Zuko brought his own hand to his hair to feel it. The cut was choppy around the bandage, leading Hakoda to believe it was a burn wound under there. Hair melted and stuck to burn wounds, meaning it needed to be cut around the area of infliction. His long hair was also left down, and while Hakoda hadn’t seen many Fire Nation people out of armor, he didn’t remember seeing any Fire citizens with their hair down. It was likely because he came to their ship in infirmary wear, meaning his hair would be down rather than put-together.

“Okay,” Zuko agreed, keeping a long piece of hair in his left hand to fidget with. He had yet to move his right arm that much, keeping it limp at his side.

“Do you want to tie it some way?” Hakoda asked.

Zuko paused, looking like he was holding back something he wanted to say. “I like your braids,” he said hesitantly.

“Do you want one?” Aguta asked, touching his own braid and feeling down the length of it.

“If it’s okay. I don’t like my hair up that much, really,” Zuko said, looking away at the ship's deck. The words didn’t sound dishonest, but they didn’t really sound like Zuko was including all the details, either.

“We can do that. I can get the comb and tie from below deck,” Aguta said, not even looking for a confirmation before he walked off quickly. Hakoda watched as he sped-walk, clearly trying not to look too urgent.

“I feel weird having everyone fetch me things,” Hakoda said, mostly to himself, but Zuko still looked up at him like how a polar bear dog pup looked at its mother. Spirits, Hakoda had to force himself to remember Zuko wasn’t his own and he had his own parents somewhere.

“You’re Chief,” Zuko reiterated.

“And able-bodied,” Hakoda said, shrugging, not that shocked that his status as Chief was coming up again with Zuko.

“Do you not have servants in the Southern Water Tribes?” Zuko asked, his head tilting. Hakoda supposed it was a normal question to ask from someone coming from the Fire Nation, but he couldn’t help but let out a short laugh at the idea.

“No, that’s too… hierarchical, if you know what that word means,” Hakoda explained.

“Can I ask…,” Zuko began, but didn’t finish his thought, only pressing into Hakoda’s side slightly.

“You can ask anything,” Hakoda asks. “I know we have very different cultural concepts, and I won’t blame you for being confused.”

“What does your chiefdom even mean? You’re not very–,” Zuko cut off, clearly struggling for a word. “Superior to others,” Zuko settled.

“Being a Fire Lord might entail a lot of subjugation for anyone underneath them, but my chiefdom is different. I’m Chief because I want to act in the interests of my people and help them prosper, not to act in my own interests. I don’t want to be superior to others, I want to be a companion.”

Zuko stayed silent, his eyebrows pinched. Hakoda didn’t need a response, but he was grateful to be able to explain himself and maybe shift Zuko’s ideals in a different direction.

Aguta returned shortly thereafter, slightly out of breath and holding a comb and a leather strip used for tying small braids in his hands. Tuktu followed, though slower, holding a teapot and teacup in their hands.

“Here,” Tuktu said, passing on the teapot of willow water as well as the teacup. “I put it in a teapot. For his size, he should probably drink two mugs, and I didn’t want to have to refill when he’s done.”

“Oh, and I added sugar already,” Aguta said, looking at Zuko with a grin. “It’ll taste weird, but ten times better than with none.”

“Thank you,” Zuko said, bowing to Tuktu with that same hand symbol, who laughed in his face. Zuko looked up, alarmed, but Tuktu seemed unbothered, wiping away fake tears in their amusement.

“I’ve never gotten a bow for my services before,” Tuktu laughed, and Hakoda wanted to face-palm at their bluntness. Zuko looked affronted, which is the first time Hakoda saw him look anything other than pleasant, though it slowly faded away when Aguta smiled at their laugh.

“He’s formal. It’s kind, Tuktu,” Hakoda said with a roll of his eyes.

“I know. I should have Aguta start bowing to me every time he asks for healing apprenticeship, whatever the Koh that means,” Tuktu continued, grinning up at Aguta. They were far shorter than anyone else on the crew, but their spirit made them seem two feet taller. “Anyways, am I fully off duty, Hakoda? Can I go drink my fill of Earth Kingdom liquor?”

“Yes, Tuktu, you can leave,” Hakoda said with what had to be his tenth sigh of the day. Tuktu called in the ferry boat from the other end of the ship to go ashore, and Hakoda handed Aguta the teapot and teacup.

“I can fix your hair while you drink, if that’s okay,” Hakoda offered. He was slightly nervous to offer– doing someone’s hair held a lot of significance. Zuko nodded quickly, seemingly unbothered by the concept, and turned so the back of his head faced Hakoda, and sat down carefully. Hakoda knew Zuko didn’t have the same customs, but he was still gently grateful and honored, and he took the comb from Aguta carefully.

Aguta sat down in front of Zuko, clearly forgetting his own objective to get drunk before his own fondness for the child. He set down the teapot and teacup, pouring a cup for Zuko to take.

“Can I start?” Hakoda asked, not wanting to touch Zuko’s hair when he wasn’t expecting or wasn’t ready. Zuko bobbed his head in a nod. Hakoda began combing the tips of Zuko’s hair first, brushing through the knots at the bottom carefully. Zuko takes a sip of his willow water, his back straight.

