Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The guards do not throw Zuko into the cell gently. His shoulders hit the back wall hard, and his head cracks against the cold stone. The Water Tribe peasants are thrown in after him. The boy yelps and loses his footing when the guards shove him, crashing to the ground, while the girl stumbles back several steps and then trips over him. They land in a tangle, already bickering. The guards roll the door shut after them with an ominous, heavy clang. 

Just Zuko’s luck, really.

He lunges forward, straining to see through the bars of his prison. He yanks desperately at the cuffs that hold his hands behind his back—they’re freezing where they touch him, made of heavy metal, and the chill bites ruthlessly into his skin. “Hey!” he shouts after the guards. “Hey, wait! Come back here, you can’t do this!”

“Uh, actually, I think they can and they did,” the Water Tribe boy—who appears to have finally disentangled himself from his sibling—says. “Pretty easily, too.”

“And somehow I don’t think shouting at them is going to get them to let us out,” the girl agrees. 

“Well if you have any better ideas I’d love to hear them,” Zuko spits. He knows they’re both clever, although it pains him to admit it—but how else would they have managed to evade him for so long? 

The boy pushes himself to his feet, tugging ruefully at the cuffs that hold his hands behind his back. He glances briefly around the cell, taking stock of their surroundings with sharp blue eyes. “I don’t guess you guys can bend in cuffs, can you?”

In response, Zuko sweeps a foot at him. A blaze of bright flame follows in its wake, and the boy shrieks and jumps out of the way. A split second later the girl is in Zuko’s face, her teeth bared and eyes blazing. Zuko has the sense enough to take a step back. 

“Don’t you dare do that,” the girl hisses. “Don’t you dare. If you hurt him, you won’t leave this cell alive.”

“Big threats from a little girl,” Zuko says, his lip curling into a snarl of his own. “What are you gonna do? Scold me to death?”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” the girl demands. “We’ve done nothing to you, absolutely nothing, and at every single opportunity you still manage to be the most hotheaded, stubborn, awful prick of a human being I've ever met! What is your problem? We—”

“Hey, guys, can we maybe hash this out later? The solstice isn’t exactly a marathon event, and I have a feeling we’ve only got until it ends to get out of here,” the boy interrupts, stepping forward. “And listen, I know we all hate each other, but it seems like we’ve got the same goal here. None of us get what we want as long as we’re in this cell, so let’s work together to get out, and then we can go back to tearing each others’ lives apart.”

The girl pulls back to her brother’s side, a scowl on her face. “Fine,” she says. “but if he tries anything else, I’ll rip the water out of his organs.”

Can she—can she do that?

“Sounds fair to me,” the boy says nonchalantly. Zuko is significantly more concerned now. “So, like, if you can still firebend, can you heat this metal up enough to make it malleable? Maybe we can push the bars open and squeeze through.”

“I can only sustain a fire with my hands, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but right now they’re a little stuck. I could try to melt the cuffs off, but I’d fry my wrists doing it, and I’m not quite that desperate yet.” Zuko wrinkles his nose. He might get that desperate eventually. Might. It would be better than facing his father after this. “Try again.”

“Just turn around and grab the bars that way,” the boy says, twirling his finger in the air. 

Zuko frowns, but that...could work. He turns around, pressing his back to the bars and wrapping his fingers around two of them. He takes a deep breath, then begins to heat his palms. The metal is slow to warm, and within seconds Zuko knows this plan isn’t feasible. He pulls his hands away. “No,” he says. “This is iron. It’ll take too long to heat.”

“How long?” the girl demands.

“An hour, at least. If it was stone I could do it, or maybe even steel, but not this.” If he was Azula he could do it, because her flame burns hotter than anyone else’s—but he’s hardly as good as Azula, now, is he?

The boy begins to pace. “Katara, can you bend?”

“Not with my feet, no.”

“Well, we have to figure out something,” Zuko says. The idea of what happens if they don’t nearly makes him ill. 

“Working on it,” the boy says.

“Well work faster!”

“Don’t yell at him,” the girl snaps. Agni, she turns ticking him off into an artform. “If you think you can do any better, do it! but I don’t hear you spouting off any ideas. Besides, what do you care? It doesn’t matter if you get taken to the Firelord.”

Zuko recoils. “What? Of course it does!”

“No, no, she’s right.” The boy looks skeptically at Zuko. “Why are you even in here? You’re the Firelord’s kid. Sure, maybe he’ll be disappointed that you lost the Avatar, but it’s not like he’ll kill you—which is, you know, exactly what he’ll do to us if we don’t get out of here. Maybe you don’t even want to break out. Maybe you’re just here to distract us until the solstice is over and your men can grab Aang. That seems like just the thing a dastardly firebender would do.”

Zuko stares blankly at him. There is so much wrong with that statement. Do they really not understand what Zuko has risked today? The ignorance of peasants never ceases to astound him. “Are you kidding me?” he says. “I'm banished! If the Firelord finds out I've been in Fire Nation waters, he’ll be furious. He’ll kill me!”

The boy hesitates, clearly confused, but the girl scoffs and says, “Look, I’m so sorry you’re going to be in trouble with your dad, but he’s not going to literally kill you, whereas literally killing us is his whole goal.”

Zuko is not, in fact, sure that his father won’t literally kill him. (It may even be a merciful punishment compared to some.) “Look, I know your tribe is a simple society,” he says tersely, “but even you should understand that committing treason against your ruler isn’t something to be taken lightly. By sailing into Fire Nation waters today, I may as well have spat in the Firelord’s face, and I doubt he’ll be so merciful as to let me off with a mere banishment this time.”

“...your dad banished you from the whole Fire Nation?” the boy asks, his brow furrowing. “But you’re the crown prince.”

“Not anymore,” Zuko says bitterly. 

“Dude.” The boy looks at him, openly baffled. “That’s fucked.”

“He has my sister; he doesn’t need two heirs. It was only because of his great mercy that my life was spared after our Agni Kai. He should have killed me then.” Zuko takes a deep, shaky breath. “He won’t be so merciful a second time.”

They’re both looking at him, now, confusion clear in their eyes. What don’t they get? He explained it all as succinctly at he could! What is he going to do if they don’t believe him? They’ll leave him here, he knows it. Agni, they’ll probably leave him here anyway. What do they care if Father kills him? It would make their lives easier. 

“Agni Kai?” the girl asks quietly. She’s studying him far too intently now.

“A duel between firebenders. For—for honor.” Zuko curls his hands into fists behind his back, looking away from them. “I lost mine.”

“Your father dueled you?” the boy demands. He looks aghast, but of course he doesn’t know what Zuko did to deserve it. 

“He would have, but I refused to fight, and I brought great shame upon our family by doing so. Tradition demanded that he kill me, but I was fortunate enough that he let me go with only a scar. Now I've disobeyed him and tarnished that mercy.” A miserable shiver chases its way down Zuko’s spine. When he speaks again, his voice is much quieter. “He’s going to be very mad.”

“What,” the girl says, very slowly, “the fuck.”

“Uh, ditto. That’s seriously messed up, man. Your face, he—he did that to you?”

Zuko nods sharply. 

“Spirits,” the boy whispers. Then, louder and more vehemently, “Spirits! What kind of man does that to his own son? Or to anyone? That’s so messed up!”

“It was my fault,” Zuko says, his voice cold but his face burning. He hates this story, and yet he knows full well that he deserves the shame of telling it. “I forced his hand. The Firelord would never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. He’s a kind and just ruler and he—”

“Dude, no way was this your fault,” the boy says, already shaking his head. 

“You don’t even know what i did!”

“Then tell us,” the girl says, “but I really don’t think it’s going to matter.”

“I was graciously invited to one of the Firelord’s war councils,” Zuko says, his throat tight, “and I spoke up against one of his top generals. I had no right to say the things I did. It was disrespectful to the general, and to my father. As a child, I should have been quiet and listened so that I could learn instead of arrogantly assuming I knew better. Father had every right to punish me in the way he thought best. A prince cannot be allowed to behave in such a manner; it brings shame to the whole of the nation.”

They’re both looking at him, their matched blue eyes wide in horror. “Your dad,” the boy starts, then swallows hard. “Your dad dueled you, burned half of your face off, and then banished you because you spoke when you shouldn’t have?”

Guilt festers and bubbles like black tar in Zuko’s chest. “I didn’t just speak. I questioned and insulted one of his highest-ranking generals—but the man was planning a massacre! He shouldn’t have—” Zuko clamps his mouth shut, his teeth clicking together, and swallows thickly. “I mean. I found the tactic he proposed very startling, but it wasn’t my place to question such things. I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Tui and La what the absolute fuck,” the boy whispers.

The girl trades a look with her brother, then looks back to Zuko and says, “Okay. We’re getting you out of here.”

“Yeah, there is absolutely no way we’re letting you get shipped back to the Firelord after this,” the boy agrees. 

Zuko’s brow furrows. Mission...accomplished, he thinks? “Uh, thanks? But we still don’t know how we’re going to—”

The floor shudders violently beneath them, pitching and heaving, and Zuko stumbles back into the wall. The boy yelps and topples over gracelessly again, and the girl catches herself against the cell bars. Guards stream down the hallway outside, shouting to each other in alarm. Shit. 

“The solstice must be over,” the girl says. “We have to get to Aang.”

“I think Aang’s getting to us,” the boy says, picking himself up. A crack splits the ceiling above them, and several displaced chunks of stone scatter across the ground. Dust plumes into the air. “I don’t know about you guys, but that looks like Avatar work to me.”

But Zuko hasn’t relied on anyone else for a long, long time, and he’s not about to start now. He kicks one of the smallest stone pieces into the air and turns to catch it in his hands. He quickly heats it in his palms—stone melts faster than metal, and before long it’s scorching against his flesh. He pushes it into shape, pointed and thin, before dropping it and letting it cool against the floor.

“What are you doing?” the girl asks. The boy hovers over her shoulder, watching with fascination. 

“Getting us out of here,” Zuko says. “Does either one of you know how to pick locks?”

As it turns out, neither of them do. Big surprise. As soon as the stone has cooled, Zuko kicks it back into his hands and motions for the girl to turn around. Picking locks tends to be easier when he can see what he’s doing and he’s not pressed back-to-back with a stranger he’s pretty sure hates him—but he manages. The girl’s cuffs clatter to the ground, and she immediately yanks the water from the flask at her hip and goes to work cutting through the cell bars while Zuko uncuffs her brother. 

“What about you?” the boy asks when he’s free, rubbing his chafed wrists. 

“I’ll figure it out later.” Zuko glances up as the ceiling creaks ominously. “But right now this place is coming down.”

Chapter Text

The Water Tribe girl uses her bending to wear through one of the cell bars at both the top and the bottom. Once she erodes enough of the iron, her brother slams his shoulder into the bar, and it snaps and clatters to the ground, leaving a gap just wide enough for all three of them to squeeze through. Zuko wedges his way out first, then picks a path across the cracked, quaking floor in the direction the guards had fled; the Water Tribe siblings follow him. 

“Aang’s probably still near the sanctuary,” the girl says. “We need to find him before we leave.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s the Avatar.”

“Yeah, well, if he dies you’ll never be able to capture him.” The boy shrugs when Zuko looks back at him. “Just sayin’. If I was you, I'd make sure he stayed alive.”

So zuko groans and heads for the sanctuary. Several steps later, he rounds a corner in the hallway and grates to a sudden halt—the boy bumps into him, then peeks around his shoulder. “Woah,” he says far, far too close to Zuko’s bad ear. Zuko elbows him in the gut; he seems to get the message and steps away, wincing. 

“What?” The girl comes to stand beside them. The second she does, her eyes widen. “Oh.”

A river of lava flows thickly in front of them, pooling across the ground in a wide swathe of glowing orange and crusted black. Heatwaves shimmer above it, and even as Zuko watches, another split forms in the floor nearby, spewing more lava up to join the river. He looks warily at the ceiling. How much lava is up there, waiting to spill down on them? 

Spirits, it would burn—and Zuko really, really doesn’t like being burned.

“We can’t cross here,” Zuko says, already backtracking. He wants the Avatar alive—very much so—but what good is accomplishing that if he loses his own life in the process? Besides, if the Water Tribe boy is right and the Avatar is the one responsible for destroying the temple, Zuko really doesn’t think they have to worry about his survival. He can fly, for Spirits’ sake! “The Avatar will have to take care of himself. There has to be an exit on the other side of the temple.”

“Wait, can’t you bend it out of the way?” the girl asks.

“It’s melted rock, not fire.” He pauses, thinking. “Do you have enough water to cool us a path across?”

The girl pulls the water from her flask again—it’s barely a couple of handfuls. Her mouth presses into a thin line as she looks from it to the lava, and she shakes her head. 

“Then we’re not crossing here,” Zuko says. “Let’s go.”

The siblings look across the lava, frustration drawing their mouths down into eerily similar frowns. Zuko doesn’t waste his time brooding. If they want to sit and stare morosely at the lava until the ceiling collapses, fine, but he wants out of this stupid volcano already. He heads back up the hallway and, after a moment, hears their footsteps behind his. They make their way past the cell again while the walls shudder ominously around them, each spasm of movement littering their heads and shoulders with broken rock. Zuko wipes his temple against his shoulder to keep the sweat out of his eyes, squinting against thick gray clouds of dust. It’s sweltering here, even for him. 

“Wait,” the boy says, suddenly. “Do you hear that?”

Zuko stops, lifting his head and listening intently. The temple groans, and pebbles of dirt and stone clatter around them as they hit the ground. He can’t hear anything beyond that, but the boy and girl both trade an alarmed look. 

“Someone’s coming,” the girl says. “We need to hide.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if you noticed this, but we’re in a hallway made of solid stone and locked doors. That’s not happening,” the boy argues. He reaches for his boomerang (Spirits does that boomerang annoy Zuko) before facing down the hallway. “We have to fight.”

The girl hesitates, then nods and sets her jaw. She pulls a whip of water out, guarding her brother’s side, and Zuko can hear the enemy, now—Fire Nation guards, by the sounds of their clanging metal armor. Fighting trained soldiers with his hands cuffed behind his back is not a thrilling prospect, but he really doesn’t see much of a choice in the matter. He takes a deep, full breath and lets it trickle out on a cloud of sparks. 

When the guards arrive, he’s ready for them. 

Zuko sweeps a foot out the second the guards come around the corner, keeping his heel to the ground and carving a ribbon of flame across the hallway floor. The guards stumble to a halt with shouts of alarm behind their flat white faceplates, and Zuko rapidly assesses them. There are three in total, all in full armor. Two carry no weapons—firebenders, he expects—while the third holds a slender sword. They all fall into familiar fighting stances as Zuko’s flames die out.

The firebenders attack first, each pushing a blast of flame forward with their fists. Zuko ducks, allowing the fire to roll over his head with a crackling roar. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the siblings do the same, but he can’t focus on them any longer; their battles are their own. Zuko has bigger things to worry about right now—like the armed guard who’s suddenly advancing on him. He steps back as fleetly as he can, drawing the guard away from both the siblings and the firebenders. He doesn’t want to be struck by any stray flames (or any stray boomerangs. hmph). 

The guard’s first strike is too hard and too clumsy. Zuko sidesteps it, and their sword glances off of the wall with a glint of sparks and an earsplitting screech. He steps in before the guard can pull their blade back and hooks his foot around their ankle, yanking it forward until they flail and lose their balance. They crash backwards, landing noisily against the floor, and Zuko promptly slams his boot into the wrist of their sword hand. Their fingers go slack as they cry out in pain, and the blade clatters to the ground. Zuko moves to kick it down the hallway, but before he can—

Before he can, he hears the Water Tribe girl cry out in pain. He immediately jerks his head up to see her struggling against one of the firebenders, and he lurches forward before he can think (stupid move, stupid, and what does he care about her, anyway?) . Zuko kicks a leg up and out, forcing a streak of fire into the guard’s shoulder. The thick metal of their armor shields them from any serious burns, but the blast of heat startles them, and they quickly whirl around to face him. He supposes they weren’t expecting to fight any other firebenders today, least of all their own banished prince. How lucky for them.

Zuko narrows his eyes, and golden flames begin to crackle at the guard’s fingertips. Before they have time to take more than a single step towards him, however, the Water Tribe boy lunges and hooks his boomerang around their throat, hauling them backwards with his weight and a shout of fury. His sister runs to help him, and Zuko has just enough time to let his shoulders dip with relief before a blade slices its way neatly through the back of his leg. 

He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t crash to the ground. He doesn’t even breathe for half a second. 

Then he blinks, stunned, and he whirls around to find the armed guard he’d fought climbing back to their feet. Blood— his blood—drips off of their blade. He tries to take a step away from them, but his leg buckles beneath him and he drops to one knee, breathing hard. He feels the warm, damp crawl of blood down the back of his calf, and he feels the sudden wrongness of trying to bend his knee, but the pain is...it’s not there, not really, not yet. Thank the Spirits for that, he supposes, and then grimly braces against the wall and forces himself back onto his feet. When he takes another step back, his leg bears him. As long as he’s firm with it and doesn’t move too quickly, it seems capable of carrying his weight—but he doubts it’s going to do so for long. He has to end this fight, and quickly. 

Barely a second later, the guard’s sword comes swinging towards the most vulnerable parts of his body—his face and throat—and as it does, Zuko steps back onto his uninjured leg. The sword glances over his breastplate, then skids off and into the wall again, just like Zuko knew it would. This guard puts too much force into their swing; they must be from a troop accustomed to fighting in open fields and wide city streets instead of crumbling, narrow hallways. When the sword hits the wall, Zuko slams his side against the blade and pins it there, trusting his armor to keep it from harming him. The guard grabs the sword’s hilt with both hands to yank it away from him, and as they do so, Zuko leans in until they’re face-to-face—then he opens his mouth and he breathes fire the way Uncle taught him to.

Most of the fire bounces off of the guard’s faceplate, but their sudden screaming lets him know that enough of it made its way into the slits around their eyes and mouth to hurt, and doubtlessly to cripple them for the remainder of the fight. They drop their sword and reel backwards, clutching their face desperately. Zuko has to fight back the pang of pity (of guilt) he feels, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t attack any further. He doesn’t need to. They’re already retreating, maimed and blind, and it makes him nauseous to think about hurting an opponent who’s already so clearly defeated.

Well, it’s that or the blood loss making him nauseous, anyway.

Zuko sets a foot on top of the sword (just in case; he’s not losing track of it again) and turns to see how the others are faring. One of the firebenders lays slumped against the wall—dead or unconscious, Zuko doesn’t know—and the other is still trying to wrench the Water Tribe boy off of his back. They’re having quite some trouble. The boy’s stubborn. His sister uses her water to entangle the guard’s legs, tripping them, and as soon as they’re down the boy squirms out from under them and kicks them quite soundly in the head. They collapse back against the floor, the flames that wreathe their hand dying out. 

“Okay,” the boy says, panting. “Okay, I think this one’s done.” He pokes the guard’s head. They don’t even twitch. “Yeah. Definitely done.”

“Don’t poke them, Sokka,” the girl says, although she sounds vaguely resigned to the boy’s—Sokka’s—poking. “Are you okay?”

“Uh—yeah, actually.” Sokka looks himself over, clearly surprised. “Just a few bruises and scrapes. Man, we’re getting good at this. What about you? Did they get you?”

“No, I’m alright.”

Their eyes swing towards Zuko, next. He straightens up, although he’s careful to keep his weight on his uninjured leg. “I’m fine,” he says stiffly. There’s no reason for them to know he’s hurt—it would give them an excuse to leave him behind, after all, and as much as he hates relying on people, he can’t deny that these two are useful at the moment. That flying bison of theirs will be especially useful if they ever get to it. Plus, they’re leading him right to the Avatar.

(A darker, more sinister part of him also knows that being injured means being weak, and if these two know he’s weak and have any sense whatsoever, they’ll turn on him. They’ll kill him while they have the chance and save themselves a whole lot of trouble in the future, because despite whatever tentative truce they have right now, they are—and always will be—enemies.)

“Great! So let’s go.” Sokka turns on heel and marches down the hallway. The victory seems to have put a spring in his step.

The girl follows her brother, and Zuko follows even further behind. Every step sends a bolt of pain through his leg; the energy of the fight is wearing off faster than he’d like it to, leaving him dizzy and slow. His mouth draws tight against the pain, and he puts his head down and forces himself through it the way he always has.

They haven’t gone far when the temple gives another great, shaking heave and nearly throws Zuko off of his feet. He balances himself against the wall, his eyes widening as he sees a massive crack in the stone across from him. Seconds later, a chunk of the temple is torn out, leaving the hallway open to the air. The girl surges towards the opening, bracing her hands against the jagged edge and standing on tiptoe to see outside. 

“Aang!” she shouts joyfully. The Avatar’s sky bison comes into view, lowing at her; the Avatar himself perches between its curved horns, his eyes and arrows glowing. 

“Come on,” Sokka says, running forward. He climbs onto the edge of the opening, then reaches down to help his sister up. Once she’s balanced, she springs from the wall and drops into the bison’s saddle. Zuko’s stomach lurches with horror as he sees Sokka crouch, certain that he’s about to jump, too—and once the Avatar has both of his friends safe and sound, why would he stay for Zuko? The bison will leave, pulling away into the sky and abandoning Zuko to burn on this island, but—

But Sokka doesn’t jump.

“Hey,” he says, looking back at Zuko. his eyes are still as sharp as the ice he was raised on, but there’s something softer around the edges, now—something hopeful. “Are you coming?”

Zuko hesitates, his heart pounding. He has to go with them. There’s no way he’ll make it out of this temple on his own and he knows it—but as soon as he’s on that bison he’s stuck, cuffed and injured and alone among enemies. It seems like death either way. But, well. He knows he’d rather die by the Avatar’s hand than stay here and burn to death.

Has he mentioned he hates burning?

Zuko moves forward, and Sokka hops off of the side of the wall to stand next to him. “I’ll give you a leg up. Don’t worry about balancing on the wall if you can’t—Appa’ll catch you.”

Sokka kneels, cupping his hands on top of his own leg. Zuko braces his uninjured foot in the cradle of Sokka’s palms, hoping fervently that the cloth of his trousers is dark enough to hide the bloodstain on the back of his other leg, and pushes himself up. Even with Sokka helping, he’s barely high enough to get an elbow over the edge of the wall. He pushes his elbow firmly into the stone to brace himself, then takes a deep breath and springs off of his good foot, swinging his legs up and over the wall.

Then he falls, and the bison catches him. He hits the saddle hard, barely managing to get his feet underneath him before he does. His legs buckle immediately, and he does a messy tuck-and-roll before scrambling to sit up. The girl isn’t in the saddle anymore—she’s on the bison’s head, speaking quietly to the Avatar. Sokka jumps down next, and as soon as he’s in the saddle, the girl murmurs something. With a flick of the reins, the bison begins to fly, slamming its tail through the air and lifting them away from the crumbling temple. Zuko pushes himself over to the lip of the saddle and slumps there, groaning. One of his worse adventures, for sure.

“Phew,” Sokka says. “Okay. I'll say it if no one else is going to: that was awesome.”

Zuko shoots a glare at him, stretching his legs out—although he tries to keep his injured leg crooked some and off of the saddle, lest he leave blood smears. He can still feel his wound bleeding sluggishly, soaking hot blood into his sock and boot, and the pain now comes in slow, steady waves. The whole world wobbles dizzily around him every time he moves. This is going to be a problem. It’s really, really going to be a problem. 

“You,” Zuko says decisively, looking at Sokka, “are actually crazy.”

Sokka laughs, and yeah, that just about confirms it.

Chapter Text

The girl—Katara, the others keep calling her Katara— makes her way back into the saddle several minutes later. She brings the Avatar with her, one of his arms draped around her shoulders. There’s a strange, winged lemur perched on his head, and it chatters curiously when it sees Zuko. Katara lowers the Avatar to rest in the saddle, and despite the exhaustion written across his face, he offers zuko a smile when their eyes meet.

“Thanks for helping my friends escape," he says.

“It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Don’t think this changes anything between us—and if you want to thank me in a way that actually matters, how about getting me out of these cuffs already?” Zuko scowls, tugging pointedly at the hard metal trapping his hands behind him. It’s bad enough being injured and trapped thousands of feet in the air with his enemies, let alone being restrained, too. It all settles a sickening sort of vulnerability into his chest.

“Oh, right!” Sokka pops back onto his feet, rummaging through his pockets. He fishes out the lock pick Zuko had fashioned out of stone. “I saved this. I don’t know how to use it, but if you could walk me through the steps…?”

“That’s seriously the best idea you have?” 

“Hey, it’s a good idea! It’s practical.”

“Wait. Let me try something.” Katara moves towards Zuko, and he snaps his head around to keep her out of his blind spot. The movement is too fast—black spots dance at the edges of his vision and the world swims. He holds very, very still to keep from losing consciousness completely; he can’t even bring himself to move when Katara kneels beside him and reaches for his wrists. “I'm going to freeze the chain between the cuffs. That should make it brittle, so we can snap it."

He feels the chill of her bending, although the ice never actually touches his skin. A few seconds later, she grabs Sokka’s boomerang and uses it to crush the frozen iron that holds Zuko’s wrists together. It takes her a few tries, but as soon as Zuko feels the links splinter, he yanks his hands defensively to his chest. The cuffs themselves still cling tightly to his wrists, but at least he’s mobile now—

Mobile and absolutely astonished that they were dumb enough to actually free him. Don’t they know how easily he could hurt them now? Don’t they know he’s their enemy? He may be injured, but he’s still dangerous. Spirits, they’re all so terribly, hideously naive. If only Father didn’t want the Avatar alive. It would be so easy to just—

“Zuko?” Katara’s voice again, soft and uncertain. When he looks, she’s staring at his knee. He follows her gaze—blood drips from the back of his pant leg, splattering against the saddle in gaudy red droplets. Well. Shit. “Is that yours?”

Zuko immediately heaves himself to his feet, baring his teeth and letting sparks dance across his knuckles. He sways dangerously in place—the odd movement of the bison beneath him compounded with his growing dizziness makes standing upright a very challenging thing indeed. “Get away from me,” he hisses, and Katara does, stumbling backwards with wide eyes.

Sokka lunges forward, placing himself between Zuko and the other two. He watches Zuko warily, his shoulders stiff and his hands curled into loose fists. “don’t,” he says, the warning clear in his tone. “If you try to fight us, you won’t win.”

That’s a threat if Zuko’s ever heard one. He bares his teeth, lifting his chin, and Sokka’s eyes narrow.

“Sokka,” the Avatar says, resting a hand tentatively on Sokka’s arm. Katara takes up a spot on Sokka’s other side, her hand close to her water flask. The lemur perches on her shoulder, now, its lips peeled back from an unfortunately sharp set of teeth. “Come on, guys. Nobody’s fighting anybody.”

“You’re right,” Sokka agrees, his eyes never leaving Zuko’s. “Fighting would be really, really stupid. He can’t beat all three of us. Even if he could, you know what would happen next? Appa would dump him out of this saddle, he’d fall nine thousand feet to the ocean, and then he’d drown to death. Since we all agree that’s a pretty dumb way to go, he needs to chill out.”

He’s right. Zuko hates that he’s right. “So what, then?” Zuko demands, bristling. “I should just lay down and let you kill me? Oh, I bet you’d like that, but there's no way I'm—”

“What?” Sokka recoils sharply in disgust. “No! No way, man. We’re not going to kill you. Why the hell would you even think—?”

“Of course you’re going to kill me,” Zuko snarls. “I’ve been hunting you for weeks, and I’m not planning on stopping. I'll bring the Avatar to my father if it’s the last thing I do, so if you have any sense whatsoever you’ll stop wasting time and fight me already!”

Zuko knows he’ll lose, but he has to try, doesn’t he? He won’t shy away from a fight—not ever again. He’ll die like a man of honor and hope that, even if only in death, he can make his father proud of him. Besides, maybe there’s some way he can twist this battle in his favor. They all care so much about each other; if he could take one of them hostage, he’d have the immediate advantage.

The only kink in that plan is that he has to, you know, not pass out from blood loss first.

The three of them fall silent, glancing between each other. Then the avatar steps forward, looking up at Zuko. His gray eyes are solemn and serious when he speaks. “We aren’t going to fight you, Zuko. We definitely aren’t going to kill you. Even if you’re our enemy, you’re hurt and you’re trapped and you need our help.”

“I don’t need anything from—!”

“You’re losing too much blood and you can barely stand,” Katara snaps. “You need our help. You can swallow your pride and accept it, or we can wait until you pass out and then you won’t have a choice."

Zuko glares at her, his jaw tightening. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe you all actually want to help.”

Katara folds her arms across her chest. “You don’t have to believe us. it’s happening whether you like it or not.”

“Zuko.” The Avatar’s voice is small and terribly young, but there’s a gravity to it that draws Zuko’s eyes back to him immediately. He folds his hands in front of his chest, dipping over them in the traditional Fire Nation bow. “I promise that my friends and I don’t want to hurt you. We won’t hurt you, as long as you won’t hurt us.”

Zuko lifts his chin, and for the briefest (most horrible) second, he feels a flicker of guilt. “It’s my job to hurt you,” he says, his voice cold and clipped. “That will never change.”

Grief flickers through the Avatar’s eyes, but he takes a deep breath and dips his chin. “Okay. But right now we’re all stuck together. We have a long flight before we reach land, and you’re hurt. Like Sokka says, it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to attack us right now. I’m not asking for you to join us. I’m asking for a temporary truce. As soon as we reach the next town, we’ll let you go, and you can go back to hunting us if you have to.”

“What?” Sokka demands. “Aang, you can’t be serious!”

Katara frowns, but she says, “What other choice do we have? We can’t keep him prisoner forever.”

“No, we could. We definitely could,” Sokka says.

Zuko glares at him. “Try it. I dare you.”

“He’s more dangerous as a prisoner than he is when he’s hunting us,” Katara points out. “It’s not like he actually succeeds as a hunter.”

Zuko bristles indignantly. He succeeds! Sometimes!

“He burnt down Kyoshi,” Sokka argues. “He’s too dangerous to let go. He’ll hurt people— innocent people.”

“I will not! We only fought at Kyoshi because those foolish warriors got in our way. We—” The bison banks, suddenly, and Zuko staggers to the side. Agony flares up his leg, and he barely manages to keep himself standing. His heart hammers violently in his chest, and he swallows rapidly to keep himself from retching as his nausea spikes. He can’t pass out in front of them. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“Okay,” Katara says, her voice firm. “We need to talk about this later. Right now I need to look at Zuko’s leg.” Her eyes meet his, steely and unflinching. “Are you going to hurt us, Zuko?”

Zuko wavers on his feet as tiny shivers begin to wrack his frame. He should say yes. He should really, really say yes. They’re his enemies, and even if they say they want to help, Zuko’s hard-pressed to believe them. What sort of people help their enemies? It doesn’t make any sense. They’d be better off with him dead. But—but they’re all watching him from a distance, giving him space, the lines around their eyes creased with concern. They could have left him to burn on the island. It would have been easier. 

“No,” he says after a strained second, his shoulders slumping in bitter defeat. “I won’t hurt you.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Sokka and Katara move forward. They tuck themselves next to him, one under each arm, and lower him to the saddle. He still has to fight the urge to snap at them and jerk away, but it’s easier to let them take his weight than it should be, because he’s just so tired and the world is so very wobbly at the edges. It’s a relief to be off of his feet again, and he lets Katara push him to rest on his back without complaint. He’s breathless, panting for air despite the fact that he hasn’t done anything but stand for a few minutes, and that’s...well, it’s alarming, to say the least.

Zuko keeps one wary eye on Katara as she tugs his boot off and then forms a knife of ice, slicing through the leg of his pants with it and peeling the fabric away from his blood-sticky skin. The cut runs across the back of his leg, sloping diagonally from the soft flesh on the inside of his thigh—right below the skirt of his armor—to the top of his calf on the opposite side. Katara winces when she sees it, sucking in a breath. 

“Spirits, Zuko!” Sokka says, much too loud and much too angry. Zuko flinches, tearing his gaze away from Katara to glare at her brother instead. “I thought it was going to be a little cut, not—not this. How were you even standing? And why didn’t you say something earlier? We asked if you were okay and you just—”

“Enough, Sokka. Later. Go get the towels from my bag and bring our canteens,” Katara orders. Sokka makes a low, unhappy sound but moves away, to Zuko’s relief. “Aang, bandages and pillows.”

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Zuko says. He tries to sit up to watch what everyone is doing as they move about the saddle, then immediately decides that’s a terrible idea and slumps back down. Katara helps, flattening a hand to his chest and glaring at him. 

“I know. We’ll apply pressure until it slows, and then I’ll sew it.”

Zuko shakes his head. “No, I can—I should—”

“What?”

Zuko struggles to sit up again, batting Katara's hand away when she tries to push him down—it’s a monumental effort that leaves his head reeling. He fumbles to plaster his hand against the back of his leg, feeling out the gaping injury. His own blood slicks against his palm and between his fingers, and he swallows hard. He has to. He just—he just has to—

A violent shiver rolls through him, and he lays back down, gasping. He can’t. He’s so weak, and he hates it so much, and he can’t. 

“Oh,” Katara says, her eyes widening. “No. No, we don’t have to do that. I can stop the bleeding.”

“If I don’t do it now I’m not going to be able to later,” Zuko warns, meeting her eyes. He doesn’t want to lose any more blood. He really, really doesn’t—but he also really, really doesn’t want to burn the bleeding out. He doesn’t even know if he has the guts to do it to himself. He’s only ever seen other firebenders do it, only ever watched in horror as they plastered their hands to gruesome wounds in the middle of a battle and seared the vessels closed so they could get back up and keep fighting. 

The smell of their burnt flesh afterwards always made him ill. 

“I can do it with pressure and stitching,” Katara repeats, her voice growing firmer. “We don’t need to cauterize it. Trust me.”

Zuko holds her gaze for one more terrifying second, then lets his bloody hand drop back to the saddle. She nods at him, relief clear in her eyes. As soon as the Avatar returns with an armful of pillows, she wedges them beneath zuko’s foot to elevate his leg. She sets the bandages aside but snags the towels from Sokka when he brings them, tying one snugly around Zuko’s knee—too snugly. He grits his teeth against the pain, breathing shakily. 

“Roll over,” Katara says, pushing his shoulder. “I need to put pressure on the wound.”

Zuko rolls onto his stomach, although the position leaves him feeling even more hideously vulnerable than he already did. He stays tense, shivering anxiously, while Katara realigns the pillows beneath his foot. Then she presses the heels of her hands to the back of his knee, directly over his wound, and pushes. Zuko can’t bite back his cry of pain, this time, and he digs his nails into the heavy leather of the saddle beneath him as he screws his eyes shut. 

“It’s alright,” Katara says behind him. Her voice floats somewhere in the distance, hazy and frightening. “Just hold still, you’re doing fine. Sokka, where’s the water? That’s all? We aren’t going to have enough, and I’m not using ocean water to clean this wound unless we can boil it first. How long until we reach land?”

“Ten hours, at least,” the Avatar says, his voice tight with worry. “Probably longer. Appa's tired."

Well, zuko thinks wearily. That’s not good. 

“Sokka, come here,” Katara says. “Put your hands where mine are and keep pressure on the wound.”

Larger hands replace Katara’s on the back of Zuko’s leg, and he hisses as Sokka presses down. “Sorry, buddy, sorry,” Sokka says, and he has the nerve to sound genuinely apologetic. “I know it hurts. We’ll be done soon. I, uh, hope.”

Katara kneels next to Zuko’s face. “Zuko? Can you still firebend enough to boil some water for us?”

Zuko tries. He really does. But his breaths are choppy and fast, unfit to nurture even a small fire, and he’s too weak now to sustain anything more than the littlest flicker of flame in his palm. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He doesn't want her to be mad, not like this, not when she's so close to him and he's bleeding all over her towels and her brother's hands are on his wound. He knows it's pathetic to feel so frightened of her—of any of them—and yet the feeling persists in the pit of his stomach, dark and sour. “Sorry, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Katara soothes. “We’ll figure something else out, don’t worry. Just stay there.”

She moves away from him, and when she returns, she has a heavy blanket. She drapes it over his back, tucking it in at his sides, and Zuko tries to wedge his face inside of it. Now that he’s stopped moving, he’s so cold. He can’t seem to stop shivering, and his skin feels clammy and cool. It grows even colder as the sun begins to droop towards the western horizon, smearing the clouds with a mess of bloody reds and leaking yellows. He’s not sure how long they keep pressure on his wound, but when they remove the towel it sticks and tears and hurts. He hisses breath between his teeth and presses his palms to the saddle beneath himself, but before he can push upwards, Sokka’s hands land between his shoulders and force him back down.

“Ah, ah, ah, really would not recommend doing that,” Sokka says. He sounds nervous. “We just got the bleeding to stop. Don’t move. Like seriously do not move.”

Zuko goes limp beneath him, breathing hard and pressing his forehead to the saddle. 

“Here, hold his leg,” Katara says, and Sokka’s hands move from Zuko’s back to his leg, just above his wound. “Don't let him move. He’s probably not going to like this very much.”

She’s right. Zuko does not like what happens next very much at all. Katara forces cold water into his wound, flushing it out as best she can with her limited water supply, and Zuko shouts—half in pain and half in fury— and tries to kick, but damn Sokka for being strong enough to hold him still. Fortunately, the pain doesn’t last long. Barely a minute later, Katara ceases her cruel assault and reaches for the sewing kit, instead.

“I am so sorry,” Sokka says. He sounds horrified. Zuko hates him. “But this is gonna suck.”

It sucks. Zuko presses the pads of his fingers hard into the saddle as Katara sutures his wound; he leaves ten scorched black fingerprints against the leather. Sokka keeps him from struggling, hands firm against his leg, although several minutes into the procedure Zuko doesn’t have the energy to struggle—or the energy to do anything at all, really. The darkness that’s been looming at the edges of the world finally creeps all the way in, and Zuko shuts his eyes.

He doesn’t feel anything, after that.

Chapter Text

When Zuko wakes for the first time, the sky is dark and strewn with millions of glittering stars. They’re moving. He’s moving, he realizes slowly, and the memories of the past day begin to resurface. He’s still alive, for some unfathomable reason, and a grudging sort of respect for his enemies begins to grow in him. They kept their word. They really shouldn’t have—but they did, and there’s honor in that. (Honor and stupidity.) 

He’s still laying on his stomach, bundled under a heavy blanket. He props himself up on his elbows and raises his head. Two people are in the saddle with him, curled up and quiet underneath their own blankets. He squints to see their faces through the dark and recognizes the Avatar’s arrow, as well as Sokka’s short ponytail. But where’s the girl…? Where’s Katara…?

He finds her perched between the bison’s horns, the reins loose in her hands as she guides their path. The lemur perches on her shoulder, one of its tiny hands on her head and the tip of its tail flicking lazily. Content that there’s no urgent threat to his life (and still more than a little exhausted and queasy), Zuko settles his head back down. He’s not sure when he falls asleep again; one moment he’s staring vaguely at the side of the saddle, and the next he’s...not.

The second time he wakes up, someone is jostling him. He jolts, scrambling to sit up, and promptly gets shoved back down. This is not comforting, to say the least. He snarls, flames licking between his teeth, and only barely hears Sokka speaking over the roar of panic in his ears. “Hey! Hey, hey, cool it, man, it’s just us. Zuko, it’s us. Calm down.”

Zuko cranes his head to see them, closing his mouth and swallowing sparks. Sokka rocks back onto his heels once Zuko settles, sighing in relief. Katara kneels beside them, and when she catches Zuko’s eyes she says, “We’ve landed and set up camp. We have a tent for you, but we need to get you there, and I don’t want you walking on that leg yet. Aang can airbend you over if you hold still.”

“Yeah.” The Avatar crouches on Sokka’s other side. “I won’t drop you, promise.”

“I can walk.” Zuko braces his hands below his shoulders, but Sokka sets a warning hand on his back. “I can. It’s stopped bleeding, hasn’t it?”

“It has, and I don’t want it starting again, so you are not walking, ” Katara says sternly. “You can’t afford to lose any more blood than you already have. Just hold still.”

Zuko glares mutinously at the saddle. 

“Okay? You’ll hold still?” Katara presses.

“Fine,” Zuko spits. That seems to be enough for them. A few seconds later, Sokka and Katara hop out of the saddle, and the Avatar lifts Zuko (pillows and blankets and all) with a rush of air. There is nothing quite as disconcerting, Zuko thinks, as floating in midair while already dizzy. The Avatar moves him quickly from the saddle to the tent, settling Zuko down on a thin sleeping mat inside.

“There,” the Avatar says, setting his hands on his hips and looking far too proud of himself. “Comfy? Do you need more blankets or anything?”

“I'm fine.” Zuko wants to curl up, but he doesn’t want to face Katara’s ire—and he’s sure he’ll have to if he moves too much. Resigned, he stays on his stomach, watching the Avatar warily out of the corner of his eye. “Go away.”

“Right. Uh—I hope you feel better.” The Avatar ducks into an awkward bow, then slips out of the tent. 

Zuko stays awake longer, this time—long enough to hear the other three moving around outside of the tent, finishing their camp set-up. It seems too early for them to halt travel for the day (it’s barely midmorning) but then, Zuko supposes, there’s the bison to think about. He never quite realized how inconvenient having a living thing as transportation would be.

Agni, he misses his ship—his ship and his crew and Uncle.

He drifts in and out of a hazy sort of sleep, after that. Katara comes to see him later that afternoon, kneeling next to him with a bucket of water. “Here,” she says, offering him a ladle. “You need to drink.”

Zuko rolls onto his back, and she lets him, bracing a hand against his shoulder to help him sit. He’s too thirsty to complain; he gulps as much water as she’ll let him, then leans back on his hands and finally looks at his leg. It’s swathed in thick white bandages, and while the pain has lessened some, it’s far from gone. It burns low and sharp against the back of his knee, and it spikes ruthlessly every time he tries to move. 

“I did what I could,” Katara says, following his gaze and folding her hands in her lap. “We cleaned the wound with the water we had, but it wasn’t much. I wanted to leave it open to clean it more thoroughly once we landed, but you’d already lost so much blood by that point…” She sighs softly, twisting her fingers together. “I didn’t want to risk you losing any more, so I sutured it shut. if it gets infected, I’ll try to help, but I'm not a healer. Not really.”

“You’ve done more than most could,” Zuko says gruffly, because it’s true—no Fire Nation soldier could have practiced better field medicine. They’re lucky if they know how to bandage something, let alone how to sew. He takes a deep breath, grits his teeth, and adds, “Thank you.”

Katara’s face softens some, surprise flickering through her eyes, before she nods. “You’re welcome.”

“Where’s the nearest city?” Zuko asks. His arms begin to tremble, so he reluctantly lays back again. “Where are we?”

“We’re on the coast of the Earth Kingdom. I’m not sure exactly where, but most of the major cities are inland or south. We’re probably a day or two away.”