“Weird flavor?” Aguta asked, most likely at the face Zuko was making at his first sip.

“No, it’s just different,” Zuko insisted, taking a few more rapid sips and making a dent in the cup. Hakoda sectioned off the left side of his hair and began combing the upper sections of that side, careful to avoid the bandages wrapping his face. Zuko still slightly flinched away at the contact on his left side.

“Can I ask something?” Zuko said. Hakoda tried to imagine one of his own kids asking that to preface one of their many, many questions and almost grinned. He really was awfully formal, down to the kneeling position he was in right now with his hands gathered in his lap politely.

“Of course,” Hakoda replied. Not that he would say no under any circumstance.

“Why do you wear beads in your hair?” Zuko asked, a finger tracing the lip of his cup before he took another gulp. Aguta looked at Hakoda in a clear directive for him to answer the question.

“Well,” Hakoda began, swiping the comb carefully through Zuko’s hair, “hair beads are to remember loved ones. Beads on the right side of your face are meant to represent those who are alive. Beads on the left are for those you’ve lost.”

“The left-right difference is meant to represent the sun and moon rising in the east and setting in the west. So if you’re facing northwards, the beads on your right represent the sun rising, and the beads on your left represent the sun setting,” Aguta continued, pulling forward his own two strands of hair that had beads on them. One on the right, holding his wife and baby boy, and one on his left for the girl they lost in childbirth.

“Usually, when someone loves you a lot, they carve and paint a bead for you to put in your hair, or if they’re too small, they get a parent to help,” Hakoda finished. Kya was missing from his hair, he knew. Her bead used to be on his braid with Sokka and Katara, but the bead was now sitting on a necklace above his heart. He didn’t want to admit she was gone and put her on the left side of his face, so he didn’t. She rested on his heart and in his soul.

“That’s really nice,” Zuko said earnestly, taking another sip from his cup before Aguta poured him more.

“What do you do with your hair in the Fire Nation?” Aguta asked, setting down the teapot.

“The way you fashion your hair speaks to where you’re from and who you are. In… where I was from, topknots held a lot of honor, but you had to earn them. I usually just had a phoenix tail, which wasn’t dishonorable but…,” Zuko faded off, seemingly out of words to say.

“That makes sense,” Hakoda affirmed, brushing the comb carefully through a knot, holding it just beyond the root so the point of contact took the stress and not Zuko’s roots.

“I don’t know… I don’t know how much I want either anymore. A topknot or a phoenix tail,” Zuko clarified, fidgeting with his hands before taking another sip of his willow water.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Aguta comforted. Hakoda pulled his comb through the last of Zuko’s hair, re-parting it and making sure everything was in its right place.

“I think you’re ready for a braid,” Hakoda said, gently patting the boy on his shoulders and slipping the comb into his pocket.

Aguta quickly braided the small section of hair on Zuko’s right side since one of Zuko’s arms wasn't good. Aguta tied it off with a leather strip and Zuko chugged the rest of his willow water.

“Do you want to go on land with us or stay in your room on the boat?” Hakoda asked once Aguta had whisked away the empty teapot and teacup below deck.

Zuko looked over the side of the boat to the shore, where most members of the crew were hanging out. Tuktu and Siku looked to be in a competition of alcohol drinking, which was certainly only ending in one or both of them throwing up copiously. The sun was setting to Hakoda’s left and the bonfire was soon to start. Hakoda didn’t know if all the people and things happening would be too overwhelming for Zuko, but Zuko staying on the boat wouldn’t be a problem.

“I want to go on shore,” Zuko said, fidgeting with his new braid already.

“Okay,” Hakoda settled, preparing the ferry boat for them to go onshore without getting drenched. With his hair braided and his new clothes, Zuko almost looked like a proper child of their tribe. Oddly, it fit him better than garish red and swathing robes, and Hakoda couldn’t properly convince himself Zuko wasn’t his own.

Chapter Text

Zuko’s feet felt weird on the sand. He’d just put on the new shoes Chief Hakoda gave him, and they were way more comfortable than the hard sandals and boots he’d worn in the past. Zuko hadn’t been on solid land in a while, excluding his memories, and these shoes were like nothing he’d ever worn before. They were cushiony and made of the soft leather moccasins and the thick fabric underneath them that wrapped up his shins. After being barefoot for so long, they felt like bliss. 

There were a lot of tribesmen gathered on the beach. More than Zuko had ever seen at once, gathered on the sand while the sun set. He’d told Chief Hakoda he’d wanted to go on the beach, and he was trying not to flicker and disappear, but with so many unfamiliar people, he felt oddly threatened.

They weren’t the broad, ironed people of the Fire Nation. They were dressed in soft blues and browns, not dark reds and blacks that reminded Zuko of blood. Still, he stuck close to Chief Hakoda no matter how he expected to be kicked away. Aguta wasn’t around, and he didn’t appear even as Zuko looked around for him to soothe his nerves with an appearance.

Zuko didn’t know what he wanted to do on shore, even, but the idea of being on a boat no one was manning scared him, and he wanted to feel the solid ground beneath his feet. He didn’t want to cling to Chief Hakoda like a leech, mostly because he knew Chief Hakoda probably didn’t want him doing that. He knew it was annoying, but he didn’t really know anyone else.

His arm still ached and he hoped the willow water would kick in soon. It wasn’t the type of grounding pain like digging his fingernails into his palms, or sparking fire and intentionally burning himself, that helped him focus. It was an aching pain that only made him more nauseous.

Chief Hakoda talked with some other tribesmen, switching between the international language and what must be a dialect native to the South. It didn’t matter what language they spoke, because Zuko couldn’t understand much of it at all. He was busy staring down at his feet and wishing he could grab the Chief’s hand to steady himself, however foolish that wish was.

Eventually, a young man and woman ran up to the Chief to engage in conversation. Zuko looked up and placed their names as Taqqiq and Panuk.

They weren’t wearing typical tribe clothing that Zuko had seen so far, and were in various states of undress. Panuk was wearing only his pants, his shirt had been stripped somewhere. It reminded Zuko of how people showed up to an Agni Kai. It made him uncomfortable to see him looming so much taller than Zuko and looking down at him. Taqqiq was wearing a white chest-wrap, as well as cloth wrapping her thighs and a white curtain of fabric wrapped around her waist.

“Chief,” Taqqiq greeted, her hands placed on her hips. She looked to the Chief’s side and saw Zuko, and grinned. “And Zuko!”

Zuko resisted the urge to pull away from the Chief and do a proper bow to both of them. Zuko noticed a small purple bead hiding behind Taqqiq’s ear. It was on the right side of her, so Zuko figured it wasn’t rude to ask who it was for.

“Who gave you your bead?” Zuko abruptly asked, at which Taqqiq bursted into a wildfire-like blush and Panuk laughed awkwardly. Taqqiq touched the bead, tucking it further into her hair like she wanted to hide it. Zuko was just beginning to blush from embarrassment himself when Bato, who was standing beside the Chief, spoke.

“Oh please, you two,” Bato said, and when Zuko looked up at him, he was rolling his eyes.

“What?” Taqqiq exclaimed, but Zuko could still see the deep blush under her tan skin.

“Everyone knows you two are interlinked, it’s about time you started acting like it,” Bato said. Zuko was very, very confused, but he wasn’t going to interrupt and ask.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Panuk said, shrugging.

“Me neither,” Taqqiq continued, looking over at Panuk cluelessly.

“Purple is your favorite color, Panuk,” Chief Hakoda said flatly.

“You gave her the bead?” Zuko finally asked, looking at Panuk.

“Purple is a lot of people’s favorite color!” Panuk exclaimed, a blush rising on his own face.

“Who else is going to give her that; Aput?” Bato asked.

“Aput would not give me a bead!” Taqqiq exclaimed, crossing her arms like Bato was. Her biceps flexed at the motion, and Zuko was yet again worried at how strong everyone here was.

“I don’t know, it seems like they like you,” Bato said, looking over at a person Zuko hadn’t met yet. They were lounging in the sand, wearing chest wrappings and white shorts, similar in style to Taqqiq’s. Bato’s tone of voice reminded Zuko of when his sister would tease him in the past.

“No they don’t,” Panuk protested, looking between Aput and Taqqiq. Zuko was again very confused on what was happening when he just wanted to know who the bead was for and regretting asking. It seemed like a rude question in retrospect.

“Ay, they can live how they want, Bato,” Chief Hakoda said, hitting Bato lightly on his arm with the back of his hand.

“Right, but I don’t want to see a betrothal necklace on Taqqiq’s neck and have Panuk saying he doesn’t know where it came from,” Bato said, shrugging. Bato soon excused himself to go sample the foods they already had out.

“Just like Sokka, that one,” Chief Hakoda remarked when Bato was out of earshot.

“I apologize for asking about the bead,” Zuko said, though his voice faltered in the middle of the sentence and he couldn’t make eye contact with either Taqqiq or Panuk. He resisted the need to bow again, and wished there was some version of a bow he could learn from their tribes.

“No, that’s okay,” Taqqiq said, patting Zuko on the arm, though it was a little too hard for his liking. It wasn’t mean, like his sister’s touches, just unintentionally rough, but it was at least on his left arm and not his broken one.

Zuko still didn’t know who the bead was or what that whole conversation even meant half the time, but he felt slightly forgiven which was settling.

“When are we lighting this fire, Hakoda?” Panuk asked, and Zuko faltered at the name without proper title.

“You can start it now, if you’ve chopped enough wood,” Chief Hakoda shrugged, looking over at a pit in the sand where heaps of wood were piled.

“I think I chopped enough wood to last three winters,” Taqqiq sighed.

“Spirits, you were warming up the whole time,” Panuk said, but they were already turning away to go light the fire.

When they were gone, Zuko got brave enough to ask, “who gave Taqqiq the bead?”

“Good to know their avoidance tactics work on someone,” Chief Hakoda said, with a warm laugh, though Zuko didn’t really get the joke. “Panuk gave it to her, they just like to pretend they hate each other while sharing a bedroll.”

“Was it rude to ask?” Zuko asked, much quieter, because it felt like taboo to actually ask social rules everyone else seemed to know.