“When are we leaving?”

Katara shakes her head. “Not anytime soon. You’re in no state to travel, and Appa’s exhausted. He flew eighteen hours getting to the temple, and almost as long getting away. He needs to rest.  Both of you need to rest.”

Zuko glares at the ceiling of the tent. That’s certainly not what he wanted to hear. The sooner they reach a city, they sooner he can leave this group and start tracking down Uncle. If he’s lucky, he can take the little Avatar along with him, too—but if he wants to do that he’ll need to be in fighting shape, so maybe it is better that they wait. 

“Sokka’s hunting now,” Katara continues, “so we’ll have lunch soon. If you need anything before that, just shout for us.”

Zuko nods stiffly, and she leaves him alone. As promised, lunch comes within the hour—he smells it cooking long before Sokka brings him a plate, and his stomach turns at the scent. His nausea, so it would seem, has not abated. “Soup’s on,” Sokka says cheerfully, setting a bowl down next to him. Inside, several chunks of suspicious meat float on top of a thin brown broth. Zuko grimaces. “Hey, what’s that face for? It’s good! Well, better than usual, anyway.”

Zuko sits up, blinking away the resulting headrush, and reaches for the bowl. Like it or not, he knows he has to eat if he wants to get back on his feet. Sokka takes a seat next to him, leaning back on his hands. “Do you...need something?” Zuko asks, eyeing him uncertainly. He’s made the unfortunate decision to sit on Zuko’s blind side, so Zuko can’t properly look at his food without losing sight of him. It’s terribly inconvenient. 

“No,” Sokka says. “I’m good.”

He seems unfortunately content to leave it at that. Zuko scowls. “Then you can leave. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Oh! Right. Uh.” Sokka scrambles back to his feet, heading for the tent flap. “I guess I’ll just come back for the bowl?”

Zuko makes a noncommittal noise and dips his spoon into the stew. He eats slowly, grimacing around each bite. It’s not as bad as it looks—it’s by no means good, either, but it’s far from the worst he’s had. It’s warm and filling, which is what matters, but his stomach informs him with each swallow that he should not, in fact, be eating. It threatens to vomit. He ruthlessly ignores it and jams another spoonful into his mouth.

He manages to keep his lunch down (if only barely) and sprawls out again to rest through the late afternoon, listening carefully to the activity outside of the tent. To his left, he hears the low lap of waves against a shore, and beyond that he hears Katara’s voice alongside the Avatar’s as she guides him through several waterbending techniques. Sokka doesn’t seem to be nearby. At the very least, Zuko can’t hear his voice—which, he’s quickly coming to realize, is novel. 

Shortly before dinner, Katara comes in to check on him. Zuko’s in no mood to deal with any of them (his leg seems to hurt worse with every passing hour), so he keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t stir. Besides, if they think he’s sleeping, he may just get to listen to some important conversations. He needs to know what they’re going to do with him. They seem to have kept their word thus far, so he may not be in mortal danger—but if they’re planning on keeping him prisoner he needs to know. There’s no way he’s sticking around for that. 

Unfortunately, an important conversation is not what they seem to be having as they prepare dinner. “...but try telling that to Kuzon!” the Avatar exclaims, finishing a story he seems to have started out of Zuko’s earshot. Zuko hears them all settle in around the campfire they’ve built, their light laughter drifting over to him. “Man, and you guys think I have crazy ideas.”

“You do,” Sokka points out, “but you’re right. That one was worse than any of yours have been.”

“And I’ve had some preeeetty bad ones,” the Avatar agrees. Nearby, the bison rumbles quietly, and the Avatar giggles. “Hey, buddy. Did you have a good nap?”

“I boiled some water for him. It’s in the pool across from the tents when he gets thirsty,” Katara says.

“Awesome. Thanks, Katara.”

“Speaking of water,” Sokka says, through what sounds like a mouthful of food. Blegh. “I don’t know about you guys, but after yesterday’s impromptu adventure I’m gross, and my clothes are gross, and I’m pretty sure there’s at least two pounds of dried sweat in there. Can we boil some water for laundry and baths soon?”

“I’ll fill some buckets after dinner if you’ll watch them over the fire,” Katara agrees.

Zuko lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Thrilling conversational topics, truly. He might be better off actually asleep. Then he hears his name, and he immediately tunes back in and turns his good ear towards the tent entrance. 

“Is Zuko asleep?” Sokka asks quietly. 

“Looked like it,” Katara says. “We should let him rest while he can. I'll set some food aside for when he wakes up.”

A moment of heavy silence, and then the Avatar says, “...I guess we need to talk about what we’re going to do next, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees, his voice unusually somber. “But not here.”

Shit. Zuko hears them begin to move, and he quickly slams his eyes shut again when footsteps drift towards him. The tent flaps swing open, spilling warm sunlight inside, and then close again a few seconds later. “He’s still sleeping,” Katara informs the other two as she returns to them. Their footsteps retreat, heading farther from the campsite, until Zuko can’t hear them anymore—and as soon as they’re out of earshot, he scrambles to his feet.

His injured leg protests this very, very violently, and his stomach suddenly rolls. He dry heaves and stumbles to the side, but he’s not able to catch his balance this time, and he lands hard on the floor of the tent. His chest heaves, darkness encroaching in his peripheral vision again as his heart clenches painfully in his chest. What the hell? Why does he feel worse? He hasn’t been doing anything all day!

...maybe that’s the problem. His leg is stiff and sore, now, and almost impossible to walk on. He stands up more slowly this time, folding at the waist and hanging his head when the world threatens to dissolve around him again. Once what blood he has left figures out where it needs to be, he slowly straightens up, jams his bloodied boots on, and slips out of the tent. It’s hard to move quietly while limping, especially when the terrain underfoot is sand and gravel, but he does his best and fights the frankly ridiculous urge to sit down and cry because he feels sick and walking hurts.

But he’s a soldier, not a child, and he’s not going to let a little pain stop him. He’s been through worse. Father had done Zuko the mercy of burning his face well, for the most part—he hadn’t been able to feel the bulk of the wound afterwards, because the fire had seared deeply enough through his skin that it killed the nerves there. The outer ring of the burn hadn’t been so lucky. Zuko hasn’t been through anything that painful since, and he doubts he ever will. An injured leg is nothing in comparison. 

So, as quickly and quietly as he can, Zuko follows their footsteps across the sand and into the thin grove of trees nearby. He finds them clustered in a small clearing, sitting in a loose triangle. Careful to keep his distance, he crouches behind the widest tree he can find and settles in to listen—and he doesn’t like what he hears. Not at all.

About halfway through their conversation, when the ground begins to crack around him and the ocean beats itself violently against the shore, he bolts.

Chapter Text

Sokka sits cross-legged in the warm sand, doodling aimlessly in it with a stick he found nearby. “Okay,” he says once Aang and Katara are settled down near him. “The way I see it, we can’t do anything with this guy until he’s better. Can we at least agree on that?”

“Absolutely,” Aang says. “There’s no way we can send him away like this.”

Katara nods her own agreement. “No, we can’t. He wouldn’t survive in the wild on his own, and I don’t want to travel with him—or Appa—yet. They need at least another day of rest. After that, we can think about moving inland and finding a city. We can leave Zuko with a healer there and—”

“No.” Sokka shakes his head adamantly. 

“Sokka.” Katara sighs at him in frustration. “We can’t keep him.”

“Well we can’t let him go.” Sokka stands, beginning to pace and turning the stick over and over in his hands. “First of all, he’s hunting us, and that’s, like, super inconvenient.”

“We have been avoiding him pretty successfully,” Aang points out.

“Aang’s right. I'd rather have him hunting us than waiting to kill us in our sleep. It’s not safe keeping him so close.”

“Listen, if it was just the fact that he was hunting us, then fine, we could let him go,” Sokka says, although the thought still makes him want to scowl. “If you guys are willing to take that risk, so am I. But it’s not just about us anymore—think about what happened at Kyoshi. Zuko’s proven that he’s more than willing to hurt other people to get to us, and that’s what I can’t tolerate.”

Katara and Aang are quiet for a moment, both of them looking down at the dull gray sand. It’s a good point, and Sokka knows it. Risking their own lives is one thing, but risking the lives of innocent people? They can’t do that.

“Besides,” Sokka continues, pressing his advantage, “what’s the alternative? We let him go and then what? He goes straight back to the Fire Nation—straight back to working for his dad.”

“To be fair,” Aang says, “everybody in the Fire Nation works for his dad.”

“Not like this,” Sokka says. Anger licks up the back of his chest and throat as he thinks of what Zuko had told them—of what his dad had done. Katara must be thinking the same thing, because he sees her flinch and lift a hand to touch their mother’s necklace. “Do you want to tell him, or should I, Katara?”

“Tell me what?” Aang looks between the two of them, his curiosity quickly cooling into concern as they stay silent. “Guys? Tell me what?”

Katara takes a deep breath before lifting her eyes to meet Aang’s. “You know the Firelord isn’t a good person, Aang.”

“I mean, yeah. I sort of got that impression from the war.”

“Well, he’s—he’s not a good person around his kids, either. He banished Zuko from the Fire Nation.”

Aang’s face creases with sympathy, and he pulls his knees to his chest. “Seriously? That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, his voice sharp. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? His own kid.”

“But if Zuko’s banished, then why is he still working for the Fire Nation?”

“Because his dad’s a manipulative piece of shit.” Sokka scowls, dropping his stick and crouching across from his friends again. “Tell him the whole story, Katara.”

“...that wasn’t it?” Aang asks, his fingers twisting nervously into his pants. 

“No.” Katara’s voice is quieter, now, and she doesn’t meet Aang’s eyes. “Before Zuko was banished, his father challenged him to an Agni Kai. It’s a kind of firebender duel.”

“I know. Kuzon used to talk about them sometimes.” Aang’s brow furrows. “But Zuko’s not old enough for that. Agni Kais are for adults, and he—I mean, he doesn’t look like an adult. Maybe he is?”

Sokka’s teeth grind. He’s almost certain that Zuko isn’t an adult now, and doubly certain he wasn’t an adult then. As a child, I should have been quiet and listened so that I could learn instead of arrogantly assuming I knew better…

Fucking Spirits. 

“I don’t know how old he was,” Katara admits. “You’d have to ask him.”

“But they didn’t go through with it, right? The Agni Kai? Zuko must have apologized, and that’s why his dad banished him instead.” Aang looks hopefully at them, and Katara takes a shaky breath, her lower lip wobbling. Aang scoots closer to her, his hope quickly traded for alarm. “Katara? What’s wrong? What—what happened?”

Sokka takes pity on his sister, steeling himself with a deep breath before stepping in to continue this horrible story. “Zuko refused to fight,” he says, his voice cold. (He has to keep it cold. He has to, or it’s going to crack and splinter all over the place because who the hell does that to a child?) “His father attacked him anyway. That’s what his scar is from.”

For a moment, Aang is devastatingly silent. Then he looks up at Sokka, and his eyes are wide and pleading—like he thinks Sokka’s going to take it back, like he thinks the world will make sense again if Sokka just tells him it’s an awful, awful joke. “...what?” he asks, and his confusion is heart-breaking. Sokka envies him that innocence. “But people don’t—parents don’t do that to their kids.”

Sokka looks away, balling his hands into fists. His chest aches. 

“Aang…” Katara starts, her voice gentle. “No. Most parents don’t. But the Firelord is—”

“No!” Aang says, his voice cracking desperately. He scrambles to his feet, and when Sokka looks back at him, his hands are shaking. “No, you’re wrong! You have to be wrong.”

“I wish I was, but...I don’t think he was lying.” Katara wraps her arms around herself, shutting her eyes briefly. “He was so scared, when we were in that prison. So angry and so confused and so scared.”

“He said the firelord would kill him if he got sent back to the Fire Nation,” Sokka says, scowling at the sand. “I think he was right.”

“No, no no no!” Aang reaches up, clamping his hands over his ears like that’s ever going to stop the knowing now that it’s started. “People don’t—people don’t do things like that."

“The Firelord does,” Sokka says grimly. “And you should hear the way Zuko talks about him; it’s like he’s brainwashed or something! He’s like—like ‘oh, the Firelord in his great mercy maimed me and banished me and I deserved it because I spoke out of a turn once.’ It makes me sick. And you guys want to let him go back to that? Keeping him away from that guy would be a mercy, whether he likes it or not. I just can’t see why—”

“Sokka!” Katara’s voice cuts through his own, sharp and scared. When Sokka can see through the infuriated red haze that’s taken over his vision, his own stomach drops. Aang stands with his arms wrapped around himself; his eyes stare aimlessly into the distance. They’re flickering blue. So are his arrows. Shit. “Aang, hey, it’s okay. I mean, it’s—it’s not okay, but Zuko’s fine now. He’s with us, and we aren’t going to let anything like that happen again.”

“Yeah, buddy, what happened then is definitely not happening ever again. Zuko’s safe,” Sokka agrees, tentatively setting a hand on Aang’s shoulder. The muscles are stiff beneath his hand, pulled rigid with anger. “Everything’s okay now. Just take a deep breath and—”

“People can’t do that,” Aang insists, only it’s not Aang anymore, it’s a hundred people and then some, their voices all overlapping and layering through each other until picking out any single one is an impossible task. The air begins to twist violently around them, flinging sand into their skin and eyes. “They can’t hurt each other that way.”

“Aang,” Katara says, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing. “I know it’s horrible, and I know you’re mad—and you have every right to be, but this isn’t helping anyone. Please, we need you to calm down.”

Sokka squeezes Aang’s shoulder and tries very, very hard to ignore the fire suddenly licking in a ragged circle around the three of them. “She’s right. What happened sucked, and it should never been allowed. That’s why you have to train, and why we have to stop the Firelord. We can—”

“I could kill him now.” The sudden cacophony of voices is gone, now, sharpened and hardened back into a single one—but it isn’t Aang’s. No, this voice is low and rough and utterly unfamiliar. Behind them, the ocean waves crash violently against the shore, and the ground trembles underfoot. Sokka swallows hard; he knows how to deal with Aang, but the same can’t be said for any of his other incarnations. “I should kill him now. It was my inaction that allowed this to happen.”

“Avatar Roku,” Katara says, her voice soft. Sokka doesn’t know how she knows (he’ll ask, later, and discover that it was Roku who she spoke to right after they escaped the temple) but he’s infinitely grateful that she does, because Aang—Roku—finally looks at her. 

“If I had killed Sozin when I had the chance…” Roku says, then bares his teeth. The fire around them surges higher, lashing at the sky. “I could have stopped this war before it began. I could have kept Ozai from ever being inflicted upon the world.”

“If Ozai had never been born, Zuko wouldn’t have been, either,” Katara points out. 

“Perhaps,” Roku says, his voice raw, “that would have been better. What is a life of such suffering worth?”

Sokka shakes Roku’s shoulder none-too-gently, and the Avatar’s eyes snap towards him. “You don’t mean that,” he says sharply. “The bad parts of somebody’s life don’t make the good parts worth any less! And now that Zuko’s away from the Firelord, he’ll be fine."

Roku watches him carefully, quietly. Sokka would like to think that the rush of air around them grows gentler. “Such is not a thing for you to decide,” he says at last. “Zuko may very well follow in his father’s footsteps. Already, he has begun. He is violent and strong, he is disillusioned and he is angry. ”

Sokka can’t deny it. He turns his eyes from Roku’s. 

“We’ll help him,” Katara says firmly. “I know that we can’t fix him, and we can’t change him. That’s on him. What we can do is show him kindness. We can show him the world away from his father. We can show him a reason to change—we can give him a chance.”

Roku bows his head. “I can only hope that is enough. There is good in him, however buried it may be.” He closes his eyes, his hands curling into fists. “But as for the Firelord himself—”

“He deserves to die,” Sokka agrees adamantly. “We’re with you on that one, bud, all the way, but we can’t do it like this. The Avatar state doesn’t last long enough. Besides, if you’re killed like this, you won’t ever come back—and if there’s one thing the last hundred years have taught us, it’s that the world needs the Avatar.”

“Sokka’s right. Aang needs to train properly. I know he’ll be strong enough to defeat the Firelord and end this war, I know he will, but he needs time,” Katara says. “Please, Roku. Let Aang do this.”

The waves behind them begin to settle, lapping quietly against the distant shore. The fire vanishes in a plume of soft smoke, and the ground steadies again. “Aang is strong, and already a gifted bender,” Roku says quietly, “but I do not know that he has the heart to do what needs to be done.”

“He’ll do it,” Sokka insists. “Whatever he needs to do, he’ll do it.”

“...are you so sure?”

“Yes,” Katara and Sokka say together, their jaws set in determination. Roku looks between the two of them, and a wry smile flickers across his face.

“With such strong supporters, perhaps he will,” Roku agrees at last. “Have it your way. But if i should ever hear that Ozai has done such a thing to a child again, I shall see to it that he dies burning.”

The light in Aang’s eyes suddenly flicker out and his legs buckle beneath him; Sokka quickly loops an arm around Aang’s shoulders and eases him to the sand. Katara kneels beside them, brushing one hand over Aang’s head and pressing her lips into a thin, worried line. 

“Well,” Sokka says, just a tad breathlessly. “I think he took that well.”

Aang groans as he stirs, cracking his eyes open. “Guys…?”

“It’s okay,” Katara assures him, helping him to sit up. “You were in the Avatar state for a little while, but you didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be.” Sokka nudges him gently, then freezes when Aang leans into him. Cautiously, he loops an arm around Aang’s shoulders and bumps their heads together. If anyone tried to hurt Aang in this moment, he’d killed them, Sokka decides as a violent sort of overprotectiveness normally reserved for his family begins to rear its head. Katara was right. They’re Aang’s family now, for better or for worse. “It’s okay. You were right to be angry. Hell, if I had an Avatar state, I’m pretty sure I'd have been in it ever since Zuko told us that story.”

“Honestly,” Katara agrees, leaning back on her palms. All three of them are littered with sand—if they hadn’t already needed baths, they certainly would after this. 

The three of them stay quiet for several minutes, letting Aang catch his breath and staring out at the ocean between the trees. The sun begins to dip below the horizon, spilling red light across the waves and stretching the shadows out long and narrow. Sokka knows they should really get back to camp before Zuko wakes up and gets himself into trouble, but it’s peaceful here. Peace is a hard thing to come by, these days.

“I hate him,” Aang says quietly, and Sokka hums a question. “Ozai. For what he did to Zuko, and to the world.”

“Yes,” Katara agrees. “He’s awful.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I fight him.”

“I do,” Sokka says breezily. Aang and Katara both look towards him. “You’re going to win.”

A small smile flickers across Aang’s face, and he ducks his head. “Thanks, Sokka.”

“So…” Sokka cups sand in his palm, letting it trickle between his fingers. “What are we thinking now? I don’t want Zuko going back to his dad. Like, ever. Roku was right. He’s already on a really bad path, and if he keeps going the way he has been, we’ll just have another evil Firelord on our hands once Ozai’s dead. So unless we want to kill him, we need to do something before that happens."

“I want him to be our friend,” Aang says. 

Sokka looks fondly at him. “Aang. Cute idea, but you can’t be friends with somebody just because you want to change them. That’s, like, the basis for friendship failure. Plus, he’s a huge jerk.”

“Well what else are we going to do?” Aang flings his hands into the air and crashes backwards into the sand, clearly frustrated. “Letting him go won’t work, and keeping him prisoner is just going to make him hate us—and if he hates us, he’ll side even more strongly with the Fire Nation.”

“Being friends with him would be a wonderful start,” Katara says diplomatically, “but Sokka’s right. Befriending somebody just so you can change them isn’t healthy. He’ll know you’re manipulating him.”

“So what do we do?” Aang asks helplessly. “All of these options are terrible.”

“Like I told Roku, I want to show him what the world is like away from the Fire Nation. Once he sees how other people live, maybe he’ll be less inclined to, you know, ruin their lives?” Katara says.

“He’s been away from the Fire Nation for—” Sokka pauses. How long ago was Zuko banished, anyway? “A while already. It hasn’t changed him yet.”

Katara shakes her head. “He was still on a Fire Nation ship, surrounded by people loyal to the Fire Nation. And if his uncle is anything like his dad…”

“I get it,” Sokka says, frowning at the implication. 

“So you think if we can keep him away from Fire Nation ideals and show him what the rest of the world is like, he’ll have a change of heart?” Aang asks.

“Sounds a little overly optimistic if you ask me.” Sokka wrinkles his nose, stretching his legs out in front of him. Violent, angry jerkbenders don’t just have a change of heart because you take them on a super-fun roadtrip. If that was the case, they’d just kidnap the Firelord!

“You’re the one who wanted to keep him prisoner,” Katara says, narrowing her eyes at him. Sokka holds up his hands in surrender. “And I don’t know, Aang. I feel like it’s worth a shot. Plus, if he’s around us and we treat him well, maybe he’ll start to realize we’re not so bad. Maybe he won’t want to hunt you anymore.”

“You really think so?” Aang asks hopefully.

“It’s a possibility.” Katara sighs, then admits, “but it is a small one. If he really is this way because of the Firelord’s influence, then keeping him away from it will let him form his own opinions—but those opinions may not be what we want.”

“And if they aren’t?” Sokka asks. “If he decides he’d rather be a brutal dictator enslaving the rest of the world, just like his father? What then?”

Katara and Aang look away. Sokka sighs. 

“Just...don’t get too attached, is all I’m saying,” Sokka mutters. “I know we all feel bad for him. His life kind of seriously sucks, and it’s not his fault that his dad’s an abusive freak who’s been cramming horrific ideologies down his throat since he was born. But if he decides to be the bad guy—if he decides to hurt other people for the hell of it, if he decides to hurt us— then that’s all on him, and he’ll be our enemy just as much as the Firelord ever was. I pity the shit out of that guy, but I’ll be the first one to put a blade through his heart if he turns out like his father.”

Aang looks at him, horrified, but Katara dips her chin in a nod. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “You can pity someone, but you can’t let that pity blind you to who they are. Zuko’s done bad things. He isn’t a good person. If he doesn’t change, he’ll still be our enemy, and we may have to fight him someday. Can you handle that, Aang?”

“I—” Aang hesitates, looking out at the ocean. He swallows. “Yes. If we give him a chance to change and he doesn’t, then I’ll fight him if I have to.”

Sokka nods. “Good. There’s just one other teensy problem, then.”

“Yes.” Katara inclines her head. “There certainly is.”

“What is it? Guys?” Aang scooches towards them. “Don’t do the weird we’re-having-a-conversation-with-our-sibling-telepathy thing.”

Sokka snorts. “Yeah, right. I wish.” Then he thinks about it, and he and Katara trade a disgusted glance. “Actually, I take it back. I never want to read your mind.”

“Oh, like you’re not thinking about even worse things,” Katara says, scoffing. 

“Guys, what’s the teensy problem?”

“How we’re going to get Zuko to go anywhere with us without taking him prisoner,” Katara says. “If we force him to do anything, he’ll hate it—and we don’t want him to hate the other nations or us if he’s going to change.”

“Well, he has to stay with us for at least a little while, right?” Aang says. “It’s not like he can travel on his own with his leg the way it is.”

“Once he’s well enough to be moved, he’ll want to go to a city healer,” Katara says. 

“I don’t think he will,” Sokka disagrees. “He doesn’t have any money on him. How would he pay a healer in the Earth Kingdom to look after him? If anything, as soon as he gets to the city he’ll just steal somebody’s ostrich-horse and go looking for his uncle. But maybe we can convince him to stay with us and our free healer until he can at least travel comfortably on his own. That’ll take at least a few weeks, right?”

“At least.” Katara narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “I could talk to him about the risks of traveling on that leg. If he does too much too soon, he may never walk right again. I doubt he wants that. He’d probably stay with us as long as we stayed in one place, but—Aang, we have to get you to the North Pole. You only have until the comet to master all four elements.”

“And staying in one place isn’t showing him how everyone else in the world lives, either,” Sokka points out. “We need to travel. If we're flying with Appa, it won't damage his leg, right?”

“But convincing him to travel with us is going to be hard.” Aang rubs the back of his head, grimacing.

“He’ll feel like he’s betraying his father,” Katara says, sighing.

“Or— or,” Sokka says, his eyes shining as the idea occurs to him, “he’ll feel like he’s gathering information for his father. I mean, what firebender has ever been inside of the North Pole, right? Knowledge of its layout and structure would be invaluable.”

“...now that you mention it, taking him to the North Pole sounds like a really bad idea,” Aang says.

“No, it’s okay. Who’s going to listen to him, right? He’s the banished prince, and his dad hates him.” Sokka beams. “It’s perfect!”

“Please don’t sound so cheerful about that ever again,” Katara says, although there’s a thrilled gleam in her own eyes. “But you’re right. He’s not allowed into the Fire Nation, and I doubt any self-respecting commander would sit down to talk with him even if he did say he had information about the North Pole. They’d probably think he was lying to win back his dad’s favor.”

“Exactly. Man, we’re good at this!” Sokka holds up his hand and, after a second, Katara grins and high-fives him.

“Scarily good at it,” Aang says, but there’s a small smile on his face. “So that’s it? That’s our plan?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sokka says.

“It feels a...little manipulative, to be honest, but it’s better than putting him in shackles or allowing him to keep hunting us,” Katara says, standing up and helping Aang to his feet. Sokka scrambles up all by himself, thank you very much. “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”

Sokka leads the way back towards their campsite, but he stumbles to a stop as they start to exit the clearing. He squints. The sand and stones beneath them are, for the most part, an array of gray and brown and black. That’s why, when Sokka sees three little dots of bright, hideous red, he’s a little bit alarmed. It could have been an injured animal, he knows—but he doesn’t think they’re quite that lucky.

“Hey, guys?” he says. “Blood.”

Katara kneels, peering closely at the spattering of color on the monochrome sand. “Poor thing. Do you want to track it for breakfast tomorrow?”

Sokka really doesn’t think they should be eating whatever’s at the end of this trail. Still, he’s a practiced hunter, and if anyone’s going to track an injured creature, it’s him. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll follow it. You guys go back to the camp and look for Zuko.”

“Wait.” Aang’s brows furrow as he frowns. “You don’t think he followed us…?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past that guy,” Sokka mutters, “but if it is him, he can’t have gotten far.”

“Spirits! If I find out he’s running around when I explicitly told him to not to, I’m going to hobble him,” Katara says, already storming towards the camp. “You’d think a gaping leg wound would do the trick, but nooo, we have to be a big tough guy and bounce around like a headless chicken while we’re bleeding all over the place, and…”

Sokka winces sympathetically. He’s been on the wrong side of Katara’s scolding more than once, and it is not a pleasant experience. (Although if Zuko is running around on a leg that torn up, Sokka is of the opinion that he quite deserves a scolding.) As soon as Aang and Katara are gone, Sokka fixes his eyes back to the sand to begin his hunt, and if he finds Zuko at the end of this bloodtrail, well—

Katara won’t be the only one doing some scolding.

Chapter Text

Zuko doesn’t understand. 

Well, alright, that’s not entirely true. He understands that they’re talking about his future. He understands that they think he’s a danger, both to them and to the people they interact with, and he can’t say he blames them for thinking that. In fact, it’s almost reassuring. They’re finally treating him like an enemy worth fearing and not just some injured animal they picked up on the side of the road. That’s their proper dynamic, and it’s reassuring to be treated like the threat he is. He understands that far, far more than he understands any of this weird ‘we’re not going to kill you’ stuff.

So he gets that. He gets that Sokka wants to keep him and Katara wants to get rid of him as soon as possible. (He sides with Katara, not that anyone ever asked him.) What he doesn’t get is why they’re all so angry about what Father did to him. He’d told them what he’d done to deserve it, hadn’t he? What’s so infuriating about a parent disciplining his child? Perhaps they don’t discipline children in the South Pole. That, at least, would explain why they’re all a bunch of ignorant savages. 

And brainwashing? Really? Father did no such thing! As if he’d even need to resort to such tactics. Hmph. Father’s strong enough to inspire his followers (and family) to obedience without playing silly mind games. Zuko obeys of his own free will, because he knows full well that he owes his loyalty to his father and his firelord—just like every proper Fire Nation citizen does. If Agni, in all her great wisdom, appointed his father to the throne, then who is Zuko to disagree? Besides, his father is a just and noble lord. All that he does, he does out of a want to improve his nation (and his children). 

So it just—it just doesn’t make sense that the Water Tribe brats are so angry about it! Father did what he did because he loved Zuko, because he wanted to make him better, because Zuko was weak and foolish and shameful and it was Father’s responsibility to correct him. How else is a child meant to learn? And how vital it is for Zuko to learn quickly and learn well, if he’s meant to be the next firelord! Father can’t go easy on him for that reason alone. He did this because he cared, and Zuko isn’t going to let him down. 

Why is that so hard for them to understand?

They talk as though his father has done something horrific. The Avatar himself says parents don’t do that, and Zuko almost wants to laugh. The sound catches, bitter and wet, in the back of his throat. What does the Avatar know of parents? He’s a monk; he has none! And—and what right do Sokka and Katara have to complain about his father? At least he had one! Where had their father been, when Zuko attacked their village? He certainly hadn’t been protecting them, that’s for sure. What do they know of parents? Of families? Of discipline and correction and honor?

Nothing. They know absolutely nothing, and they have no right to judge Father the way they do. Anger curls between his ribs, hot and sharp, and he has to dig his fingers into the sand to keep from lunging out at them. It’s some motivation to stay put when the Avatar’s eyes begin to glow, the wind kicking up around them. He’s angry, too, Zuko realizes. Why? Why, why, why?

The Avatar’s voice—the Avatar’s voices— ring heavy in his head, and Zuko's anger rapidly begins to shift to fear as the ocean waves slam themselves viciously against the shore. He brings his arms up to shield his face from the sudden, stinging sand gusts and huddles closer to his hiding tree as the ground quakes. His heart thunders a sickening tempo in his chest, and he’s not sure how much of his dizziness is because of his heart rate and how much of it is because the world shakes with the brunt of the Avatar’s fury. 

“I could kill him now,” the Avatar says, his voice older and deeper and angrier. Zuko heaves himself to his feet (too fast—stinging pain laces up the back of his injured leg and he muffles his cry against his palm and thanks the Avatar for the noise of the raging waves). They’re going to kill his father. He knew that, of course, he knew the Avatar was a threat to the Fire Nation and all it stood for, but to hear it put so plainly…“I should kill him now.”

Zuko bolts. 

He’s not sure where he’s going, as long as it’s away from them, away from them and their foolish, ridiculous anger. He can’t run, but he limps as quickly as he can down the beach—he doesn’t stop moving until the waves stop crashing like they want to break the shore. His leg howls its protests at him, and he ruthlessly ignores them. He can feel his bandages clinging to his skin, rapidly growing soggy with blood, and his stomach rolls. He sits down before he vomits, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his head between them. 

For several long minutes, he sits there and he breathes through the waves of crushing panic that have made themselves at home behind his ribs. He can’t stop shaking. He’s so cold, and he rapidly grows colder as the sun begins to bury itself beneath the sea. He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes fire, but the flames are weak and dull and just as shaky as he is. He swallows around a bolt of terror, and then another, and then—

And then he scrambles onto hands and knees and retches into the sand. Nothing comes up but thin, sour bile. He spits and then sits back again, hiccuping around something that sounds dangerously like a sob. This is stupid. This is so, so stupid. Why is he even freaking out? It’s not like they’re actually going to kill Father today; it would take them at least two days to get to the capital, and Katara said the bison was too tired to fly right now. Father’s safe. The Fire Nation is safe. And Zuko is—

Zuko is a prisoner.

They can talk circles around it all they like, but he’s already their prisoner, isn’t he? Oh, sure, he’s not in a cell or shackled, but why would they need to waste time on any of that when he’s so perfectly crippled? He can’t go anywhere. he knows it, and they know it. Try as he might, he won’t survive out here on his own, and there are no towns or cities nearby for him to escape to. He’s stuck here. He’s useless. He’s disappointing father. 

Zuko jams his knuckles into his mouth, gulping back the sobs that threaten to leave him. He has to stop. He needs to stop. This is a truly disgraceful display—he should be planning his escape instead of blubbering like some useless infant. This is exactly the sort of behavior that got him banished in the first place! Agni, you’d think he’d have learned something by now. He swipes angrily at his eyes until they stop watering and forces himself to take slow, measured breaths until he feels a little less like he’s about to die. 

It takes longer than it should.

He’s almost calmed himself down when the sand suddenly crunches behind him. His heart leaps straight back into his throat and he snaps his head around to see Sokka picking his way across the beach. Their eyes meet. Sokka scowls. Zuko scowls right back and curls his hands into fists to hide their trembling. 

“Katara’s gonna kill you,” Sokka says. Zuko stiffens all over. Is that what they decided? Not to release him or take him prisoner, but to kill him? If that’s the case, then he—“Spirits! Not literally, Zuko. She’s just gonna be mad. She’ll probably yell at you for an hour or something.”

“Like I care,” Zuko says scathingly. Sokka moves to sit on his left side, then pauses and switches to his right, instead. Zuko relaxes a minuscule amount. “What do you want?”

“You need to come back to camp.”

“Or what?” Zuko sneers. “You’ll kill me? Do it, then. Spare us both the waiting.”

“Or I’ll drag you back by that stupid ponytail,” Sokka says, looking irritably at him. “You’re bleeding everywhere, and you don’t exactly have blood to spare at the moment. Do you want to walk again, or are you determined to permanently cripple yourself?”

Zuko folds his arms across his chest, glowering at the waves. Moonlight trickles over them in milky white streaks—a pale reflection of the sun’s splendor, just like this upstart Water Tribe barbarian is a pale reflection of any proper Fire Nation soldier. Why should Zuko care about what he thinks? Besides, it wasn’t like he was just running around for the hell of it. He had important information to gather.

“I know you heard us,” Sokka says, flopping onto his back and glaring at the sky. Zuko could kill him like this—he’s defenseless, his chest and stomach and throat all bare and open. Zuko looks at his hands, then folds them in his lap. “You’d make a much better spy if you didn’t leave a blood trail.”

“What did you decide?” Zuko asks coldly.

Sokka looks at him, surprised (and suspiciously relieved). “Weren’t you there to hear us decide?”

“No. I left around the time you started talking about murdering my father.” Zuko’s voice tightens bitterly. “I’ll never let you get to him. If you’re planning on keeping me prisoner for that long you’d better watch your backs. I’d rather die than—”

“We’re not keeping you prisoner,” Sokka says, his voice falling flat. “You’re free to leave whenever you want.”

“Some choice you’re giving me!” Zuko spits. It seems like just the sort of choice Azula would come up with. “I can stay here with you or I can leave and die. ”

“Look, man, can we talk about this later? I promise I’ll tell you everything, but Katara and Aang are going to come looking for us soon, and you look like you’re about to pass out. I don’t want to have to carry you all the way back to camp. I mean, I’m strong enough to, obviously.” He flexes his arms, like that’s supposed to be impressive, and Zuko drags his hands down his face. “But it’s not my idea of a fun evening.”

“You’ll tell me everything once we get back to camp.” It isn’t a request.

Sokka, damn him, answers like it is one. “Katara will want you to rest, but we can talk about it tomorrow.” He shuffles over to crouch next to Zuko, pulling Zuko’s arm over his shoulders. Then he stands before Zuko can protest, hauling him onto his feet. 

“I can walk.” Zuko attempts to tug his arm away, but Sokka’s fingers lock around his wrist. “I can also break your ribs if you don’t let go.”

“Katara would kill you,” Sokka says nonchalantly. “Literally, this time, so I wouldn’t recommend it. Come on, just let me help you and we’ll get there faster. Quit hobbling and lean on me.”

Zuko very pointedly limps forward and does not lean.  

Sokka rolls his eyes. “You know,” he says, “if you pass out, I’m not even gonna give you the dignity of carrying you. I’m just gonna grab your arm and start dragging. You’ll wake up with sand everywhere.”

“I’m already going to wake up with sand everywhere.”

Sokka laughs. “Yeah, that’s right. Aang got us all pretty good, huh?”

Despite Zuko’s determination to make it back to camp on his own two feet, the actual act of walking is...difficult. His injured leg throbs every time he puts weight on it, and he has to fight the urge to stop and sit down and just, you know, not move ever again. The dizziness that plagues him doesn’t help, either, and Sokka is the sturdy center to a spinning world. Slowly, gradually, and almost without realizing it, Zuko begins to lean his weight into Sokka’s side. Sokka (making a rare tactful decision) doesn’t mention it, and together, the two of them make their way into the camp.

Chapter Text

Even with Sokka’s help, Zuko is exhausted by the time they reach the camp. The Avatar and Katara look over as soon as they hear the footsteps of Zuko’s odd, limping gait. Katara, as Sokka had predicted, looks absolutely enraged. “Where have you been?” she demands, following the two of them into the tent. “Spirits, look at your leg! You’ve already bled through your bandages. We don’t exactly have a surplus of medical supplies to spare, you know.”

“I wouldn’t have had to leave camp if the three of you hadn’t snuck off in the first place,” Zuko says pointedly, yanking his leg closer to his chest and glaring when Katara reaches for it. “I’m not going to let you keep me prisoner, and I’m definitely not letting you kill the Firelord.”

“What? We’re not killing anybody,” the Avatar says, squeezing his way into the tent. It is far, far too cramped for four people. No one but Zuko seems to care about this. “And we’re not keeping any prisoners, either.”

“You did a bad job of spying if you didn’t even stay to hear the end of our conversation,” Katara says. “You’re better off not making assumptions until you have all of the relevant information—which we would have given you if you’d just asked. Now let me see your leg.”

Zuko grouchily lets her pull his injured leg away from his chest. Despite her obvious aggravation, she’s absurdly gentle. It’s unnerving. “You could have been planning to kill me,” he says defensively. Katara’s disapproval feels a little too much like his mother’s used to. “You wouldn’t have told me that.”

“For the last time, sparks, nobody’s killing you,” Sokka says, rubbing his temples. 

Hmph. That sounds fake to Zuko.

“You tore your stitches,” Katara says, grimacing as she peels his bandages away. Sokka wrinkles his nose and backs up. “Great job. Sokka, bring me water and the sewing kit.”

Sokka darts out of the tent, and the Avatar sits down near the entrance. “We’re not gonna keep you prisoner,” the Avatar repeats as Katara wipes the blood away from Zuko’s wound with a damp towel, her scowl smoothed away—however momentarily—by her concentration. “I mean, you can’t leave now, ‘cause you’re hurt, but as soon as you’re better you can go.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter if you do or not.” The Avatar shrugs. “You really didn’t hear us talking about that?”

“I heard you threatening my father. I heard that Sokka thinks I’m dangerous and I’d be better off prisoner with you. I heard that Katara wants to get rid of me because she thinks I’ll stab you all in the back.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” Katara asks, rewetting the towel with the water Sokka brings her and continuing to clean the blood from Zuko’s skin.

“I mean, yes,” Zuko says. “Ideally as soon as possible.”

“That’s why you can leave. And maybe as a favor, when you do, you could not stab us in the back?” the Avatar suggests. “Just go back to hunting us fair and square.”

Zuko scowls—but he does owe them something, doesn’t he? They’ve kept him alive, and tended his wound, and fed him their food. To turn on them now would be cruel. It would be dishonorable. “I will bring you to the Firelord,” zuko promises, meeting the Avatar’s eyes, “and when I do, it will be done properly.”

“...so is that a yes on the whole ‘not killing us or kidnapping Aang while we’re asleep’ thing?” Sokka asks hopefully.

Zuko sighs. “Yes.” 

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up. Roll over, Zuko. I need to stitch this again,” Katara instructs. Zuko hesitates. That sounds particularly unpleasant. “Come on, let’s go. You’re still oozing blood everywhere. Not that this isn’t a blast for both of us, but if you don’t want me to keep stabbing you with this needle, let’s not run around on the leg with a gaping hole in it, okay?”

Zuko groans and rolls onto his stomach, twisting his fingers into his blanket. He’s determined to hold still and stay quiet, this time, but evidently Katara isn’t taking any chances. She ushers Sokka forward, and he presses his hands to Zuko’s leg to hold him in place. It helps, because as much as Zuko wants to, he can’t quite keep himself from squirming as Katara flushes the wound and replaces the handful of stitches he’d torn. 

“The swelling is worse now,” Katara murmurs, brushing her fingers across the fresh stitching. Zuko flinches, and she pulls her hand back and reaches for the bandages. “Of course, that could just be because you’re walking on it. If you want this to heal, you need to stay off of it, okay? I’m serious.”

Zuko grumbles and buries his face against his arms. He knows. He knows, he just—ugh. He hates laying around and doing nothing, especially when he’s surrounded by strangers. He feels useless, and weak, and miserable. (It reminds him far too much of those long, agonizing weeks when his burn was still fresh and his sea legs were practically nonexistent and Uncle was the only reason he survived.) 

The Avatar slips out of the tent, then returns with a bowl of vegetable soup. He pushes it towards Zuko. “Here. I’m guessing you didn’t stop for dinner before you went after us.”

As soon as Katara finishes bandaging his leg, Zuko sits up and pulls the bowl into his lap. He warms it through with his palms, then tips it into his mouth. It’s oversalted, and the vegetables are soggy, but it’s better than nothing—and it will get him back on his feet more quickly, provided he can keep it down. He thinks he can. His earlier nausea seems to have settled some, although he still feels cold and unbalanced. 

Once he’s scraped the bowl clean, Sokka takes it from him. “Hey,” zuko says, catching his eyes. “Give me that lockpick.”

Sokka hands over the lockpick, then watches with fascination as Zuko finally unlocks the shackles around his wrists. Zuko flings them both roughly outside of the tent, then rubs the sore skin they’d chafed and scowls. 

“Dude,” Sokka says as Zuko tucks the lockpick into his own pocket, “you have got to teach me that one of these days.”

“You wish.”

“One of these days, Zuko. One of these days,” Sokka says, squinting at Zuko. As he leaves the tent, he calls over his shoulder, “Dibs on first bath whenever we get this water boiled!”

“Not a very subtle hint,” Katara says, her voice wry, “but I’ll take it. Zuko, let me know if the bleeding starts again. Of course, it shouldn’t, if someone stays where he’s supposed to.”

“Not a very subtle hint,” Zuko mutters as she leaves the tent, “but I’ll take it.”

The Avatar laughs, sitting back on his hands. “I didn’t know you made jokes.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“And you don’t know anything about me, so we’re even.” The Avatar smiles at him. “Hey, how about we play a game?”

“I hate games.”

“I’ll tell you something about me if you’ll tell me something about you.”

Zuko narrows his eyes. That’s actually tempting. Information is valuable—especially information about the Avatar. “Fine. You first.”

“Hm.” The Avatar scrunches his nose as he thinks. “My favorite color is blue.”

...on second thought, this information may be less valuable than Zuko thought. He sighs heavily. “That’s it?”

The Avatar nods earnestly. “Now you.”