“No, I don’t think so. You were just curious, and plenty of people like talking about who their beads represent,” Chief Hakoda said. Zuko reached his left hand to touch his new braid. He liked it a lot, and he liked how neat and tight Aguta had braided it.

He thought about the right-left meaning that Aguta and Chief Hakoda explained to him. The braid on his right side would represent the living version of him, and the angry, horrible bandages on his left would represent the version of him in that land of death– the version of him burned over and over again until he succumbed to fire.

He liked his new clothes a lot, too. They were comfortable and soft, and weren’t such angry reds, and he knew when he lost and found himself, it’d be easier to place where he was because of the blues and ocean-wave stitching on the hem of his shirt.

Before Zuko could ask the Chief another question, a person suddenly appeared beside Chief Hakoda with a scroll in their hands. Zuko jumped a little in surprise when he saw them. It was Aput, the person Panuk and Taqqiq were talking about.

They had the front section of their hair in two loops that pulled back into a spiky, short phoenix tail. Their eyes and nose were masculine, but their jaw was soft in shape, and their appearance was almost indistinguishable from a man or woman. They wore earrings, but so did Panuk, who was a man, and they had some face tattoos like Taqqiq that none of the other men had. Zuko certainly couldn’t tell, and he didn’t want to assume either, and he couldn’t remember what the others called Aput.

“Trade shipment from Gaoling?” Hakoda asked, reading over the scroll Aput gave him. “Coming in late summer. Good to know they’ll give us herbs but not troops.”

Aput laughed, nothing with much sound, but a huff of breath and wide smile. When Zuko expected them to speak, they didn’t. Zuko was very confused on why Gaoling would need to send troops to the South in the first place, but he wasn’t really wanting to ask another question.

Aput seemed to finally spot Zuko beside Hakoda because their eyebrows went through several forms of surprise. They intimidated Zuko more than Siku did, and he felt pressured into a quick bow.

“Hello,” Zuko said after his rapid bow, noticing that pulling his hands up for the gesture part of the bow that his right arm didn’t hurt as much. When he looked at Aput again, they were looking at him with more aversion and confusion.

“He’s formal. It’s polite,” Chief Hakoda said, a mirror of his words earlier to Tuktu. Aput’s face shifted in directions Zuko couldn’t discern, and he was beginning to get the sense they didn’t talk that much.

“I don’t appreciate Fire Nation customs because they don’t appreciate ours,” Aput spoke after a moment of silence. Zuko wanted to tell them that wasn’t the truth– he liked their tribes and what he’d learned about them so far, but there was far too much he was missing to comment.

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” Chief Hakoda replied, and there was a faint memory of someone tugging at him, but he couldn’t place who, just a flowery scent and the warmth of tea. Then again, that same feeling was evoked when he was around Aguta, so Zuko might be thinking of him and not someone from his past.

“They’ve taken an eye and I’m taking a fingernail,” Aput said, before turning and walking away, but Zuko was confused on the use of proverbs and why they were so resistant to Zuko. Everyone had been far too kind to him so far, and it was confusing, but Aput’s coldness made more sense to him. He was the same letdown he always was. It felt like his bandages had been ripped off and everyone saw him for who he really was.

When his–... when that shadow burned his face off, it wasn’t just a punishment of pain. It was melting off his face to show the hideous flesh underneath, to show the truth of what he was. A failure and a mistake, and there was no amount of bandages that could cover that. Everyone knew what was underneath.

“Sorry about that,” Chief Hakoda said, turning fully to Zuko and looking down at him. He looked like he was expecting more questions, but Zuko wasn’t very confused any more. He was a disappointment, and it was only fair of Aput to express such. It was kind of awful that no one else was.

“Are you hungry?” Chief Hakoda asked, glancing over to the fire that was sparking in the sandpit. Zuko didn’t often see large fires apart from his memories, and it worried him. He wasn’t afraid of fires, but he was afraid he was going to burn himself, or that he was going to remember too much and end up back there.

Zuko shook his head at the question, because he was never really hungry anymore, and he didn’t want to waste any of their food.

“I’m cold,” Zuko said, wrapping his arms around himself and looking up at the Chief. He wanted some type of words from the Chief– something to say he wasn’t awful or a failure, or something to confirm he was. He wanted to stop being confused about Chief Hakoda’s motivations.

“We can get you a parka or an extra blanket, and you can sit by the fire if you’d like. Aguta can make you tea, too,” Chief Hakoda said, taking two warm hands and briefly rubbing them on Zuko’s upper arms in a short, gentle motion.

“Tea sounds good,” Zuko said, sensing he was being a burden but not knowing how to help it.

“I think Aguta is in one of the tents, I can get him or you can go inside,” Chief Hakoda said, offering Zuko an option. Zuko looked over at the fire and the many people gathered around it, eating, singing, and dancing. It was a little too much for Zuko– he remembered having celebrations for vague things, but it was never anything like this. He felt like too much of a letdown to be near a fire, for fear it would consume him.

“Inside,” Zuko murmured, feeling the fire warm him even from so far away. It was only growing higher, and the tribesmen formed shadows around it, and the sight was eerily familiar.

“Okay, we can find him,” Chief Hakoda said, taking Zuko’s hand. Zuko almost flinched away in expectation for it to light on fire, but Chief Hakoda only led him away from the bonfire towards the tents set further down the beach. They were more towards the treeline, and Zuko had to trudge through the sand and try to avoid getting dry sand kicked into his new shoes, but he was failing pretty badly, and it was perturbing Zuko. He didn’t like the feeling of sand in his shoes, even with the thick, sock-like things that Chief Hakoda had put on before the shoes.

“This should be where he’s staying,” Chief Hakoda said, stopping in front of a tent that was white rather than the dark blues of the others.

Chief Hakoda let go of Zuko’s hand to open the tent flap and bend down to walk inside. Zuko followed, relieved when he walked onto a tarp inside the tent instead of the grass-sand combination that was the ground outside.

“Hakoda,” Aguta greeted, and when Zuko stepped from behind him, his face lit up. “Zuko, too!”

“Do you have tea here?” Chief Hakoda asked, and Zuko tried to stand what he considered to be politely. Zuko’s eyes shifted wearily from the Chief to Aguta.

“I brought some down, yes. Are you ready for our evening tea?” Aguta asked, directing the question towards Zuko.

“If that’s all right,” Zuko said.

“Oh, of course,” Aguta said, standing up from where he was sitting and digging in a bag for something. He pulled out a small burlap sack and opened its strings and peeked inside. “Does Earth Kingdom longjing sound good?”

Zuko nodded, though he didn’t have much comprehensive knowledge on tea. He liked its warmth and taste sometimes, but on flavors and names he was lost.

“I don’t have a proper tea kit, so I’ll have to make it grandpa style,” Aguta said, pulling out two wooden cups from the same bag.

“Grandpa style?” Zuko asked, feeling at his braid with his hand.

“Where the leaves are steeped in the teacup and you drink with them inside,” Aguta explained, setting the two cups in front of him. “Sit, please.”

Zuko followed his directions, sitting down in front of Aguta with the teacups between them.

“Hakoda, come back with boiling water, please,” Aguta said, leveling Hakoda with a flat look. It was odd, seeing someone command a Chief in such a way, but it was Aguta, so it almost felt okay.

“Where am I going to get that?” Chief Hakoda asked, raising an eyebrow. Zuko almost smiled. It seemed like a scene in a comedy– the subordinate man ordering a Chief around.

“Spirits, there’s a damned bonfire out there for you to boil it on. Just come back into this tent with enough boiling water for these cups,” Aguta replied saltily. Chief Hakoda looked like he wanted to have some words with Aguta, but he left the tent shortly, and the second the flap closed, Aguta burst into a laugh.

“Still the same six-year-old sour face that one has,” Aguta said, smiling as he put a portion of tea leaves into each cup before pulling the small burlap bag closed again.

“Really?” Zuko asked, rolling forward on his knees a little so less pressure was on his shoes. He couldn’t feel the sand in his shoes, but he knew it was there, between the leather moccasin part and the thick layer beneath it, and it was very bothersome.

“I used to babysit him, actually,” Aguta said, grinning while he reminisced.

“Really?” Zuko repeated incredulously, having a hard time imagining Chief Hakoda as a child being babysat by Aguta.

“Yeah. I’m seven years older– so’s Siku– and the old Chief’s son was thrown into our laps on random days. That was little Hakoda. We were supposed to teach him warrior lessons, or something like that, but all Hakoda did was roll around with his parka in the snow like a newborn baby. It’s ironic now, because my boy is being babysat by his kids,” Aguta said wistfully. Zuko wondered how Aguta and Siku could both be the same age– older than the Chief– and Siku was so much more intimidating.

Zuko furrowed his eyebrows, trying even harder to imagine a tiny Chief Hakoda rolling around in snow. It was difficult like imagining his own–

“You have a kid?” Zuko asked, adjusting his sitting so he didn’t have to kneel.

“I do. He’s two,” Aguta answered.

“Is he one of your beads?” Zuko asked, looking at Aguta’s long right braid that was pulled forward.

“Yeah, this one,” Aguta replied, holding his braid to point out the light blue bead. Zuko leaned in a little to observe for carvings, but there were none.

“Isn’t he supposed to help make it?” Zuko asked, backing up and picking at his shoes.

“Well, yeah. But most parents want a bead for their kids before they’re old enough to make it, so they put a placeholder, and their kids can choose to make a new one or decorate the old one properly when they are old enough,” Aguta said.

“Oh, okay,” Zuko said, shifting his shoe when he felt a clump of sand on the arch of his foot. His nose was wrinkled at the feeling, and he tried not to be too much of a distraction as he adjusted them.

“Something wrong with your shoes, unakuluk?” Aguta asked.

“Nothing, really. There’s just… I got sand in them,” Zuko said, chewing at his lip.

“You can take them off in here,” Aguta said, shrugging.

Zuko looked up at him to make sure he was certain, before undoing the leather straps coming up from the moccasin half of the shoes, and pulling off both parts at once. He stood enough to walk to peek outside to shake out the shoes and thick inside part. He didn’t want to get sand in Aguta’s tent.