“I, uh—” A favorite color? Who has a favorite color? Who cares that much about colors in the first place? “My favorite color is red.”

That seems right. Fitting, at least. Father would approve.

The Avatar nods like he’s satisfied. “That makes sense. Okay, okay, let’s see—when I was little, I had a friend from the Fire Nation. His name was Kuzon.”

Zuko frowns. An air nomad being friends with a Fire Nation citizen? That’s absurd. Of course, given that the Avatar is over a century old, most of his stories are probably absurd. His values are archaic, to say the least. “When I was little…” Zuko wants to return the Avatar’s information with something of like value, but he didn’t associate with many children his age when he was young. That sort of thing was beneath a prince—although there was one other child he liked playing with, he supposes. “I used to explore the palace gardens with my cousin, Lu Ten.”

“That’s neat. Are you guys still friends?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The Avatar’s face falls. “Why not?”

“An earthbender crushed him to death outside of Ba Sing Se.”

Horror flashes through the Avatar’s eyes, and Zuko sees his throat bob as he swallows. “I’m so sorry.”

Zuko glances away. He misses Lu Ten (he misses Lu Ten so much) but that’s the reality of war, isn’t it? At least Lu Ten died with honor and dignity, serving his great nation and advancing the betterment of the world. Zuko will be lucky if he himself dies so well. “It was a noble death,” he says stiffly. The words taste bitter on his tongue, although he knows they shouldn’t. They’re only proper. “He was very brave. My uncle grieves him still.”

“Your uncle,” the Avatar repeats thoughtfully. “What’s he like?”

“He’s…” Zuko pauses. The thought of Uncle lodges grief against the backs of his ribs, and he breaths shakily around it. Does Uncle believe him to be dead? Is he looking for Zuko now, or has he finally returned home to the Fire Nation? Zuko wouldn’t blame him if he returned. He deserves to have a home. “He’s a prince of the Fire Nation, and he, like his son, has served his country with courage. He’s one of our most renowned generals. His prowess in battle is legendary.”

“Yeah, but what’s he like?”

Zuko looks at him, baffled.

“You know?” the Avatar prompts. “Is he mean or nice? What kind of stuff does he like? Do you guys get along?”

“He’s...nice,” Zuko says cautiously. “We get along. Well, mostly; Sometimes he can be a little too easygoing, but I suppose that’s to be expected from an old man. He also tells too many jokes, but when he’s not joking, he can be wise—although that wisdom usually comes in the form of convoluted riddles. He likes tea, and pai sho, and playing the tsungi horn.”

A smile flickers across the Avatar’s face, and his eyes soften. “He sounds nice.”

“Yes.” Zuko looks down, studying his hands. “I hope he isn’t too worried.”

 “Aang, come on,” Katara calls from somewhere outside of the tent. “Wash up before the water gets cold.”

“Coming!” The Avatar hops onto his feet, balancing himself with a gust of air. “I’ll talk to you later, Zuko.”

Zuko lets out a relieved breath once he’s alone—but the relief doesn’t last long. Sokka pops into the tent a few seconds later, his hair hanging loose and damp around his face. He smells like floral soap. “Here,” he says, dropping an armful of clothing next to Zuko. “Change into these once you’re done cleaning up and we’ll wash your clothes for you. I don’t know that we’re gonna be able to save those pants, though—unless you want to turn them into shorts, I mean.”

“I can do my own lau—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a big tough independent guy, we get it,” Sokka says, “but Katara’s gonna flip if she sees you walking around. You’re lucky she’s even letting you bathe. Don’t push your luck. Trust me—been there, done that.”

Zuko scowls as Sokka leaves, but he does reach for the stack of clean clothes. They’re all in blues and whites—cold, bleak water tribe colors—but they look like they’ll fit him well enough. He reaches up, tugging his hair out of its tie. Already, there’s a thin fuzz growing in across his bare scalp. He wonder if they’ll let him borrow a razor. 

“Zuko?” Katara says outside of the tent. When Zuko grunts in response, she steps inside with a bucket of steaming water. “Here’s clean water and soap. You can wash up in here, so you don’t have to walk. Try not to get your bandages wet, and let me know if you get help. I’ll tell the other two to stay out until you’re done.”

Zuko nods stiffly and waits until she leaves before he begins discarding his soiled clothes. He piles his armor in the far corner of the tent and burns his blood-soaked trousers—there’s no saving them. There’s a washcloth in the water bucket, and he lathers it with soap and then uses it to rinse the grime and sweat from his skin. He’s careful to avoid his bandages, as instructed. Washing his hair is more complicated, since he can’t comfortably kneel. He uses his fingers to run water through it, instead, and then scrubs it with soap before rinsing it out as cautiously as he can. He still splashes water all over his sleeping mat, but hey, at least he made the effort. 

Once he’s clean, he tugs Sokka’s clothes on. The pants are a little too short and the shoulders of the shirt a little too broad, but supposes it will do for the time being. He yanks his hair back into its tie, then pushes his dirty clothes and the water bucket back out of the tent. The Avatar comes by to grab them a few minutes later, poking his head into the tent. “Need anything else?” he asks. 

“No,” Zuko says—then he hesitates as the Avatar begins to leave. “Wait. Do you have a razor?”

The Avatar beams and brings him a razor. Once Zuko’s finished shaving his scalp, he sets the razor outside of the tent and then sprawls out on his sleeping mat after drying it with a carefully-heated palm. He hauls the blanket up over himself and settles in for the night. Outside, he hears the others doing the same. They haven’t set up any other tents. He wonders if this is their only one. The thought makes him feel absurdly guilty, but it isn’t as though it’s cold or rainy out. They’ll be fine. If they want their stupid tent, they can ask. 

Zuko sleeps restlessly that night. He’s become accustomed to spending his nights on his ship, where the slow swaying of the ocean can rock him to sleep—and where Uncle can keep him safe. To make matters worse, even with the blanket, he can’t quite seem to stay warm. When he wakes the next morning, he’s shivering hard. The temperature must have dipped sharply before dawn, he thinks wearily, squinting at the tent entrance. He tries to sit up, but the world swims and he flops back down. Spirits, he doesn’t feel good. He really, really doesn’t feel good.

When he peels back the bandages to look at his leg and sees nasty red streaks through the skin around his wound, he knows exactly why.

Chapter Text

“I can’t heal this,” Katara says. “Not here, not like this. We need medicine.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere. Unless you want to start shoving random berries down his throat and praying the spirits take pity on him, we need to find a town.” Sokka folds his arms over his chest, frowning at Zuko’s leg, which has now become the subject of much deliberation. 

“But he’s not well enough to travel,” Aang protests. “Katara, you said, right?”

Katara nods slowly, her fingers pressed to the necklace around her throat. “Walking or riding anywhere is out of the question, but if he was on Appa’s back, it wouldn’t be too bad. The flights aren’t strenuous enough to open any wounds.”

“So that’s it, then,” Sokka says. “We load up and head for the nearest town.”

“Do you think Appa can make the flight?” Katara asks, glancing at Aang.

“He’s still pretty tired, but he can manage a couple of hours.”

Katara nods. “Alright. Zuko, does that work for you?”

“It’s fine.” Zuko reaches for a roll of clean bandages, beginning to wind them around his leg the way he’s seen Katara do. She helps him tape the edges down, her fingers deft and practiced. “You can drop me off in town and leave.”

He watches their responses to that statement very carefully—and, as he’d expected, they all trade uncertain glances with each other. Not a prisoner his ass. 

“We need to talk about that,” Katara says.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Zuko looks at her coldly. “You said you’d let me go once we reached a town. You said I wasn’t your prisoner. Were you lying?”

Katara folds her arms over her chest, frowning. “No. If you want to stay with another healer, fine—but you don’t have any money. How are you planning on paying for medication? For healing?”

Zuko scowls, hunching his shoulders and tearing his eyes from hers. 

“Yeah. Kind of what we thought,” Sokka says grimly.

“Listen to me, Zuko.” Katara leans forward, her voice serious. “If this infection goes untreated, it could kill you. Even without the infection, if you decide to travel with your leg the way it is, you’ll cripple yourself for the rest of your life. You need rest, you need medication, and you need a healer. How are you going to get those things?”

To be honest, he hadn’t been planning on it. This infection has complicated things. He balls his hands into fists, glowering at his leg. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll make money. I can work.”

“Not on that leg, at least not for a few weeks.” Katara shakes her head. “Listen. I know you want to leave us as soon as you can, but I’m not going to send an injured, sick person away to fend for himself. Where I come from, doing something like that, even to an enemy, is—it’s—” She pauses, looking carefully at him. “It’s dishonorable.”

“I’m not asking,” Zuko says tersely, “for your charity.”

“And I’m not letting you go until I know you’re going to live. As soon as you hire your own healer in town, feel free to introduce us, and we can go our separate ways. Until then, I’m your healer, and you’re my responsibility. We’ll pay for your medication and take care of you until you’re well enough to travel on your own.”

“...in return for what?” 

“You’ll come to the North Pole with us,” Katara says simply, and Zuko whips his head up to stare at her. She’s kidding, right? She’s got to be kidding. “We have to find Aang a waterbending master, and the North Pole is our best bet. We can’t waste time staying in one place until you’re better. Traveling with Appa will still let you heal, so you don’t need to worry about injuring yourself any further. Obviously, this isn’t a completely selfless request—taking you with us will keep you from hunting us, at least for a few weeks. That’s payment enough for healing you, I think.”

Zuko’s shaking his head before she’s even finished. “There’s no way I’m traveling anywhere with the Avatar. Making things easier for your group is the last thing I want to do.”

“Well, think of it this way,” the Avatar says. “Sure, you’re making things easier for us now; I’m gonna get, like, so good at waterbending. But what’s the alternative? If you refuse to let Katara heal you, you could die, then nobody ever captures me, and eventually I fight your dad and defeat the whole Fire Nation. On the other hand, if you let Katara heal you and you live, you can capture me later and still have a shot at saving the fire nation and impressing the Firelord.”

“Alternatively,” Zuko says, grinding his teeth because that makes too much damn sense, “I could just capture you on the way to the North Pole.”

“You won’t.” The Avatar has no right to sound so confident. “You said you’d capture me fair and square, and that means not breaking whatever deal we make here, right? I trust you to keep your word. You seem like an honorable guy.”

Zuko snorts. He’s the least honorable person in all of the Fire Nation—but the Avatar’s right about one thing, at least. Zuko wants to protect what little honor he has left; his word is still worth something. “If we make a deal,” Zuko agrees, “I won’t break it. You can have faith in that.”

The Avatar grins, his eyes shining. “Awesome!”

“But I’m still not convinced we have a deal,” Zuko says.

“I dunno, man,” Sokka says, stretching lazily. “That’s a pretty good offer. If you can come up with something better, let us know.”

“What happens after the North Pole?” Zuko asks. 

“We’ll come back to the Earth Kingdom,” Katara explains. “We’ll drop you off here. You can go find your uncle and then get back to hunting us, like nothing ever changed.”

He chews the inside of his cheek anxiously as he considers this plan. “I’ll think about it,” he says, finally. “When do we need to leave?”

“Now.” Katara stands, dusting herself off. “You’ll have to think about it on the flight into town. Pack your things while we saddle Appa, but try not to move your leg too much.”

Sokka, Katara, and the Avatar slip out of the tent, and Zuko watches them go with a sinking feeling in his chest. Spirits, he doesn’t want to go to the North Pole. If Father finds out, he’ll be so mad. On the other hand, if Zuko dies, then he’ll never get to prove his worth to Father and return home. All of this would have been for nothing. He wishes Uncle were here! He’d know what to do.

Sighing, Zuko begins to pack what he can. He rolls up the sleeping mat, dons his armor, and shoves his feet back into his boots. Once he’s done that, he scoots out of the tent and cautiously pushes himself onto his feet. He leans his weight onto his uninjured leg, holding the other at a gently crooked angle, so the toe of his boot barely rests against the sand. Even this seems to be too much for Katara—as soon as she catches sight of him standing, her eyes narrow sharply, and she marches back to his side.

“Come on,” she says, hauling his arm over her shoulders. “We’ll help you into the saddle.”

The bison rumbles quietly at them as they approach, and Zuko nods formally to it. It lays still as the Avatar lifts zuko with a gust of air before depositing him gently into the saddle. He tucks himself against the back edge, then sits and watches and feels utterly useless as the others finish tearing down the camp. Katara and Sokka join him in the saddle once they’re done, while the Avatar settles himself on the bison’s head. 

“Alright, Appa, just a little flying and then you can rest again,” the Avatar promises, running one hand over the bison’s thick fur. The bison stands, stretching its legs and ambling towards the sea. The air shifts subtly around them as the bison bends it, and Zuko flattens his hands against the saddle and gulps. “Yip yip!”

The bison launches itself into the air, and Zuko absolutely does not look down. He does not look down. He stares at the sky, instead, bright and impossibly blue, as the bison banks gently and heads north with a strong stroke of its tail. 

“Okay.” Sokka unrolls a map, flattening it out across the saddle and squinting at it. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as he concentrates, his nose wrinkling. “We know we’re on the western coast somewhere directly across from the Fire Nation. That narrows it down some. I saw a pretty big bay when we were flying in, so…”

Zuko listens carefully as the Water Tribe siblings discuss their position and their destination. It sounds as though there’s a port city nearby—at the rate the bison’s going, they can be there within the hour. That’s a relief. Despite his best efforts to ignore the pain in his leg and the odd, swimmy feeling his fever (or is it the blood loss, still?) gives him, Zuko is miserable. Medication sounds really nice, right about now.

They eat a breakfast of dried fruit and foraged nuts on the way, and Zuko downs as much water as Katara will let him. It’s cold, this high up in the air, and he can’t stop shivering. Sokka’s clothes are thicker and warmer than zuko’s own, and that helps, some, but not nearly enough. Zuko hauls a blanket from one of their packs and wraps it around his shoulders once he’s finished drinking, huddling down in it and shooting the siblings sharp glares when they glance his way. 

“You probably have a fever,” Katara says, frowning. She crosses the saddle and reaches for his face. He flinches hard, and she immediately pulls her hand back. A horrible sort of understanding flashes through her eyes, and he scowls. He can’t stand their pity. “I’m sorry. I just want to feel how warm you are. Can I?”

“I don’t care,” Zuko mumbles, and he forces himself to hold still as she presses her palm to his forehead. Her eyes widen, and he adds, “Firebenders are always warm.”

“You’re really warm,” she says. 

“What? I wanna feel.” Sokka leans forward, but Katara bats him away before Zuko can go on the defensive. “Katara, no fair!”

“I can show you warm,” Zuko offers, holding his hand out. Flames curl through his fingers, yellow and weak—but still more than hot enough to burn a pushy little Water Tribe warrior. Sokka recoils in alarm, and Zuko smirks. “What’s the matter? Shy?”

“Katara, Zuko’s bullying me!”

“I think you deserved that one.” An amused smile flickers across Katara’s face as she returns to her brother’s side. “Now, come on. Keep an eye out for the city. We don’t want to fly over it.”

They land outside of the port city of Irithema almost half an hour later. Thick forests surround the city, but the bison finds a landing place near the shoreline, where the trees are thinnest. They set up another small camp nearby—the bison, the Avatar insists, will need to rest for the remainder of the day. Katara sets up the tent again, but Zuko shakes his head when she offers to help him inside. 

“I want the sunlight,” he says, by way of explanation, and Katara concedes. He takes a seat outside of the tent instead, tilting his face back into the afternoon sun. It warms him better than any blanket could. 

“Aang and I are going into the city for supplies,” Katara says, once the camp is set. “Sokka’s going fishing, but he should be within earshot, so if you need something feel free to yell at him.”

Zuko definitely wants to take her up on that offer.

“So, then? What’s your decision?” she asks, her hands on her hips. “Aang and I can scout around for healers while we’re in the city, and Appa can fly you in to meet one later today—or I can buy medicine, bring it back, and take care of you on the way to the North Pole.”

Bad options, both of them, but only one that’s actually feasible—as much as he hates it. “I’ll go with you,” he mutters, “to the North Pole and then back to the Earth Kingdom. Not a single step farther.”

Katara nods, and then she mercifully leaves him be. The camp falls silent once Aang and Katara leave. The bison lays down across from Zuko, yawning widely before settling its head on the ground and closing its eyes; the lemur isn’t as docile. It bounds across from the bison’s side and pauses a few feet away from him, cocking its head. Its comically large ears flop with the movement.

“What?” Zuko asks it.

The lemur chatters, its tail swishing. 

“I don’t have anything for you,” he tells it solemnly. It doesn’t look convinced. “I’m sorry.”

It inches closer to him, and Zuko eyes it warily. It’s small, but it has sharp little fingernails and a mouthful of wicked yellow fangs. Its bad side is not a thing he wants to be on. It lifts its head, its velvety nose twitching as it scents the air. 

“Alright, alright, let me see.” Zuko scoots himself rather inelegantly into the tent, reaching for one of the bags near the back. He tugs out a small sack of foraged fruit before scooting back outside and offering a handful to the lemur. “Is this what you want?”

The lemur’s eyes widen, and it quickly reaches forward to snag a piece of dried papaya from his hand. Zuko does his best not to flinch, although its sharp movements startle him. It crams the papaya into its mouth and chews noisily, then squeezes its eyes shut and purrs at him. That’s...unfortunately cute. He offers it more fruit. 

He’s fed it more than he probably should, really, when it seems to lose interest in eating and climbs into his lap instead. He freezes as it turns in a circle, then settles itself down and closes its eyes. Well. He supposes he’s trapped, now. This is not as terrible a situation as it could be. He finishes off the fruit in his hand, then lays back and closes his eyes and tries to relax. It’s difficult, but the quiet of the camp and the soft, purring creature nearby both help. 

“Ah, Momo strikes again, I see.” 

Zuko starts as Sokka’s voice rings over the camp, sitting up quickly enough to disturb the lemur. It huffs in disapproval and winds itself around his shoulders, instead. “Momo?”

“That’s his name, ‘cause he really likes moon peaches,” Sokka says, dropping a basket of fish next to the tent and looking down at Zuko. “He’s a flying lemur.”

“Oh.” Zuko wrinkles his nose as Momo’s tail flicks across it. “He’s, uh. Cute?”

“He’s a menace. Don’t let him fool you.” Sokka crouches, reaching out to ruffle Momo’s ears—but he pauses when Zuko winces, then draws his hand back without a word. “He is a pretty cute menace, though.”

“I thought all the Air Nomads’ animals were extinct.”

“We thought so, too, but, well.” Sokka nods towards the bison. “Aang had Appa when we found him, and we found Momo at the Southern Air Temple. He was the only lemur we saw, but he has to have parents, right? So there’s some hope, I guess. Maybe the Fire Nation didn’t destroy everything.”

Zuko’s jaw clenches. He can’t say that he agrees with his grandfather’s decision to decimate an entire people—but then, he isn’t old enough to understand much about war tactics. There had to be a good reason. There had to be. He gets a feeling that’s the wrong thing to tell Sokka, however, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Sokka straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway. I’m gonna go foraging. You need anything before I leave?”

Zuko shakes his head, and Sokka scoops up an empty rucksack and heads deeper into the woods. Now, Zuko supposes, would be the perfect time to grab his things and flee—but Katara’s warning keeps him rooted in place. He might not be the smartest, but he doesn’t want to die or maim himself. Katara’s his enemy, but she’s also an adept healer, and he doesn’t think she was lying to him about the gravity of his situation. He’s seen how quickly infections can kill. He’s seen how quickly they can cripple a man, too, and he reaches up to touch his own deaf ear grimly. 

He doesn’t want to go through anything like that again.

So he stays put, and he watches as the sun begins to ease towards the western horizon. It’s boring. It’s boring, and he feels ill and shaky and cold. Almost an hour later, Appa begins to stir. He twists his head around and begins to gnaw knots out of the fur around his paw. It’s a sorely-needed grooming—the beast is matted, and still smeared with ash from the volcanic temple. Zuko chews his lip anxiously before pushing himself to his feet and limping to Appa’s side. Momo springs off of his shoulders, climbing onto Appa’s head instead. 

“I can help,” Zuko says, because helping Appa isn’t helping the Avatar. Appa is an animal, and animals don’t have sides in this war. They’re innocent tools. (And what’s more, they’re tools that Zuko can’t stand to see treated badly.) “If you want.”

Appa looks warily at him for a moment—there’s an uncanny intelligence in those dark eyes—before he returns to chewing his paw. Cautiously, Zuko reaches out and begins to run his fingers through the tangled fur along Appa’s side, picking out flecks of ash and soot. He really needs a bath, but that would involve a walk down to the ocean, and Zuko’s leg is quite solidly against that idea. It’s already protesting the short hobble to Appa’s side, and it throbs even though the whole of Zuko’s weight is braced on his uninjured leg. He has to sit down, eventually, but that’s okay. There’s plenty of tangled fur near Appa’s belly, too.

“I’ll tell the others to bathe you when they have time,” he promises Appa, who rumbles quietly at him. The bison, for all his immense size and strength, seems to be an incredibly gentle animal. He never moves too quickly, and he doesn’t growl whenever Zuko accidentally tugs his fur too hard, and when he shifts his weight he does so with one eye on Zuko’s position—presumably so he doesn’t squish his much littler companion. Zuko certainly appreciates the gesture.

It’s...hard to believe that an animal like this could ever have been used in war. It’s ever harder to believe that Grandfather Sozin felt it was necessary to obliterate them. Zuko can’t even imagine it. Whole herds of bison, mothers and fathers and—spirits, how tiny were the babies? The thought of all those baby bison burning, bawling for their lost mothers, it—

Zuko swallows hard as his stomach turns. The infection must be worsening his nausea. 

He knows the Air Nomad genocide happened for a reason. He knows his grandfather needed desperately to keep the Avatar from being reincarnated so that the rest of the world could prosper. The air nomads were an obstacle. Their deaths were a sacrifice necessary for a better world—a world of peace and justice and honor. It was a tragic loss of life, to be certain, but a leader must understand that the ends justify the means. 

(Try as he might, though, Zuko simply can’t fathom any end worth the burning, bawling deaths of a thousand baby bison.)

Chapter Text

The fever gets worse. Despite the foul-tasting tonic Katara had more or less forced down his throat as soon as she returned from the city, Zuko finds himself sweating and shivering by turns that night. A chill creeps across his skin, sinks claws between his bones and makes his joints ache. He buries himself under his blanket to fight it off, but sleep still comes in fitful starts and stops, and his dreams are...unpleasant, to say the least, vivid and bright and disorienting. 

He dreams, once, of being back on his ship. A fine, foggy mist surrounds him, and the crewmen move across the deck like dim shadows in the corners of his vision. Some of them don’t look quite human. They make no noise; he can only hear the lapping of the waves and the creak of worn rope. It’s bitterly cold, and the rumble of thunder promises a coming storm. He needs to find Uncle before it hits, so he slips off of the deck and into the berths of the ship. Try as he might, though, he can’t find Uncle anywhere. 

“Uncle?” he calls. His voice echoes back to him. “Uncle, where are you?”

The shadows grow darker and colder, snaking around his ankles and his knees. They’re denser than they have any right to be, making each step drag. The back of one leg aches fiercely. When he swallows, his throat burns, and sudden thirst grips him. He searches the galley, the cargo holds, the captain’s cabin. Uncle never responds to his calls.

“Uncle!” he shouts, louder, now, more desperate, his voice tearing his throat. Something cold—someone cold—touches his face, and he jolts back in alarm. The shadows swarm in, masking the whole world in darkness, and his heart crams itself into his throat. He scrambles to sit up (up? wasn’t he just standing?) and pries his eyes open. “Uncle?”

“No. It’s just me.” Katara looks at him through the darkness, a furrow between her brows. There’s a washcloth in her hands. His memories swarm back to him, and he exhales shakily. Fever dreams have never been kind to him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rough. 

Katara pushes a canteen towards him, and he eagerly latches onto it. “Trying to keep your fever down. It’s higher than I want it to be.”

Zuko grunts in response, his mouth too full of cold water to bother with a reply.

“Lay back down,” Katara says, taking the canteen from him once it’s empty. “It’s not time to wake up yet.”

“i don’t need you to watch me sleep. It’s creepy.”

“You’ll get over it unless you want to boil alive,” Katara says, dipping her washcloth into a bucket of water. She reaches for his face, but pauses before she touches him. He sets his jaw and refuses to flinch. She presses the washcloth to his forehead, and he grits his teeth and shivers. 

“That’s cold,” he complains, pushing her hand away.

“It’s only cold because you’re so warm. Quit complaining. You’re worse than Sokka.”

She’s lucky Zuko doesn’t have the energy to complain anymore than that, or he would just to spite her. He reluctantly lays back again, letting her fold the washcloth across his forehead. He must doze, because the next time he opens his eyes, it’s dawn and he’s in his father’s chambers. Shame immediately envelopes him. He’s laying on the bed, sick and shivering, and when Father looks down at him there’s such disappointment in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Father asks, a deep frown on his face. “Get up.”

Zuko hauls himself out of bed. He feels much smaller than he should standing in front of his father, thin and fragile, and he can’t quite shivering. His teeth chatter. 

“Would you care to explain why you’re laying around?”

There is no reason. I’m sick will get him nothing but a flat, unimpressed look. He hunches his shoulders, floundering for a reason—for any reason—that might spare him Father’s anger, but the words clog in his throat, his thoughts tumbling over each other in a knot of panic. He doesn’t know why he was laying down. He really doesn’t. “I—I—”

Father sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What am I going to do with you? Why can’t you behave like a proper prince? I’ve tried and tried to teach you, Zuko, but you simply won’t learn. How many more chances do you need? How much longer do I have to put up with this sort of misbehavior?”

“Father, I’m sorry. I—”

“i never have this sort of trouble with Azula.”

Zuko bites his tongue and tastes the sharp, salty tang of his own blood. 

“Tell me, Zuko,” Father says, the clip of command in his voice. Zuko stands a little straighter, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. “What would be a proper punishment for this laziness? What can I do to make you learn?”

Zuko knows exactly how he would learn. The second he thinks of it, Father’s hand comes towards his face, and Zuko cries out in terror and scrambles away. Hands grip his shoulders and hold him down, and fingers touch his face, but they’re cold they’re not hot they’re cold and he’s so scared and so confused and he—

“Zuko!” someone shouts at him, and he wants to curl up but he can’t because there are hands touching him and holding him and hurting him and— “Zuko!”

His eyes snap open. Sokka looms over him, his fingers digging into Zuko’s shoulders as he pins Zuko to the floor of the tent. Upon realizing this, Zuko does the only logical thing: he brings his good foot up, wedges it against Sokka’s stomach, and kicks. Sokka releases him and stumbles backwards with a snarl of pain, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“Dude,” Sokka says, anger flaring in his cold blue eyes, “what the hell?”

Zuko scrambles to sit up. His breath comes in fast, shallow gulps that make the roof of his mouth buzz. He can’t stop shaking. Someone touches his back, and he jumps and pushes himself back against the canvas of the tent. He glimpses Katara and grows even tenser. Between the two of them, they could seriously hurt him—could kill him, if they wanted to. He’s still not sure they don’t. In the middle of the night, with bruises forming in the shape of Sokka’s fingerprints, murder seems much more plausible than it did a few hours ago.

“It’s alright,” Katara says gently, looking between Zuko and Sokka. “Sokka, are you okay?”

“Fine,” sokka spits, still glaring at Zuko.

“Zuko, are you…?”

“What are you doing?” Zuko rasps, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Why were you doing that?”

Sokka lifts his chin, still clearly unhappy—but his eyes seem to soften some at the genuine confusion in Zuko’s voice. “You were freaking out. We didn’t want you to hurt yourself, so I held you down. You wouldn’t wake up.”

“It’s the fever dreams,” Katara explains. 

...It’s not completely unbelievable. Zuko drags his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “Don’t do that again,” he says, trying to make his voice cold and imposing (trying to make his voice Father’s) and failing. “Not ever again. You’re lucky I didn’t burn you.”

“Lucky.” Sokka rubs a hand across his stomach, and guilt flickers bleakly through Zuko’s chest. “Yeah, I feel real lucky.”

Zuko glares at the corner of the tent, twisting his fingers into his trousers—into the trousers Sokka loaned him. “...did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Sokka sighs heavily, then lets his shoulders relax. “Did I hurt you?”

His shoulders are sore, but he supposes that’s his own fault, more than anyone else’s. “No,” he says. “You can both go.”

"I don’t think so,” Sokka says, shaking his head. “As long as Katara’s staying here, so am I. No offense, but I don’t exactly trust you not to flip out and attack her when you’re like this.”

“I wouldn’t—!”

“What Sokka means is that the fever is affecting your cognitive functions,” Katara says, pouring thick, dark syrup from a flask into a smaller cup. Zuko wrinkles his nose. “Until we can get it down, it’s not safe for you to be left unattended. Here. Take some of this, and it should help.”

Zuko reluctantly takes the tonic from her. He holds his breath and downs it as quickly as he can, although it sticks to his teeth and gums like tar. He shudders. Why is it so impossible to make medicine taste good? Katara takes the cup back from him, and he leans back on his hands and swallows hard. His tongue feels thick. 

“Here.” Katara hands him a cup of water, next, and Zuko eagerly rinses his mouth out with it. “Do you think you can get back to sleep?”

“No.” He doesn’t even want to try.

Katara nods. “Alright. In that case, let me take a look at your leg.”

Zuko grinds his teeth, but he does stretch his injured leg out for her to manipulate. She rolls up the cuff of his pants, then unwinds his bandages. They’re soiled already, damp with drainage and pink, milky blood. He swallows hard and doesn’t look for too long. Katara works gently but quickly, washing the area around his wound with warm water before slathering it in a sharply-scented ointment she’d brought back from the city. She rebandages it, then sits back on her heels. 

“Is it...better?” Sokka asks, cautiously optimistic. 

“It doesn’t look much different than it did earlier today,” Katara admits. Zuko drags his leg back up to his chest, wrapping his arm around it. “How do you feel, Zuko?”

“I’m fine.”

“A little honesty goes a long way,” Katara reprimands.

“I said I’m fine. Quit being so pushy.”

Katara opens her mouth to retort, then takes a deep breath and lets it out again. 

“Jeez. Somebody’s cranky when he’s tired,” Sokka says, and Zuko whips his head around to glare. Sokka smirks. His face falls, however, when he sees Katara rise and head for the tent entrance. “Katara…?”

“It’s okay. I’m just going for a walk. It’s a little stuffy in here.”

Zuko presses his lips into a thin line. It doesn’t take a genius to know who that remark was aimed at. 

“You know, man,” Sokka says, “it wouldn’t kill you to be a little grateful.”

Zuko doesn’t dignify that with a response. He flops back down on his sleeping mat and very pointedly turns his back to Sokka. He doesn’t sleep again, that night. Instead, he spends the next few hours staring very intently at the tent wall while Sokka snores a few feet away and Katara checks his temperature every few hours. 

The next day, they leave shortly after dawn and fly north. Zuko curls up in the saddle and resumes his abject staring. He doesn’t, he’s discovering with a slow sort of fear, have the energy to do much else. Katara sits beside him for most of the flight, keeping a cool washcloth against his forehead and changing his soiled bandages every few hours. She fusses at him to eat, but he refuses. She lets him get away with it at lunch, but not at dinner.

“You need to eat or you won’t get better,” she insists. “You want to get better, don’t you? If not, you’ll be stuck with us even longer.”

That’s a threat if Zuko’s ever heard one. He petulantly crams a handful of fruit into his mouth. It tastes bland and unappetizing, and his stomach rolls threateningly when he swallows. He downs a few more handfuls before Katara pushes medicine at him. Only after he’s taken it does she leave him to curl up and doze again. 

That evening, they make camp outside of Gaipan. Aang and Sokka slip away to forage, but Katara remains with him. She washes his wound again, studying his sutures critically. “How does it feel?” she asks. “Any better?”

“It’s fine.”

Katara breathes out slowly. “Okay. Does it hurt?”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Fine.” Katara shoves her medical supplies back into her bag, a scowl on her face. “Forget I asked.”

“What are you mad at me for?” Zuko demands. “You should be grateful!”

“Grateful? For what? Your bad attitude?”

“Grateful that I’m not complaining,” Zuko snaps. “At least this way you don’t have to waste your time worrying about things you can’t change.”

“What? Zuko, telling me the giant laceration in your leg hurts isn’t complaining. Besides, I asked! If I didn’t want an honest answer, why would I have done that?”

To trick him. To guide him into an incorrect answer and then punish him for it. To teach him what being wrong earns.

“I don’t know,” he says sulkily. “Because you feel like you have to.”

“Trust me,” Katara says wryly, “I don’t feel like I owe you anything. I’m doing this because I’m a decent human being and I don’t want you to suffer mindlessly.”

Zuko scowls at her. Yeah, right. 

“And anyway, I’m not worrying about things I can’t change. If your leg hurts, let’s ice it.” She pulls water from her flask, and it curls around her hands. “Okay?”

Zuko manages a jerky nod, and she wreathes the back of his leg in a thin layer of ice. It tingles against his skin, and after several seconds, it does begin to numb the pain. His muscles unclench, and he lets out a slow breath. 

“Let me know when you want me to melt it off,” Katara says, straightening up and wiping her hands off on her skirt. 

As she turns to go, Zuko takes a deep breath, and through gritted teeth he says: “Thank you.”

Katara pauses. She cocks her head slightly, like she couldn’t possibly have heard him right. Come on, is it so hard to believe Zuko could ever possibly be grateful for anything? Sure, she’s a peasant, and she’s his enemy, but she...helped, and Zuko’s no genius but he’s smart enough to know that, at least. 

Then, softly, she replies, “You’re welcome, Zuko.”

Zuko flops back against the ground and glares at the stars. The cold seeps up from his leg and makes him shiver, but it’s better than the wretched heat he can feel pouring off of his skin. Katara removes the ice after several minutes, then begins to boil water for their dinner. Zuko hears the crashing of foliage that signals their companions’ return, only—

Only it’s crunching very loudly, and very quickly, and Zuko is suddenly very nervous.

He sits up straight, pulling his injured leg defensively towards his chest and staring into the dim forest around them. Appa lifts his head, his nostrils flaring. Katara, too, turns and frowns at the trees. Seconds later, Sokka bursts into the clearing, wide-eyed.

“Guys,” he says, “you are not going to believe this guy we just met.”

Chapter Text

The guy they just met, as it turns out, is a backcountry bastard named Jet. He leads a group of Earth Kingdom rebels called the Freedom Fighters, and they live in—of all places—the trees. It is these trees they invite the Avatar’s company to stay in, and it is these trees that the Avatar actually agrees to stay in. Katara agrees, too. “It would give us somewhere safe to rest for a few days,” she says, “and besides, they’ve got good food and water here. Maybe they even have more medicine.”

All good rationalizations, perhaps, but Zuko doesn’t miss the weird, gooey way she looks at Jet every time he’s nearby.

Sokka, on the other hand, protests. “We can stay for one night, maybe. I mean, i’d like to know more about these guys, but—” He grimaces. “Something seems off.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous,” Katara says, waving a hand dismissively at him.

“Of what?” Sokka squawks indignantly. “His wheat stalk? His fleas? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sokka’s right,” Zuko interrupts, leaning against the oaken wall behind him. The treehouse Jet lent them for the night is small, but it’s near the center of rebels’ camp—a place very easy to keep an eye on, Zuko can’t help but notice, and a place far too easy to get trapped in. “I don’t like it here.”

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t,” Katara counters irritably. 

“Hey, we did hide his, uh—” Aang lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Fire Nation clothes, right?”

“They’re still with Appa. As long as nobody rummages through the saddle, we should be okay,” Sokka says. “I mean, if the weird hair doesn’t give him away.”

“I’m not cutting it.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” Sokka says, eyeing him. “Although it is pretty weird.”

Zuko snarls at him. “It’s a Fire Nation custom and—”

“Shush! Shush shush shush,” Katara hisses. “Do you want to give us away? If they know we’re harboring a Fire Nation prince, we’re dead.”

Zuko growls and slouches back against the wall again. His leg throbs in time with his heartbeat. If anybody tries to kill him, Zuko’s going to kill them first. He might be injured, but he can still fight, if he needs to. Even so, being stuck in a camp of Earth Kingdom brats who would like nothing more than to murder him is—

Well, it’s unnerving, to say the least.

“How about we decide tomorrow morning?” Aang suggests, curling up on his sleeping mat. Momo scurries over to him, snuggling up in the curve of his stomach. “We’re all tired right now, and this seems like a safe place to rest for at least a little while.”

None of them can make a sound argument against that. Still, Zuko sleeps uneasily, surrounded by so many enemies—and fighting a fever that continues to give him odd, disorientating dreams. When he wakes late the next morning, Sokka and Katara are both gone. Aang sits nearby, humming quietly and brushing Momo’s fur with his fingers. He smiles when he sees Zuko’s eyes open.

“Morning, Zuko—oh! I mean, um, good morning, Li.”

Zuko grunts, sitting up and wincing as the movement jostles his leg. “Where are the others?”

“Sokka went on a patrol with Jet, and Katara’s getting breakfast,” Aang explains, scooting over to sit next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Great!” Aang beams at him, and Agni, his grating chipperness is already giving Zuko a headache. Momo chirps an equally chipper greeting, then scrambles into Zuko’s lap and curls up there. Zuko rests a cautious hand on the lemur’s side, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his tiny flanks. “Aww, look, he likes you.”

“He’d like anyone who gave him food,” Zuko says sourly. “He’s an animal.”

“He’s a good judge of character is what he is.” Aang springs to his feet, using a burst of air to balance himself as he does. “If he likes you, it must mean that deep down you’re a good guy!”

“Don’t be so naïve. There is no deep down. You are your actions—thinking otherwise is simply a ploy to make yourself feel better after doing shitty things.”

Aang scratches the back of his neck. “You think so?”

Zuko leans his head back against the tree, sighing heavily. How is this—this twelve-year-old supposed to defeat the entire Fire Nation, again? The more time Zuko spends with him, the less like a threat he seems. 

“Breakfast!” Katara calls, ducking into the treehouse with a basket slung over her arm. Zuko smells fried meat, and eggs, and warm fruit. His mouth begins to water, and he straightens up. He’s actually hungry—that’s an encouraging sign. “They have everything here. Aang, you should go down and look around after we eat.”

As Katara and Aang talk, Zuko piles a plate with scrambled eggs and fried squirrel and flatcakes smothered in blueberry syrup. Katara arches an eyebrow at him, and he scowls and ignores her. He eats quickly—probably too quickly, if the churning in his stomach once he’s done is anything to go by. Still, it’s a relief to have hearty food again. If every meal is like this, maybe they should stay here for a while.

“Man,” Aang says, licking syrup off of his fingers, “I don’t see what Sokka has against this place. This is awesome!”

“Are you kidding? This is terrible,” Sokka announces, stomping into the tree house with a scowl on his face. 

“What? Why? Flatcakes!” Aang hoists up a plate of flatcakes to demonstrate.

“I don’t care about flatcakes,” Sokka says, even as he takes a flatcake and begins ripping off pieces to jam into his mouth. “Do you want to know what your precious Jet just did on patrol?”

“Sokka, if this is because you’re jealous—” Katara starts.

“He attacked a man, Katara! He attacked an innocent old man and robbed him,” Sokka says, glaring at her. “I’m telling you, he’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, so is he—” Katara jerks a thumb towards Zuko. “—and we still brought him along because you thought it’d be a good idea.”

Zuko shrugs when Sokka looks to him for a defense. What can he say? It’s a fair point.

“This is different!” Sokka insists.

Katara scoffs. “Really? How? Because I don’t see that—”

“Guys, come on, don’t fight,” Aang pleads, looking between the both of them. “Why don’t we just go talk to Jet? I’m sure we can figure this all out.”

So they leave Zuko there, and they go to talk to Jet. It’s odd, being left alone for the first time since the winter solstice. Zuko considers escaping, but it’s a passing fancy at most. There’s no way he could climb out of this tree on his own with his leg the way it is, let alone slip through this rebel-infested camp unnoticed. (Besides, he—well, he did give them his word that he would stay, and his word is his honor.)

So, instead of escaping, Zuko sits outside on one of the tree branches. The auburn leaves overhead filter the sunlight, but some of it still reaches his skin. He sighs in relief, tipping his head back to bask in it. A warm breeze sweeps through the forest, tugging away the scent of sickness that clings to him. He squints up, and through layers of leaves he can see the sky and several white, fluffy clouds. It really is beautiful here.

It will make a fine fire nation territory, some day. 

Someone squeals nearby, jolting Zuko out of whatever brief peace he’d managed to acquire. Zuko’s head snaps around, and he sees a child scrambling through the tree branches. They spring onto his branch without looking, and it wobbles precariously below them both. “Hey!” Zuko snaps, clinging to the branch with a white-knuckled grip. Falling to his death is not the way he wants to go. “Watch where you’re going, kid!”

Two wide brown eyes fasten onto him. The child can’t be older than seven or eight—he’s tiny. His face is smeared with mud, and he wears a soldier’s cap. It’s too big for him. “You!” he says, puffing his scrawny chest out and pointing at Zuko. “You’re one of the Avatar’s friends, aren’t you?”

Friend is a very, very big stretch. “Yeah,” Zuko says. “Sure. If you’re looking for him, he’s not here right now.”

“I'm not looking for him.” The child walks closer, balancing carefully on the branch and taking a seat next to Zuko. He holds out a fistful of half-melted jelly candies. “I snuck these from Pipsqueak. You can have some if you don’t tell on me.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Weird.” The child crams several of the candies into his mouth, chewing noisily. “‘m the Duke. Who’re you?”

“Li,” Zuko says shortly. “If you’re not looking for the Avatar, you should go. There’s nothing for you here.”

The Duke swallows. “I gotta hide ‘till I finish this candy—Smellerbee doesn’t like me eatin’ it, and Pipsqueak’s gonna be wondering who took it.”

Zuko scoffs. These rebels really do start out young, don’t they? The Duke is only a child, and he’s already stealing from his own people—no wonder this kingdom is such a mess. If the Fire Nation was in charge, children wouldn’t get the opportunity to misbehave like this. (If the Fire Nation was in charge, the Duke would be hurt just like Zuko was. He tries not to think about that part for too long.) 

“How come you’re hurt?” the Duke asks, pointing to Zuko’s leg. "Jet says you got attacked by rough rhinos, and the Avatar saved you!”

That had, of course, been the humiliating story Sokka spun when Jet inquired about Zuko’s injury yesterday. Zuko grinds his teeth. “Yes,” he says tersely. “I was very lucky Avatar Aang was there.”

“What was it like?” The Duke’s eyes are wide, now. “I’ve never seen a real rough rhino before.”

“They’re an incredibly powerful group. The komodo rhinos are hand-reared and trained from birth, and obtaining one requires an extensive application process. Typically, only the most experienced and elite—”

“Do they breathe fire?”