“Thanks,” Aguta said when he re-entered the tent. Zuko preened at the credit, trying not to grin at something so small.

Chief Hakoda returned with the boiling water shortly after, holding it in a small pot. Aguta took the pot from him and filled the cups, and a breeze coming through the tent flaps made him straighten in a shiver he hoped was covert. It clearly wasn't because Aguta looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Get the boy a parka, would you?” Aguta asked, setting down the teapot on the wooden tray he put the teacups on. Zuko wanted to insist that he didn't need anything, but the idea of having something warm wrapped around him while he drank tea was too inviting. He wasn't cold, per say, just not that warm. 

Chief Hakoda complied, but with a flat look at Aguta. He rummaged through a bag in the room before pulling out a parka that was far too big for Zuko, but he placed it in Zuko's hands anyway. It was probably the best they could offer; no was was near Zuko's size on the ship. 

He didn't want his arms to get swamped by the sleeves, so he simply wrapped it around his shoulders like a blanket and relished in its immediate warmth and softness. 

He drank his cup of tea quickly, smiling at the flavor and comfort of it. Aguta steeped the leaves twice, so Zuko ended up getting a second cup. Chief Hakoda and Aguta talked, occasionally asking Zuko an errant, meaningless question, but understood Zuko was content to sit and listen.

Zuko began to drift with a heavy parka wrapped around his shoulders warming him. His stomach was full of tea, his arm didn’t hurt so much, and he felt awfully and weirdly safe. He fidgeted with the end of his new braid under the parka, trying not to fall asleep but finding it hard to resist the urge.

He tried to blink away the tiredness and listen to Aguta and Chief Hakoda talk and follow their conversations, even though they were split between the language Zuko recognized, and what must be language local to a Southern Water Tribe. Eventually, someone else came into the tent that he recognized as Tuktu, and Zuko buried his face a little further into the parka. Tuktu spoke in that unfamiliar language jovially, and it was all Zuko needed to slip into sleep.

He only woke from his short nap when someone shook his shoulders, and his head perked up from the fur of the parka it was buried in.

“Time for sleep,” Chief Hakoda said from above him, and Zuko blinked at him wearily.

“Where am I sleeping?” Zuko asked.

“I can set up a bed roll in my tent, or here, if you want,” Chief Hakoda offered, sitting back a little.

“Yours is fine,” Zuko said, looking over at Tuktu, who seemed like they were staying for the night. Zuko was having the same issue with Tuktu that he had with Aput– it was very hard to tell whether they were a man or woman. Tuktu seemed like they were staying for the night, and while Zuko wouldn’t mind sleeping in a tent with just Aguta, Tuktu was an unknown to him. They were loud, and kind of teasing, and it wasn’t very clear how they felt about him, unlike with Aput.

“Okay, let’s go,” Chief Hakoda said, standing up, though he had to crouch to avoid the tent’s ceiling.

Zuko shrugged the parka off and gave it back to Aguta with a small smile. He grabbed his shoes from the corner where he put them earlier and pulled them on quickly, tying them the way Chief Hakoda had originally. Once he had them on, he bowed in goodbye to both Aguta and Tuktu out of habit before following Chief Hakoda out of the tent.

Tuktu said goodbye loudly as he walked out of the tent, but followed it with words in the language he didn’t understand. Aguta said an earnest goodbye on the tail end of Tuktu’s, and Zuko began to focus on not getting sand in his shoes again. It was a little easier because the Chief’s tent was further down the beach and on more solid sand.

The fire was still going, but there were fewer people around it. Still, the few people around the fire were rowdy and loud, but in an almost endearing way.

Zuko walked a little faster to catch up with Chief Hakoda, making sure to stay just a little bit behind him in respect, but close enough to talk.

“Can I ask something?” Zuko questioned, looking up at Chief Hakoda for a moment.

“Yeah, of course. There’s no need to ask to ask things,” Chief Hakoda said. Zuko chewed his lip at the idea, but still couldn’t resist the need to be polite.

“Is Tuktu a man or a woman?” Zuko asked, even though he felt kind of embarrassed for needing to ask in the first place.

“They’re neither,” Chief Hakoda replied.

“Can you be born as anything else?” Zuko wondered, because the concept was foreign to him. Tuktu certainly didn’t look like a man or a woman.

“Well, you can be born as a boy or a girl, but people can choose to be neither,” Chief Hakoda said, glancing down at Zuko. They slowed down in front of a smaller tent near the end of the line of tents, which Zuko assumed to be the Chief’s. It was quite small for someone of such high esteem, but everything Zuko learned about the Water Tribes contradicted his own beliefs on authority.

“Oh,” Zuko said, supposing it made sense in concept. “Is that what Aput chose, too?”

“Yes,” Chief Hakoda answered. Zuko had never heard of a third orientation before, and it confused him, but he guessed it wasn’t so strange when added to all of the other things Zuko had learned about their tribes so far.

“You’re the leader of the biggest Southern Water Tribe, right?” Zuko asked, the questions not stopping now that they were coming and he had permission.

“Yes, I am. Here, come inside,” Chief Hakoda said, ushering Zuko inside the flap of the tent, and Zuko followed. It was dark inside, and he could barely see Chief Hakoda in the shadows.