“What?”

“Do they breathe fire? The rhinos?” The Duke is practically vibrating with excitement, now. “Smellerbee says they do. She says she saw one doing it when they burned down her village.”

“They—no, they don’t breathe fire.”

The Duke narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Maybe you just don’t know. Maybe they didn’t breathe fire at you ‘cause they didn’t need to.”

“Yes.” Zuko sighs heavily. “Maybe I just don’t know.”

He does know. He knows very well. Mother had taken him to meet the baby komodo rhinos when he was young. He still remembers the feeling of their skin beneath his palms, warm and scaly, and the way the babies had snuffled his pockets for sugarcubes while he giggled. He’d ridden his own rhino into battle several times, and if it had breathed fire he certainly would have encouraged it to. 

Alas, it did not. 

“Duke!” a sharp voice calls, and Zuko and the Duke both glance over. Another scrawny child hops onto a nearby branch, scowling. This one has a mop of brown hair and a face dabbed with red warpaint. Zuko recognizes her from Jet’s brief introductions yesterday: Smellerbee. 

“It’s the Duke,” the Duke corrects, cramming the last of his candies into his mouth before scrambling to his feet. 

Smellerbee’s scowl deepens. “What are you doing up here? Jet told you to leave Li alone. He’s hurt, and he needs time to rest.”

Judging by the suspicious way she watches him, Zuko thinks that’s not the only reason Jet wants to keep people away from him. 

“I didn’t know he was gonna be outside,” the Duke complains. “I was just explorin’.”

“You were just eating candy before lunch,” Smellerbee corrects, “like you know you’re not supposed to.”

The Duke grumbles under his breath.

“Come on. Let’s go, already. Food’s almost done, and you need to apologize to Pipsqueak.” Smellerbee ushers the Duke away from Zuko, then looks warily at him. “What about you? Do you need lunch?”

“I’m fine.”

Smellerbee nods, clearly relieved that she won’t have to deal with him any longer. “Right. Bye, then. Sorry if he bothered you.”

Zuko shrugs, looking away, and hears them bound through the branches and back towards the treehouses on the outskirts of the camp. He gathers himself, then limps back into his own treehouse and rummages through the breakfast basket. He nibbles on a handful of berries and leftover flatcakes, then sits in the tree’s doorway and basks in the sun again. Once he’s finally full and warm and alone in the silence, he finds himself drowsy. Seeing as there’s not much else he can do right now, he curls up in the patch of sunlight near the entrance and closes his eyes.

He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later when Aang trips over him.

“Ah, Li! I’m sorry!” Aang scrambles up as Zuko snarls at him, clutching his side. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Not a very convenient place to nap, is it?” Katara asks, stepping neatly over him.

“There’s no sun in here,” Zuko says, half as an explanation and half as a complaint, “though I don’t expect that matters to you.”

“During winter in the South Pole, there are days when the sun only shines for three hours,” Katara says, “so no, I don’t expect it does matter.”

Grumbling, Zuko picks himself up and limps away from the entrance so he won’t get trampled again. The sun’s leaning west now, anyhow, and he has no doubt it will be setting soon. 

“Where’s Sokka?” Zuko asks. Sokka’s absence is unfortunately hard not to notice—he’s always so brash and noisy, and the silence he leaves feels enormous.

“He had a big misunderstanding with Jet about what happened with that old man earlier today, so he’s sulking,” Katara explains, “but he’ll get over it.”

Zuko’s not so sure about that. (He’s not so sure Sokka’s wrong, either. If it wasn’t a misunderstanding and this Jet guy is willing to attack civilians, what would he do to Zuko if he crossed him? What would he do to Sokka or Katara or Aang?) 

That evening, Zuko gets to talk to the man of the hour himself. He’d met Jet, briefly, when they first entered the camp—but he’d made it a point to keep to himself, after that. It wasn’t as though he could do much socializing while he was trapped in a tree like some crippled squirrel, after all, and it wasn’t as though he wanted to socialize. Smellerbee and the Duke had made it clear that there wasn’t anyone in this dratted camp worth talking with, anyway.

Somehow, Zuko is even more certain he doesn’t want to socialize after Jet starts talking.

“So what’s your story, uh—Li, was it?” Jet asks, still chewing that dumb wheatstalk of his. He gestures towards Zuko’s blind eye. “That looks like a Fire Nation mark to me. It couldn’t be from your run-in with the rhinos. It’s too old for that.”

Aang and Katara shoot Zuko a nervous look, but Zuko’s not that dumb, okay? Irritably, he replies, “I tried to steal from a Fire Nation ship. I was lucky to be let go with only this as a warning—not that it’s any of your business.”

“See, but that’s where you’re wrong. Us rebels gotta stick together.” Jet leans forward, looking earnestly at him. “You and I have the same enemy.”

“Jet’s right,” Katara says brightly—and pointedly, staring hard at Zuko. “The Fire Nation has hurt all of us, and if we don’t stick together, they’ll keep hurting us.”

Zuko grinds his teeth.

“Exactly! See, you get it,” Jet says, winking at Katara. “What do you say, Li? You look like a fighter. I mean, once you’re back on your feet. If you guys stay with us, we’ll take care of you. We have food, water, medicine—anything you need. Together, we can fight back against the Fire Nation.”

“It’s a fool who thinks they can defeat the Fire Nation,” Zuko spits. “You don’t stand a chance. They have thousands of troops, top-of-the-line weapons, strategical advantage, and firebending. Why are you even trying?”

This, at last, gets Jet’s eyes to darken. Aang and Katara both drag their hands down their faces. “Because they killed my parents,” Jet says, his voice low. “Because they kill parents, and siblings, and children. Because if we don’t fight, who will? Everyone else has already given up, but we won’t! We can’t.”

Jet stands, then, dusting his hands off on his pants and sighing. He looks at Zuko one final time. “Seems to me, Li,” he says, “that the Fire Nation crippled your courage even more than they crippled your body.”

Zuko bares his teeth and barely resists the urge to lunge. Aang helps, setting a hand on his shoulder and looking sympathetically at him. Katara, meanwhile, glowers at him and runs after Jet as he exits the treehouse. 

“How can you listen to him spew garbage like that?” Zuko demands, whipping around to face Aang. “You can’t seriously believe these guys have any chance against the Fire Nation! They’re a bunch of undisciplined kids.” 

“Well, so am I,” Aang says, rubbing the back of his neck, “and defeating the Fire Nation is kind of my whole purpose in life?”

“But why?” Zuko asks. He genuinely can’t comprehend what these people are even fighting for. To keep their pride? To keep their petty kings and rulers? To keep their borders, their militaries, their differences? “What the Fire Nation is trying to do is—is good. Don’t you see? They want to unite the four nations and end the war. All of this useless fighting just leads to more pain.”

Aang looks away, hugging himself.

“Why won’t you just admit it to yourself? You know that the easiest way to stop this war is to surrender. The Fire Nation is going to win, and supporting these rebels is only making everyone’s suffering last longer. You—you’re encourage them to fight against something inevitable, you’re encouraging them to die. Those kids out there? They’ll fight, and they’ll be hurt, and they’ll be killed, all because they believe they still have a chance. They believe you’re their chance. You’re the reason this war keeps going on, Aang.”

“I know,” Aang whispers. He takes a shaky breath. 

“Then...why?” Zuko asks, quiet and confused. “Do you want more people to die?”

“No! No, I don’t. I want this war to end as badly as you do,” Aang says, whipping back around to look at him. “I don’t want people to keep fighting, but they have to. We have to. If we don’t fight, then the Fire Nation wins.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“Because—because their leader is somebody who’s willing to do that.” Aang points at Zuko’s face, swallowing hard. “And somebody who will do that to their own son will ruin the world if he rules it.”

“This again? I told you, what happened was my—”

“And because they killed my people!” Aang continues, anger sparking in his eyes. “Because the sky bison and the dragons are extinct now. Because the South Pole is ruined. Because they’ve spent a hundred years trying to destroy the other nations. Because—”

“They had to do those things!” zuko shoots back. “They had to.”

“Why?”

“Because none of the other nations would listen to reason!”

“So they decided to murder people?”

“Don’t act so high and mighty. Rebels have murdered just as many Fire Nation citizens.”

...It’s an exaggeration, maybe, given the whole Air Nomad genocide thing, but the point stands. The rebels are far from innocent in this war. They’ve killed countless Fire Nation soldiers, and undoubtedly they’ve killed civilians, too. They’ve killed Zuko’s people without a second thought! They’ve drowned them and crushed them and suffocated them. They’ve desolated entire troops and sunken warships manned by thousands. They killed Lu Ten.

Aang turns away from him again, hugging his knees to his chest. The silence stretches between them, thick and cold and unsurpassable.

Then, quietly, Aang speaks: “I’m sorry your people died. I wish they hadn’t.”

Zuko stares at his back. For once, he...doesn’t know how to respond. Why would the Avatar be sorry that Fire Nation citizens died? Isn’t that what he wants? And what does want Zuko to say, huh? That he’s sorry the Air Nomads had to die? That he’s sorry the Fire Nation is doing what it has to in order to make the world a better, safer place? That he’s sorry? 

“I don’t think,” Zuko says, instead, “that we’ll ever understand each other.”

Aang’s shoulders slump.

Zuko hesitates, then adds, “But I think we can both agree that we don’t want this war to continue. People shouldn’t have to die like this. It’s not right.”

“Yeah?” Aang glances over his shoulder, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Yeah.” Zuko rolls out his sleeping mat, then curls up and puts his back to Aang. “People dying sucks.”

Chapter Text

They pass another night with the Freedom Fighters, and the next morning Katara wakes Zuko up early. Zuko squints at her, wiping his eyes and sitting up when she urges him to. “What is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?

“Nothing’s wrong,” Katara says, pushing a cup of medication into his hands. He blinks blearily at it. “Aang and I just have to run an errand with Jet this morning, and I wanted to look at your leg before we left.”

“Oh.” Zuko holds his breath, then downs the medication with a grimace. What a way to wake up.

“Come on, roll over.”

Zuko rolls onto his stomach, crossing his arms and burying his face against them as Katara unbandages his leg. It feels better, this morning—still painful and stiff, but less irritated than it was. When he glances back, he sees that the site is swollen and inflamed but free of fresh blood or pus. Katara’s face visibly brightens when she notices that, too. 

“It’s looking better,” she says, soaking a washcloth and beginning to gently clean the area. Zuko grits his teeth and glances away again. “I think the medication is really helping. Do you feel better?”

Zuko nods.

“Good. I got something from Pipsqueak, yesterday.” She sets a small bowl next to him, and he peers into it. Inside, there’s a dark green paste that smells sharply of piquant herbs. “He says they use it on wounds here to ward off infection. I know you’ve already got an infection, but it can’t hurt to try, right?”

“...are you asking my permission?”

“Yes, I’m asking your permission. It’s your leg.”

“You’re the healer. Do whatever you think is best.”

So Katara slathers his wound in the paste, which stings. He hisses through his teeth as she rebandages it, then hisses some more as she encases his leg in ice. Gradually, however, the ice begins to cool the sting, and he can relax. He’s half-tempted to list into sleep again—this infection utterly exhausts him—but he forces his eyes open before he can. Katara gently shakes Aang awake, too, and they all gather around for breakfast.

All, that is, except for Sokka.

“Is Sokka still off sulking?” Zuko asks, gnawing on a piece of hog-monkey jerky. Is that normal for Sokka? It doesn’t seem normal. The guy can be grumpy, sometimes, but he’s never left them for so long. He’s certainly never gone without breakfast. 

“I guess.” The worried knit of Katara’s brow confirms that no, it isn’t normal. “He’s probably sleeping in with Appa. I bet he’ll be back for breakfast later.”

“And if he’s not?” Zuko asks.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” 

“He didn’t seem to be on Jet’s good side,” Zuko says, shrugging. “Who knows what could have happened?”

“Jet’s not like that!” Katara protests. “Now you’re starting to sound like Sokka.”

“Yeah, Jet’s a cool guy,” Aang agrees. “You’ve just got to get to know him better. I’m sure Sokka’s fine. If he’s not back by the time we get back, we’ll go looking for him, okay?”

Katara and Zuko both nod. 

“What are you guys helping with, anyway?” Zuko asks. “Why does Jet need you and not some of his lackeys?”

“He needs waterbenders,” Aang says, puffing up with pride.

“Yes. Rumor has it that the firebenders in Gaipan are planning to burn the forest down,” Katara explains, “so Jet needs Aang and I to fill a reservoir with water to put the fire out in case that happens.”

Zuko’s brow furrows. That does sound like something firebenders would do. So Katara and Aang leave him, after breakfast, to go and foist yet another Fire Nation plan. They’re really unfortunately good at that. 

Alone once again, Zuko moves to sit in the treehouse entrance. He tries to meditate—something he hasn’t been able to do in quite some time—but it’s difficult to slow his racing thoughts. Sokka’s absence worries at him like a sore tooth. Something just doesn’t seem right about it. It gets even less right as the morning wears on and Sokka still hasn’t returned for breakfast. Even Momo seems nervous, coiling himself around Zuko’s shoulders and grooming his hair anxiously.

“It’s alright,” Zuko soothes, pulling Momo into his arms and smoothing his fur down, “and if it’s not, we can always obliterate these guys.”

The thought comforts Zuko, at least, although he doesn’t know that it does much for Momo. 

The branches outside of the treehouse creak, suddenly, and Zuko stiffens. He leans forward, peering outside, just in time to see Sokka clambering up the tree. Zuko offers him a hand once he’s close enough, pulling him up into the house. He’s trembling.

“What’s wrong?” Zuko demands, already climbing to his feet.

“I need your help.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Jet.” Sokka looks up, and their eyes meet for one brief, gut-wrenching moment. Zuko’s never seen Sokka look so scared before. “He’s going to flood the town.”

Zuko has so many questions. Not a single one of them matters more than getting to Gaipan before Jet does. There are hundreds of civilians in that village—people who have nothing to do with the war, and people who certainly don’t deserve to die for Jet’s foolish ambitions. What’s more, some of those people are Fire Nation civilians: soldiers’ spouses, their pets, their children. Those are Zuko’s people.

Zuko straightens up, lifting his chin. “What do you need me to do?”

“Come on.” 

Sokka leads the way back out of the tree. Zuko follows as quickly as he can, although his leg is stiff from disuse and his laceration protests each time he stretches it too far. Sokka has to help him from branch to branch on more than one humiliating occasion. Fortunately, they don’t have to walk all the way to the village—Appa waits for them in a clearing nearby, already saddled. He takes to the sky as soon as Sokka and Zuko are both onboard, heading inland. 

“See down there?” Sokka says, pointing off of Appa’s side. Zuko looks down and sees a thick wall of stone with a mass of shining water behind it. “That’s the reservoir.”

“The one that Aang and Katara are filling?”

Sokka nods sharply. “They don’t know what they’re doing.”

“But you do?”

“I heard Jet talking about it last night. I was going to tell you guys, but he caught me. I’ve been trapped in the forest with Pipsqueak and Smellerbee ever since.”

“How’d you get away?”

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I come up with good escape plans sometimes.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

Sokka glances over at him, eyebrows arched in surprise.

“So, what next?” Zuko presses. “Jet’s going to use the reservoir to flood the town? You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Sokka’s face changes again, his eyes darkening. “They’re using the blasting jelly they stole from the firebenders to blow up the dam.”

“But why?”

“To get rid of the firebenders. They’re lodging in Gaipan, and Jet wants them gone.”

“He’ll kill his own people.”

“He doesn’t care.”

“That’s—” Zuko bites his tongue. Father had used that same tactic from time to time—but this isn’t Father. This is Jet, and Jet’s not strategically experienced enough to make decisions like that. (Jet’s not going to burn half of Zuko’s face off for disagreeing with him.) “That’s so stupid!”

Sokka snorts. “What, really? I thought you’d admire his tactic. It’s got that special brand of ruthlessness the Fire Nation is so fond of.”

“What? The Fire Nation doesn’t like killing innocent people!”

"Could’ve fooled me,” Sokka mutters, then reaches for Appa’s reins. He guides the bison down to land just outside of Gaipan. “I’m going to gather the villagers. I need you to lead them to safety.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“There are Fire Nation soldiers in there,” Zuko says, nodding at the village. “They’ll recognize me. The scar’s not exactly subtle, you know? If they know I’m working with you, they’ll—”

“Send you back to your abusive prick of a dad, yeah, okay, we want to avoid that,” Sokka says, then clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Come on. I think I have an idea.”

They leave Appa and Momo behind, and Sokka leads him to a small theatre building on the outskirts of the town. It’s empty, this early in the morning, and they both make their way to the back rooms. Sokka gestures to the racks of costumes along the far wall. Zuko groans.

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas,” Sokka says. “Pick something fast.”

Zuko snatches the first mask he finds, settling it over his face and tying it behind his head. It’s a blue, draconic mask, and it covers his recognizable features perfectly. The slits for his eyes are wide enough to let him see clearly, although it’s stuffy and uncomfortable otherwise. He makes a face behind it, wrinkling his nose.

“Fitting,” Sokka declares. He grabs something else from one of the shelves, pushing it into Zuko’s hand. It’s a smooth black cane, and Zuko recoils in disgust. He doesn’t need that! “Come on, take it. You’re already going to be screwing up your leg. You might as well screw it up a little less.”

“I’m not an invalid. I don’t need—”

“You are literally the definition of invalid right now, okay? Tui and La, your pride is going to be the death of us. Take the damn cane.” Sokka turns his back and strides briskly out of the theatre. Zuko follows, very pointedly not using the cane to do so. “Stay here. I’ll send people to you. You need to lead them west, and leave markers for the others to follow. We don’t want anyone straying into the floodpath.”

“Markers?”

“Yeah. Like this.” Sokka snatches a stout branch from the ground, then drives it into the dirt outside of the theatre. He gestures towards it. “Go on. Do the thing. The flamey thing.”

Zuko touches the top of the branch with flame, and it catches and crackles sharply at him.

“See, you got it.” Sokka claps him on the shoulder. “Light the way, Zuko.”

Sokka takes off, already shouting to raise the alarm. Zuko stays behind, waiting nervously—how much longer do they have until the dam explodes? Are Aang and Katara in trouble? Will they try to stop Jet once they realize what’s happening? The minutes drag by at an unbearable pace, and Zuko chews the inside of his cheek into a bloody mess while he waits. Then, finally, he sees a group of people moving towards him—Earth Kingdom civilians, led forward by several Fire Nation soldiers. Zuko comes to attention, settling his hands behind his back and nodding a short greeting to them. 

“The Water Tribe boy said we’d find you here,” the frontmost soldier says, her voice rough. “You’d better be right about all this. If you’re evacuating the whole damn town for nothing, I’ll see you thrown in the prison to rot for your trouble.”

He bristles at her tone, but it’s one he’s unfortunately familiar with: very few fire nation soldiers actually respect him, now (and of those few, most are on his crew). “If I’m wrong, I’ll be more than happy to rot,” he says. Then, brisker and colder—his father’s voice—he commands, “Come this way.” 

When he turns on his heel and leads the way west, the soldiers follow, mercifully, without another complaint. (He hears them mutter, the first time he lights another marker along the path—but they do not question his firebending, not now, not yet, and he plans to be long gone by the time they think to do so.) The villagers cluster close behind the soldiers, their voices rising and falling in a cadence of worry and confusion and uncertainty. Somewhere, he can hear an infant wailing. He hopes Sokka’s right about all this, or they’ll be in big trouble for stirring the village up. (A smaller, quieter part of him hopes Sokka is absolutely wrong, or all of these people will have their lives torn apart in one wicked hour.)

Appa flies ahead of them, surveying the path, and Zuko sticks closely to his trail in the hopes that he’ll guide them around obstacles and keep them clear of the floodpath. Together, they manage to guide the villagers almost a half-mile west before Zuko’s leg begins to buckle. It throbs furiously beneath him with every step, inflamed and swollen, but he refuses to lean against the cane. He isn’t some cripple, to be limping around in front of his soldiers! 

(After all, Fire Nation soldiers aren’t like Katara and Aang and Sokka. If they sense his weakness, they’ll burn it out of him or kill him trying.)

He turns to the foremost soldier once again, his shoulders stiff. “Continue west for another mile,” he orders. “We’ll alert you when it’s safe to return.”

The soldier pauses, then inclines her head. “Very well.”

Zuko steps out of the path of the caravan, waving for Appa. As the bison circles back around, Zuko sweeps his gaze over the villagers. They all look distraught and bedraggled, clutching the bags and boxes of their lives’ belongings. A few farther back—those with more time to prepare, he supposes—have brought wagons. Fire Nation soldiers flank the caravan, but their eyes aren’t on the villagers. Instead, their eyes are east, towards the dam. 

“Here, let me carry him.” Zuko’s eyes dart towards the voice, and he finds a tall Fire Nation soldier standing beside a young woman. His wife, perhaps? But no, it can’t be—she’s dressed in the dusty greens and browns of Earth Kingdom clothing, and another man walks close to her side. The man’s arms are full of children, as are the woman’s. Even as Zuko watches, the soldier extends his arms and takes the largest child from the woman. “I've got him. Yes, hello there, little fellow. You’ll be alright.”

“Thank you, Jee,” the woman says softly, readjusting the other child in her grip. 

The soldier smiles at her. “It’s no trouble, really. I—” His eyes catch sight of Zuko’s mask, suddenly, and narrow sharply. He hitches the child up, resting a hand protectively on his back. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your family.”

That’s an odd way for a Fire Nation soldier to act. Strangely enough, Zuko finds that it doesn’t anger him. It leaves him confused and conflicted, but ultimately, what harm does that little kindness do? He dips his chin to the soldier, then backs away and scrambles onto Appa’s back. Appa takes to the air again, and Zuko surveys the caravan from above. It streams steadily west, guided by the soldiers and the markers he left. All along the way, he sees the same story: his soldiers help the villagers. They push wagons and guide pack-animals, they carry children and stand protectively at the elbows of elders.

More surprising, he discovers, is the way the villagers help his soldiers. He sees several young women carrying Fire Nation weapons, and a group of shepherds guide herds of komodo rhinos along the path. All of the children are kept near the center of the caravan, and Zuko realizes, with a jolt, that he can’t tell which ones belong to his people and which ones don’t. 

That’s alarming for a number of reasons.

He tears his gaze away from the caravan and looks out at the reservoir. The dam remains unbroken, and uncertainty begins to curl in Zuko’s chest. Was Sokka really right about all of this, after all? Was Jet actually planning to—

Boom!

The dam explodes in a sudden, furious shatter of wood and stone. Acrid smoke billows into the air, and Appa bellows in alarm and veers right. Zuko lunges for the reins, pulling to guide him back on course. Below him, the villagers begin to scream. Their leaders shout orders, and Zuko sees his soldiers rush to obey. They seem to have things under control here, and so Zuko turns his attention to a more pressing matter: the evacuation back at the town.

“Quickly!” he shouts to Appa, flicking the reins. “We have to help Sokka!”

Appa rumbles in response, then lifts his tail and slams it down again with a rush of air. They surge forward. The breeze tugs at Zuko’s hair and clothes, and he squints his eyes as they begin to water. He can hear the rush of water in distance, surging towards Gaipan, and his heart hammers in his chest. How many people are still in the town? How many will get out alive? How many won’t?

Appa dives down, landing in the streets of the town, and Zuko is halfway out of the saddle by the time all six of the bison’s feet are on the ground. He slides down to the street and his leg buckles beneath him almost immediately. Oh, damn it all! He slams the end of the cane into the cobblestones and presses himself up, leaning heavily against it. It’s easier—faster—to walk with it, and Zuko refuses to let Sokka be right. He won’t let his pride be the thing that gets them all killed. Besides, there’s no one to impress here, right now: there’s only panic.

“Children and elders over here!” he bellows, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Onto the bison!”

Zuko helps as many as he can into Appa’s saddle, but there’s only so much weight the bison can carry. When he begins to shift uncomfortably, Zuko presses a hand to his muzzle and feels the warm, rapid bursts of his breath. Appa looks back at him, his eyes wide and uncertain. 

“It’s alright. You can do this. Get them out of here and come back.” He stumbles backwards and raises his voice: “Appa, yip yip!”

Appa lunges into the sky, wobbling precariously with the new burden on his back. Zuko holds his breath until appa evens out and flies west with a determined roar. Yes! Most of the villagers seem to have evacuated, now. The streets are barren and dusty. Doors hang loose on their hinges, creaking quietly in the breeze. A lone chicken pecks in the dirt. Zuko scoops it up and flings it into the air, where it squawks and beats its wings frantically before landing on one of the nearby rooftops. That’s, uh. That’s probably good enough, right?

“Sokka?” he shouts. “Sokka!”

He hopes Sokka evacuated with the last of the villagers, but something tells him that’s not what happened. Sokka’s smart, but he also wants to play the hero—he’d have stayed until the last minute, convinced there was still something more he could do. When he doesn’t respond, Zuko climbs onto the thatched roof of a nearby home and looks out over the streets for any sign of a stubborn, foolish Water Tribe boy. 

Barely a minute later, the floodwaters hit.

Zuko hunkers down on top of the house as it shudders and heaves beneath him. He digs his nails into the roof, clinging tightly to both the packed straw and the cane as water sprays over his shoulders and head. Something hard hits him in the side, knocking the breath from him, and he chokes on a mouthful of foul-tasting water. He’s tempted to release his grip on the roof so he can swim for the surface—for air—but he refuses, in spite of the angry burn in his lungs.

Several seconds later, he’s glad he did so. The initial surge passes him, and the water behind it is shallower. His head breaks the surface, and he gasps in a lungful of air. He scrambles to get his feet back on the solid surface of the roof, but it’s crumbling beneath him as the straw grows soggy and tattered. Damn it! He lurches away from the roof, swimming to the next building and hauling himself up again. This roof is more stable, and he dares to think he might wait here for Appa’s return.

Unfortunately, things are never that easy for him, are they? In the distance, he hears someone crying—they sound very small and very scared. His heart twists in his chest, and he scans the murky water around him desperately. The cry cuts off with a gurgle, and he stumbles forward. “No! No no no, come on—”

A hacking cough, and then the cry returns. This time Zuko pinpoints it quickly. A small girl in a green kimono clings desperately to the side of a storefront. As soon as he sees her, he dives into the water, fighting his way across it. The current is still strong as water rushes from the reservoir, and he collides with a roof several buildings down from the girl. He uses the handle of his cane to grip a nearby chimney, hauling himself out of the water and stumbling in her direction. 

“Hang on!” he shouts. “I’m coming, just hang on!”

The girl, to her credit, hangs on for several more seconds as Zuko scrambles across the rooftops. She can’t hang on long enough, however, and the swift current tears her away from the buildings before Zuko reaches her. He stretches his cane towards her, hoping she can grab it, but it quickly becomes clear that the water is sweeping her too far out. He snarls in frustration before he lunges in, slamming into her just as the water drags her past him. She clings, and he struggles to readjust his weight before she pulls him under. It’s no easy feat, and his head disappears beneath the waves several times before he manages to get her in front of him. He’s just got to keep her head up, he’s just got to—

His shoulder strikes something underwater, and he gasps in pain and loses his grip on the cane. He curls himself protectively around the girl, and just in time, too—seconds later, he slams against the broad, tall front of the temple. He flails with one hand, keeping the other securely around the girl, and manages to grip the shingles on the temple’s roof. He pushes the girl up ahead of him, then hauls himself up after her and shoves her farther along with his shoulder. Only once they’re several feet above the water does he let himself collapse, coughing violently. The girl slumps down, too, shaking.

“Okay?” Zuko rasps, once he can breathe again. “Kid, are you okay?”

The girl nods, then reaches for him. Zuko doesn’t bother protesting. He sits up and tucks her against his chest. Once she’s caught her breath, she starts to cry again. He knows he should probably be uncomfortable with that, but at the moment he’s too weary to feel much of anything but relief. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, shh,” he mumbles—the same words Mother used to murmur after he woke from nightmares, the same words uncle whispered when Zuko was half out of his mind with pain mere days after his banishment. “It‘s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”

The first body floats by a few minutes later.

Zuko cups his hand over the girl’s eyes and rocks her (rocks himself) back and forth. The shingles are slick and cold beneath them, and he can’t seem to stop shivering. Katara, he thinks vaguely, is going to be very upset that he got his fresh bandages wet. 

“My m-mom?” the girl whispers into the drenched blue tunic Zuko wears. “Where’s Mom?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko has to answer. The words feel like shards of glass in his throat.

Tears well up in the girl’s eyes again, and her breath hitches. She won’t stop shivering. “We’ll find her. It’s okay. Here.” Zuko holds his hands out, cradling a flame in them, and the girl flinches back. “No, no, it’s—it won’t hurt you. I promise. It’s warm, see?”

The girl tentatively holds her hands out to warm them. Zuko wishes he could do more—he wishes he were like Katara, and he could push all of the water away from them. He wishes he were like Aang, and he could dry them and part the waves with a burst of wind. He wishes he were like Sokka and he could know what to do with all these problems in his path. He wishes he had something—anything—better than this pathetic orange flame of his. 

But he doesn’t. This is all he has, and he has to do the best he can with it.

“What’s your name?” he asks the girl once her teeth have stopped chattering.

“Nessa.”

“Nessa, okay. Hi. I’m Li. Do you remember where your mom was before you lost her?”

“She was with me. Um, in our house,” Nessa says. “She was trying to get my grandpa to come with us, b-but he didn’t want to. He said nothing was gonna happen.”

They both look out over the water, and zuko’s stomach sinks as he realizes what that means.

“All three of you got caught in the water?” he asks softly.

Nessa nods.

Zuko takes a deep breath to keep his flame steady. Nessa looks there and nowhere else, her fingers curling towards its heat. Zuko tries not to look anywhere else, either.

A few feet away, the bodies continue to float by.

Chapter Text

“Zuko! Zuko!”

Zuko pries his eyes away from the flame and looks up. Appa hovers above him, and there, leaning halfway out of the saddle and waving, is Sokka. Momo perches on his shoulder, soaking wet and clinging to a familiar black cane. Zuko knows he should feel relieved—for himself, for Nessa, for Sokka—but there’s a cold, creeping numbness between his ribs now.

“I knew Momo would find you! Thank spirits you’re alright. Come on, both of you, climb up.”

Appa lowers himself to float a few feet above the waves, and Zuko stands shakily, handing Nessa up to Sokka. He takes her carefully, bundling her against his chest. “Hey there, kiddo,” he says, grabbing a spare tunic to wrap around her shoulders. “There we go, that’s better. I gotcha.”

As soon as he settles Nessa into the saddle, Sokka leans back over Appa’s side and stretches a hand down for Zuko. Zuko clasps it, allowing Sokka to haul him up. His leg throbs beneath him, and he slouches into the corner of the saddle as soon as he can. He yanks off his mask, wiping water from his face and eyes, as Appa takes off again.

“Where are we going?” Zuko asks. “What about Aang and Katara?”

“They’re at the reservoir, I hope,” Sokka says, his expression growing grim.

“Is that where my mom is?” Nessa asks, and Sokka’s eyes soften as he looks at her.

“Maybe,” he says, setting Momo in her lap. The lemur curls up there, purring quietly, and Nessa pets his ears as Sokka pries the cane out of his spindly little fingers and returns it to Zuko. “Or she might be with the others who evacuated. We’ll try to help you find her soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

Sokka glances briefly, hopefully, in Zuko’s direction. Zuko shakes his head. There’s no way Nessa’s mother has survived—they can only hope that she has some other family to take care of her now. Sokka’s face falls, and he takes a deep breath as he turns back to Appa’s reins. As they near the reservoir several minutes later, Zuko heaves himself to his feet.

“Excuse me, but Momo worked really hard to grab your cane,” Sokka says, pushing it into Zuko’s hand again. “Use it. You know, for him.”

“Only for a little while and only because it’s Momo.” Only because Zuko’s pretty sure he can’t stay upright without it, at this point. 

Sokka cracks a grin, weary though it is. Then a terribly familiar voice rings out across the battered dam, and the grin vanishes as quickly as it came. Something hard and sharp and furious in Zuko’s chest begins to burn.  

“—was a victory, Katara,” Jet declares over the rush of the river. “Remember that. The Fire Nation is gone and this valley will be safe.”

Appa rises with one final stroke of his tail, and they hover above the broken dam. Katara and Aang stand together at the edge of the frothing water, dust-streaked and exhausted. Katara looks furious, her eyes blazing and her fingers crusted with ice. Jet stands across from them, a mad gleam in his eyes and his sword drawn. Smellerbee and Pipsqueak flank him, but there’s fear in their eyes, now, and Smellerbee is shaking.

Zuko wonders if they knew just how cruel their stalwart leader could be. He wonders if they understood.

“It will be safe without you,” Sokka snarls, and all eyes snap to him. Zuko can feel him trembling with rage, and in this moment he understands Sokka more than he ever has before. “I warned the villagers of your plan just in time.”

“What?” Jet stiffens, outrage sparking in his eyes. 

“At first they didn’t believe me. The Fire Nation soldiers assumed I was a spy, but one man vouched for me: the old man you attacked. He urged them to trust me, and we got everyone out in time.” Then Sokka turns his face, avoiding Aang and Katara’s eyes as he adds more quietly, “Almost everyone, anyway.”

Zuko has never seen a heart break the way he sees Aang’s heart break, then. Grief floods his eyes, and he clutches his glider to himself as though it can protect him from the reality of what Jet did—of what he helped Jet to do. Katara stiffens beside him, horror flashing across her face. The ice drops from her fingers, splashing against the dust. 

“We could’ve freed this valley!” Jet shouts, striding towards them. He lifts his hook sword, although it’s a measly enough threat against Appa. “You idiot, you—”

“Who would be free?” Sokka demands. “Everyone would be dead.”

“You traitor!”

“No, Jet.” Sokka’s eyes are cold when they meet Jet’s—as cold as Zuko has ever seen them. “You became the traitor when you started murdering innocent people.”

Katara moves, yanking a whirlwind of water from the river. It slams into Jet, flattening him against a tree before hardening into a shell of bristling ice. “You monster,” she snarls, her eyes blazing. “All of those people—you killed them! You used us. You used me.”

“The Fire Nation would have done the same if we’d given them the chance,” Jet says, his eyes blazing. “They’re the real monsters! We’re just doing what we have to to make the world safe again.”

...that line of reasoning sounds sickeningly familiar.

“Oh, shut up,” Zuko says, his lip curling in disgust. “Do you even understand what you did? Can you even comprehend—?”

Zuko couldn’t comprehend it, not until he saw it. Genocide is easy enough to rationalize as long as it’s a distant, cold concept, but—but this? But that empty, flooded town? But that little girl, half-drowned and scared to death? But those bloated bodies floating face-down in a filthy river?

...but those Air Nomads, those sky bison, that twelve-year-old Avatar terrified of a war that never belonged to him?

“There is no excuse for what you’ve done,” Zuko says, his voice falling flat and cold as his world shatters beneath his feet. “There is no reason good enough for this.”

“The townspeople were harboring dangerous soldiers and fostering this war. I saved our lives! I freed the valley! We can live in peace, now, we can—”

Zuko slides off of Appa’s side. His leg threatens to buckle beneath him, but he slams the cane into the ground to support his weight and moves ruthlessly forward. Murdering people for honor, for freedom, for peace—it all sounds so good until you see the bodies. Killing soldiers is one thing; they knew full well what they signed up for when they went to war. But killing civilians? Killing innocent townspeople who wanted nothing more than to live their lives in peace?

Zuko holds his hand out to the side, and he feels his fire begin to crackle in his chest before it races towards his fingers. People like Jet don’t deserve to live. People like Jet are too dangerous to let live. Pain is a very good lesson. 

Death is an even better one.

Then, before Zuko can will his fire into existence, a small hand grabs his. The flames die before they escape his skin, and he flinches as he looks down. Aang looks back up at him, his fingers tight on Zuko’s and his eyes filled with pain—and with determination. 

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it is the very farthest thing from okay. “It’s done. Let him go.”

“He doesn’t deserve to—”

“People change. There’s always hope.”

“And besides,” Katara says, her voice cold, “he’s mine.”

The ice encasing Jet shatters, suddenly, and the shards collapse into gray water again. It swirls furiously around Jet, and with a savage wave of her arm Katara sends him plunging into the river. His head breaks the surface several seconds later, sputtering, and Katara watches as he’s swept downstream. Smellerbee and Pipsqueak cast one last, terrified look at her before racing after him.

“Come on, we have to go.” Aang tugs Zuko towards Appa, and Zuko can’t put up much of a fight on his maimed leg. He glares one final time at the river, instead. It’s Jet’s lucky day. The next time Zuko sees him, he doubts Aang will still be around—but Zuko’s fire and fury most certainly will be. 

Nessa’s mother can’t be located.

Her grandmother, fortunately, can be. Zuko returns Nessa to her and gets a back-breaking hug for his trouble. He wheezes in the grandmother’s grip, and she cries and cries into his shoulder and says, “Thank you, thank you, oh, thank you.”

When he returns to Appa’s saddle, all three of his companions are watching him closely. 

“What?” he asks. He’s trying for scathing, but his voice comes out flatter than he intended. Now that his fury has faded, his numbness is creeping back in to replace it. He can’t get the bodies out of his head.

“You saved her,” Katara says softly, “didn’t you?”

“He did,” Sokka says, nudging her. He sounds proud. It makes something nervous and uncomfortable twist in Zuko’s chest, so he harrumphs and slumps back against the saddle with his arms over his chest. “He was soaking wet when I found him. He must have jumped in after her.”

“Woah, really?” Aang latches onto him, eyes wide. “Zuko, you’re so cool!”

Zuko shoves him away. “Get off! Agni, it’s not a big deal. Anybody would have done it.”

“But you're the one who did,” Aang says, smiling. It’s not as bright a smile as usual, but it’s no less genuine. He hops onto Appa’s head, settling in between his horns. “And because of you, that little girl’s still alive.”

And so many people aren’t, because Zuko wasn’t smart enough or fast enough to help them escape in time. He rubs his temples, then drags his knees to his chest and huddles over them as Appa takes to the skies again. 

“Here, before you freeze,” Sokka says, tossing a handful of dry clothes towards Zuko. 

“And I need to clean your leg, too,” Katara adds. “Swimming in that filthy water won’t have done it any good. I don’t want your infection getting worse again.”

That’s the last thing Zuko wants, either, so he changes his clothes quickly and then sprawls out on his stomach to allow Katara access to his wound. She wipes it down with a clean washcloth, then flushes it thoroughly with water from her flask. He grimaces, digging his fingers into the saddle and taking several deep, measured breaths.

“How’s it look?” Sokka asks curiously. He must glimpse the wound, because the next thing out of his mouth is, “Oh, eugh.”

“It’s not looking great right now,” Katara admits. “He’s popped a few stitches, and it’s pretty inflamed, but I hope that’s only because he was walking so much.”

“Couldn’t miss out on any of the action,” Zuko mumbles.

“A joke?” Sokka demands. “Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, was that a joke?”

Zuko blows sparks at him, and he squeals and scrambles away. 

Katara dabs the last of Pipsqueak’s ointment onto Zuko’s wound, slathering it thickly around his sutures. “Hopefully this kills any of the disease the river water left behind,” she says, “but we’ll keep a close eye on it for the next few days just in case. How does it feel right now?”

“It’s fine.”

“Zuko.”

“...it hurts,” Zuko admits softly. 

“Okay. I’ll bandage it and then ice it for you.” 

Sokka leans back against the saddle across from Zuko, lacing his hands behind his head. “Well, I hope we all learned something important from this adventure.”

“Trauma is a cycle,” Katara offers.

“The ends never justify the means,” Aang says.

“Rebels are actually crazy,” Zuko mumbles into his arms.

“What? No! No, we learned to listen to Sokka,” Sokka says, huffing. “I have the right idea sometimes!”

Aang turns around and wraps his arms around Sokka’s neck to hug him. “Okay, that too,” he says, smiling. “Sokka has the right idea sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Katara allows, slipping an arm beneath Sokka’s to tug him into a sideways hug. Sokka burrows into the two of them, clearly satisfied (save, perhaps, for lingering darkness in his eyes; Zuko knows that won’t go away anytime soon. He must be thinking about the bodies, too). Zuko stays very pointedly on the other side of the saddle when they all look at him. “So, Mr. Sometimes Right? What’s your game plan now?”

Sokka wiggles his way out of their hugs to grab his map, splaying it out on the saddle. “Well, we’re just a few miles north of Gaipan, now. If we follow the river route we’ll have ample food and water, so I think we should pass by…”

Zuko leans his head back and closes his eyes, letting the sound of Sokka’s rambling fade into the background. The wind tugs his hair, and he thinks he can feel a chill in it, now. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to see the endless blue sky above him. Evening comes quickly, and the new moon brings little light to them. In the dark everyone—even Sokka—falls unusually quiet. 

Katara doesn’t join them at the fire for dinner. Instead, she sits at the edge of camp, her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped around herself. Aang looks miserably at her, but he doesn’t move from his place at Appa’s side. He doesn’t look any better than she does. Zuko can’t imagine how they feel. He knows they didn’t mean to hurt anyone—he knows they would never mean to—but the fact of the matter is that they did, no matter how accidentally, and that isn’t the sort of guilt that just goes away. 

“Hey.” Sokka rests a hand on Aang’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

Aang offers him a weak smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Sokka nods, then grabs a plate of food and goes to sit next to katara. She leans against him, and they both gaze up at the hard chips of stars in the sky. Zuko remembers the first time he and his own sister had gone stargazing. He remembers the way Azula’s eyes had shone as she looked up at the skies, her little fists balled up with excitement. There had been a burn on her wrist. She’d tripped over Father’s robes earlier.

“What are the stars?” she had asked.

“They’re fire,” Zuko had explained. Mother had been the one to tell him this, years ago, when he asked the same question. “They’re a million different suns.”

“They’re different colors.”

“Yeah, they are. There’s red ones and yellow ones and blue ones.”

“How come?”

“It depends on their temperature. The coolest ones are red. Normal ones are orange or yellow.” He cupped his own little orange flame in his hands, smiling at her. “The hottest ones are blue.”

She gasped in delight and lifted her hands, holding her bright blue flame up to him, and zuko had laughed. She’d grinned that proud, gap-toothed toddler grin of hers, the firelight flickering across her face, and Zuko knew he’d do anything for her. She was his baby sister, after all.

...Katara’s in good hands with a big brother and the stars, Zuko thinks.

“What about you?” Zuko asks, glancing over at Aang. 

Aang startles out of his own thoughts, tearing his gaze from the fire. “What?”

“What about you?” Zuko repeats. “Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Oh. Maybe. I don’t really know.” He fiddles with a loose thread on the cuff of his pant leg. “Airbenders don’t usually know who their biological families are. All the monks were my family.”

“Weird,” Zuko mutters.

Aang laughs, although the sound is forced. “Yeah. I guess so.”