“Are all the tribes similar?” Zuko asked, trying to warm up his hands by clinging them together. Even though it wasn’t that chilly out, his fingers still got cold in the best of weather. It was a sign of bad chi connection.

“In some ways, yes, and in others, no. A lot of Fire Nation folks couldn’t tell an Amaqqut man from an Ukpik,” Chief Hakoda said, chuckling to himself while tying the tent flap’s ties together. Zuko was sure that if he’d got the joke, it’d be funny.

“How different?” Zuko asked, rolling on the balls of his feet again. Unlike the Chief, he could stand up fully in the tent without touching the ceiling.

“Well, in the Tribe of Anurirjuaq, which means great wind, they used to have huge potlatches, and sometimes they’d invite neighboring tribes.” At Zuko’s confused look, Chief Hakoda explained further. “Potlatches are ceremonies where music and dance happens. They give gifts, too. Anyhow, the Anurirjuaq people live in the center of the south pole, which is a very desolate place. They’re closest to the most tribes, so they’d have these huge celebrations of dance with masks and music, and gifts would be given. They’re… not so common, anymore.”

“Masks?” Zuko inquired, and Zuko could see the faint outline of Chief Hakoda’s smile before a lantern was lit with a flint striker. Zuko watched carefully for any errant sparks that might set the tarp beneath them on fire, but there were none, and Chief Hakoda closed the latch of the lantern and the fire was kept in a safe cage.

“Well,” Chief Hakoda smiled, sitting down on the bedroll that was already set out. Zuko sat down quickly in front of him in excitement. “They were made of beautifully carved pieces of gifted driftwood and feathers, from the few birds and burrowing owl-eagles in the area. Each mask was meant to represent an animal, spirit, or story, and they were beautiful. The Amaqqut don’t have anything like that.”

Zuko smiled widely, trying to place where he’d seen masks before. It was frustrating trying to place it, and he let it go and focused on the idea he was familiar with. Painted and meticulously carved masks for a performance.

“Who are the Amaqqut?” Zuko asked.

“Well, the people I’m Chief of. Most of the crew you know are Amaqqut, because I called on my own Tribe for our ship,” Chief Hakoda said.

“What do you have that’s unique?” Zuko asked, crossing his legs and feeling at the soft leather his shoes were made of.

“We’re sailors, and usually darker in complexion than some other tribes. We eat differently, too,” Chief Hakoda answered.

“What do you eat?” Zuko asked, feeling like an interviewer. He liked asking questions, though, even if he knew it was annoying.

“A lot of fish and other sea animals,” Chief Hakoda answered. “The Ukpik Tribe, east of us, has a lot more growing plants, so they eat more of that. We’re not all so different, though. We’ve traded culture and knowledge for years, it’s just… not so strong right now.”

“Right,” Zuko said, remembering what Chief Hakoda said about the South not prospering. It was awful for such vivid people, and he felt poorly about it. Chief Hakoda made a face at his response, before standing suddenly from where he was sitting.

“Here, let me set up your bedroll,” Chief Hakoda said. “I packed an extra for Bato, because he sometimes sleeps in my tent.”

Zuko watched as Chief Hakoda quickly set out the bed roll and put two blankets on top of it. One that looked thin but still warm, and another that was more like the fur of a parka.

“How– how long are you staying on the Chuje Islands?” Zuko asked, fidgeting with his hands and feeling the life drain out of him. He knew that any moment in sleep, he could be ripped away, and being ripped away meant he wasn’t here when they left. He wouldn’t reappear with them– he’d come back to an abandoned island, with the Southern Water Tribes gone, and no chance to find them. Unless he resorted to swimming again, which he really, really wasn’t keen on.

“Just until tomorrow afternoon when the storm should be fully gone. Why?”

Zuko didn’t want to speak. Chief Hakoda had settled onto his own bedroll again, but Zuko didn’t really want to get into his. He’d never considered the idea that he’d be left behind by the Water Tribes, but of course he could be. Of course it had always been a possibility.

“No reason,” Zuko said, but his voice was unsteady and he was staring at the center of the flame in the lantern.

“What’s the matter?” Chief Hakoda asked, sitting up a little straighter in Zuko’s peripherals. Zuko could feel the Chief’s eyes on him. Zuko shuffled into a crawl to shuffle towards his bedroll and get into it. Zuko valiantly tried to keep his mouth shut, but words came spilling out as he busied himself with settling into his bedroll.

“I don’t know if I’ll be here tomorrow,” Zuko murmured, and admitting his own disappearance felt harrowing. Thinking of his own ephemeral nature in passing thoughts that shifted like water in currents was one thing. Admitting it aloud, facing it as a part of his nature, made his head shift and hurt. He felt like he was disappearing now– his thoughts were getting hard to place, he couldn’t feel his fingers or hands, and his surroundings were shifting.

He was sitting in a tent on a bedroll with the blankets half upturned, but he was also in a room lit only by an open window, sitting in a low ottoman.

His vision was unclear and darkened, switching between sights, and it was extremely distressing. He couldn’t see, his sight was being permanently taken away, and no matter how much he blinked or tried to regain clarity, shapes and colors were no longer clear.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a man behind him said rapidly and panicked, and the voice was familiar and entirely unplaceable. At the same moment, his hair was being brushed roughly and yanked back into a phoenix tail, and a woman he faintly knew talked in rapid speech behind him.

They weren’t in the same place or time, but they were happening simultaneously, and when he tried to blink his vision into clarity, the woman yanked at a particularly painful knot without warning, and he yelped.

“Zuko,” the man said with concern.

“Prince Zuko,” the woman followed, almost taunting. “I cannot finish your hair if you don’t stay still.”

“Are you still with me?” The man asked.

Zuko tried to focus on the vision out of the window, but it changed to bed furs, and when he tried to feel the textures beneath his fingertips, no signals were sent to his brain. He heard words and didn’t interpret them– they made sense while they were being spoken, but were soon forgotten and dropped, unable to be picked up again.

A hand touched at his shoulder, and he knew this woman couldn’t firebend, but he still whipped around with fire prepared, and it broke the line he was walking, and feeling returned to his limbs, and he could see with clarity. He was in a blue tent and a lantern sat in the middle of the room, lighting the face of the man who was speaking to him, and was now looking concerned down upon him.

Zuko registered his own position and fast-beating heart. He was holding a non-lit fist at the chest of Chief Hakoda, and he hadn’t conjured fire, but the intention was clear. He’d tried to bend fire at Chief Hakoda for touching his shoulder in concern. He’d tried to hurt the man with hospitality and kindness. His heart and dignity broke into a thousand pieces, and it was made worse by the fact that he didn’t know how to apologize.

He would usually put himself into a kowtow and beg for forgiveness, but every bow and typical show of politeness he’d tried with the Water Tribes hadn’t translated. He’d only succeed in humiliating himself, more than he already had.

“I– I’m sorry, Chief Hakoda, I’m sorry,” Zuko repeated, choking on his words, and pulling back the hand that had (luckily) failed in lighting in fire. He’d almost killed the man; he’d almost burned him alive. He’d almost tried to subject him to the same fate he knew so well, but the Chief didn’t deserve it in the slightest. Flashes of the burn on Taqqiq’s foot and Panuk’s arm crossed his mind before they were gone.

“Zuko, are you all right?” Chief Hakoda asked, backing up so he wasn’t hunched over Zuko’s form. He was probably scared that Zuko would try to assault him again.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko repeated.

“You didn’t do anything,” Chief Hakoda said, but the tremble in his own voice said he was disappointed or afraid, or anything just as awful.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said, hiding his own face in his hands so Chief Hakoda didn’t see the tears forming. He used to heat his hands when he did this so his tears began to evaporate, but not enough to burn his face and ruin his face. He didn’t need to worry about facial burns marring him, now.

“Zuko,” Chief Hakoda grieved, and his voice sounded heavy. “None of what you did was intentional. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

Zuko kept his face covered and tried to will away tears. He didn’t even remember why he’d tried to bend at the Chief, only that he had and he was awful for it. The last two minutes were very fuzzy, and he couldn’t remember how he’d even gotten here.

“I didn’t mean to,” Zuko confirmed, peeling his hands from his face and hoping tears didn’t stick and hoping none of this was disingenuous in any way. The worst part about being a walking failure wasn’t hearing it from viciously honest people– it was not hearing from others but still seeing that they knew it was the truth, too.

“I know,” Chief Hakoda said, his face softening. He carefully kneeled a small distance away from Zuko. Zuko pulled his knees to his chest, his arms wrapped around his stomach. He wished he could spark something in his hands now to burn his palms, but he couldn’t.

Zuko bit back another apology, looking at the Chief’s face that was crumpled in sorrow. He blinked back more tears, and his throat felt rough and serrated every time he took in a breath. He was tired, even while his heart beat a mile a minute, and he almost wished he could disappear and never come back. He didn’t deserve to come back.

“Do you want a hug?” Chief Hakoda asked. Zuko looked at him in confusion, straightening up a little. It was an awfully strange thing to ask in a moment like this, and yet Zuko couldn’t help but want one. He felt unstable and shaky, and the comfort of someone else’s arms around him would help. It made it worse that he couldn’t think of the last time that he’d gotten a hug, even if what was ‘last’ was relative in his… predicament. 

Zuko hesitantly nodded, but didn’t shuffle towards Chief Hakoda in initiation, but simply waited for the Chief to approach. Chief Hakoda did, gently taking Zuko into his own arms. It was hard not to crumble, and Zuko did. He relaxed into the Chief’s hold and clutched to the front of his tunic, tears forming unbidden. He shouldn’t be the one to dry about this– he shouldn’t cry at all– but he was, and Chief Hakoda only pulled him further into his embrace. 

He’s suddenly exhausted, and even with how long the hug stretches, Chief Hakoda doesn’t let him go. He sits in the Chief’s arms, held and warm for that small moment in time. Zuko doesn’t pull away, and neither does the Chief. He lets himself drift and feel safe for the moment. 

“I won’t leave the island without you,” Chief Hakoda murmured above his head, but the words slipped Zuko’s grasp, and he began to sleep in the Chief’s arms.