They lapse into uncomfortable silence again. Agni, why is Zuko so bad at—at talking to people? How does Uncle make it look so easy? Well, if small talk isn’t working, he may as well get to it and say: “What happened at Gaipan wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“People died because of what I did.”

“You filled the reservoir because you thought you’d be saving lives. If you had any suspicion otherwise, you wouldn’t have done it.”

“...you think so?”

“I know so. You don’t have the guts for mass murder. And that’s—” Zuko takes a deep breath, dragging his good leg up to his chest and hooking an arm around it. “That’s a good thing, Aang. Killing people like that, for any reason, it’s—shit. It’s horrible. And what happened to the Air Nomads back then was just as—”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“It was just as inexcusable, and I’m sorry. My grandfather was wrong. Even the Avatar isn’t worth killing innocent people like that.”

Aang hesitates, then leans against Zuko’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he whispers.

“I’ll do better,” Zuko promises quietly, watching the flames as they lick towards the sky. The shadows stream across their faces, jagged and sharp. The air smells like oakwood smoke. “When I'm firelord, i’ll do better.”

Chapter Text

At the Great Divide, Zuko is witness to Aang's mediating skills (or lack thereof). Fortunately, he doesn't have to endure those skills for long. He gets sent across the canyon on Appa's back, along with the rest of the old, infirm, and wounded. He thinks he should be offended, but honestly? He was so sick of hearing the Zhang and Gan Jin tribes (of hearing Sokka and Katara) argue. Besides, somebody's gonna have to protect these people if there's danger on the other side of the canyon. It might as well be Zuko.

Chapter Text

Sokka and Katara wake up with fevers the next morning.

“You.” Sokka points accusingly at Zuko. “You gave us your fever! I don’t know how you did it, but I’m impressed. Offended, but mostly impressed.”

“Yes, I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that you spent most of yesterday soaking wet in the middle of a typhoon,” Zuko says wryly, then tosses a damp washcloth onto his face. Sokka splutters.

“It’s Just a little sickness from the cold, nothing to worry about,” Katara assures them, sniffling as Aang presses another washcloth to her forehead. “We’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

Zuko leans back against Appa, frowning at the cave floor. “My medication—would it help you?”

Katara shakes her head. “It might help lower our fevers, but it won’t treat the cause. Illness from weather is different than illness from injury.”

“Still, if it could help your fevers—”

“We don’t need your medication, Zuko. You need to keep taking it until we’re sure you’re better,” Katara says. She leans forward, trying to catch his gaze. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the offer.”

Zuko harrumphs, looking away.

“You know what would help, though?” Katara asks, and both Zuko and Aang glance back at her. “Ginger root.”

Aang springs to his feet, his eyes shining. “I know what that is. I’ll go look for some right now. Zuko, you stay here and take care of them, okay?”

Zuko leans back against Appa, sighing. 

“Oh, don’t sound so thrilled,” Sokka grumbles.

While he waits for Aang to return, Zuko rewets the washcloths for Sokka and Katara to keep them cool. He banks their tiny campfire and then sits down with one of the many fish the fisherman had left with them, frowning at it. He’s eaten his fair share of seafood, having lived on the ocean for most of the last three years, but he’s never been the one to prepare it. 

Something clatters next to his heel, and he flinches. It’s a smooth, bone-white knife.

“Scrape the scales off with that,” Sokka says, peeking over the top of his blanket bundle. He worms one hand out of the bundle so he can motion with it. “From the tail and up.”

Zuko carefully takes the knife, flipping it so he can run the sharp edge up against the fish. Several glossy silver scales cling to his fingers while he works, and he wrinkles his nose but persists until the skin is smooth and slimy. He holds it up for Sokka’s approval.

“Yeah!” Sokka nods adamantly at him. “Just like that. Then you can gut it, chop off the head and the fins, and toss it into the frying pan. Easy-peasy.”

Zuko guts it, chops off the head and the fins, and tosses it into the frying pan, easy-peasy.

“There are spices in my bag,” Katara offers. “Salt and sage and rosemary. You can sprinkle some of those on.”

Sprinkle? How much is a sprinkle? His brow furrowed with concentration, Zuko grabs a pinch of sage and drops it onto the frying fish. He tilts it towards Katara.

“Maybe a little more,” she suggests.

Zuko spices the fish as best he can with Katara’s guidance and his own vague intuition, then sits back and waits for it to finish cooking through. It smells good, although he knows that has little enough to do with his cooking prowess. As soon as it’s done, he carves off strips and drops them onto a pair of wooden plates. “Here,” he says gruffly, pushing the plates towards Sokka and Katara. “Lunch.”

Sokka wastes no time, snagging a piece of fish and dropping it into his mouth. “Hot!” he decides almost immediately, hissing between his teeth. “Hot hot hot hot—”

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply.

“Yes, it did Just come out of the frying pan,” Katara agrees, elbowing her brother playfully. She blows on her own fish to cool it before taking a bite. Her eyes widen, and Zuko winces. He knew it wouldn’t be good, but he’d really hoped it wouldn’t be bad enough to surprise her that much. He—“Zuko, this is good!”

He blinks. “What?”

“It’s so good!” Sokka agrees, wolfing down another piece. He swallows it so quickly Zuko doesn’t know how he even has time to taste it. “Dude, why haven’t you been cooking all of our meals? Why have been letting Katara cook when we could have—”

Katara elbows her brother a little less playfully, scowling. 

“Sorry,” Sokka says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But seriously! I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I just did what Katara told me,” Zuko says, shrugging. “The rest must have been luck.”

Katara and Sokka trade a glance. “You’ve really never cooked before?” Katara asks, cocking her head.

Zuko jabs his own piece of fish, shrugging again. “Not in a long time.”

“When did you?” Sokka peers curiously at him. “Did they have, like, cooking classes for the Fire Nation’s royal brats? And here I thought all you guys learned about was colonization and setting things on fire.”

“The Fire Nation is the epitome of culture! Of course we learn things other than colonization and—”

“What Sokka is trying to say,” Katara says interrupts, “is that the fish is really good and we’re impressed. When was the last time you cooked?”

Zuko pushes his food around his plate. He’s not terribly hungry, all of a sudden. “Uncle liked to cook,” he says, “on the ship. He didn’t need to. We had a perfectly adequate chef.”

“But you helped him anyway?”

“Sometimes. We never cooked fish.”

“Kinda weird for somebody living on a ship,” Sokka comments.

“We ate fish all the time. It got boring,” Zuko says. “Uncle liked making other things.”

“Like what?” Katara asks.

“Hotcakes with cream, and sweet custards, and fruit tarts,” Zuko says, his jaw tightening as he thinks of Uncle’s silly little brunches. “Things like that. He has a sweet tooth.”

“Our Gran-Gran taught me how to cook,” Katara says. Sokka opens his mouth, then tactfully shuts it again when Katara shoots him a look. “We ate lots of fish, too.”

“And seal, and seaweed noodles, and sea prunes, and akutaq,” Sokka says. He leans back against Appa, sighing wistfully. “Oh, akutaq.”

“Akutaq?” Zuko says, puzzling the word out between his teeth.

“There are sweet berries that grow in the tundra during summer. You can mash them into a paste and mix them with fat or dried meat,” Katara explains. “It’s a kind of dessert.”

“And it’s sooo good,” Sokka says. “Katara, I want akutaq!”

“Sorry. We’re too far away from home for that,” she says, knocking her knee against his. “Maybe sometime soon, okay?”

The sound of clattering rocks jerks Zuko’s attention back to the front of the cave just in time to see Aang scrambling inside. Momo perches on his shoulder, but he squeaks a greeting and flies over to settle on top of Zuko’s head as soon as he sees him. Zuko reaches up, gently prying the lemur off and setting him in his lap instead. 

“I couldn’t find the ginger root,” Aang admits, “but I did find a map. There’s a herbalist institute on top of that mountain. We could probably find a cure for you guys there.”

“You think so?” Katara asks hopefully. 

Aang nods. “I could fly up with my glider. I’d be back in no time.”

“Here. Eat first.” Zuko tosses their satchel of foraged food to him. “What do you need?”

While Aang eats, Zuko packs a bag of supplies for him—there’s no point in letting him run off in the wilderness to get himself killed. He’d just reincarnate, and then Zuko’s search would start all over again. He sets the bag down next to Aang once he’s finished, then leans against Appa. His leg aches, but the pain from standing isn’t as bad as it would have been even a few days ago.

“I’ll be back before evening,” Aang promises, kneeling in front of Sokka and Katara. “You guys don’t have to worry about anything.”

Katara reaches out, squeezing his hands. “Be safe.”

“Bring me food,” Sokka mumbles, burrowing further into his blankets, “and don’t die and stuff.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Aang grabs his knapsack, slinging it over shoulder before reaching for his glider. He pauses in the cave entrance, taking a deep breath. “Zuko?”

Zuko glances expectantly at him.

“Don’t let anything happen to them, okay?” Aang’s eyes meet his, storm-gray and serious. “I trust you.”

That’s a mistake if Zuko’s ever heard one. 

He scoffs as aang takes off on his glider, glaring up at the bleak afternoon sky. Whoever heard of trusting an enemy? Dumb kid. Still…

Zuko glances back at Sokka and Katara, who are huddled together against Appa’s belly. They both look smaller, this way, curled up and buried under piles of furs and blankets. Their eyes are closed, now, and they breathe in time with each other. There’s a low, crackling rattle on each of Sokka’s exhales. They’re both pathetic. 

If anything tries to hurt them, Zuko’s going to flip his shit.

This, he realizes slowly, is a very bad thing. When did he start caring? He shouldn’t care about them. He shouldn’t care that they’re sick. He shouldn’t care that their fevers are gradually growing worse as the day wears on. He shouldn’t care that Sokka’s cough is ragged and wet. He shouldn’t care that they nap mere feet away from him like they trust him—him, who’s tried to hurt them more than once. He shouldn’t care about any of them. 

(But he does. Agni damn it all, he does, because he’s always been terrible at doing what he should.)

Caring is going to make defeating them that much harder, he muses as he dabs Katara’s forehead with a cool cloth. She shivers, curling closer to Sokka and fisting a hand in his tunic. He tucks his chin over her head, cracking one glassy blue eye open to glare weakly at Zuko. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” Zuko says, although the words don’t come as heatedly as he wants them to. “I’m trying to keep you both from boiling alive, here.”

Evidently appeased by that explanation, Sokka lets his eye close again. Then his face screws up, and he rolls away from katara to cough into his elbow. She lifts her head and looks worriedly after him. “Sokka?”

He waves her off. “It’s fine. Just a little tickle in my throat, ‘s all.”

His voice sounds rough and warped, torn as it is through an inflamed throat. 

“Aang should be getting back soon,” Katara says, glancing at the cave entrance. The sun is already beginning to set, casting a gaudy red glow over the landscape. 

“My hero,” Sokka says, rubbing his eyes before lapsing into uncharacteristic silence again. 

Katara’s cough begins shortly after that. Zuko sets a kettle into the embers of their campfire, then pours the hot water over Aang’s favorite tea leaves. Once the leaves have finished steeping, he presses a mug of the tea into each of their hands. Katara drinks slowly, but Sokka swirls the drink aimlessly in his cup and doesn’t move. 

“Sokka, you have to drink something,” Katara says, touching his shoulder. “You’ll feel better.”

“My throat hurts.”

“I know. This will help. Besides, Zuko made it for you.”

Sokka sighs deeply, then lifts the mug to his lips. 

It’s a lot of trouble, caring about these people. And it’s not even like Zuko cares that much! He Just doesn’t want to see them suffer and die, that’s all. That’s not weird, is it? It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean he’s being disloyal to his cause, or to his nation, or to father. He’ll still do what he has to do, when the time comes. He’ll still fight them if that’s what his destiny requires of him. He believes that.

(He has to believe that.)

The night comes. Their fevers worsen. Their coughs grow hoarser. Zuko sits in the cave entrance, his hands folded in his lap as he gazes up at the stars. “Come on, Avatar,” he mutters. “Where are you?”

Something soft lands on his shoulder. A fuzzy nose buries itself against his cheek, and he hums a quiet greeting. Momo chatters back, tiny hands beginning to groom his hair. 

“What do you think?” Zuko asks. “Is he coming back?”

He doesn’t think Aang would abandon them. He loves Katara and Sokka and Appa and Momo—that much is abundantly clear. Still, love has little enough to do with sticking around. Mother made that very clear when she left him. But during the storm, Aang had promised Katara he wouldn’t run away again, and Zuko had been inclined to believe him. What could possibly be keeping him, though? The herbalist institute can’t be more than five miles away, and he flies. Maybe he got caught up talking to the herbalist, or haggling for medicine, but—

But something—some niggling, nervous thing in Zuko’s guts—tells him that’s not the case.

“Katara?” Sokka’s voice, small and rough, behind him. “Where’s Aang?”

Katara answers, hushed, “I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

She’s been saying that for several hours, now. Each time she does, her voice grows a little quieter. Zuko stands abruptly, striding back to them and plunging their washcloths into the bucket of water next to Appa’s paw. 

“If he isn’t here by moonrise I’ll go looking,” he says. He reaches out, using the washcloth to wipe down Sokka’s temples and forehead. Sokka shivers, his teeth chattering briefly, but doesn’t move away. 

Katara shakes her head. “You can’t.”

Zuko folds the washcloth across Sokka’s head, then reaches for the other to dab Katara’s face, too. “I can’t just wait here, either. He would have been back by now unless someone—”

They both look at him, wounded by the thought he so foolishly spilled into the air.

“Unless what?” Sokka demands. “You think something happened to him?”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird that he isn’t back yet. The institute isn’t that far away.”

“But you can’t go out there alone,” Katara insists. “You can’t walk that far on your leg.”

“Let’s hope he gets back soon, then,” Zuko says grimly, moving away from them.

Katara and Sokka lapse into sleep again, after that, and Zuko begins to pack a bag. He packs food and water for a couple of days, as well as the lockpick he’d fashioned during the winter solstice, a change of clothes (Including Sokka’s parka, in case he needs the hood to hide his hair), and his blue mask—if anyone from the Fire Nation has caught Aang, Zuko will need to be disguised in order to get to him. He’s all for the Fire Nation capturing the Avatar, but it’s got to be done by his hands. Father won’t let him home otherwise. 

Dinner is another hastily-cooked fish, although neither Sokka or Katara seem particularly hungry. Sokka barely stirs until Zuko all but shoves the plate into his hands. Zuko’s never seen him so still and quiet before, especially around fresh food. It’s unnerving. 

“Take this,” he murmurs, slipping a cup of his own medication into Sokka’s hand. He knows it won’t do much, but it will help with their fevers. At least this way he can hope that they won’t overheat and die as soon as he leaves.

“What is it?” Sokka asks, brow furrowing.

“Medicine. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Is it your medicine?” Katara asks, looking wearily at him. “Zuko…”

“It will help your fevers better than I can,” Zuko says. “There’s still enough to last me the next couple of days. You both need it more than I do, right now.”

For once, Katara doesn’t argue with him. She downs her medication, and Sokka quickly follows suit. He wrinkles his nose at the taste but doesn’t complain—instead, he slumps back into his blankets and squeezes his eyes shut again. Zuko takes his own dose once they’re finished, then cleans his wound by the light of the fire. He’s relieved to see that it still looks good, with no drainage or ugly red streaking. He rewraps it in thick white bandages before settling back against Appa. There he stays, staring out into the dark, until moonrise.

“Alright, Momo,” he whispers, lifting the lemur. Momo dangles placidly in his grip, head cocked and ears pricked forward. “I need you to do something for me, okay?”

Momo swishes his tail, chattering enthusiastically.

“Take care of Sokka and Katara until I get back. I believe in you. Appa’s in charge.”

He drops Momo next to Katara, who’s wrapped herself protectively around Sokka. They both sleep fitfully, matching furrows between their brows and ragged hitches on each breath. Momo curls up against Katara’s back, yawning widely. Appa cracks one eye open as Zuko passes him, and Zuko presses a hand to his muzzle. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises the bison, “and I'll bring your master with me.”

Appa licks him, and Zuko grimaces and wipes drool off of his tunic as he gathers his bag. He tosses it over his shoulders, then looks at the black cane for a very, very long time. Finally, he grabs it. There’s no sense in ruining all of Katara’s hard work on his leg, and she’s right, anyway. He really can’t walk far on this dratted leg. The cane will let him go a little farther and a little faster with a little less agony.

The moon is leaning towards the far horizon by the time he makes his way out of the cave, using the cane to brace his steps and keep his weight off of his injured leg. He sets off in the direction of the herbalist institute, his chin tilted up and his eyes on the sky in case Aang flies overhead. He hasn’t gone very far—hardly more than a mile—when he stumbles over something in his path. With the cane’s help, he narrowly saves himself from a nasty fall, then hastily scoops up the offending object.

It’s an arrow, he realizes, tilting his head. The arrowhead is made of finely-chiseled black flintstone, and the fletching is made from sleek, sturdy red feathers that remind Zuko of—

Of a Fire Nation messenger hawk.

Shit.

There’s only one archery that uses feathers like that, and if they’ve found Aang, he’s in big, big trouble. Zuko jams the arrow into his bag, scowling. Seriously, can they not go one week without a catastrophe? Blast it all! He takes a deep breath, looking back in the direction of the cave. He doesn’t want to leave Sokka and Katara for very long, but they need Aang—and so does Zuko. Besides, if there’s one thing Zuko is good at, it’s tracking the Avatar. This is going to be a piece of cake. 

(It’s not, but, you know, the power of positive thinking and all that.

…Spirits, Aang really is starting to rub off on him, isn’t he? Gross.)

Chapter Text

It’s painfully easy to find the Fire Nation fortress; they aren’t trying to hide, not even in Earth Kingdom territory. If Zuko focuses, breathing deeply, he can smell it—ozone and metal and bitter black smoke. His path leads him to a road that winds deeper into the dark of the forest, with ruts from wagon wheels dug deeply into the dirt. The trees clatter their branches overhead, and a sharp breeze tosses dying leaves around his shoulders. He shakes them off and limps forward, jaw set.

The fortress at the end of the path is small and simple. The ship in the harbor nearby is not—it’s massive, ornate, gilded with gold and snapping its gaudy red flags in the wind. Zuko recognizes the crest emblazoned upon those flags, and his fingers tighten around the handle of his cane. Commander Zhao. 

He should have known. Zhao was hot on the Avatar’s trail even before the winter solstice—why would he have given up searching just because Zuko has? He’s not waiting around like some miserable cripple, tied down by his honor and his own stubborn, foolhardy enemies. He’s smart, and ambitious, and Zuko is so, so jealous. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Zhao should be able to find and capture the Avatar so quickly when Zuko has been searching for years, when Zuko’s whole life has revolved around this, when Zuko needs this victory more than he ever will!

Damn you, Zhao, he thinks bitterly. Not now.

Not ever. The Avatar belongs to Zuko.

Zuko drops his bag to the forest floor, tugging out the parka he had, uh, borrowed from Sokka. He tugs it on, flipping the hood up over his head before tying his mask into place. He’s tempted to rush in, hands blazing, but he knows he has to be smarter than that. Strategy, at least, was one thing Uncle tried hard to get him to understand. It worked. A little. 

He’s definitely still going to set something on fire.

But for now, he moves carefully, sticking to the shadows as he advances and watching the activity at the fortress’s front gates. Wagons travel in and out, checked at random by the guards. There are three walls and three gates, but once they’re inside the first gate, the wagons don’t sound like they stop moving for quite some time. They must travel into the fortress itself. That, Zuko thinks, is the only logical way for him to get inside. He’s not capable of scaling the walls—not with his leg in this condition—and he doesn’t want to start a fight if he can help it.

So Zuko moves back into the forest and pokes around until he find a heavy log. He rolls it into the dirt path, trying to make it look Just lopsided enough to be natural. After that, he ducks back into the trees and waits, closing his eyes. The wind curls itself around him again, but Sokka’s parka is thick enough to keep the chill away. For almost an hour, he hears nothing but the wind and the leaves and the distant voices of the Fire Nation guards. Then he hears the rattle of wheels far behind him, and his eyes snap open. 

The wagon rolls to a stop just before it hits the log, and Zuko hears the driver begin to grumble. He darts forward, hiding himself behind the back of the wagon as the driver steps out and goes to shove the log out of the way. While they work on that fun project, Zuko slithers beneath the wagon and latches himself to the undercarriage. It’s not an easy grip to maintain, especially with an injured leg, but he forces himself to hold on as the wagon begins to move again. One of the wheels strikes a particularly deep rut, and Zuko nearly gets jarred back to the ground. He stays on, but only barely, and gets a hearty knock to the back of the head for his efforts.

Agni, Aang owes him bigtime for this. 

The guards look over the wagon when it rolls to a stop at the fortress gate, and Zuko holds his breath as they speak quietly to the driver. They give the driver the okay after a few seconds, and the wagon jolts forward again. As he’d expected, it pulls straight into the fortress building and comes to a stop near one of the walls. The komodo rhino drawing the wagon growls, shaking herself hard enough to rattle her harness. The driver hops out and moves to her side.

“Easy there, girl,” he says, and Zuko hears him pat her. “You did a good job. Let’s get you stabled for the night.”

As the driver leads the komodo rhino away, Zuko drops back to the ground. He rolls over, laying flat on his belly and looking out over the fortress entryway. Several empty wagons are parked alongside this one, and he can see the line of komodo rhinos stables on the other side. A few stablehands stand nearby, but none of them look armed or threatening. There are several grates along the walls, as well as a pair of vents farther up. In the wall adjacent to him, there are two large hallways. One is empty. The other bristles with guards.

Oh, he wonders which one they could possibly be keeping the Avatar down.

Rolling his eyes, Zuko pulls himself out from underneath the wagon, grabs the komodo rhino’s watering bucket, and darts for the nearest grate. He slips between the bars and splashes down, grimacing. He does not want to know what kind of water he’s standing in right now. Fortunately, it only comes up to his ankles, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about infecting his wound with whatever is in the—

Nope. Nope, he is not thinking about what’s in the water. Nuh-uh. 

He fills the bucket with water, then wades forward, cupping a flame in his hand to light the way. He passes more grates as he travels farther down, and he pauses to peek out of each one. Eventually, he finds a spot with a notable absence of guards and hauls himself back out of the tunnel system. He shakes the filthy brown water off of his boots, then pads forward as quietly as he can. He comes to a sharp corner, and when he peers around it, he sees an elaborate door lined with four guards. Yeah, that seems pretty promising. 

Time for the setting stuff on fire part of his plan, then.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself and tightening his grip on the water bucket. He hasn’t fought properly since his injury—hasn’t even practiced—and he knows it’s going to be painful. Still, it would be more painful to lose the Avatar to Zhao. He’ll do what he has to do to save Aang and deal with the consequences later. With that resolution in mind, Zuko lunges around the corner, shoving a wall of fire towards the guards to blind them. 

The guards cry out, startled, and only one of them manages to recover in time to lash out with a blast of fire before Zuko reaches them. He shoves the bucket forward, dousing the flames—and the guard—in water. Then he throws the bucket away from himself, letting the noise draw the other guards’ attention away, and moves in to slam his fist into the soaked guard’s stomach. They double over, wheezing, and Zuko leans his weight onto his good leg before bringing the foot of his injured leg up and over their head. When he brings his foot down, his heel crashes into the back of their skull and cracks their head against the floor hard enough to jar their helmet off. 

The pain that writhes through his injured leg as a result of the movement is immense, but ignorable—and worth it, because the guard doesn’t rise to continue the fight. He really hopes they’re only unconscious. He’s not really a fan of the idea of killing his own people, after all. Fighting them is bad enough. 

For a moment, he feels poisonously angry at Zhao for putting him in this dreadful position—but it’s a brief moment only, because a split second later another guard lunges at him. Zuko darts back, wincing as his weight hits his bad leg, and brings his cane up to defend himself. The end of it, he discovers with delight, is perfectly sized to fit through the eye-slits in the guard’s mask. He jabs it forward, into the guard’s eyes, jab-jab-jab ; they yelp and stumble backwards, clutching their face.

The third guard takes Zuko by surprise. They hit his side with a burst of fire while he’s focused on the second guard, and Zuko snaps around and redirects it as quickly as he can. This is Sokka’s parka. If it gets burnt, Sokka’s going to kill him—but guiding another bender’s fire is much more difficult than guiding his own, and by the time he steers the flames away from the blue fabric, there’s a sizeable scorch mark. Oh, damn it! 

Zuko lurches towards the offending guard, ramming his shoulder into their chest and sending them careening into the wall. As soon as he gets the guard pinned, he jerks his fist up and into their jaw as hard as he can without breaking his own knuckles. They collapse. Grumbling, Zuko steps back and wipes soot from the parka. He hears the final guard move behind him and he whirls around, slashing fire through the air to bring them to a stop—and stop they do, eyes flashing wide and white behind their mask. Then, before Zuko can strike, something croaks at them. They both glance down to see a half-frozen frog squirming across the floor. 

Zuko blinks. 

“Huh,” the guard says.

Then Zuko moves, lifting his cane and bringing it down on the top of the guard’s head with a solid crack. Their helmet protects them from the bulk of the blow, but it still sends them reeling and gives Zuko enough time to crowd in and wrap an arm around their throat. He hangs his weight backwards, feeling for the slamming pulse of their carotid artery beneath his arm, and they’re unconscious within seconds. He snags the ring of keys from their belt, quickly unlocking the massive door at the end of the hall and shoving it open. 

He comes to a stop as soon as he sees what’s inside, his breath hitching. Aang hangs between two massive pillars, held in place by thick metal shackles around his wrists and ankles. His head snaps up when the door opens, his eyes wide and frightened. 

“Aang!” Zuko runs—er, well, hobbles quickly—to his side, tearing off his mask. Aang’s eyes flood with relief the second he recognizes zuko, and he strains against the shackles. 

“Zuko! What are you doing here? How did you—?”

“I’ll explain later. Stop moving, let me work.” Zuko fumbles through his pockets, fishing out the lockpick and going to work on the shackles. Aang lets out a shaky breath; the skin beneath his shackles is worn raw and red from his struggles. In a clumsy attempt to distract him from the dire situation they’ve found themselves in, Zuko adds, “I don’t know if you noticed, but this is not the herbalist institute. How bad at reading maps are you, anyway?”

Aang laughs, a sheepish grin flickering across his face. “I actually got to the institute. It was getting back that was the trouble.”

“Stop and ask for directions next time, will you? Jeez.” Zuko snorts, letting the first shackle fall off. Aang hisses out a breath, drawing his arm close to his chest and wincing. “Are you hurt?”

“No, it just stings a little. I was coming back when some archers caught me and brought me here, but they didn’t hurt me.”

Zuko nods briskly, going to work on the second shackle. “Those would be the Yuyan archers. I’d recognize their arrows anywhere. They’re the Fire Nation’s best.”

“Oh. Then, um, I’m honored to have been shot at by them.”

Zuko chokes on an actual laugh, and Aang lights up like he’s won the whole damn war. As soon as the second shackle drops off, Zuko sits in front of Aang to work on the shackles around his ankles. His injured leg throbs as his weight finally leaves it, and he fights the urge to clutch at his wound. “As soon as we leave this room,” he says, "I need you to stay close to me. I know a way out, but we’ll have to be careful.”

Aang makes a quiet, affirmative sound. Then: “Zuko?”

“What?”

“Are Sokka and Katara okay?”

“They’re fine. They’ll be better once they get that medication.”

Aang squirms. “About that…”

“I thought you said you got to the institute!”

“I did.” Aang steps out of the third shackle as soon as it’s off. “But the cure was a bunch of frozen frogs, and they all melted and escaped while I was stuck here.”

Zuko’s brow furrows. “Frogs? Seriously? I think I saw one of those. Maybe we can grab it on the way out and—i dunno, have Katara refreeze it?”

“What? No way, that’s mean!”

“It was already frozen,” Zuko huffs, slipping the lockpick back into his pocket as soon as he’s finished with the fourth shackle. 

“We can just get some more. I know where they are, and it isn’t too far from here. I’ll fly us over.” Aang grabs Zuko’s hand, dragging him towards the door. “Let’s go!”

Aang blasts the doors open with a gust of wind, and Zuko leads the charge down the hallway. He can hear guards shouting nearby, and he races for the grate as quickly as his crippled leg will let him. He slides in first, and Aang follows close behind him. They both make their way up the tunnel, water sloshing around their ankles, until they reach the fortress entryway. Zuko turns his good eye to the bars, peeking between them. 

“They’re already looking for us,” he mutters. Guards swarm around the entrance, shouting frantically to each other. “We’ll have to be fast. Can you clear a path to the doors?”

Aang nods, and Zuko boosts him up so he can crawl out of the grate. Zuko scrambles up Just in time to see aang sweeping a path clear for them with his airbending, sending several guards flying backwards. He darts forward, lashing out with a tongue of flame as another guard tries to come at him from the side. Aang does his best to keep the guards from getting close enough to fight, and Zuko drives back the unlucky few who do. Together, they fight their way to the doors of the fortress and burst into the open air outside.

“Quickly!” someone bellows from the fortress walls. “Shut the gates!”

All three gates begin to creak ominously as they’re hauled shut—but the process is slow, and Zuko knows they can make it out if they hurry. He lurches forward, only to be cut off by a wave of crackling fire. He jerks back, his heart hammering, and grabs Aang’s shoulder to keep him close. 

“You.” Zhao prowls around to stand in front of him, eyes blazing. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Zuko thinks he’s stealing the Avatar, that’s what. He draws his hand back, then pushes it forward with a fistful of fire. Zhao snarls and counters it with his own bending; bright flame billows into the air, cracking and snapping against the black sky above them. Zhao’s fire smells acrid and pungent, and his lack of control is obvious in every movement he makes. His flames twist and sputter wildly, and Zuko sidesteps to avoid the next spew Zhao aims at him. They step together, whirling in a graceful circle as they attack each other—but it’s rapidly becoming apparent that they’re more evenly matched than Zhao would prefer.

So he aims at Aang, next, and Zuko sees red.

As Aang pushes his hands out, knocking Zhao’s fire away from him with a blast of air, Zuko lunges. He loops his cane around one of Zhao’s ankles, yanking his foot out from under him and sending the commander tipping backwards. Zhao aims a streak of fire at the ground to try and force himself back up, but Zuko refuses to let him. He springs, crashing into Zhao’s chest and bearing him to the ground. He pulls his fist back, fire crackling across his knuckles, and then he—

Then he hesitates.

Zhao doesn’t. He rolls, gripping Zuko’s shoulders and pinning him to the ground. His hands burn where they touch, and Zuko snarls in pain and spits sparks. Zhao recoils, scrambling up, and missteps. His foot lands against Zuko’s injured leg, and Zuko howls. His vision blurs, but he doesn’t miss the wicked grin that spreads across Zhao’s face.

“What’s this, then?” he asks. “Hurt already?”

Then he brings his foot up and slams it down against Zuko’s knee. Blinding pain laces up his leg, and black dots dance in front of his eyes. A high-pitched hum begins in his ears, blocking out the agonized sounds he’s sure he must be making. He lashes out wildly, throwing flames as haphazardly as he ever has. None of them strike. Zhao throws his head back and laughs.

Then, through the hum in Zuko’s ears, he hears Aang scream: “Leave him alone!”

A whirlwind of cold air crashes over them, knocking Zhao away from him. Zuko struggles to sit up, digging his fingers into his injured leg. Something hot and sticky coats his skin. A split second later, Aang is at his side, clutching his shoulders. There are tears in his eyes. 

“Come on, get up,” he says. “You have to get up.”

Zuko really doesn’t think he can. He tries to press his weight onto his feet, and his injured leg immediately rebukes the movement with a blast of pain. He cries out, grabbing his wound again. Something wet slicks down the back of his leg. 

“Get up!” Aang insists, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He pulls on Zuko’s parka, then drags one of Zuko’s arms around his shoulders—but he’s not tall enough to force Zuko onto his feet. “Get up, you’ve gotta get up! Now!”

The gates are sliding shut ahead of them, and fear begins to sink its claws into Zuko’s chest. He’s failed. He’s lost. Zhao is going to kill him. Zhao is going to take Aang. Katara and Sokka will be left alone and sick and scared. Appa won’t ever know what happened to his master. Zuko promised. Zuko promised Appa he would bring his master back, but—

“I said get up now!” Aang shouts, lifting Zuko with a burst of air. He lowers Zuko slowly enough that he can get his feet underneath him, although he keeps all of his weight on his good leg. He’s too terrified to move forward. He knows what’s going to happen if he tries to touch his bad foot to the ground. 

Aang pushes something familiar into his hand—his cane, he realizes—before pushing him forward. With the cane, and Aang’s help, Zuko manages to limp forward without using his bad leg a single time. It’s the only reason, he thinks, that he doesn’t collapse again. Even so, they aren’t fast enough. The first gate slams shut seconds before they reach it, and Zuko begins to sag.

Aang leaves him, then, springing forward and then up, bouncing from the wall to the guard’s tower and back like it’s a damn spring. He drops lightly onto the top of the wall, then looks back down at Zuko. A second later, the air around Zuko shifts and gathers and heaves him upwards. He narrowly—very narrowly—avoids shouting as he is punted over the top of the wall and plummets towards the ground on the other side. He slams into a whirl of air inches before he hits the ground, and it softens his landing. 

“Sorry. Are you okay?” Aang asks, landing deftly beside him and touching his shoulder. 

Zuko doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he heaves himself back to his feet, snagging his cane. It’s on fire. He slams it against the ground until it stops being on fire. 

The archers meet them at the second wall. 

Zuko lashes out as soon as he sees them and grabs Aang, hauling him around until he’s in front of Zuko. He expects Aang to struggle—instead, he only stiffens, his eyes wide and terrified, as Zuko stumbles backwards, using him as a human shield. “They won’t hurt you,” Zuko mutters. “Trust me. They want you alive. Just hold still and walk with me.”

Aang gulps.

The archers stop shooting once Aang is in their line of fire, and Zuko pauses in front of the second gate. He forms a blade of flame, holding it in front of Aang’s neck—as clear a threat as he can make without actually hurting anyone. He can see Zhao, back on the top of the first wall. He can see how furious the commander looks. 

He grins behind his mask, warped and pained though it is.

“Open the gates!” Zhao snarls to his men. “Quickly, before he kills the Avatar!”

The second and third gates creak open, and Zuko pulls Aang backwards through them. They go slowly, and he uses Aang as his crutch more often than not, still too frightened to offer any weight to his bad leg. They make it halfway down the dirt path towards the forest without any trouble. Then Zuko sees the glint of another arrow in the moonlight. Behind it, he sees a face smeared with red warpaint, and his stomach drops. He’s seen that warpaint before many times. The Yuyan archers had visited the palace more than once, after all.

A second later, the arrow is released with a zip of noise. 

Zuko doesn’t remember anything else, after that.

Chapter Text

Sokka wakes up to see Aang dragging Zuko’s limp body through the cave. 

Needless to say, this is not a pleasant way to wake up.

“Aang? Shit, what happened?” He fights his way out of his blankets, ignoring the brutal cold that swarms in to take their place. This is a fever dream, right? This has to be a fever dream. He reaches over, jostling Katara’s shoulder. “Katara!”

“It’s Zuko,” Aang says, his voice cracking. He sets Zuko down near the vestiges of their campfire, tugging the mask away from his face. Beneath it, Zuko’s eyes are closed and unmoving. “I was—I got caught, and he got hurt trying to rescue me, and now he won’t wake up, and—and—”

Katara rushes to Aang’s side, setting her hands on his shoulders. “What happened? How was he hurt?”

“They—his leg—his leg got hurt again, and then they shot him. His mask stopped the arrow.” Aang gestures towards Zuko’s forehead, where a sizeable bruise is already forming. “But I've tried waking him up and he just—he won’t wake up, Katara!”

“What about you?” Sokka demands, kneeling next to Zuko’s side. “Are you hurt, or is it just him?”

“Just him.”

“Okay.” Katara touches Aang’s shoulder again. “He’s going to be alright, Aang, Don’t worry. He’ll just have a nasty headache in the morning.”

“You promise?”

Sokka glances up to see his sister’s face. She can fool Aang, maybe, but Sokka can see through the false confidence she wears—it’s a thinner facade than usual, feverish and ill as she is. She can’t promise anything. 

She does anyway.

“I promise. Can you go get me some water, please?” As soon as Aang is gone, Katara looks up to meet Sokka’s eyes. “Check him for other injuries.”

Sokka strips off Zuko’s—hey, wait a second! Sokka strips off Sokka’s parka that Zuko is wearing, for some forsaken reason. There’s a scorch mark on its side, and two ominously handprint-shaped marks on its shoulders. Fortunately, the fire doesn’t seem to have gone completely through the fabric. It must have saved Zuko’s skin from a set of nasty burns, and Sokka thinks that’s a worthwhile end to his parka if ever there was one.

After he sets the parka aside, he pulls up Zuko’s tunic. He finds no fresh wounds or bruising on his torso, although Zuko’s skin is littered with scars that make Sokka’s hands curl into fists. How many of those are from his own people? His own father? He shakes his head, shoving that thought away for the moment—if he lingers too long with it, he’ll grow angry and unfocused and useless.

“No other injuries on the front,” Sokka reports. “Just the bruise on his head. Jeez, look how centered it is.”

Whoever made that shot was no amateur, that’s for sure.

Katara peels up Zuko’s eyelids, and Sokka snags a lantern from Appa’s saddlebags to light the area for her. Zuko’s right eye glitters gold in the firelight, and his pupil shrinks slowly when the light hits it. By contrast, his left eye is milky, clouded over with white, and the pupil doesn’t react at all—although Sokka’s pretty sure that’s normal for him (not, of course, that he’s spent very much time studying Mr. Grumpy’s eyes). 

“Looks like a concussion,” Katara says, clicking her tongue anxiously against her teeth. “His pupil’s more dilated than it should be, and if what Aang said was right, he’s been unconscious for longer than a few minutes.”

“What can you do?”

“Nothing.” Katara sits back, scrubbing a hand over her face. She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Nothing.”

“Katara—”

“Roll him over. Let’s look at his leg.”

They roll Zuko onto his stomach, and Sokka tries not to flinch as Katara cuts away the leg of Zuko’s trousers. That’s almost a full set of clothing destroyed! What’s more alarming, however, is the sight beneath the clothing. Zuko’s injury, which had been healing so nicely under Katara’s care, is swollen and bleeding again. Most of his sutures have broken, split and frayed and useless. The skin around his knee is already darkening with a massive bruise, and Sokka can feel bones shifting as adjusts Zuko’s leg.

His jaw clenches so hard it creaks. 

Katara looks no less furious, although her hands are gentle as she accepts the water that Aang returns with. Aang whimpers when he sees Zuko’s wound, and Sokka reaches up to pull Aang into his side. They sit together, watching as Katara washes away the blood that coats Zuko’s wound. She tosses the bloodied water out of the cave, then reaches for another handful of clean water to continue her ministrations. 

Her hands, Sokka realizes, are shaking. 

“Hey—hey, it’s alright.” Sokka moves to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Aang huddles up on her other side. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine.”

“We’re supposed to be watching him. We’re supposed to be keeping him safe. We’re supposed to be showing him the world isn’t an awful, terrible place, and—”

“This wasn’t our fault. He left without telling us.”

“And what about the storm? Or about Gaipan? He could have died, Sokka.”

Sokka’s mouth twists. He’s already gotten his scolding for dragging Zuko along with him at Gaipan, thanks. “He’s stronger than you think—and more stubborn, too. He’ll be okay.”

“I know. I just wish—” Her breath hitches. She’s crying, Sokka realizes, although her face is twisted with fury. Several tears spatter against the backs of her hands as she smooths cool water over Zuko’s wound. “I wish—”

“I know,” Sokka whispers. “I know. It’s okay. He’s gonna be okay.”

What is not going to be okay, maybe, is the way Katara’s water is beginning to look. It’s shimmering, bright. Sokka squints at it, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Is it—is it glowing? Even as he watches, the luminescence grows brighter. There’s no way that’s a trick of the light. Fortunately, whatever weird water magic Katara is doing right now doesn’t seem to be hurting Zuko. If anything, his breathing is growing smoother and easier.

“Uh, Katara?” Sokka says, clearing his throat.

“I know he’s going to be okay,” Katara repeats, breathing shakily. “I know. It’s just—he shouldn’t have to get hurt so much! It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not, but Katara—”

“How is he ever going to feel safe with us if things like this keep happening? All he’s going to associate us with is fear, and pain, and—”

“Katara, please.”

“I’m a terrible healer! If I had been watching him more closely, he wouldn’t have—”

“Katara!”

Katara’s eyes snap open. She cries out in alarm when she sees her weird glowy water, yanking her hands away from Zuko’s wound. “What is that?”

“I was kind of hoping you would know,” Sokka admits. “I don’t think it hurt him.”

Katara swipes at her eyes, then leans forward to get a closer look at Zuko’s wound. Her eyes widen as she does. “No, it looks—it looks better? Maybe it’s just because I got all of the blood off."

“No, I’ve heard about this,” Aang says suddenly, his own eyes widening. “Katara, you’re a healer!”

“I know, Aang, but—”

“No, you’re a healer,” Aang insists. “Gyatso used to tell me that some waterbenders had healing abilities. They could use their bending to fix wounds. Keep going!”

“I don’t know how.” Katara brings her hands close to her chest, studying them like she’s never seen them before. “I’ve never done that before, I—”

“Well, what were you thinking about just then?” Sokka asks, offering her a bowl of fresh water. She pulls the water out, settling it over Zuko’s wound again. 

“I was thinking about how much I wish this hadn’t happened,” Katara says, her brow knitting. She moves the water over Zuko’s leg in smooth circles. “About how much I wish he hadn’t been hurt, and how much I want to make it better.”

“You already have,” Sokka says, nudging her gently. “You’re a good healer, Katara. We’re lucky to have you.”

Katara takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she lets it out. Under her hands, the water begins to glow again: shimmering and blue. Sokka’s eyes widen. He’s literally so jealous of everything his sister can do, but damn if he isn’t grateful for her skills right now. The bruising around Zuko’s leg begins to fade almost immediately, and he can see the flesh of the laceration knitting itself back together. A few seconds later, the glow begins to flicker, and Katara winces. The water falls from her grip and splatters across the back of Zuko’s knee. 

“I'm sorry,” Katara says, pushing her hair out of her face. “I think that’s all I can do right now. I don’t even know if I did it right. I—how does it look? Is it better?”

“Katara, that was amazing!” Sokka crows, shaking her shoulders. 

“That was the coolest thing I've ever seen,” Aang agrees adamantly, staring at her like she’s hung the stars. She might as well have, Sokka thinks. Zuko’s gonna feel so much better after this! Maybe even better than he was before he ran away and got himself hurt again. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“I can try,” Katara says, leaning forward to examine Zuko’s wound for herself. “I’m not even sure how I did it. It felt kind of like...knitting?”

“Do you think you can fix the rest of it?” Sokka asks. As convenient as it is to have Zuko crippled and reliant on them, it’s...well, it’s also completely awful. Zuko’s constant pain and frustration with his situation is something Sokka wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, and Zuko is hardly their worst enemy anymore. If they can fix his wound, they should, and they’ll just have to trust that Zuko will still keep his word and stay with them. 

Sokka tries not to think for very long about what happens if he doesn’t.

“Maybe, but—” Katara sweeps a hand over Zuko’s leg, gathering the spilled water. As she does, she grimaces. “Not right now. I think I’m spent.”

“What about his concussion?” Aang asks. 

Katara shakes her head. “Experimenting with weird waterbending on his leg is one thing, but with his brain...no. I won’t risk it.”

“In that case, it looks like we’ve done all we can for the night,” Sokka says, carefully winding a bandage around Zuko’s leg. The bones of his knee, he’s relieved to notice, feel solid again. “And Katara?"

“Mm?”

“You’re really not a bad healer, okay? None of this was your fault.”

Katara’s shoulders slump. “If I hadn’t been sick, he wouldn’t have—”

“Okay, okay, so that part is a little bit because of you. Because of us. ” Sokka laughs, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She scoots closer, helping him to roll Zuko onto his back again. “But you can’t blame yourself for getting sick. Besides, he’s gonna do what he wants. That’s the risk we took when we decided he wouldn’t be our prisoner. And yeah, he’s probably gonna do some stupid shit from time to time. Who doesn’t, right? I know I do.”

Katara wipes her eyes. “You’re right.”

“Woah, really?”

“Yes. He does do stupid shit, because he’s a terrible patient—just like you.” She jabs a finger at him, and he yelps. “You’re both awful. You never do as you’re told.”

“I,” Zuko mumbles, cracking his good eye open to look at them, “am the epitome of obedience.”

“Zuko!” All three of them shout, their eyes wide and delighted. Zuko winces at the noise. Katara lowers her voice and adds, “Epitome of obedience my ass, you jerk.”

Zuko chuckles hoarsely, resting his arm over his eyes. 

“Come on, sit up.” Sokka loops an arm around his shoulders, helping him to sit. Zuko sags against him, warm and heavy. “On a scale from one to garbage, how are you feeling?”

Zuko nods. That’s probably not a great sign.

“Zuko, how’s your head feel?” Katara asks, snapping her fingers to get his attention. 

“Dizzy,” Zuko says. “It hurts.”

“I bet. Stay awake for a little while, okay?” Katara reaches for his face, and he flinches and curls back against Sokka. Her hands pause immediately. Softer: “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get a better look at your eyes.”

When Zuko nods his agreement, she reaches forward to cup his chin. She turns his head this way and that, studying the movement of his good eye. As soon as she draws back, Aang lunges between Sokka and Katara, careening into Zuko’s chest and hugging him tightly. “Zuko! You’re okay!”

Zuko winces, then stares at the top of Aang’s head with an expression of utter bafflement. He brings his hands up, but they hover uncertainly over Aang’s back, like he’s not quite sure how to get the kid off without offending him. 

Sokka spares him the decision, reaching out and plucking Aang off himself. “Easy, Aang,” he says. “He’s still pretty beat up.”

Aang sits back on his heels, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry! Zuko, you got hurt all because of me, and I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey, you didn’t hurt him that badly,” Sokka says hastily, touching his shoulder. “It was just a hug.”

“Not that. He got hurt trying to save me.” Aang takes a deep, shaky breath. “‘cause I got caught by the firebenders.”

“You what?” Sokka squawks.

"Later,” Katara says, touching his shoulder. “Right now, we just need to get everyone settled in. Aang, where’s Zuko’s flask?”

Aang quickly hands over a flask of water, and Katara pushes it into Zuko’s hands. Zuko drinks, blinking slowly every few seconds. He’s alert and awake, but he’s not all there, and it’s painfully clear to see. Sokka takes a deep breath—or tries to, anyway—and rattles it out on a coughing fit, fitting his mouth into the crook of his elbow. When he looks up again, Zuko is watching him with no small amount of alarm.

“The frogs,” he says, grabbing for Aang’s sleeve. He misses by several inches and tries again, frustrated, until he succeeds. “Did you get the frogs?”

Okay, yeah. He’s officially got brain damage.

“No,” Aang starts, “but I—”

“You have to get the frogs!”

“I have to make sure you don’t die, first!”

“I’m not going to die,” Zuko says irritably, brushing Katara’s hand away when she reaches for his face again. “It’s just a headache, that’s all. We can’t say the same for Sokka and Katara. Can’t you see they’re getting worse? You know where the frogs are, so just go—”

“Sorry, frogs?” Sokka interrupts.

“The cure,” Aang explains. “The herbalist at the institute told me their skin had, uh—stuff? Stuff to make you guys feel better. They live in a swamp a couple of miles from here.”

Katara is shaking her head before he’s even finished. “That can wait. Sokka and I aren’t in any danger. You can leave first thing tomorrow morning, but right now—”

“If he’s not going, I am,” Zuko snarls, and then proceeds to heave himself to his feet and stagger all over like a drunken bullwasp. Sokka lurches up after him, bracing him before he topples over. “This is a waste of time. You guys are sick, and you’re getting sicker, and I’m done sitting around like some—some helpless cripple.”

“Okay, a lot to address there, buddy,” Sokka says, tightening his grip before Zuko can step forward. It’s easy to hold him back. Too easy. “And we can address it tomorrow, when you and Aang aren’t dead on your feet. Neither one of you should be traveling anywhere like this.”

“But you—!”

“Will survive a few more hours,” Katara says firmly. “We might even get some actual sleep now that we aren’t worried sick about you two.”

Zuko makes a harsh, frustrated noise—but it quickly morphs into a yelp as Sokka bends, looping his free arm behind Zuko’s knees and lifting. He tries to keep pressure away from Zuko’s wound, and he’s pretty sure he succeeds. Despite that, Zuko growls and squirms and swears like he’s being mortally wounded. Sokka only tightens his grip and sighs.

“Put me down!” Zuko snarls. “I’m perfectly capable of walking—I'm not even injured that badly, I feel fine. You’re all being dramatic!”

“Yes, we’re definitely being the dramatic ones right now,” Katara says, hiding her smile behind her hand. 

Sokka’s talent in carrying fussy toddlers (namely Katara, when they were little) comes in handy now. He keeps Zuko held close, carrying him over to Appa’s side before depositing him into the mound of blankets there—a little more roughly than strictly necessary, maybe, but he thinks that’s simple justice for having been elbowed the whole way. As soon as Zuko touches the ground, Aang is there, burrowing up against his side and draping an arm over his chest to keep him from rising again.

“I'll go first thing tomorrow,” he promises Zuko, who is staring at the arm across him like he’s never seen one in his life. “Just a few more hours.”

“Before you do that, you need to rest, too,” Katara says, handing Aang a mug of water. “You’ve been gone all day. Appa was worried.”

“Only Appa, huh?” Sokka asks, elbowing her. 

Katara elbows him right back. “Hush, you. Go back to sleep already.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Sokka sprawls out on Zuko’s other side, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes. His throat still aches, and his fever makes everything slow and hazy and cold. He burrows in underneath his blankets, and when he glances up, he catches Zuko’s eyes. Zuko bares his teeth and looks sharply away. “So? What’s the verdict? Is this guy gonna live or what?”

“I think he’ll be fine,” Katara says, taking a seat next to Aang. “Some peace and quiet and rest will do wonders for him. I am sorry to say that I’m going to be waking you up every few hours, though, Zuko. You’ve got a concussion.”

Zuko grumbles some very not-nice-things under his breath, and Sokka kicks him. He kicks back.

“What happened, anyway?” Katara asks before they can devolve into a fully-fledged war. “You guys sound like you had an adventure without us.”

“Oh! Well, I got to the herbalist institute,” Aang says, weaving Appa’s fur absently between his fingers as he speaks, “and this old lady told me about the frogs. I was headed home, but then these archers came out of nowhere and attacked me.”

“The Yuyan archers,” Zuko mutters.

“The Yuyan archers, yeah,” Aang says. “They’re, like, a super big deal in the Fire Nation. They took me back to this Fire Nation fortress, and this scary commander guy—”

“Zhao. Commander Zhao.” Zuko’s voice is significantly more bitter, this time. 

“Friend of yours?” Sokka asks wryly.

Zuko scowls. “Hardly.”

“It was the same suy who chased us to the Fire Temple,” Aang adds. “The one who put you guys in prison. He said he was going to deliver me to the Firelord.”

“Oooh.” katara nods sagely. “I see. So that’s why Zuko doesn’t like him.”

“I don’t like him because he’s an ignorant jackass,” Zuko snaps. Then, after a pause, he grudgingly adds, “But yeah, delivering the Avatar to the Firelord is my thing. He just wants to do it to make himself look good! I have to do it so I can go back home.”

Sokka rolls over, turning his back to the three of them and scowling at the far wall. He still doesn’t understand why Zuko even wants to go home. It’s such bullshit. Even so, he knows saying that to Zuko’s face will only result in a spat that none of them really have the energy for right now. He’ll have to say it some other time, when he feels a little less like a polar bear dog trampled him. 

“What next?” Katara asks, tactfully avoiding the subject of Zuko’s home, too. Her voice cracks around a cough, and she winces before she continues. Beside him, Zuko stiffens. “How did you guys escape?”

“That’s the thing!” Sokka can hear the swoosh of air as Aang gestures wildly. “Zuko saved me.”

Sokka peeks back over his shoulder, eyebrows arched. Zuko hunches his shoulders and refuses to look at any of them.

“I only did it because I’m going to be the one to deliver the Avatar to my father,” he mutters. “Don’t think too much of it.”

“He snuck inside and defeated all of the guards, like whoosh, bam, boosh!” Aang says, his voice rising with excitement. “It was awesome. He picked the locks on my shackles and we both escaped.”

“How did he get hurt, then?” Katara asks.

“Well, while we were trying to get away, the Commander Zhao guy caught us. He’s the one who hurt Zuko’s leg.”

Zhao, Sokka thinks, his eyes narrowing as he marks the name in his mind. Anyone willing to hurt Zuko that way is willing to be on Sokka’s hitlist.

“Then the Yuyan archers started shooting at us again, and Zuko made me stand in front of him so—”

“He did what?” Sokka demands, rolling over again for the sole purpose of glaring at Zuko. 

“No, it’s okay! He knew they wouldn’t shoot me because they need to capture me alive. We’d almost gotten back to the forest when one of them shot him right here—” Aang pokes the center of his forehead, eyes wide. “And he collapsed! I thought he was dead.”

Zuko sighs deeply. “I wasn’t dead.”

“Yeah, I know that now,” Aang says, nudging him playfully. “Lucky you had that mask, huh?”

“Woah, the mask? I knew that was gonna come in handy!” Sokka crows victoriously. “And the cane, right? Right?”

“Not,” Katara interrupts, “that you should have walked that far even with a cane. Honestly, Zuko. At this rate you’ll never heal.”

“I wouldn’t have to walk so much if you all weren’t constantly getting into trouble.”

“You know,” Sokka says thoughtfully, “he has a point.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Katara says, flinging a pillow in Sokka’s direction. Sokka catches it with his face. “We all need to start being more careful. These past few weeks have been way, way too exciting.”

“Oh, come on, most of that excitement hasn’t been our fault,” Sokka protests, tossing the pillow back. Zuko glares and knocks it out of the air before Katara can catch it and return it to Sokka’s face. Party pooper. “We’re just doing, you know, hero stuff.”

“Okay, well, less of that, please. At this rate we’ll be lucky to reach the North Pole in one piece.”

“Alright, alright.” Sokka sighs deeply, then closes his eyes and yawns. “These next few weeks are gonna be so chill. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Sokka falls asleep to the gentle lull of Aang and Katara’s voices, as he has so many nights before. He sleeps fitfully, his dreams fragmented and garishly colored. Once, he dreams of Mom and Dad and wakes with a lonely pit in the center of his stomach. Another time, he dreams of smoke and fire and fear. He remembers, hazily, a warm hand shaking him awake from that dream, and he remembers blinking up at Zuko’s frowny face before falling back asleep, secure in the knowledge that the only firebenders here won’t hurt him (not yet). He dreams of the frigid South Pole, of teeth chattering, of curling up around a warm firepit with Katara at his side making shapes out of snowflakes.

When he wakes up, his face is smooshed against Zuko’s back. 

He scrambles away, eyes wide and heart hammering. He blames the fever. He’s cold, and Zuko is unnaturally warm, and—yeah. Yeah, it just made sense. Sleeping next to warm things is, like, the one rule of the South Pole (and Zuko is a very warm thing). Zuko shifts when Sokka moves, curling up more tightly and wrinkling his nose. He looks strange when he’s sleeping. He looks...gentle. 

Yeah, right. 

Sokka kicks his blankets off, stumbling outside the cave to piss. When he returns, Aang is already packing a bag. “Off so soon?” Sokka asks—or tries to ask, anyway. His voice comes out a raw, miserable scratch, and they both wince at the sound of it. 

“I won’t be gone long,” Aang promises. 

“That’s what we thought last time, too.”

“I'll take Momo with me. If there’s trouble, I’ll send him to find you.” 

Sokka scoops Momo up—he’s cuddled in the crook of Zuko’s neck, because he knows where the warmest sleeping spot is, too—and deposits him on Aang’s shoulder. “I expect you back before lunchtime. I’ll tell Katara you said goodbye.”

Aang nods, then wraps his arms around Sokka’s waist and hugs him. “Thanks, Sokka,” he says. “Stay safe, okay?”

Sokka leans against the cave entryway as Aang takes off, his glider glinting in the sunrise light. He stays there for several long minutes, watching the clouds drift low and pink on the horizon. The moon is beginning to fade, but Sokka can still make it out: soft, hazy, pale. As the sun lifts higher into the sky, it spills streaks of golden light across the cave floor. Sokka tilts his face up into the warmth, sighing in bliss. 

Then he hears someone stir behind him, and he turns to see Zuko squinting into the light. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Sokka says, smirking. Zuko scowls at him. “Rise and shine.”

“Fuck off. Where’s Aang?”

“He went to get those frogs you’re so worried about.”

Zuko nods, then scrubs his hands across his face. “If he’s not back by lunchtime—”

“—I will go after him,” Sokka finishes firmly. “You’re in no shape to walk that far. You weren’t in any shape to do it yesterday, either.”

“You don’t get to decide what I do and don’t do.”

“I know,” Sokka says, frustration leaking into his voice. “I just wish you would talk to us. Like it or not, we’re a team right now. We need to communicate with each other. What would Katara and I have done if you and Aang got caught, huh? We would have had no idea how to find you.”

“You couldn’t have done anything to help us, anyway. You’re sick.”

“We’re your friends,” Sokka snaps. “We would have done anything to get you back.”

Zuko looks at him, startled. 

The vulnerability in his eyes then is too painful to look at, so Sokka tears his gaze away and grumbles, “Dumbass.”

Zuko bristles up again, vulnerability vanishing under a haze of irritation. “Why are you so upset, anyway? We escaped. Aang’s fine.”

“You’re not.”

“It’s just a concussion and a sore leg. It’s not the end of the world.” Zuko flexes aforementioned leg, then makes a quiet noise of surprise. “My leg’s not even that bad.”

“You have Katara to thank for that.”

“...have Katara to thank for what?” Katara asks sleepily, sitting up. Her hair is flattened on one side and frizzy on the other, and her eyes are still heavy-lidded. 

“For healing me,” Zuko says, “again. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but if it’s all the same—” She yawns widely, stumbling out of her cocoon of blankets. “—I’d like to heal you less. Maybe stop getting hurt so much.”

“Believe me, I’ll try.”

“C'mere.” She sits down, patting the ground in front of her. “Lay down on your stomach. I want to show you something.”

Zuko hesitates, then cautiously lays down in front of her. Sokka looks away, back to the sunrise, but he knows the moment Katara shows off her new healing powers, because there’s a split second of disbelieving silence followed closely by an outraged cry:

“Have you been able to do that the whole time?!”

Katara laughs. “No, no. I actually just figured out I could do it yesterday, when you came back. You weren’t doing well. Your leg was especially bad.”

“Oh.” Another moment of silence. Then: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up my leg. I know you’ve put a lot of time into getting it to heal, but I just—I had to get Aang. You don’t know what Zhao is like.”

“If he’s cruel enough to have done to you what he did last night, then I know enough,” Katara says. “Thank you for rescuing him.”

“Yeah, well. Couldn’t let Zhao get all the credit.”

Katara, softly amused, replies, “Of course not.” 

Sokka glances back over his shoulder to look at them both. Zuko sprawls on his stomach, face pillowed on his arms and eyes half-open. He looks more relaxed than Sokka ever thought he could look, especially with someone behind him and messing with his injuries. Katara’s weird glowy water surrounds his leg, ebbing and flowing across the wound there. He flinches a few times, but for the most part it seems to be a soothing process. 

A few minutes later, Katara draws her hands back and folds them in her lap. “I'm sorry, but that’s all I can do for now. Does it feel better?”

Zuko rolls over, flexing his leg cautiously. His face brightens. He almost looks—dare Sokka think it—happy. “Wow, yeah. That’s way better.”

“I’ll work on it a little more tonight. Hopefully we can get it fully healed in just a couple more weeks,” Katara says. “Although I’m not the most experienced. It might be a little bit of trial-and-error.”

“That’s okay. You’ve already done more than any Fire Nation physician could do.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Katara stands, grinning at him. “In fact, if you’re feeling that much better, then you shouldn’t have any problem helping me make breakfast, should you?”

Zuko groans (but they still eat a very good breakfast that morning).

Chapter Text

“Teach me how to do that,” Zuko demands, sitting down next to Sokka. 

“Um, please?”

Zuko scowls. “Please. And hurry up, before I change my mind.”

Sokka tosses him a wooden fishing pole. They both sit on the bank of a slow-moving river, their breath clouding in the crisp morning air. The sun rises in the distance, leaking soft strips of light across the rocky forest they’ve made camp in. It’s been several days since Zuko rescued Aang from Zhao, but the light still makes his eyes sting and his head throb. 

Sokka, despite the cure Aang brought him, has yet to return to full health either. When he speaks, there’s still a rough rasp on the edge of his voice. “Like this,” he says, his fingers deftly guiding his fishing line through a small, sharp metal hook. 

Zuko fumbles to tie his own hook on the same way, eyes narrowed. Depth perception isn’t exactly his forte, and attempting to jab a tiny string through an equally tiny hook is no easy feat—but Sokka doesn’t rush him, and he manages to do it after several long seconds. He expects criticism, but when he glances over he finds Sokka watching with approval.

“Good,” he says, flashing Zuko a grin. Good? That’s all? That’s it? He isn’t going to complain about Zuko’s fumbling, or slowness, or general incompetence, or—“Here, this next.”

Zuko holds his hand out, and Sokka drops a wriggling worm into his palm. Oh, gross. He wrinkles his nose, and Sokka laughs. Zuko’s tempted to snap at him, but he supposes he’d better not, if he actually wants to fish at all (which he doesn’t, really, but he has to start pulling his weight somehow. He’s tired of being a burden). Besides, it doesn’t feel like Sokka is making fun of him—instead, he seems genuinely amused by Zuko’s reaction—so Zuko settles for smoothing his face back out and decidedly not reacting each time the worm writhes.

“Now thread it on like this,” Sokka says, digging his hook into the worm’s side. 

Zuko looks at his own worm and fights back a grimace. That doesn’t look pleasant. Do worms feel pain…? Not, of course, that it matters, he thinks hastily. The worm is a tool. The worm’s feelings don’t matter. The worm should consider itself lucky to be useful. It should—

“Zuko?” Sokka says, looking curiously at him. “Do you need help?”

“No. I can do it. Just…” He glares at his worm. “Isn’t there a better way to do this? Why not use a net? We’d catch more, and faster.”

“If we had a net, we’d use one,” Sokka says, taking the worm and hook from Zuko. He slides the hook into the worm’s side, then hands it back. Zuko’s mouth twists. Beside him, Sokka hums thoughtfully and flicks his own hook out into the water. “I’ll ask Katara if we can use some of our money to buy a net at the next town we come by, okay?”

“I don’t care what you do.”

“Sure you don’t, buddy. Toss your line out.” Sokka gestures at the river, and Zuko flings his hook into the current. “If it’s any consolation, worms don’t have brains. I’m pretty sure they don’t feel pain.”

...that is a little bit of consolation.

They sit in silence for several long minutes as the sun continues to rise. Behind him, Zuko can hear Aang and Katara beginning to stir. He knows their morning routine well, now. Katara will start breakfast. Aang will meditate. Momo will groom himself, and Appa will amble off to graze the moss that grows on the craggy cliffside nearby. After breakfast, Katara will tend to Zuko’s wound, and then she’ll go over the maps with Sokka. 

The North Pole, Zuko thinks, should be getting very close by now. “How much longer?” he asks Sokka. “Until we reach the north?”

“A few weeks, give or take,” Sokka says, shrugging. “Why? Big rush?”

“The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back, and the sooner we can all move on with our lives.”

Sokka side-eyes him. “You think so, huh?”

“I know so.”

“You’re really going to go back to hunting Aang? He likes you now. You’ll break his heart.”

“His heart isn’t my responsibility,” Zuko says, hunching his shoulders. “We’re enemies. He should know better than to get attached.”

Sokka studies him a moment longer, then snorts and looks away. “...Yeah. I guess he should.”

A second later, there’s a yank on Zuko’s fishing line, and his eyes widen. He grips the pole tightly, looking to Sokka for help. 

“Well, pull it in,” Sokka says, a grin overtaking what had been a rather morose expression. “C’mon, first catch!”

Zuko yanks the fishing pole. The hook flies out of the water, and on it, he sees a gleaming silver fish. It’s not a large fish by any means—it’s certainly not large enough for the force Zuko puts into yanking it up, and it quickly goes flying over his head. It flops down against the pebbly bank several feet behind them. 

“Oh shit.” Sokka scrambles up and lunges for it, arms outstretched. The first time he tries to grab it, it writhes out of his grip and goes skittering down the bank and back towards the river. “Ah! Catch it! Zuko catch it!”

Zuko, now rather panicked by the urgency in Sokka’s tone, springs for the fish. He manages to get a hand on it, but it’s slippery and slimy and flops itself out of his palms within seconds. Still, he’s not one to give up so easily. He snags it again, and this time he manages to lift it. In retribution, it flips itself up and smacks him in the face with its tail. He stumbles backwards—straight into the freezing cold river. 

Sokka cackles at him, the bastard. “C’mon, is that how the prince of the Fire Nation fights? Bested by a trout!”

The fish drops into the river with a resounding plop, but it’s still attached to the pole. Zuko grabs the line and hauls the fish out of the water again, then flings it in Sokka’s direction. The fish hits him squarely in the chest and he, too, staggers a step back into the water. He squeals at the cold, then splashes Zuko. Zuko, naturally, can’t let a challenge like that go unanswered—so he splashes back, and before long the two of them are soaked through and fishless.

After one particularly enthusiastic splash from Zuko, Sokka loses his balance and stumbles over something on the riverbed. He crashes backwards, then sits, stunned, in the water. Zuko winces. That was definitely too far—Katara’s going to kill him if he actually hurt her brother, and he doesn’t want Sokka getting sick again because he’s cold and wet. He takes a step forward, a grudging apology already on his lips, when Sokka looks up at him and smiles. 

“You jackass,” he says, but there’s laughter in his voice, and something funny and warm and unfamiliar happens in Zuko’s chest when he hears it. “You scared off all the fish.”

“Me?” Zuko asks, affronted. “You started it!”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.” 

Zuko offers Sokka a hand up, and Sokka takes it. “Did too, but whatever. We can try again later.”

They both slosh out of the river and find Katara watching them, amused. Sokka sticks his tongue out at her, but Zuko glances away, embarrassed. That really was childish, wasn’t it? His cheeks heat with shame. Sokka, on the other hand, seems utterly unrepentant. He tugs his hair out of its tie, shaking it loose. It curls near the nape of his neck when it’s damp, and Zuko stares for a second longer than he probably should. Has Sokka’s hair always been that long? It’s hard to tell, with the damn pony—ugh, fine, with the damn wolftail. 

 Then he notices that Sokka’s teeth are chattering, and he snaps back to the things that actually matter.

“Hold still,” Zuko says, and Sokka glances at him, eyebrows raised. He takes a deep breath, then lifts his hands and surrounds them both in a whirlwind of crackling fire. He keeps it several feet away from them, and he keeps it red-cool and thin and easy to control. Even so, Sokka yelps and shies away from it, bumping into Zuko. “I said hold still. I'm not going to hurt you.”

At first, Sokka stays tense and wary, huddled as far from the fire as he can get—but, gradually, as the warmth seeps into him and dries his hair and clothes, he begins to relax. His shoulders loosen, and he takes a step away from Zuko. Zuko watches closely, lest he get too close to the flames, but he never does. He has a healthy fear of fire.

Zuko can relate.

It’s odd to see someone enjoying his fire instead of fleeing from it, but that’s exactly what Sokka seems to be doing as he dries off. He tips his face up, the light casting red across his face and throwing his features into sharp relief. Zuko can’t enjoy the fire—not like that, not anymore—but he lets the heat roll over him in waves, drawing the cold away from his skin. Katara or Aang could probably dry them faster, but Zuko can be useful too, damn it, and it’s not like Sokka is complaining. 

As soon as they’re both dry, Zuko drops his hands and lets the flames die. Sokka runs his hands through his hair—it’s frizzed, now, and absolutely ridiculous—before grinning. “Thanks, man! I thought you were going to murder me or something.”

Zuko scowls. “I wouldn’t.”

He wouldn’t. There’s no reason for him to hurt Sokka—to hurt any of them—and even thinking about doing so is enough to make something sharp and upset stir in his chest, now. He knows he has to take Aang back to father, but he plans to do so as kindly as possible. No one needs to get hurt. He won’t let them get hurt. He owes them that much, after everything they’ve done for him. (He doesn’t think he could bring himself to hurt them, anyway—not even if Father commanded him to—and that knowledge is, frankly, a little terrifying.)

“Well, I appreciate that,” Sokka says, combing his hair back into its wolftail. “Not being murdered is, like, one of my favorite things.”

Zuko rolls his eyes and limps his way towards Katara and Aang and breakfast. All this bending makes him hungry. They eat fish—always with the fish—and some sort of foraged berry-and-mushroom blend. Afterwards, Katara calls him to her side and brandishes Sokka’s knife at him. 

“Today,” she announces, “we’re taking your stitches out.”

Oh, boy. He grimaces and sprawls out in front of her, pillowing his head on his arms. She unwraps his bandages, then wipes his wound down before examining it with a critical eye. Zuko cranes his head to examine it, too. It’s infinitely better than it was, that’s for sure: the skin has begun to heal together, scabbing over the top. It holds well when he bends and stretches it, even though it stings slightly to do so. Most of his stitches are already gone, popped out by Zhao’s cruelty, and the few that remain aren’t doing much for him anymore. Katara, despite her peasantry, is a terrific healer.

“It’s looking good,” she says, touching the knife to his skin. He gulps. “Hold really still. This won’t hurt.”

She flicks the knife up, slicing neatly through the first stitch. She does the same for the rest, then goes back and pulls each stitch out of his skin. He grimaces—as promised, it doesn’t particularly hurt, but there’s nothing pleasant about having foreign objects pulled out of his flesh. Once she’s done, Katara reaches for a bowl of water. Zuko relaxes as she begins to heal his leg. It’s a pleasant feeling: cool and soothing, twinging only when she tries to reach for the deepest parts of his wound. Once she’s finished what she can, she rewraps his leg and hands him his cane. He narrows his eyes at it. 

“Well?” she asks, standing up and setting her hands on her hips. “Think you can handle a trip into town?”

The marketplace is bustling. Small shops and carts line the dirt roads, and vendors shout gleefully to advertise their wares. Earth Kingdom citizens rush from place to place, their arms full of baskets and bags and boxes, and more than one ostrich horse weaves its way along the street. A gaggle of children cluster on the sidewalk, trading colorful pebbles. 

This looks nothing like the Earth Kingdom Father always told him about, dull and dirty and poor. 

“Look!” Sokka’s eyes are wide, enamored, as they latch onto a man strumming a strange-looking instrument. The music lifts through the air, bright and folksy and entirely unfamiliar. “That deserves a coin.”

Sokka takes off, weaving his way through the crowd to reach the musician. Zuko hangs back, keeping an eye on the rest of his companions. The last thing he wants is to get separated—he’d never find them again in a place like this. 

“C’mon. We’re going to go get some food,” Katara says, leading the way through the street. Zuko and Aang follow behind her, although Aang’s eyes haven’t stopped sweeping over the people since they got here. He’s grinning ear-to-ear. They stop in front of a line of vendors selling strange fruits and vegetables, and Katara scoops up a green melon, shaking it gently. “I don’t know if I like that sloshing.”

“The sloshing means it’s ripe!” the vendor cries in offense. “Ripe!”

As Katara barters with the vendor, Zuko moves down the street, following his nose. He spies a bakery nearby, its windows lined with displays neatly-frosted cakes, and ducks inside with Aang on his heels. The air smells warm and sweet, and he inhales deeply. He peruses the baked goods with Aang, his stomach rumbling in spite of their recent breakfast. There are dry noodles, fruit tarts, almond biscuits, and several Earth Kingdom items the baker has to introduce him to: pau buns, gumberry tarts, bean curd puffs. 

“I want one of those,” Aang says, tugging on Zuko’s sleeve and pointing to a colorful orange tart. “Li, if I get one will you eat it with me?”

“I suppose I could make that sacrifice.”

Aang hands the baker a couple of coins, then takes the tart. They retreat outside with it and, after some thorough searching, find a narrow and slightly-less-crowded street to sit down in. Aang slices the tart with a few well-placed lashes of air, then hands Zuko a piece. He balances it carefully in his hands, eyeing it. 

“It’s cloudberry,” Aang explains, already licking filling off of his fingers. “It’s really good.”

Zuko takes a bite: Aang was right. It is good. The crust is warm and buttery, with a perfect flake to it. The filling, by contrast, is smooth and sharply-flavored. He swallows greedily, then proceeds to wolf down the rest of his slice before reaching for another. Together, he and Aang manage to pack down the entire tart—minus two slices, which they save for Katara and Sokka—although they’re miserably full afterwards. 

“I’ll never need to eat again,” Aang groans, slumping back against the stone wall behind them.

Zuko thinks he’ll probably need to eat again at some point in the next decade, but the tart can definitely tide him over for a few years. After a several minutes of indulgent lounging, he drags himself up, gesturing for Aang to do the same. “C’mon. We need to find Katara.”

“She won’t leave without us.”

“No, but she’ll probably need help carrying stuff, right?”

They find Katara, now flanked by her brother, not far from where she was when they left—she’s taking her sweet time haggling with the vendors, so it would seem. When she sees them, she’s quick to shove a melon into Zuko’s arms and a box of vegetables into Aang’s. “Hang onto these, okay? I’ll be done soon.”

She is not done soon.

Almost two hours later, they leave the market laden like packhorses. Zuko gets off easy, on account of having a cane and being, you know, crippled—the other two aren’t so lucky. They’re wheezing by the time they reach Appa, and they drop their burdens as soon as they can. 

“Oh, spirits, Katara,” Sokka says, stretching and bracing his hands on his lower back. “You think you bought enough?”

“Enough to get us to the North Sea, hopefully,” Katara says. “What did you buy?”

“Meat!”

“You know you’re a hunter, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to have meat that somebody else hunted, for a change. Plus, I got these.” Sokka brandishes an icebox at them. “Popsicles. Quick, eat ‘em before they melt.”

Sokka pushes a red popsicle into Zuko’s hand, and he’s not about to turn down free sugar. But it’s a warm day, and the popsicles are quick to melt all over their knuckles. Zuko tries to eat his rapidly, but he can only eat so fast before getting a crippling brain-freeze (which he does, more than once, and which Sokka laughs at him for). He licks sticky cherry flavoring off of his fingers as the sun begins to set across the river, and he feels…

He feels content. 

Suspicious.

“Hey.” Sokka kicks his uninjured leg gently. “Come on. Evening’s good fishing time.”

Zuko pushes himself to his feet, following Sokka back to the river. He washes his hands in the water as Sokka rummages through another box, and when he looks up, he’s immediately encased in a mesh net. He flails, making a disgusted sound as he attempts to free himself. “Sokka!”

“What? You said you wanted a net. I got you a net. You’re welcome.” Sokka takes a bow. Zuko lights his hands on fire and reaches for the woven fibers. There’s no way he would actually burn the net, and he’s sure Sokka knows it, too. Even so, the threat gets a satisfactory reaction: “Ah! No no no no okay I’m sorry I’ll help you just spare the net—”

Once Zuko is untangled, Sokka pushes one edge of the offending net into his hands. His eyes still glitter with mirth. It’s hard to stay mad at him.

“Stay here,” he says. “I’m gonna pull this side across, and then we’ll lower it into the water and wait.”

Zuko takes a seat, watching as Sokka wades across the river. Once they’re both in place, they drop the net into the current. Several minutes later, Sokka motions for Zuko to grab the far edge of the net and pull it up. He does the same on his side, and together, they haul the net up and out of the water. It’s full of…

“Wow,” Zuko says dryly. “Great. Looks like we’re having stick stew.”

“I don’t like your tone, Mr. Jerkbender.” Sokka flips the net so their fine catch of sticks and weeds tumbles back into the water. “Shake it out and try again.”

Together, they shake it out and try again. The second time is better: they actually catch a trio of squirming trout. These, along with the vegetables Katara bought at the market, make for a fine dinner. The tart, as it turns out, did not last Zuko the better part of the decade—he’s hungry by the time Katara has finished cooking. He helps her spice the soup and the filets, pointing out several of the herbs Uncle liked to use from time to time, and they eat around the fire. 

“So,” Katara says, swirling her spoon around her vegetable soup, “I think I know where we need to go next.”

“Yeah?” Aang glances hopefully at her.

“Yeah. I was talking to some of the vendors today, and they said there’s a fortuneteller in Makapu,” Katara says, and Sokka groans. “Oh, hush! Just because you don’t believe in them doesn’t mean they aren’t real. Besides, it’s on our route, and I think it would be a nice place to stop tomorrow night.”

“That sounds awesome, Katara,” Aang says, his eyes wide. “I've never met a fortuneteller before.”

“Well, if it’s on our route,” Sokka grumbles, “I don’t see why not. But I’m not getting my fortune told!”

“Nobody asked you to, grumpypants.”

“I’m not grumpy. You’re grumpy.”

Katara tosses a wet noodle at him, and their route is decided.

Chapter Text

As they head north the next day, a large volcano comes into view on the horizon. Pale smoke drifts from the top of it, tugged west by the wind. Appa shakes himself in agitation as they near it, and Sokka yelps and nearly topples out of the saddle. Zuko reaches out to grab his tunic and haul him back. 

“Easy, buddy,” Aang murmurs, resting a hand on Appa’s horn. “It’s okay.”

They land near the base of the volcano, where Makapu Village rests. It’s a tiny settlement—a handful of wooden houses and a smattering of businesses, all guarded by a flock of particularly aggressive turkey ducks. Zuko has a hard enough time walking with his stupid cane, let alone walking with his stupid cane and fending off evil birds. Still, he manages to make it into the village relatively unaccosted. 

Sokka isn’t so fortunate. By the time they escape the flock, he has a trio of bitemarks and a new loathing for turkey ducks as a species. “Stupid birds,” he gripes, rubbing one of the fresh red marks on his hand. “Stupid volcano, stupid village, stupid fortuneteller.”

“You can always stay with Appa, you know,” Katara offers.

Sokka glances over his shoulder, back towards the outskirts of the village where Appa rests. The flock of turkey ducks loiter in the street behind them, barring the way with ruffled feathers and menacing squawks. Evidently unwilling to face their wrath again, Sokka makes a face at them before falling into step with his sister. 

Katara leads them to an ornate stone shop on the side of the street. The door is guarded by a man in a black robe, and he bows neatly to them as they approach. “Welcome,” he says, and Zuko eyeballs him warily. “Aunt Wu has been expecting you.”

Katara clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Really?”

“Who’s Aunt Wu?” Zuko whispers, leaning down and elbowing Aang.

“She’s the fortuneteller Katara was telling us about,” Aang whispers back. 

“Yeah, the really fake fortuneteller,” Sokka says in decidedly-not-a-whisper, harrumphing as he enters the shop on Katara’s heels. 

Zuko follows them in, sweeping his gaze over the front room. It’s sparsely decorated, although a few potted plants grace the corners and windowsills and handful of pink pillows rest on the floor. Katara sits neatly on one, gesturing for the rest of them to follow suit. The whole place stinks of incense and floral perfume, and Zuko wrinkles his nose as he sits down and rests his cane across his lap.

“Hi there!” A girl in garishly pink robes bounces into the room several seconds later, her eyes shining. “My name is Meng, and I’m Aunt Wu’s assistant. Can I get you some tea or some of Aunt Wu's special bean curd puffs?”

Sokka brightens. “I’ll try a curd puff.”

“Just a second,” Meng says, holding up a hand to dismiss Sokka while she smiles at Aang. Oh, spirits. Zuko can already see where this is going. “So, what’s your name?”

Aang glances up at her, blinking in surprise. “I’m Aang.”

“That rhymes with Meng! And you've got some pretty big ears, don't you?”

Zuko never thought he’d meet someone worse at compliments than he is. The world really is full of surprises.

“I...guess?” Aang says, reaching up to tug one of his ears.

Sokka grins, his want for curd puffs momentarily overrun by his incessant need to pick on Aang. “Don't be modest. They're huge!”

Aang clamps his hands over his ears and glares.

Meng giggles and takes her leave, after that, and Sokka’s mood is quick to sour again without any distraction. He flops back onto the floor and groans. “I can't believe we're here in this house of nonsense—and she didn’t even bring me any food.” 

“Try to keep an open mind, Sokka,” Katara says, still sitting primly on her pillow. “There are things in this world that just can't be explained. Wouldn't it be nice to have some insight into your future?”

“It would be nice to have some bean curd puffs,” Sokka mutters.

“What about you, Zuko?” Aang asks, nudging him. “Do you believe in fortunetellers?”

“I believe in the spirits,” Zuko says tactfully, “and in Agni’s oracles.”

“...so that’s a yes?” Aang guesses, squinting.

“Of course it isn’t a yes!” Sokka says, throwing his arms wide. “Spirits and fortunetellers are two very different things. Everybody believes in spirits, but the future’s not set in stone. How can you predict it? Every choice we make changes it. Everything we say, everything we do, everyone we meet—you think that’s all predetermined?”

Aang scratches his chin. “Maybe?”

“Ugh!”

Meng re-enters the room with a bowl in her hands, nudging the door open with her hip. A young woman follows behind her, practically bouncing with excitement. “Oh, Meng,” she says, “Aunt Wu says I'm going to meet my true love and he's going to give me a rare panda lily.”

Meng sighs wistfully, and even Zuko can’t miss the longing look she casts at Aang. “That's so romantic. I wonder if my true love will give me a rare flower.”

Is this flirting? Is this how people flirt? Zuko doesn’t think it’s working—especially if the flat, disinterested look on Aang’s face is anything to go by.

“Yeah,” Aang says, leaning back on his hands, “good luck with that.”

The woman behind Meng covers her mouth before whispering, “Is that the big-eared guy who Aunt Wu predicted you'd marry?”

Her whispering, so it seems, works about as well as Meng’s flirting.

Meng’s cheeks flush pink, and she hurries the other woman towards the door. Once the woman is gone, Meng sets a bowl of curd puffs beside Aang before bowing hastily and retreating down the hallway again. Sokka’s scowl smooths out, pacified by the presence of food, and he snags the bowl from Aang. He hums in satisfaction as he drops a puff into his mouth, then chews noisily.

“Give me one of those,” Zuko says, reaching for them. 

“Get your own.”

“Sokka, give me one!”

“No, they’re mine!” Sokka hunches protectively over his puffs, glowering as Zuko jabs him in the side with his cane. “Back off, man. I’ll fight you.”

“Nobody’s fighting anybody,” Katara hisses. “Both of you behave. We’re in public. Sokka, give Zuko a bean puff. Zuko, quit poking Sokka.”

A split second later, an old woman in a yellow robe steps out of the hallway, and Katara sits up straight. Sokka scowls even harder. Zuko jams his hard-won bean puff into his mouth.

 “Welcome, young travelers,” the old woman—Aunt Wu, Zuko presumes—says. “Now, who's next? Don't be shy.”

Sokka glances away, and Aang glances at Katara. Zuko glances at the bean puffs and steals one while Sokka isn’t looking. 

“I guess that's me.” Katara rises, smoothing out her skirt before following Aunt Wu down the hallway. 

Zuko watches her go with some trepidation. It’s unlikely that they’re going to be hurt here—but unlikely doesn’t mean impossible, and Zuko’s just not sure how he feels about someone who claims to know the future. After all, if someone can know the future, can they also know the past? Can they also know who Zuko really is?

...ooor maybe Sokka’s right and it’s all a bunch of bogus, anyway.

“Hey.” Sokka’s eyes narrow sharply. “I’m missing a puff.”

“Must have been Momo,” Zuko says breezily, scratching between Momo’s ears. The lemur purrs at him, then twists around to lick his fingers. 

“Right, uh-huh, yeah.” Sokka eyes him sourly. “Momo.”

“What do you think they’re talking about back there?” Aang interrupts.

“Boring stuff, I’m sure,” Sokka says, shrugging. “Love, who she’s going to marry, how many babies she’s going to have.”

Zuko picks at a piece of lint on the pillow, frowning. While he wouldn’t classify all of those things as boring, they’re definitely not a matter of concern for him. If he were to marry, it would be because of duty, not love. As Firelord, he’ll need to produce powerful heirs for the throne and secure alliances. Marriage is a systematically useful way to do that. Even his own father’s marriage was out of utility.

...still, it must be nice for peasants, that whole romance thing. (Not that Zuko’s jealous, or anything. Of course not. That would be stupid, and childish, and stupid.)

“Yeah, dumb stuff like that,” Aang says, clearing his throat and standing up. “Well, I've got to find a bathroom.”

He darts off, chewing his nails nervously. Sokka and Zuko watch him go, eyebrows raised.

“Huh,” Zuko says. “I guess romance gives him diarrhea.” 

“Nah. He’s gonna go spy.”

“Really?”

“Oh, totally.”

“You’re not gonna stop him?”

“Eh. It’s all made up stuff anyway.”

“You don’t think Katara’ll be mad?”

“If Aang values his life, he won’t get caught.”

Zuko snorts and reaches for another puff. This time Sokka lets him have one without a fuss and a few minutes later, Aang returns alive and grinning.

“Looks like someone had a good bathroom break,” Sokka comments.

“Yeah! While I was in there—”

Sokka grimaces and holds a hand up. “I don’t even want to know, little man.”

Aang pounces playfully on him, and Sokka yelps and wheezes when Aang’s knee hits his stomach. The two of them wrestle across the floor unil Sokka gets Aang into a headlock, scrubbing his knuckles playfully across Aang’s head. They only break apart when the door slides open again. Katara’s practically glowing as she steps back into the front room, her eyes bright and giddy. 

That’s good, Zuko thinks. She deserves a happy future.

(He’s glad to know that, too, that whatever happens in his future, it’s not going to be enough to fuck up hers too badly.) 

“Who’s next?” Aunt Wu asks.

Sokka groans, picking himself up off of the floor and depositing Aang back onto his pillow. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

“So much for not getting his fortune told,” Katara mutters, nudging Aang. They both snicker.

“Was it good?” Zuko asks, and Katara glances curiously at him. “Your fortune?

A warm smile breaks across her face. “It was very good.”

“I bet,” Aang says, a more mischievous smile creeping across his face. “I wanna go next!”

So, after Sokka returns, Aang is the one who darts off behind Aunt Wu. Sokka does not look particularly thrilled by his fortune, if the grumpy face he’s pulling is anything to go by. He slumps back onto his pillow, folding his arms across his chest and shooting Katara a glare. “That,” he says, “was bullshit.”

Katara smirks at him. “What, did somebody hear something he didn’t want to?”

“I'm pretty sure I just paid her to make fun of me.” Sokka lays back on the ground again, looking mournfully at the ceiling. 

“What did she say?” Zuko asks, hesitantly. It's one thing to ask whether a fortune was good or bad, but another entirely to ask for details. Is it rude? Will Sokka be mad at him? "I mean, you don’t have to say, I just—”

“She said—and I quote!— it would be a ‘future full of anguish, most of it self-inflicted.’” Sokka throws his hands out, scowling. “Whatever, lady. What does she know? I mean, she also said my ‘heart belonged to the heavens,’ which seems like a thinly-veiled reference to death and let me tell you I do not appreciate that ominous shit.” 

Zuko doesn’t appreciate that ominous shit, either. That ominous shit, in fact, makes his heart ache and the back of his throat burn and his stomach roll in nauseous waves. Sokka can’t die. None of them can die. 

“Well, that, or—” Sokka squints. “She meant I was going to become an oracle, and I'm not sure that’s any better.”

Katara laughs. “Can you imagine? Oracle Sokka—pfft!”

“Okay, first of all: I would be a great oracle,” Sokka points out, lifting a finger, “but you’re right, it would suck. Wearing fancy robes and communing with spirits all day? Blegh. Count me out. I'm going to be chief.”

“Chief?” Zuko asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yep. Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, after we kick the Fire Nation’s ass," Sokka announces. “It's gonna be cool.”

Zuko...doesn’t think the dinky little Southern Water Tribe has a snowball’s chance in hell against the Fire Nation, but he doesn’t say so. Instead, he says, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’d make a much better chief than you would an oracle.”

“Right? That’s what I’m saying!”

In front of them, the door slides open again and Aang struts into the room. Then it’s Zuko’s turn. He doesn’t particularly want to know his future—especially after Sokka's disaster of a fortune—but he comforts himself with the knowledge that it’s all fake, anyway. Maybe. Probably. 

“So what is your name, young man?” Aunt Wu asks, leading him into a small room with a firepit in the center. 

“Li,” Zuko says, lowering himself onto the floor on one side of the firepit and watching Aunt Wu's face carefully. She responds to his answer without any undue suspicion, taking her seat on the other side of the fire and humming thoughtfully.

“And how come you travel with the Avatar, Li?” she asks.

“He saved my life,” Zuko says, which isn’t entirely a lie. “I owe him a debt.”

“You are bound by a sense of duty.”

Zuko inclines his head. It doesn’t take a fortune teller to know that. 

“Well, let’s see what’s in store for you.” She offers him a small, ceramic jug with elaborate decorations painted across its surface in sweeping strokes. “We will use the bones. Go on and pick one.”

Yeah, that’s not weird at all. Zuko sticks his hand into the super-sketchy-jug-of-bones and draws out a small, yellowed rib. 

Aunt Wu takes the bone from him, turning it over in her wrinkled hands. “The rib: this is a bone of protection. It guards the softest parts of the body from harm. Protection is a powerful ability if used correctly, although an overabundance of it can cause harm. But it is a good choice.”

Zuko wouldn’t say it was a choice as much as it was luck, but the words are nice to hear anyway.

“Now we will cast it into the fire, and in the breaks I will read your destiny.”

Aunt Wu tosses the rib into the small fire pit between them. The fire snaps and pops as it chews its way through the bone, and after several seconds it begins to splinter. Aunt Wu leans forward, her eyes darting across the cracks the fire leaves behind. Something—some quiet, sad emotion—flickers across her face as she does. 

“You have known great suffering,” she says. Zuko wonders what gave that away. The blind eye? The warped ear? The giant scar on his face? Her next words, however, are less obvious and more discomfiting: “And you will continue to know it. Your destiny leads to great conflict. Good and evil are at war inside you, and there are powerful forces fighting for your allegiance. And...”

“And?” Zuko asks when she hesitates a moment too long, leaning forward. “And what?”

“And you will be betrayed by one who loves you. I'm sorry.”

…go fucking figure.

“But despite that, you will love many people deeply and truly.” She reaches out, taking his hands and looking warmly at him. “And they will love you.”

Love? 

Zuko swallows thickly, dropping his gaze. For the briefest, most heartsick moment, he wants to believe her. He wants to believe in a future full of love. Mother will return and love him. Azula will grow out of her arrogance and love him. Father will see how loyal he is when he returns with the Avatar, and then Zuko will know his love, too—and Uncle’s love will be there, the way it always has been, safe and steady and secure. 

He’ll be loved, one day. 

“Your heart is confused now,” she continues, “and has learned many harmful lessons. But if you trust in those who love you, you will heal. You will grow into your strength and kindness, and your wisdom will heal a nation.”

It’s a good future—too good, Zuko thinks, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

“Quite the destiny,” Aunt Wu says, releasing his hands, “for a simple Earth Kingdom peasant, Li.”

He clears his throat, looking nervously at her. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. The world works in funny ways.”

She peers closely at him, but he’s relieved to find no suspicion in her eyes. “Yes,” she says, “so it does. Do you have any questions?”

Zuko does not. He leaves Aunt Wu's room, then, and shuts the sliding door behind himself before leaning against the wall. He takes a deep breath to settle himself. Spirits, why is he feeling this many emotions? Of course it’s nice to imagine being loved, but it shouldn’t make his heart squeeze so painfully in his chest. He shouldn’t be chasing down feelings, like some needy child. 

Besides, Sokka was probably right and it’s all a bunch of bogus. A future full of that much love is too good for someone like Zuko. Firelords aren’t meant to be loved—they’re meant to be respected, honored, obeyed. Love is merely a bonus. 

Why does that hurt so much to think about it?

Gritting his teeth, Zuko forces the thought from his mind. It doesn’t matter. The future is a distant, abstract thing, and he needs to focus on the here and now. Once he’s managed to collect himself, Zuko returns to the front room and follows his companions outside. As they stroll down the street, Sokka siddles up and elbows him. “So?” he asks. “What pretty lies did Aunt Wu feed you, Sparks?”

Zuko’s heart squeezes painfully—foolishly—again. "It doesn’t matter. Like you said, none of it’s real.”

“Ha! Did you hear that, Katara?" Sokka crows victoriously. “Zuko agrees with me.”

“I think someone’s still salty because his fortune didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear,” Katara says breezily.

“That's because my fortune is wrong—my life will be calm and happy and joyful!” Sokka kicks a nearby stone, and it ricochets off of a hanging sign and bounces back to strike him between the eyes. He yelps and clutches his head while Aang points and laughs. “That doesn't prove anything!”

“Well, I liked my predictions, anyway,” Katara says, smirking. “Certain things are going to turn out very well.”

Certain things, as it turns out, do not include the rest of their day. They get caught in a crowd near the center of the village—the villagers are gathered for some sort of cloud watching thing? Zuko can’t really hear the explanation over Sokka’s loud complaints. He, Sokka, and Aang retreat to the outskirts of the crowd while Katara worms her way further in to see what the whole festival is actually about. Aunt Wu arrives several minutes later, and the people around them cheer. Sokka leans against the sun-warmed wall beside them, picking his teeth and glaring at the sky as Aunt Wu begins to talk.

“So, Sokka,” Aang starts, and Sokka glances down at him. “You know some stuff about ladies, right?”

Sokka puffs up, his irritation with Aunt Wu—however momentarily—displaced. “Some stuff?” He loops an arm around Aang's shoulders, grinning, and Zuko rolls his eyes. “You’ve come to the right place. What can I do for you?”

“Well, there’s this girl…”

Sokka's eyes dart to the side, where Zuko can see Meng at Aunt Wu's side. “I think I know who you mean.”

Sokka's kidding, right? He's got to be kidding. There’s no way Aang is interested in Meng, of all people. He'd totally brushed her off earlier! And he’s, like, the sweetest kid Zuko’s ever met. He doesn’t just brush people off for the hell of it. But if he’s not interested in Meng, then who…?

Oh, Agni.  

“You do?” Aang brightens, looking up at Sokka. “And you’re okay with it?”

“Of course I am. And to tell you the truth, I've been picking up a subtle vibe that she likes you, too,” Sokka says, winking.

“She does?”  Aang's eyes widen, and Zuko tries very hard not to facepalm. This conversation is like watching a carriage crash in slow motion. Zuko’s tempted to butt in, but he’s not actually sure how well Sokka would take the news of Aang’s crush on Katara. He’s notoriously protective of his little sister—even Zuko’s caught onto that—and Zuko doesn’t want to put Aang into an awkward position. 

“Oh, yeah, she’s crazy about you,” Sokka continues. “All you have to do now is not mess it up.”

“Well, how do I do that?”

“The number one mistake nice guys like you make: being too nice.”

“Can you be too nice?”

“Yep. If you want to keep her interested, you have to act aloof, like you don't really care one way or the other.”

“What?” Zuko squawks indignantly. Okay, so scratch the not getting involved plan. He can’t just sit here and listen to Sokka spew such bad romantic advice! “No way. Don’t listen to him, Aang.”

Aang's eyes snap around to Zuko. “Zuko, you know about girls?”

Zuko doesn’t, as a matter of fact—living on a ship for three years with no one but his crew and Uncle didn’t exactly leave a lot of time for dating—but nobody needs to know that. “I know enough to know that that tactic isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“Oh yeah? Well, what would you do, smartypants?" Sokka asks, poking Zuko in the chest. 

Zuko bats him away, scowling. "If you act disinterested, she’ll—surprise, surprise—think that you’re disinterested. You have to draw her attention. Do something bold.”

“No.” Sokka shakes his head. “That's trying too hard. She’ll think you’re a sucker.”

“For what? Making her feel like she deserves my attention?” Zuko wrinkles his nose. “Oh, wow, I’d hate for my girlfriend to think I care about her opinions.”

“Girls aren’t interested if they think you’re needy!”

“Girls aren’t interested if they think you’re a jackass!”

“Yeah, well, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Shut up, you little—”

“Guys, come on, stop it,” Aang pleads, stepping between them. “What if we, uh, compromise?”

“Compromise?” Zuko and Sokka ask together, glowering at each other.

“Yeah. I'll take a piece from both of your plans and see if they work.”

Sokka leans back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Go on.”

“I'll, um.” Aang looks out at the crowd, and his eyes widen as he spies something in the distance. Zuko follows his gaze in time to see a young man handing a panda lily to a blushing woman—the same woman, he realizes, from Aunt Wu's shop. “That's it! I'll give her a flower, but like, aloofly.” 

“Aloofly?” Sokka asks skeptically.

“Yeah.” Zuko snorts. “That’ll go over real well.”

“Come on, you guys.” Aang grabs their hands, tugging them towards Mount Makapu. “Panda lilies grow on top of the volcano, right? And Aunt Wu said it wasn’t going to explode this year, so it should be safe. Will you help me find one?”

Zuko and Sokka trade a glance, then offer matching sighs. “Yeah,” they grudgingly agree. “Fine.”

The trip up the volcano isn’t fun by any means. Appa refuses to fly more than two-thirds up the mountain, and Aang’s glider can’t carry them all, so they resort to hiking the last few miles—which is, given Zuko’s leg, an arduous and time-consuming task. It isn’t as painful as it would have been a few days ago (spirits bless Katara’s new healing powers) but it’s hardly pleasant. Even Sokka softens towards him a mile in, and slows his pace to match Zuko’s.

“Aang!” he calls up. “Slow down, bud. We’ve got all day.”

Aang shouts his agreement, then continues to air-scooter in wild circles over the rocks.

“You don’t need to do that,” Zuko says irritably, looking over at Sokka. “I'll catch up.”

“You’re in a bad mood today, you know that?”

“You don’t get to say I'm in a bad mood just because I disagree with you about something.”

“Yeah, well. Whatever.” Sokka hesitates, then adds, “Why do you care about romance, anyway? I thought you royals all had arranged marriages.”

“We do. But my mother...” Zuko pauses, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“No, c’mon, tell me. I won't make fun." Sokka ducks his head so their eyes can meet. He looks unusually earnest, and something in Zuko's chest flips over helplessly. “Promise.”

“My mother enjoyed romance,” Zuko admits, looking away. “She didn’t have any with my father, of course. Romance is hardly the Firelord’s priority, especially when he’s in the midst of fighting a war. But Mother, she, um. She had books that I—” (snuck in and read when she wasn’t watching.) “Uh. Saw, sometimes.”

“Books?” Sokka’s brow furrows. “About how to woo girls?”

“Well, no. Just books that had people who were in love in them. Plus, there was romance in a lot of the plays we saw. Like this one, Love Amongst Dragons? It was really good.” Zuko picks at the hem of his tunic, frowning. “Anyway, I guess I always kind of thought it would be nice to have that sort of thing in a relationship, even if it was an arranged one. if you’ve got to live your whole life with somebody, shouldn’t you at least try to make them happy?”

“Oh, well Tui and La.” A mischievous grin spreads across Sokka's face, and Zuko's cheeks warm. “You’re an actual softie! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Zuko kicks a rock in his direction. 

Sokka jumps out of the way, laughing. “C’mon, don’t be mad. It's fine. My mom was the same way, you know?”

“...really?”

“Yeah.” Sokka glances ahead at the smoke wafting from the top of the volcano. “She was a big romantic. Totally in love with my dad. And he was—heh. He was head over heels for her. They’d flirt with each other all the time. It was kind of gross.”

Zuko snorts. He tries to imagine his own parents flirting, and—ew, yeah, okay. That's gross.

“Is that how your father taught you to woo women, then? You just brush them off until they fall in love with you and then act like you love them back?” Zuko’s brow furrows. It doesn’t seem sensible. “You tribesmen are odd.”

“Well, no. My dad didn’t teach me much of anything in that, uh, department." Sokka scratches the back of his neck. “He left before I was old enough to really care about things like that.”

“Oh. Your mother, then?”

Sokka shakes his head. “She died.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Sokka lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "It happens. Firebenders, you know.”

Zuko glances away, his mouth tightening.

After a moment, Sokka takes a big breath and says, “Okay, low blow. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it that way. It’s not your fault she died, and not all firebenders are raving murderous lunatics. Probably.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. It's not a great apology, but he’ll take it.

“I guess nobody really taught me how you start a relationship,” Sokka continues, glancing away when Zuko doesn’t respond, “but I did pretty well back with the girls back at home. You’ve just gotta act cool and suave and they’ll fall all over you.”

“Weren’t you the only teenage boy in the South Pole?” Aang interrupts, glancing back at him. 

"I would have been popular even if I wasn’t!” Sokka huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Anyway, I bet I've had more dates than either of you, so there. I win.”

Zuko and Aang trade a glance, then shrug. Fair enough, Zuko supposes. He still doesn’t agree with, or even understand, Sokka's idea of romance—but it really doesn’t matter, in the end. It's not like Sokka's love life will ever have anything to do with him.  

“Guys, look.” Aang darts forward as they crest the top of the volcano. A patch of bright black-and-white lilies choke the rocks here, waving gently in the breeze. “We made it! we—oh. Oh, no.”

“What?” Sokka demands, scrambling to Aang's side. His breath catches sharply when he gets there. “Shit.”

Zuko is the last to reach the summit, and when he does, his chest chills through. Within the crater of the volcano lies a pool of bubbling red magma. Steam hisses from cracks in the stone nearby, and the stench of sulfur hangs thick in the air. 

“Well,” Sokka says, “I guess that fortuneteller was wrong about a lot of things.”

It’s one more nail in the coffin for that happy, imaginary future of Zuko’s. He sighs deeply. “I guess we’d better go save some people,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “Great.”

“Yeah! That’s the spirit, Zuko,” Aang says cheerfully, slugging him in the shoulder. Ow. He packs a punch, for a twelve-year-old pacifist monk.

“Hey, didn’t Katara specifically say no more hero stuff?” Sokka asks anxiously as they turn to trek back down the volcano. “We’re really bad at that.”

“Katara's not gonna be mad at us for saving people,” Aang says, snapping his glider open. “Don’t worry. I'll fly down and let everyone know what’s happening so we can start evacuating people. This isn’t going to be like Gaipan.”

Sokka’s eyes darken at the mention of Gaipan, and he nods sharply. Aang takes off, flying towards Makapu as Sokka and Zuko pick their way back down to Appa. By the time they reach the town, it’s already in an uproar. A crowd remains around Aunt Wu in the center of town, and the clouds above their heads look dark and ominous. One of them is suspiciously skull-shaped, and Zuko spots a flash of orange flying nearby. Is that…?

“That's it!” Sokka gasps, his eyes lighting up. “The clouds—Aang and Katara must be re-shaping them. Come on, we’ve got to get Aunt Wu to do another reading.”

Sokka races to Aunt Wu's side, already talking animatedly. Zuko hangs back, chewing the inside of his cheek and looking anxiously at the crowd around him. How are they going to get all of these people out in time? Will they all listen? Will they actually leave, or will some stay behind and be killed? He can't handle something like Gaipan again. He really, really can’t. 

Fortunately, it seems like he won’t have to. 

“Everyone! The volcano will explode very soon. We must do as the Avatar says,” Aunt Wu orders the crowd, raising her voice to be heard over their alarmed voices. “At once, if you value your lives!”

Aang lands on the platform beside her, his eyes blazing with determination. “We still can save the village if we act fast. Sokka has a plan.”

“Lava is gonna flow downhill to this spot,” Sokka says, stepping forward. The crowd’s eyes rivet to him, as do Zuko's. If anyone can plan their way out of this mess, it’s Sokka. “If we can dig a deep enough trench we can channel all the lava away from the village to the river.”

“If any of you are earthbenders, come with me,” Aang says, waving his arm and leading the way towards the edge of the village.

“Everybody else,” Sokka says, straightening up as the volcano begins to grumble ominously in the distance, “Grab a shovel. Come on! we've gotta hurry!”

Zuko weaves his way through the crowd and to a nearby shop, where a dirt-streaked farmer has begun passing out shovels. He snags one, then makes his way to the trench the earthbenders are forming. He finds his place at Sokka's side and jabs his spade into the dirt. Together, they dig their way into the earth. The benders around them continue to shift the stone out of the way, slowly carving a trench into the ground before the village. 

The work takes hours. Before long, Zuko's palms are blistered and bleeding. He binds them tightly in cloth and carries on. The sun beats mercilessly against the back of their necks, and the Water Tribe clothes he’s borrowed from Sokka—blissfully warm on cold nights—swelter until he peels his tunic off and ties it tightly around his waist. Dirt sticks to his face and coats his hair, and he reels back more than once, hacking, as the earthbenders’ work sends plumes of dust rocketing into the air. 

Sweat rolls down his temples and stings his eyes, but he scrubs it away and refuses to stop. He can’t stop. He can't let these people die, not like he did in Gaipan. He can’t handle another orphaned little girl. He can’t handle another ruined village. He can’t handle any more bodies. 

“Zuko.” Sokka finally stops, touching his shoulder. He looks as weary as Zuko feels, sweat slicking his dark skin beneath a thin layer of dust. “I think that’s enough. What do you think?”

They climb out of the trench together, breathing hard as they look up at the volcano. Smoke billows wildly into the air, now, and Zuko glimpses sparks snapping against the darkening sky. He tears his eyes away and looks to their trench, instead. 

“I don't know much about volcanoes,'' Sokka admits, “but your whole home is a volcano, isn’t it? How much lava will there be? Is this enough to stop it?”

Zuko narrows his eyes as he thinks. The trench is deep and strong, but if this volcano produces as much lava as the crescent island volcano does, or as much as the caldera volcano once did, this won’t stop it. “No,” he says, and sees Sokka's shoulders crumple, “but we can make it work. Lava is just hot rock, right? If any of the earthbenders can help us, we can stop the initial flow and harden the first wave of lava into a wall to help stop the rest.”

“Do you think so?”

Zuko nods sharply. 

“Then let’s do it.” Sokka steps back, waving his arms and shouting, “Hey, everybody! Listen for a second! Li has a plan.”

Oh, shit. Zuko freezes as hundreds of eyes land on him, and he fumbles to recover quickly. It's been too long since he was in charge of a crew. "I—yes. Earthbenders! When the lava gets here, this trench won’t be enough to stop all of it. If any of you can bend lava—even just one of you—I need you to push the lava back until it cools. We can form a wall that way.”

“Katara and I can cool it quickly,” Aang interjects, "if you can hold it in place for just a few seconds.”

Under Zuko’s direction, the earthbenders capable of lavabending (a grand total of three which, to be honest, was more than Zuko expected) line up along the trench—and just in time, too. As they all scramble into position, the volcano gives one last, booming shake before spraying lava into the air. The ground ripples beneath Zuko’s feet, and he gulps as the lava begins to stream towards them. Despite his fear, however, he forces himself to stand his ground. A good leader never retreats in front of his men, and Zuko is loathe for anyone to call him a coward.

The lava reaches them several minutes later with a hiss of noise, and Zuko braces himself as it arcs above him in a massive, glowing red wave. Then the lavabenders lift their hands, and the wave grinds to a halt. For a moment, Zuko stands before a wall of molten earth that stretches far above his head. The heat is immense, and he stumbles a step back just as Aang and Katara surge forward. Aang blasts the lava with cold air while Katara coats it in water. with an angry sputter of steam, the lava begins to cool and harden. 

“Ha ha!” Sokka grabs Zuko's shoulders, shaking him in excitement. Zuko’s teeth clack together with the force. “We did it! That was a great plan, Li.”

“Oh—um, you, too,” Zuko says, startled. “It was mostly your plan.”

“Hey, we all contributed to this one. The villagers wouldn’t have listened to me if Aang and Katara hadn’t come up with the whole cloud-shaping idea, and we couldn’t have stopped all the lava without your suggestion." Sokka elbows him, grinning. “Maybe we’ll make a strategist out of you yet.”

“Sokka, Li!” Aang crashes into them, his eyes shining. They both stumble back a step. “That was awesome.” 

“You and Katara did great,” Sokka says, hugging Aang tightly before lifting his head to search for his sister. She's talking to Aunt Wu some distance away, but she hurries over when she sees them, and Sokka quickly drags her into his arms. “You guys are incredible, you know that?”

“We suspected as much,” Katara says wryly, then squeezes Sokka so hard he wheezes. “You’re pretty incredible yourself.”

“You’re not mad at us for ruining your peaceful weekend with more hero stuff?” Sokka asks sheepishly.

“I could never actually be mad at you for that,” Katara says, looking fondly at him. “Besides, nobody got hurt this time. I consider that a victory. Now c’mon—we’re all exhausted and we need to clean up.”

They retreat to a nearby inn to wash. Zuko scrubs the dried dirt and caked mud from his skin, then works carefully to clean the blisters on his palms before wrapping them in bandages. He finds a set of clean clothes on his bed, but these are new—they’re in earthbender greens instead of Water Tribe blues. They must be from the villagers.

Zuko hesitates, and then he tugs them on.

After he’s clean and dressed, Zuko meets everyone downstairs for dinner. The villagers of Makapu are, in their gratitude, extremely generous. They serve as much food as Zuko can eat, and eat it he does. He and Sokka compete to see who can gorge themselves fastest on the array of dishes set out for them: roast duck and dried sweet potato, fried dough and pork dumplings, beetle-worm soup and spice cakes. Zuko wins, but it’s a narrow thing.

He sleeps well that night, full and warm and too exhausted for nightmares. He wakes up sorer than he’s been in a long time and drags himself out of bed only because he can smell breakfast and he’s hungry again. After they eat, Zuko and his companions load their things back into Appa's saddle and say their goodbyes to the villagers. It feels good to have actually succeeded in saving them all, this time. It doesn't make up for Gaipan, but it does—even if only a little bit—make Gaipan easier to think about.

“Hey, Zuko.” Aang sits down next to him in the saddle, gazing out over the forests as they roll away. Behind them, Katara steers Appa north, and Sokka works to sharpen his knife. “How are your hands?”

“They’re fine. Katara healed them after breakfast.”

“That's good.” Aang pulls one knee to his chest, dropping his chin onto it. “Thank you for helping us save the villagers.”

“I told you. I'm not going to let innocent people die.”

“I know.” Aang hesitates, twisting one hand into the leg of his pants before asking, “Your dad—what do you think he would have done?”

Zuko scowls. "If you think you can use this to manipulate me into thinking my father is a bad person—”

“Which he is!” Sokka hollars behind them.

Zuko’s scowl deepens, and he wrenches his boot off just so he can throw it at Sokka. He hears a thump and a yelp from somewhere behind him. “—then it’s not going to work.”

“No, no, that’s not what I was trying to do. I just wonder, you know? If your dad is actually good, somewhere deep down.”

“He's good deep down and on the surface,” Zuko says grouchily. “I don't know why you all insist he’s so awful. I can understand your grudge against Sozin, but my father had nothing to do with the air nomad genocide. Certainly, he’s killed people because of the war, but what nation hasn’t? That's the reality of it.”

“You really think your father’s never done anything bad?”

“I'm sure he’s made...a few mistakes,” Zuko says tactfully. Even that admission sends a shudder of nerves down his spine. “Who hasn’t? No one is perfect. But those mistakes don’t make him evil.”

“Would you like an itemized list of all the things that make him evil?” Sokka asks helpfully. Zuko wrenches off his other boot. Thump! “Ow! Zuko!”

“I don't want to talk about this,” Zuko says. He only has so many boots. But what could distract them…? Ah. “Hey, how did things work out with Meng?”

Aang looks disgruntled by the change in subject, but he allows it. “Meng?”

“Yeah, that girl who was into you,” Zuko says.

“Oh. I mean, she was nice, but I didn't like her like that," Aang says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What, really?” Sokka scoots up to join them. “Who were you talking about impressing, then?”

Aang glances between them. "I—I thought you knew?”

“Yeah, I knew it was Meng,” Sokka says, blinking owlishly at him. “Was it somebody else?”

"It’s, um.” Aang's cheeks flush pink, and he tears his gaze away from Sokka's. “N-nobody, never mind.”

“Aang likes someone?” Katara asks from her place at Appa's head. “Who is it?”

“Nobody!” Aang jumps up, now bright red. “It was nobody! I don't like anybody in the whole world!”

“Aang, c’mon, tell us who you like,” Sokka wheedles, chasing after him as he darts across the saddle. “Aang, I'm invested now, you can’t just leave me hanging like this!”

“I don't like any of you, either!”

Zuko and Katara trade an amused look as Aang and Sokka bicker. Distraction accomplished. He brings a hand up to his mouth to hide his smile, although he can’t stop the way his eyes crinkle happily at the edges. These silly rebels are going to be the death of him, honestly. He really shouldn't like being around them as much as he does.

They make it too easy to smile.

Chapter Text

“Push and pull,” Katara instructs gently. She presses her palms out to demonstrate, and the ocean waves move away from her. As she draws her hands back, the waves bow forward and crash against the sand. “Keep your hands loose and your movements fluid. Don’t try to force it—just guide it.”

Katara and Aang both stand on the beach, facing the water as the sun lingers high above them. They have lessons like this often, and most of the time Zuko ignores them. What interest should he have in waterbending techniques? Today, however, he finds himself watching curiously from his place at Appa's side. The way the earthbenders had saved Makapu from the volcano had been impressive, and he’s beginning to think there might be something to learn from other bending techniques. Moreover, it’s been too long since he’s practiced his own bending. He’s not sure he’s allowed to. Would his companions (his friends?) be angry at him, if he did? Would they feel threatened? Would he inadvertently teach Aang something? 

Sighing, he brings his mug of tea to his lips and sips. 

“Waterbending is about flow,” Katara continues, pulling water from the ocean and rolling it into a ball between her hands. Aang copies her movements, his nose wrinkled with concentration. “It's about adapting.”

“Adapting,” Aang repeats, water sloshing between his palms. “Right. Totally.”

“Good. Adapt to this." Katara flings her waterball at him, and he shrieks and drops his own water. Both his face and his shoes are soaked, and Zuko snorts. He ends up with oolong in his nose. “Oh, Aang. Okay. Pull the water off and we’ll try again.”

Aang fumbles to draw the water back out of his skin and clothes. He balls it between his hands again, and Katara takes her half back. 

“Let’s try a few more basics to get back into the flow, and then we can—” 

Zuko sets his mug aside and climbs to his feet, joining them at the edge of the waves. They both pause and look at him, eyebrows arched. “I,” he says, then clears his throat. “I would like to join you. If you’ll allow me.”

“Zuko, um—” Aang tugs Zuko’s sleeve, drawing Zuko’s eyes down to him. “I'd love it if you could, but we’re actually doing waterbending.”

Like Zuko’s stupid enough to not know that.

“I know,” Zuko huffs. Katara and Aang trade a baffled glance, and under their discrimination he begins to rock his weight nervously on his feet. Then he remembers that that’s silly and childish and probably not doing anything to regain Katara and Aang’s respect, so he stops and holds himself very still instead. “I just—I thought maybe—uh, you know what, never mind. It was a dumb idea. I’ll just practice some cold katas way—way over there, so I don’t—”

“No, you should stay,” Katara says, and Zuko's eyes widen. “These may be waterbending techniques, but I don't see why you can’t apply them to firebending. Maybe you can even teach us a few firebending moves.”

“I'm not teaching the Avatar firebending,” Zuko says immediately, his heart beginning to race. That would be treason of the highest order. Father would never forgive him. Father would—if he found out, he would—“Absolutely not. I won't do that, not ever.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Katara says hastily. “You don’t have to show us anything you don’t want to. It was only a suggestion.”

“It was. Not all a bad suggestion.” Zuko shifts his weight nervously on his feet again before forcing himself to stop. It’s difficult to find a comfortable stance without his cane, especially on sand. “I would like to see how you bend.”

“Really?” Aang cocks his head. “How come?”

“It's interesting. I've never watched how other benders bend so closely before. I think it could be helpful in the future.”

“Yeah, it could help him perfect his dastardly firebending so he can turn on us all when the time comes,” Sokka grumbles from his fishing spot down the beach.

“I wouldn't do that,” Zuko snaps, bristling at the insinuation. “I do respect you all, believe it or not. If the— when the time comes for us to part, I won’t use your own techniques against you. I don't even plan to make a fight out of it. If you don’t want to teach me, just say so.”

Katara looks at him for a long moment, her hands on her hips, and Zuko works very hard not to squirm under her scrutiny. “Alright,” she decides, finally. “I'll teach you, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You make dinner tonight.”

Zuko sighs heavily. It's a small price to pay, as he’s coming to discover he actually quite likes helping with dinner—but she doesn’t need to know that. “Very well.”

“Then face the sea.” Katara steps behind him, nudging his feet into place. It's an odd stance—wider and looser than a typical firebender’s. He shifts his weight once again, trying to find a way to make it comfortable as his injured leg begins to ache. He's not successful. Katara squints at him. “Sorry. I'll get used to it.”

“No. Find a stance that doesn’t hurt you.”

“I want to do this properly.”

“A comfortable stance is proper,” Katara says. “Weren’t you listening? Waterbending is about adapting. Your leg is something you have to adapt for.”

Zuko frowns but shifts his feet until he can keep the bulk of his weight on his good leg. It feels like an admission of weakness—of defeat— but Katara nods approvingly, and some tightly-coiled thing in Zuko's chest begins to relax. This is fine. This isn’t firebending. Perfect stances aren’t required, and no one is going to scold him when he compensates for an injury. 

“Now, don’t be afraid to move your feet,” Katara says, coming to stand in front of Aang and Zuko. “Waterbending is like airbending that way, Aang. It’s all about movement, and remember, we don’t force water to do anything—we guide it.”

Together, Zuko, Aang, and Katara run through several basic waterbending exercises. Zuko can’t actually manipulate any water, but he tries to match their forms as best he can anyhow. The guided stances help him to settle his thoughts, and he breathes deeply as he wakes his muscles with the movement. It feels good to train again, even if it isn’t true firebending training. Agni, how he’s missed this!

And it may not be as powerful as firebending, but throughout the duration of their practice Zuko quickly comes to realize that waterbending is actually kind of beautiful—especially when it’s not being used to trap him or drown him or otherwise thwart his plans. The sunlight catches and gleams white in the water, and the air smells fresh and clean and bright. Katara moves like a dancer, her skirt twirling around her ankles as she twists water through the air like glistening ribbons. Zuko doesn’t have to know much about waterbending to know that she’s already an incredible bender.

“I thought you were going to the North Pole to find a waterbending master,” Zuko complains, rolling his wrist through a particularly tricky bending gesture. 

“Hm?” Katara pauses, glancing over at him. Water dances between her fingertips. “We are.”

“How come? Aang’s already got you.”

Katara's cheeks flush. “Well, thank you, but I'm really not that good. Not as good as he needs, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Zuko asks, offended on her behalf. If she’s not good, he doesn’t know what is. What kind of badass waterbending masters do they have in the South Pole, if she’s not already one of them?

“I'm self-taught,” Katara explains, as though that would make her skill less impressive. Zuko's brow furrows in confusion. “I'm not bad at bending, but I don't know any advanced skills. I barely know the fundamentals, and most of those I learned from old scrolls. It will be better for him to have someone more experienced.”

“Why not choose a master from the South Pole, then? Why go all the way to the north?”

Katara drops her water and glances away, wiping her palms off on her skirt. “There are no other benders in the south,” she says softly. “The Fire Nation killed them all.”

Horror rises swiftly in Zuko’s throat, and he swallows hard around it. They—the Fire Nation—they did what?!  

The world threatens to fracture beneath him the same way it had in Gaipan, and he’s getting sick of feeling so off-kilter. The southern raids had always been explained to him as a matter of trade: in order to effectively secure shipping routes on the seas, it was important to maintain control over the Water Tribes at the poles. Unfortunately, they were a rudimentary people and refused to listen to reason; thus, brute force was sometimes necessary. But he thought that brute force meant forcing ships off of the trade routes and intimidating warriors, not—not—

“Our mother was the last southern waterbender,” Sokka says, his voice chilling. When Zuko looks at him, his eyes are dark and angry, and Zuko remembers, very suddenly, that he is Sokka’s enemy as much as Sokka is his. He'd...forgotten. “At least, that’s what we told everyone in order to keep Katara safe. That's why mom was killed—because the Fire Nation knew if they killed off our waterbenders we’d have no effective means of defense against them. If they had known Katara was the real last bender, they would have killed her instead of mom. Do you know how old she was?”

Zuko stumbles a step backwards. His chest feels tight. 

“She was eight,'' Sokka says flatly. “Your soldiers would have slaughtered an eight-year-old if it meant killing off the water benders. And you know what? She still wouldn’t have been the youngest they killed.”

“Sokka...” Katara takes a step in his direction, but Sokka shakes his head.

“That little girl you saved at Gaipan?” Sokka hunches his shoulders, looking back out at the waves. “They would have killed her if she’d been a waterbender. They would have killed her just because she was a waterbender.”

Nessa.  

Katara. 

Zuko's heart squeezes. He wants to believe that his nation would never do something that atrocious, but he knows they would. They have. The southern raids weren’t his grandfather’s decision, either: they were Father’s.

They’re lying, his mind hisses—one last desperate defense against Sokka’s words—but he knows that isn’t true. It makes too much sense to be a lie. Katara and Aang are watching him too nervously for it to be a lie. Sokka's eyes are too bitter for it to be a lie. 

“So it's a little annoying,” Sokka continues tersely, “to watch you sit here and play waterbender like it isn’t your nation that’s trying to kill them all off.”

“I'm sorry,” Zuko blurts, and all three of his companions freeze. His face feels hot, and his skin’s too tight over his joints, and he can’t breathe right. “I'm sorry. I don’t—I didn’t know—”

“Zuko, it’s okay.” Katara takes a tentative step in his direction, and he flinches back. “It isn't your fault. Sokka wasn’t blaming you.”

He didn’t have to. He was blaming Father, and Zuko is nothing if not his Father’s. 

“I’m—fuck, I—” Zuko wraps his arms around himself, stumbling backwards. “I've gotta go check on Appa.” 

He makes a hasty retreat—he can’t stand the weight of their eyes on him, not right now—and, to his relief, isn’t followed. He finds Appa some distance away from the beach, grazing on scrubby grass, and immediately plasters himself against the bison’s side. Appa rumbles quietly, turning to nose his shoulder. Zuko doesn’t look at him. Instead, he buries his face against Appa's thick fur and gulps in several fast breaths.

He hadn’t meant to make them mad—he really hadn’t. He never would have practiced with Aang and Katara if he knew it was going to anger Sokka. He never would have regarded their form of bending so lightly if he knew his own people had tried so brutally to destroy it. That’s not right, that’s not okay, not any moreso than the Air Nomad genocide. He imagines his own mother being killed by Water Tribe warriors, and he—

He hugs Appa even harder, squeezing his eyes shut before any tears can fall. No wonder Sokka and Katara hate the Fire Nation. He'd hate the Water Tribe if they killed his mother. (He’s hated them for far pettier reasons. He hated them simply because Father told him he should.)

Despite their hatred for the Fire Nation, though, Sokka and Katara don’t seem to hate him. If they do, they’ve done a marvelous job of hiding it. But he knows they should hate him, just like he should hate them. (Shouldn’t he? But why? Why why why, if not because Father said so? Is that even a good enough reason anymore, if his father is the sort of person to slaughter a whole tribe of waterbenders? The kind of person who might have slaughtered Katara?)  

Again, he wishes everything he’s learned in the past few weeks has been a lie. He loves his nation—he loves it so spirits-damned much — but it seems like every day he learns some new despicable thing about it. Everyone outside of the Fire Nation hates his people. He knows his nation is more than all of this—this destruction, and carnage, and anger. He just wishes others could see it, too. (But does it matter how much good his nation can do if they destroy everything else in the process? Does it matter how intelligent and creative and spirited his people are if they tear down everyone else just to prove it?)

And if Zuko cries there, thinking of a little Katara dying at the hands of his own people—well. No one’s around to know. (No one but Appa, and he won’t tell.) 

Footsteps near him, but he refuses to unlatch from Appa’s side. He can’t look any of his companions in the eye—not right now. They’re all mad at him, and rightfully so. He belongs to the one person in the world they’ll always hate. (And doesn’t that mean, by extension, that they’ll always have to hate him, too?) “I'm sorry,” he mumbles again. 

Sokka exhales a sigh, leaning next to him. “Yeah, buddy, I know.”

“I didn't know they killed all the waterbenders. I thought they were just fighting over the trade routes. In my lessons they said—they taught us that the Water Tribe warriors were barbarians, and—”

“And meeting us disproved that?” Sokka asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Well.” Zuko turns his face just enough to peek out at him. Sokka's not looking at Zuko—he’s looking out, over the ocean’s rolling waves. “Meeting Katara did.”

“Rude!”

Zuko can’t quite manage a smile, but he still tries for humor when says, “You’ve got to admit, you’re pretty barbaric, Mr. Warpaint-and-Boomerang.”

“You know, I came out here to apologize, but you’re making it really difficult,” Sokka says, pouting.

“Apologize for what?” Zuko shoves his face back into Appa's fur, sighing heavily. “Everything you said was true, wasn’t it? As much as i wish it weren’t.”

“It was true,” Sokka confirms, his voice sobering. “I wouldn't lie to you about something like that. The Fire Nation has done a lot of awful stuff because of your grandfathers and your father. I'm always surprised by how much you don’t know.”

“I knew about the raids. My schoolmasters just...taught them differently. Taught them wrong.” Zuko takes a deep breath. “How do you decide?”

“Decide what?”

“What’s true or not? I mean, I—I know the southern raids are true the way you tell them because you were there. But what about stuff we aren’t there for? What about the way the world works? Your people teach you things, and my people teach me things, and it seems like more often than not those things contradict each other—or at least they don’t quite line up. How do we know who’s telling the truth?”

“Well, what do you do when one person tells you it’s snowing and another person tells you it’s sunny?”

Zuko squints at him. “...what?”

“You go outside,” Sokka says enthusiastically, gesturing at the sky. “You go outside, Zuko. You look around and you figure it out for yourself, just like you’ve been doing. Your breakthrough with the Air Nomad genocide, that was—that was really good, man. That was you figuring the truth out for yourself. Just keep doing that.”

“I don't like doing that. It’s confusing." It makes the world feel uneven and sickeningly fragile. How can he have faith in anything, if he doesn’t have faith in his nation (if he doesn’t have faith in Father)?  

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” A smile flickers across Sokka’s face, and he slides down to sit in the crumbling grass. He pats the spot beside him, and Zuko sits, too. “You know, I used to think girls couldn’t fight.”

“...you’re Katara's brother, right?”

“I know, I know. It doesn’t make much sense anymore. But at the South Pole, women don’t fight. They do the cooking and the cleaning and the whole taking-care-of-babies thing, but they never go to war. That’s a man’s job." Sokka pauses to grin at him, much to Zuko's surprise. “At least that’s what I thought ‘till I met Suki.”

“Suki?”

“She was one of the Kyoshi warriors. You know, the ones from that island you tried to burn down?”

Zuko glances back down at his own hands, hunching his shoulders. “We didn’t—the Avatar was—” Sokka’s eyes begin to narrow as Zuko fumbles to defend himself, so Zuko huffs out a breath and tries another tactic: “I’m sorry.”

If there's one thing he’s learned since Gaipan, it’s that nothing—not even the Avatar—is worth destroying other people’s lives for.

Sokka's eyes soften. “Thanks. You should tell that to Suki when we see her again. If you don’t, she’ll probably kick your ass.” He sighs dreamily. “She's cool that way.”

Zuko's eyes are narrow. Should he be offended…?

“Of course, she could totally kick my ass, too. She's the one who showed me women are, uh, extremely capable warriors. Learning that was—” Sokka scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Humiliating, yeah. Humiliating and confusing. I mean, when I was growing up, everyone in my tribe told me women had a certain role, and it wasn’t the role of a warrior. I thought everything Suki was trying to do was wrong, and it made me angry to see her going against what I'd been taught was the natural order of things.”

“So what'd you do?”

“I acted like a complete asshat. I patronized her, and she was pissed—rightfully so. She beat me up in front of all her warriors.”

“Sounds like you deserved it.”

“Oh, definitely, but it was so embarrassing. Actually—” Sokka claps his hands against the sides of his face, cringing. His cheeks are pink. “It's still embarrassing to think about. agh!”

Zuko rolls his eyes. The drama.  

“Learning that way was awful,” Sokka continues adamantly, “but she proved her point. I was angry that night, and the night after, but after I calmed down, I thought about it, you know? Why shouldn’t women fight? Dad always said it was a man’s job to protect the tribe’s women, since they’re weaker, but—they’re not. I mean, you’ve met Katara, right? And Suki was a way better warrior than me. She didn’t need my protection. She was strong, smart, and capable, and it didn’t make sense for her not to fight if that’s what she wanted to do.”

“So did you apologize?”

“I did. I even asked her to teach me how she fought.”

“And did she?”

“Yeah, and I learned a lot from her. She's an awesome warrior.”

Zuko nods sagely. “Women are scary.”

“Do you think so?” Sokka laughs, nudging his shoulder. “I take it there are women in the Fire Nation military, then?”

“Definitely. And you should meet my sister—I think she could do anything.”

“She sounds...cool?”

“Oh, no. She's awful.”

Sokka shakes his head. “Wait, is that the one you thought would set you on fire during an argument? Your relationship with your family is so weird, dude.”

“Is it? Or is your relationship with your family weird?”

“What, because we actually love each other?”

“My family loves me!”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Sokka says, scoffing. Before Zuko can argue, he forges ahead: “Do you get what I’m saying, though?”

“About scary women?”

“About figuring stuff out. Just because you’re raised to believe one thing doesn’t make that thing right. And yeah, it’s confusing and weird and scary to turn your back on your beliefs, especially if you’ve clung to them your whole life, but—well, sometimes it’s better, because sometimes you’re wrong. Sometimes your family’s wrong. Sometimes your whole tribe is wrong.”

Zuko fiddles with the hem of his tunic, frowning at the grass. He can see Sokka's point. So many of his beliefs come from other people—he really doesn’t know what he believes, once you peel all of that away. He doesn’t know that he believes anything for himself. He doesn’t know that he’s allowed to. 

Quietly, he asks, “Do you think your father will be disappointed?”

“About what? Me thinking women should fight?”

Zuko nods jerkily.

“Maybe,” Sokka admits. “And I'd be sad if he was, but ultimately, this is my life and I have to make my own decisions. I can't go through life believing things just because everyone else does. And hey, you know what?”

“What?”

Sokka stands up, dusting his pants off. “I also used to think all firebenders were violent, selfish people, and that I'd never in my life like being around one.”

“...and now?” Zuko asks softly. He's not sure he wants to know the answer.

Sokka offers him a hand. “Now I'm starting to think maybe I was wrong.”

Zuko hesitates, and then he takes Sokka's hand and pulls himself to his feet. Appa turns around to nibble his hair, and he smiles and rubs the bison’s nose. When he glances back again, he finds Sokka smiling at him. 

“C'mon, sunshine,” Sokka says, affection clear in his voice. Zuko's cheeks warm, and he quickly looks away. “Let's go. Katara has a few more moves she wants to teach you.”

“You won’t be mad?”

“No. I shouldn't have snapped at you in the first place. It’s...nice, that you’re taking an interest in waterbending. It makes Aang and Katara happy. Just promise me one thing.”

Zuko looks expectantly at him and finds Sokka's eyes on him again, anxious. 

“Don’t use anything you learn from her to hurt our friends,” Sokka says. “Please.”

“I promise. I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“I know.” Sokka exhales softly, scrubbing a hand over his own hair. “That's the worst part, huh? Now come on. I'm sure the other two are getting worried about us.”

He strolls back towards the beach, jamming his hands into his pockets. Zuko trails a few steps behind him, miserably aware that what he said wasn’t a lie: he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He especially doesn’t want to hurt Sokka, or Katara, or—or Aang. He’ll do what he can to avoid harming Sokka or Katara, but he has to take Aang to Father. 

He has to, right? 

...right?

Shit.

A few days north of Makapu, they make another pit stop on the skirts of the sea. Zuko stretches himself out, then turns to stroke Appa’s velvety nose when the bison nuzzles him. “Hey, buddy,” he murmurs. “Long trip, huh?”

Some distance away, Aang romps through the waving grass. Clearly, he’s been cooped up on the bison for too long. Then he skids to a stop, reaching for something on the ground. “Hey, look!” he hefts up a curved white blade. “A sword made out of a whale’s tooth.”

“Let me see that.” Sokka's voice is uncharacteristically sharp as he snatches the sword from Aang's hands, pacing a few feet away from him. “This is a Water Tribe weapon. See if you can find anything else.”

Zuko offers Appa one last pat, then moves away to examine the area. The trees at the edges of the nearby forest, he notices, have several scorch marks on them. His stomach begins to drop. Water Tribe weapons and scorch marks in the same place? This doesn’t look like a good story.

Aang's next find confirms it. “Sokka, here! It’s a spearhead.”

Sokka's at his side in seconds, kneeling next to him. Zuko makes his way to their sides and discovers a broken spearhead in the grass, littered with scorch marks to match the forest’s. “It's burned,” Sokka murmurs.

“They fought in the forest, too,” Zuko says, pointing towards the scorch marks. “Look.”

Sokka darts off again, his shoulders tense and his eyes narrowed as he examines the marks. “There was a battle. Water Tribe warriors ambushed a group of firebenders, but—” He points downhill, and Zuko sees a circle of soot in the downy grass. “The firebenders fought back. The warriors drove them down this hill…”

Sokka runs down the hill, scrambling over a pile of boulders. Zuko follows anxiously—what if there are still Fire Nation soldiers here?—but more slowly, his leg twinging at the climb. Aang and Katara clear the rocks easily, and when he catches up, he finds all three of them clustered on the beach. 

“So then what happened?” Aang asks, looking hopefully at Sokka.

“I don't know.” Sokka's shoulders slump. “The trail ends here.”

“Wait, look.” Katara touches Sokka’s shoulder and points out at the water, where Zuko sees a—

A Water Tribe ship.

“It's one of our boats!” Sokka's eyes widened, a smile sprawling across his face. “Katara, c’mon! It could be dad’s.”

Sokka and Katara run towards the boat while Aang and Zuko trade an uncertain glance. It’s bad enough, Zuko thinks, that they might have to deal with Water Tribe warriors. How much worse will it be if they have to deal with the Southern Tribe chief? 

When he and Aang catch up to Sokka and Katara, they find the two examining the ship fervently. “It’s not Dad’s,” Sokka says (thank the spirits), running his hand along the boat’s bow, “but it’s from his fleet. He must have been here.”

“We'll stay here tonight,” Katara announces. “Tomorrow, we can look for more clues. If there are Water Tribe warriors here, we need to talk to them.”

 “They could know where Dad is.” Sokka's eyes shine. Zuko's never seen him so excited. “He could even be here!”

A sick, yawning chasm opens in the pit of Zuko’s stomach at the thought. The feeling only gets worse as he helps them set up camp near the ship and listens to them talk about Dad this and Dad that. He doesn’t want their dad to be here. He doesn’t care if that makes him selfish—he just doesn’t. Things are going well right now, but if Sokka and Katara find their dad, then—

Then what happens?

He curls up at the edge of camp that night, his back to the fire. The thoughts of a dad draw his mind, invariably, to his own father. He suspects he won’t sleep very well if he continues to brood on those thoughts, however, so he tries to think of Uncle instead. His heart aches even worse. Are you okay, Uncle? he wonders, looking out at the stars. Are you safe? Are you home? Do you miss me as much as I miss you? 

He wonders if Uncle even wants him to return. Surely his life is easier without Zuko in it. But Zuko also knows—with more certainty than he knows many things, these days—that Uncle loves him the way he loved Lu Ten, and Uncle had been crushed when Lu Ten died. Zuko doesn’t want to put him through that again. He'll return, if only to assure Uncle that he’s alive and well. Then, if Uncle doesn’t want him to stay, he’ll leave again.

He just.

He really hopes that Uncle wants him to stay.

He tries to sleep that night—he really does—but the best he manages is a vague, uncomfortable doze. It is for this reason that he hears the crunch of footsteps in the sand long before they reach the camp. It is for this reason that his heart begins to hammer in his chest as he counts the breaths around him: Sokka, Katara, Aang, Momo, Appa, stranger. It is for this reason he is stiff and still and silent as the footsteps come to a stop just outside of their camp.

“Well, now.” A low, unfamiliar voice breaks over the camp, and Zuko’s eyes snap open. Smoke tickles the back of his throat. “Who do we have here?”

Zuko whips around, lashing out with a streak of fire. The stranger cries out in alarm—as do Sokka, Aang, and Katara. In the light of his fire, Zuko catches a glimpse of an adult man, lean and dark-haired. The man stumbles back in wild-eyed terror, and Zuko lunges forward to place himself between the man and their camp. 

“Get the hell away from us,” he snarls, hands wreathed in flame.

“Wait!” A hand touches his arm, and he tenses—but it’s only Katara, her eyes wide and glittering in the firelight. “Wait, it’s okay.”

Zuko doesn’t think anything about being snuck up on in the middle of the night is okay, but hey, what does he know? He lowers his hands, although he keeps a flame cupped in one of them to light the area. The stranger, he notices now, is dressed in very familiar blues. His right side is swathed in bandages. He looks at Zuko (at Zuko’s fire) like he’s looking death in the eye. 

“Who’s—?” Sokka stumbles to a stop at Zuko’s side, keeping Aang protectively behind him. His eyes fall on the man and go comically wide. “What—is that— Bato?” 

The man’s eyes widen, too, and dart between the Water Tribe siblings. “Sokka?” he asks hoarsely. “Katara?”

“Yes! Yes, it’s us." Katara clasps her hands in front of her chest, a smile beginning to overtake her face. “Oh, Bato, I’m so—”

“Both of you come here,” Bato interrupts, his voice sharp. His chest heaves around every ragged breath. He has yet to look at Zuko’s face; his eyes are all for the fire. “Get away from him.”

“From…?” Sokka's brow furrows, and he shakes his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. This is our friend, Li. He—”

“ I said get away from that monster.”

Chapter Text

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sokka says, pushing Zuko behind himself and holding his hands up placatingly. “Li's not a monster, Bato. He’s not going to hurt anybody.”

“He's a firebender!”

“Well, yeah, but he’s not—”

Bato reaches for the scimitar sheathed at his hip, and Zuko steps forward with a snarl. Sokka moves to block him, glowering over his shoulder. 

“Bato, it’s okay. He isn’t like the other firebenders you’ve met,” Katara says, her tone cool and soothing. She presses her hand to Zuko’s arm in a silent command— stay back— before she takes a tentative step towards Bato with her other hand outstretched. Bato’s eyes flick towards her, then rivet back to the flames in Zuko’s hand, and Zuko realizes that he recognizes that look. He recognizes that fear. That's the fear of someone who’s been burned too much, too badly, too recently. That's a fear Zuko himself has fought for years.

That's a fear he really doesn’t want to inflict on anyone else.

(Because he isn’t the monster Bato thinks he is. He isn’t, he can’t be .)

Zuko takes a deep breath, then forces himself to close his fist around his flames to smother them. Darkness clouds around their campsite, and Zuko squints until his eyes adjust to the dim moonlight. “They’re right,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm. It's difficult. Calm is the last thing he feels when he’s confronted with an armed, aggressive Water Tribe warrior. “I won't hurt you if you won’t hurt us. I'm not your enemy.”

Not right now, anyway. Not yet.

“What are you doing with him?” Bato asks Sokka and Katara. His hand still trembles where it clutches his scimitar, and his breaths come ragged and fast. Despite himself, Zuko feels a flicker of pity, and he wonders what wounds those swathes of crisp bandages hide. “He's from the Fire Nation. He’s your enemy.”

“No, he isn’t,” Katara insists, finally crossing the space between them and taking Bato’s hand. “He's been hurt by the Fire Nation, too. Look at him, Bato. Look.”

Bato’s eyes fix, finally, on Zuko’s face—on Zuko’s scar. He narrows his eyes, but it isn’t pity that crosses his face: it’s understanding. 

“He's a refugee from the Earth Kingdom,” Sokka adds, beginning to relax as Bato releases his grip on his scimitar. “He fled from the Fire Nation when he was little. He's our friend now, so you don’t have to be scared of him. You just spooked him earlier, that’s all. He's really a big softie—all bark and no bite.”

Zuko bristles indignantly. He has lots of bite, thank you very much, Sokka.  

“What did you say your name was?” Bato asks warily. His eyes have yet to leave Zuko’s face, and it’s beginning to make him nervous. He thought his scar wouldn’t be terribly recognizable in the uneducated rurals of the Earth Kingdom, but—

“Li,” Aang says, grabbing Zuko’s hand and squeezing. Zuko relaxes slightly. “His name's Li, and I'm Aang. It’s nice to meet you!”

“It's...nice to meet you too.” It’s not the least enthusiastic greeting Zuko’s ever heard, but it’s up there. Bato straightens some as he takes a deep breath, then adds, “I'm sorry if I startled you. If you’re truly a refugee from the Fire Nation, then you have my sympathy—firebender or not.”

“Thanks,” Zuko says, rather grudgingly. Some apology that is. “I'm sorry I threatened you. I thought you meant to harm us.”

Bato inclines his head, then looks their motley group over. As soon as his gaze lands on Sokka and Katara again, he opens his arms. “And you two! Come here, already.”

Sokka and Katara lunge into his arms, laughing, and Zuko studies Bato’s reaction carefully. He embraces them both, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. He must know them well—but he isn’t their father, is he? He doesn't look like either one of them, aside from the brown skin and pale eyes all Water Tribesmen share. They call him by name, too, unless Bato happens to be some colloquial form of the word father, which, hell, maybe it is, and—

“Is Dad with you?” Sokka asks hopefully.

“I'm afraid not.” Bato shakes his head. “He and the other warriors should be in the eastern Earth Kingdom by now.”

Oh, thank the spirits.

Katara and Sokka do not look quite as thrilled as Zuko is with the news. Their shoulders slump, crestfallen, and a brisk wind makes them all shiver miserably. 

“Come,” Bato says, wrapping his arms around Sokka and Katara’s shoulders. “This is no place for a reunion. Let's get inside. I’ll tell you all we’ve done since leaving the south—and by the looks of it, you ought to have some stories for me, too.”

The three of them head down the beach, but Zuko and Aang hang back to trade an uncertain glance. At least, Zuko thinks he's not alone in his hesitancy. They’re really just going to go with this guy? They’re just going to forget their traveling plans for the day and stay here, with this odd warrior, to trade stories? That sounds...unideal.

“You two are welcome as well,” Bato calls over his shoulder, motioning for them to catch up. “Even you, ashmaker.”

Definitely unideal. 

Zuko kicks irritably at the sand, then helps Aang pack their things onto Appa before trudging after the new Water Tribe trio. Bato leads them to an abbey with a wide, open courtyard. Several nuns scurry through the yard, carrying buckets of water and sacks of grain as they prepare for the dawn. Zuko can feel the sun rising even before it reaches the horizon—it spills warmth through his veins and allows him to shake the dredges of sleep from his mind. In the light, everything feels just a little bit safer, and he tries to pat his brewing annoyance down. Maybe this visit isn’t ideal, but it’s making Sokka and Katara happy, so it isn’t entirely terrible.

“After I was wounded by the Fire Nation’s soldiers, your father carried me to this abbey. The sisters have cared for me ever since,” Bato explains. He lifts his hand, drawing a nearby nun’s attention.  “Mother Superior, these are the chief’s children and their friends. They’ve been traveling with the Avatar. I found them by my boat.”

Mother Superior—a tall nun in dark robes—turns and nods formally to them. “Young Avatar, it gives me great joy to be in your presence. Welcome to our abbey.”

“Thank you. It's truly an honor to be here,” Aang says, his eyes brightening. “If there’s anything—”

“What smells so good, Bato?” Sokka interrupts, sniffing the air. Zuko copies him, and he’s right—the air here smells faintly of mint and roses, cool and sweet. 

“The sisters craft ointments and perfumes,” Bato says, gesturing to a pair of wide awnings near the back of the courtyard. Underneath the awnings sit several large, streaming iron pots, over which a handful of nuns fuss. 

“Perfume?” Sokka grins and jerks his thumb towards Appa. “Maybe we can dump some on Appa, because he stinks so much. Am I right?”

In response to this, Sokka receives several flat stares and a cough. 

Wearily, Bato says, “You have your father’s wit.”

Next, Bato leads them to the dormitories on the far side of the abbey. He pauses in front of one of the backmost rooms, unlocking the wooden door before pushing it open. “Please, come in. Make yourselves at home—but mind that you don’t bend inside.”

Zuko gets a feeling that rule is meant for him more than it is for anyone else, and his jaw tightens. He's always careful about his bending, and it’s not like he’s not going to burn the place down just because he can. Sure, maybe he can get too angry too fast, sometimes, but he’s not some sort of uncontrollable terror. (Is he? A few other firebenders are, maybe, but not—not him.) 

Grimacing, Zuko files into Bato’s room, which is just as weird as he’d imagined it would be. The decor is even enough to distract him from his angst, however briefly. Animal pelts adorn every available surface, and the whole place smells like musk and boiled seaweed. Near the center of the room, an iron pot rests in the embers of a small fire pit—and Zuko doubts it’s ever anything but embers, given Bato’s earlier reaction to full flames. Inside the pot, he can hear something bubbling gently.

“Bato, it looks like home,” Katara says, beaming. 

“Everything's here,” Sokka agrees, whirling around as he takes in the view. “Even the pelts!”

Aang grimaces, sticking close to Zuko’s side. He looks just as uncomfortable with their surroundings as Zuko is. “Yeah. Nothing’s cozier than dead animal skins.”

Katara kneels next to the firepit, lifting the lid of the iron pot. “No way, boiled sea prunes!”

The boiled seaweed smell grows stronger, and Zuko wrinkles his nose. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of the nuns’ perfume, now.

“Help yourselves. There’s plenty to go around,” Bato says, sitting cross-legged before the firepit and handing out several wooden bowls. 

“Dad could eat a whole barrel of these things,” Sokka says, his voice laced with amusement. He ladles boiled sea prunes into each of their bowls and then hands them out. “Aang, Li, you guys are gonna love this stuff.”

Zuko does not love this stuff. Still, he forces himself to swallow a spoonful—he doesn’t want to spoil Bato’s mood (doesn’t want to make Bato think he’s ungrateful and dangerous) by turning his nose up to a free meal. The prunes taste sharp and sour, and their slime coats the back of his throat with an iron tang. He shudders and reluctantly fills his spoon again.

“Good, right?” Sokka asks, looking hopefully at him.

“Mm-hm,” Zuko says, trying very hard not to gag. Fortunately, he’s had practice. It isn't the first time he’s had to choke down something he despises—pickiness is unbecoming of a prince, and downright unmanageable as a sailor. “‘s great.”

Aang sniffs his own sea prunes, then makes a face and sets the bowl aside. Bato doesn’t snap at him for doing so, and Zuko eyes Aang jealousy. Aang can get away with the waste because he’s clearly on a very different level than Zuko is in Bato’s eyes—he’s the Avatar and, more importantly, he isn’t a firebender (isn’t a monster). That must make all the difference in the world. Zuko fills another spoonful.

“Bato,” Katara asks as they eat, “is it true that you and Dad lassoed an arctic hippo?”

“It was your father's idea, he just dragged me along. Well, the hippo did the dragging!”

Beside Zuko, Aang brightens and sits up straighter. “Hey, I ride animals, too. There was this one time when I rode a giant eel and I—”

Then Sokka interrupts again, and Zuko frowns. Sure, Sokka’s never the most considerate person, but it’s unusual for him to talk over someone so consistently. Aang looks equally baffled as Sokka asks Bato, “So, who was it that came up with the great blubber fiasco?”

Bato chuckles, stirring his bowl of prunes. “You know about that?”

“Everyone does!” Katara exclaims.

Aang casts an uncertain glance at Sokka before tentatively asking, “What’s that story?”

“It’s a long one, Aang,” Sokka says, waving a hand dismissively at him. “Some other time.”

“You and Dad had so many hilarious adventures,” Katara says. She seems unaware—or at least unconcerned with—her brother’s odd behavior. She doesn’t even notice the disheartened misery beginning to creep through Aang’s eyes. 

Zuko notices, because Zuko is also starting to feel pretty miserable. 

Stupid Water Tribe people, he thinks as his irritation resurges. Stupid reunion. Stupid waste of time. We should be heading to the North Pole, not sitting around telling worthless stories. 

Aang scoots away from Zuko, picking up one of the pelts. This one looks like it belongs to a small bear—or a very large dog—of some kind, its eyes beady-black and its fur thick and white. He sets the head of the animal on top of his own, then turns to grin at Zuko. Zuko rolls his eyes but offers Aang a small huff of amusement, because he’s starting to feel pretty bad for the kid, and it seems like he’s the only other person who’s not currently infatuated with Bato.

Then Bato’s voice rises across the room, sharp and firm: “Hey, Aang! Please put that down. It’s ceremonial and very fragile.”

Zuko flinches like he’s been hit. He hates that tone. He hates that tone. It’s the kind of tone that barks orders and burns when he fails them. It’s the kind of tone that tells him he’s stupid, and weak, and being purposefully difficult, (and a monster), and—

And Aang grabs his hand.

When Zuko glances down at him, he tips his head towards the doorway. Quietly, the both of them slip back outside. The enthusiastic chatter of voices rises and falls steadily behind them, so they must make it out unnoticed. That, too, causes Zuko’s anger to rise. What the hell? How can one single person distract Sokka and Katara so completely? Are they going to stop being interested in Aang and Zuko now that they’re back with their own people? That's not fair! And maybe he’s being petulant about the whole thing—what does he care if Sokka and Katara pay attention to him, anyways?—but he can’t bring himself to stop.

“They’re acting really weird,” Aang says as they stroll back through the courtyard. The nuns greet them warmly, and Zuko does his best to ignore them in favor of sulking. “Right? I mean, it’s not just me who thinks that?”

“Of course they’re acting weird. They’re back with their people. You know, in an extremely limited sense.”

“I guess.” Aang scuffs at the cobblestones with his shoe. “I'm happy for them.”

“Oh, bullshit.” 

“I am!”

“You are not. Drop the happy-go-lucky-dipshit schtick for a second, okay? They’re being jerks. You don’t have to pretend like you’re okay with it.”

“They’re not trying to be mean,” Aang says, hunching his shoulders. The cobblestones fade to sand beneath their steps as they exit the abbey and make their way down the beach. “They’re just excited. Wouldn’t you be, if you were back with your people?”

“More excited than you know.”

“So I can’t be mad at them for that. It’s normal.”

“Maybe. Still doesn’t mean we have to be happy about it,” Zuko says, frowning. What if Sokka and Katara enjoy being back with their people so much that they want to stay here? What if they chose Bato instead of Zuko and Aang? “You think they’ll still want to go north?”

Aang stumbles, and Zuko reaches out to steady him. “What? Of course they will!” says Aang, looking nervously at him. “They will, won’t they? Bato’s just one guy. They left their whole tribe behind when I asked them to. They left their grandmother. If they weren’t willing to stay for her, then why would they stay for Bato?”

“They’re probably homesick now.” Zuko stops at the shore, watching as the waves roll in, sunkissed and bright. “It's been months since you left the South Pole.”

“Not helping, Zuko. Not helping.” Aang wrings his hands together. 

Zuko shrugs. Helping isn’t really his forte. Still, the matter concerns him, too. What happens if Sokka and Katara call off their trip north? Without their protection, Aang would be an easy—well, easier—target for Zuko. What's more, if they aren’t traveling north, then Zuko assumes their deal is broken. He'd be able to track Aang for real. He'd be able to return to Uncle. He'd be able to return to Father.  

“If Sokka and Katara decide to stay here,” Zuko says, a realization dawned aloud, “then I'm going home, and you’re coming with me.”

The thought should fill him with excitement.

Instead, it fills him with a dizzying sort of nausea. 

He wants to go home, he knows. He’s wanted to go home for three spirits-damned years! He misses Caldera City, and smooth silk sheets, and watching fire lilies bloom under the baking sun. He misses the rain on his windows in monsoon season, and his bedroom with all the books, and the sticky-sweet of mochi between his teeth. He misses practicing katas at Ember Island, the warm sand between his toes, and he misses the turtle ducklings with their soft yellow down. He even misses azula, for spirits’ sake! 

Naturally, he’s still nervous about seeing Father when he gets home, but these three years must have cooled his temper—and if Zuko brings Aang to him, then Father will be too overjoyed to be angry anymore. He’ll welcome Zuko with open arms, and he’ll say, “Well done, my son. You’ve made me very proud.” Everything will be better, and Zuko will be treated like the crown prince (like the loyal son) that he truly is. 

...so why are his hands shaking so badly, when he thinks of it? 

“I don't want to go to the Fire Nation.” Aang looks miserably at him, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“We don't have a choice.”

“Yes we do.”

“And what choice is that? Letting you go free? Living my life out as some worthless, dishonored vagabond? Watching you destroy my nation, my people, while I sit back and do nothing? No. I can't. I won't.” 

Zuko’s thought about letting Aang go free. Spirits, of course he has. Ever since his conversation with Sokka he’s thought about it! He cares for Aang—as much as he knows he shouldn’t—and he hates that their destinies are pitted against each other like this. But if Zuko lets him go free, the Fire Nation will be destroyed. His people will be destroyed. The other nations will tear them apart with the Avatar’s help, and Zuko can’t let that happen. Maybe his nation isn’t perfect—maybe it’s done awful, inexcusable things—but that doesn’t mean it deserves to be butchered in return. No nation deserves that.

The more difficult option—the more honorable option—is to do whatever he has to to win the throne, no matter how much it pains him. That much power cannot be allowed to fall into Azula's hands after Father passes. She would tear apart the other nations the same way the Firelords before her have. But if Zuko becomes Firelord, instead, he can end this war once and for all. If he can free Aang and make peace with the other nations, fantastic! But if, when offered the Fire Nation’s surrender, the other nations still want to destroy his people—well, he will not let them. He will not let anyone.  

“Zuko?” Aang tugs his tunic until Zuko looks at him. His eyes are solemn and serious, and when he speaks again his voice is even moreso: “I will never destroy your people. They belong in this world as much as any of the other nations, and I’m their Avatar, too.”

The world stutters.

Zuko stares at Aang, his breath hitching. That—that’s not right. The Avatar’s entire job is to destroy the Fire Nation. Father always warned him about what would happen to their people if the Avatar united the other nations against them, but looking at Aang now—

Looking at Aang now, Zuko wonders if maybe Father was wrong.

It’s something to think about—as though he didn’t have enough of that before! Perhaps Aang doesn’t want to destroy the Fire Nation (and Aang is so damn pacifistic that Zuko thinks he’s probably telling the truth on that front), but the other nations might. And who can blame them? They’ve been wronged in so many ways. They’ll want revenge. They’ll want to execute punishment on his people. Could Aang stop them? Could he guide them all towards peace instead? Maybe, but it’s far too unlikely a thing to rely on. Aang, despite his determination, is only a child and an unfinished Avatar. Who would listen to him? Who would obey? What is his word worth, in the grand scheme of things? 

Then there’s the matter of Father, who would never agree to peace with nations he’s fought against his entire life. He would have to be killed, and Zuko is many dishonorable things, maybe, but he is no Father-killer. He loves his father! He is a loyal, good, loving son above all else, and he cannot fathom the betrayal that it would be to let Aang go free. He cannot fathom the punishment he would receive if Father ever found out, either, and perhaps he should add coward to his list of dishonors because it is that thought that makes him recoil most from the mere idea of supporting Aang. Besides, if Zuko gives up Aang—

If he gives up Aang, Father will never love him. All of Zuko’s suffering will have been for naught, will have been wasted agony, and the pain of that seems more than he can bear. But would the pain of giving Aang up weigh any less at this point? Would betraying his friends be any better than betraying his father and his people? He knows what choice he should make, but try as he might he can't figure out the choice he wants to make. It seems like there’s no good option anywhere he looks—and he’s been doing a lot of damn looking.

So Zuko yanks his tunic out of Aang’s hand, and he scowls, because that’s what feels safest. “That kind of mentality is going to get you killed,” he mutters, in lieu of any meaningful answer. “Don’t get so melodramatic. We’re probably still going north, anyway.”

Aang brightens, to Zuko’s relief, shedding seriousness like a heavy cloak. “Do you think so?”

“Yes. Sokka and Katara love you too much to leave you just for Bato.” Zuko rolls his eyes. “Bato. He’s not even that cool.”

“I wish I liked him,” Aang admits, “but I'm pretty jealous right now.”

...jealous. Yeah. Maybe that’s the word for the fickle irritation Zuko has been feeling. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can he hears footsteps in the distance. They sound odd, inhuman, and a few seconds later Zuko understands why: an ostrich horse rounds the corner of the beach, each stride sending up sprays of sand as it gallops towards them. It skids to a stop just before it reaches them, and its rider waves. 

“I'm looking for Bato of the Water Tribe,” she announces. 

“What for?” Zuko asks warily. She looks like a messenger—she wears a large satchel, and the ostrich horse’s saddle bags bulge with boxes and envelopes. 

“I have a message for him.”

“I know Bato,” Aang offers, holding a hand out.

The messenger drops a scroll into his palm. It's sealed with blue wax, and a stylized wolf’s head is impressed across the seal’s surface. A Water Tribe message, almost certainly. “Make sure he gets this.”

As soon as Aang steps back, the messenger spurs her ostrich horse back to a gallop and vanishes down the beach. Zuko moves to Aang’s side, peeking at the scroll. He doesn’t even have to encourage Aang to open it, like the bad influence he is—the kid does so as soon as the messenger is gone, his fingers prying the seal up and unrolling the thick paper. 

“It's a...map?” he says, his brow furrowing. 

“I can see that.” Zuko narrows his eyes. Above the map, there’s a small message in neat black ink: Bato, my friend! Here are the directions to our rendezvous point. Take care that they don’t fall into the wrong hands. We’ll be here until the next full moon, if you feel well enough to join us. It's signed by someone named Hakoda. “I guess that’s where the other Water Tribe warriors are. We should get this to Bato—the sooner he leaves, the sooner we can convince Sokka and Katara to start traveling again.”

Aang doesn’t respond, and when Zuko glances at him, he’s pale. His grip on the map tightens until the paper creases. 

“...Aang?”

“Hakoda,” Aang says, swallowing hard. “Hakoda is their dad.”

Well. Shit.

“Zuko, if we give this to them they’ll leave,” Aang says, looking up at him. There’s panic growing in his eyes. “They'll want to go find him.”

“I know, I know.” Of course Zuko knows. Sokka and Katara are as loyal to their dad and chief as Zuko is to his father and firelord. Naturally, they’ll want to return to his side as soon as they can. “Damn it.”

“And if they leave, you’ll—” Aang’s eyes are welling with tears, now.

“Stop, stop it. Don’t cry. Come on, just breathe. Maybe they’ll take you with them.”

“It doesn’t matter! If they decide not to go north, then you’ll leave and you’ll go back to hunting us and—and—”

“Spirits, do you want a head start or something?”

“I want you to not fight us anymore!”

Zuko sets his jaw and thinks of his people, of his home, of his father. “That wasn’t our deal.”

“Well, I hate our deal.”

“It's not so great for me either! You think I wanted to get dragged halfway across the world with you three? Do you think I wanted to be kept away from my crew and my family and my uncle? You think I wanted to be a burden to you?” Zuko whirls around, grinding his teeth. “I didn't ask for any of this.”

“Zuko! You’re—”

“Stop freaking out about this. You’re worrying about things that may not even happen. Maybe Sokka and Katara won’t want to go after their father.”

Aang stares at him in disbelief. 

“Alright, so it’s—a far-fetched idea,” Zuko admits. “But why don’t we just talk to them?”

Aang looks at the map in his hands, his lower lip wobbling. “I don't want to.”

“What else can we do? Bato’s going to tell them as soon as he sees who the map is from.”

“...what if Bato didn’t get the map?”

Zuko freezes. Did he hear that right? Did the Avatar, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes himself, just suggest lying their way out of this? He has to admit, the idea is tempting. Despite himself, he’s been enjoying the past couple of weeks. He doesn't want to lose Sokka, or Katara, or Aang—not yet. He wants to go to the North Pole, collect information for Father, and return the way they’d originally planned. The trip to the north will give his leg more time to heal, as well as more time to study Aang’s traveling habits. Patience, in this case, will be very rewarding. 

(That, and if someone asked him to take Aang back to the Fire Nation right now? He’s not sure he could. Aang would cry and fight and Zuko might have to hurt him and that’s not—he can’t—agh! It’s a sore spot and a weak point that he already knows he needs to get rid of, and soon. He has to be able to do it when the time comes. He just needs a little longer to think, to sort everything out in his head, to re-convince himself that he absolutely has to take Aang to the Fire Nation, and then—then he’ll be able to do it.)

On the other hand, they can’t keep this information from Sokka and Katara. Zuko knows all too well how infuriating it is to be kept from his family. He knows how desperately he wants to see his own people again, and how painful it is to be separated from them. He doesn’t wish that sort of pain on anyone—especially not on Sokka and Katara. If they want to see their father again, then they should be allowed to. They’re good kids.

(And maybe it’s better to rip the bandage off now. The longer he stays with them, the more attached he becomes, and that’s only going to make what he has to do harder—for them and for himself. To think otherwise is to make excuses because he doesn’t want to do this, and that’s weak. He's weak. He should be better.)

“Aang,” he says, the words slow and reluctant, “we can’t do that.”

“But I don’t want them to leave!” Aang says, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “I don't want any of you to leave!”

“I don’t—I—” Zuko falters, his heart lurching. He didn't know he hated seeing Aang cry so much, but he’s so small, so harmless and good, and he doesn’t deserve to cry. Zuko reaches out, his hand hovering awkwardly over Aang’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but we can’t—we shouldn’t—please don’t cry anymore, come on, it’s gonna be fine—”

As soon as Zuko’s hand touches his shoulder, Aang lurches forward and wraps his arms around Zuko’s waist. Zuko stumbles a step back, wincing at the weight on his bad leg. Aang squeezes hard, and Zuko wheezes but doesn’t push him off. Instead, he gingerly loops his arms around Aang’s shoulders the way he’s seen Sokka and Katara do time and time again, and he holds on.

He doesn't say anything—what comfort can he offer?—but he lets Aang cling to him until the tears begin to slow. Aang feels terribly fragile in his arms, and nothing at all like the omnipotent Avatar he’s supposed to be. He feels like a child. Twelve? Zuko wonders. Can he possibly be twelve?  

He feels so much younger than that. Twelve is old enough to fight. Twelve is old enough to duel in an Agni Kai. twelve is old enough to be burned, to be dishonored, to be banished, and right now? Right now, Aang doesn’t feel old enough for any of that. Right now, Zuko would maul anyone who even thought of hurting him.

I have to give him to my father, Zuko thinks again, and the horror of it threatens to choke him. He can think of no greater hurt. Oh, Agni, I have to give him to my father. 

(Bato was right. No matter what he does, Zuko is somebody’s monster, and there’s no escaping that.)

Chapter Text

“Hey, Li! Aang!” Sokka’s voice carries over the beach, and Zuko gently pushes Aang away from himself. Aang looks up, sniffling, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. It is more difficult than it should be to resist the urge to hug him again. 

“What do I do?” Aang’s voice cracks desperately. “Zuko, what do I…?”

Zuko doesn’t know. Zuko doesn’t know.  

“It's your choice,” he says, like the spirits-damned coward he is. He knows it’s cruel, placing the burden of that decision squarely on Aang’s shoulders, but what other option does he have? Zuko certainly can’t make the choice for them. He'd tear himself apart trying. “Whatever you decide to do, I'll support you in it.”

“Zuko…”

“It's going to be okay.”

It’s not.

“Guys?” Sokka’s voice is quieter as he, Katara, and Bato come to a stop alongside them. Concern floods his eyes when he sees their expressions. “Hey, what’s up? What’s wrong?”

“I, um.” Aang takes a wobbly breath and swipes his hand over his eyes. He looks from Zuko to the crumpled map for a long, agonizing second—and then he thrusts the map towards Bato. His hand shakes. “Here. A messenger brought this for you.”

That’s it, then. Zuko’s going home.

The thought brings him no relief—only a bone-deep, weary acceptance. 

“Going through my mail, I see,” Bato says, plucking the map out of Aang’s hand, and Zuko manages to muster a weak glare in his direction. Katara comes to stand beside Aang, resting a hand on his shoulder as Bato skims the message. “Well, would you look at this? It’s the map to your father, kids.”

“What?” Sokka scrambles to Bato’s side, his eyes wide. “Dad!”

“He's safe,” Katara breathes, touching her mother’s necklace. Aang shrinks into her side, and she glances down at him with her eyebrows raised. “Aang…?”

“I'm okay.” Aang’s smile is small and unconvincing, and Katara’s eyes linger on it. “Really. That's great news.”

“It is,” Bato agrees wholeheartedly. His eyes shine with excitement. “I'll have to leave as soon as possible if I want to make it there by the full moon. Sokka, Katara, would you like to come with me? I know Hakoda misses you both very much, and it would be wonderful for you to see him again.”

“That would be incredible,” Katara says, trading a longing glance with Sokka. Aang reaches out and grabs Zuko’s arm, clinging, and Zuko doesn’t have the heart to shake him off. His own stomach rolls with anxiety, and it isn’t until Katara’s next sentence that his worries screech to a halt: “But I’m afraid we can’t. We have to get Aang to the North Pole.”

They...what?

Beside him, Aang’s mouth opens, and shuts, and then opens again. He must be as confused as Zuko is. “But—Sokka, Katara, your dad,” he protests weakly. “You haven’t seen him in forever.”

“No, we haven’t,” Sokka says, hunching his shoulders and twisting his mouth around a small frown. “But, y’know, we’re on a bit of a tight schedule with the whole incoming comet thing and he’s on the other side of the Earth Kingdom. It would take us weeks to get there, and that’s not exactly time we can spare.”

“Our dad is important to us, but you’re important to us, too, and we made you a promise,” Katara adds, squeezing Aang’s shoulder. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Aang’s eyes well up with tears again, and then he releases Zuko’s arm—if only so he can throw himself at Sokka and Katara. They embrace him, although they look baffled by his sudden affection. Sokka rests a hand on top of his head, and Katara rubs his back in slow circles as he clutches them.

“Heh—didn’t think we’d leave you, did you?” Sokka asks, thumping Aang’s shoulder. “C’mon. You know better than that.”

Aang mumbles something incomprehensible and doesn’t let go. 

“Is that what you were worried about?” Katara’s face creases with sympathy, and she leans down to rest her cheek against Aang’s head. “Oh, Aang. I told you: we’re your family now. Wherever we go, you’re going with us, okay? We’ll never leave you alone again.”

Zuko can recognize the feeling simmering in his chest when he hears those words, now: jealousy. He can’t imagine his own family saying something like that to him. Uncle would, maybe, if Zuko managed to ask for it—but Zuko doesn’t think he could ever manage. He shouldn’t even want to. 

On top of his jealousy sits a much more manageable emotion—confusion—and he latches onto it.

“But won’t your father miss you?” Zuko asks, his brow furrowing. He'd been certain that Sokka and Katara would leap at the chance to see their family again. He knew he would. If his own father ever even hinted at wanting to see him again, Zuko would scramble to get to his side as soon as possible—never mind the conflicting feelings he might have about it. He just can’t fathom how anyone can give that opportunity up. What wouldn’t Zuko do, to be in their place? To have a father who wants to see him? Who misses him?

He wonders.

“I'm sure he will,” Katara says, “but he’s always wanted us to forge our own paths. Aang is our responsibility now. Dad will understand. Besides, the sooner we help Aang train, the sooner we win the war, and the sooner dad can come home.”

“Exactly. So c’mon, little man. Cheer up.” Sokka squeezes Aang more tightly, lifting him off of his feet and striding towards the ocean. Aang squeezes him back and even manages a watery giggle. “Bato was just about to show us this ship of his. Listen up and maybe you’ll learn something. Bato, is this the boat your dad took you ice dodging in?”

Zuko follows them back to the boat, still frowning. The boat is a cutter—small and antique, although elegantly crafted. It wouldn’t stand a chance against a Fire Nation warship. So it’s amazing, he thinks, that a fleet of them actually made it to the eastern Earth Kingdom unharmed. It's almost as amazing as the fact that Sokka and Katara don’t want to rush to that fleet and see their father.

Seriously, what is up with that?

“Yep,” Bato says, grinning. “It's got the scar to prove it. How about you, Sokka? You must have some good stories from your first time ice dodging.”

Sokka’s shoulders begin to slump, and he sets Aang back down. Aang looks up, propping his chin on Sokka’s chest, and frowns when he sees Sokka’s expression. Zuko frowns, too. Sokka shouldn’t look that sad. It isn't normal. It isn’t right.  

“He never got to go,” Katara says gently, touching her brother’s back. “Dad left before he was old enough.”

Bato clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Oh, I forgot you were too young.”

“What's ice dodging?” Aang asks, looking from Bato to Sokka. 

“It's a rite of passage for young Water Tribe members. When you turn fourteen, your dad takes you—” Bato pauses, then claps a hand on Sokka’s shoulder. There’s a twinkle in his eye that Zuko really, really doesn’t like. “You know what? You’re about to find out.”

“Really?” Sokka’s eyes brighten marginally, the corners of his mouth lifting into a hopeful smile.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather wait for your father to take you, in which case—”

“No, I want to!” Sokka’s shoulders straighten, and he bounces on his toes. His enthusiasm must be infectious, because an actual smile flickers across Aang’s face as he burrows further into Sokka’s embrace. “You’ll tell dad how I do?”

“He’ll hear every last bit.”

“Can my friends come with us?”

“Well, you need a crew, don’t you?”

Sokka turns, looking hopefully from Aang to Katara to Zuko, and it’s so much easier to see him happy than it is to see him sad. Zuko knows he’s a goner before Sokka even asks, “Do you guys wanna come?” And then, in a smaller voice, as though any of them could possibly tell him no: “Please?”

“You need someone to keep you out of trouble, don’t you?” Katara asks, reaching out and squeezing her brother’s hand. “Of course I'll go.”

Aang nods, his face set in determination. “I wanna go. You guys are important to me, too, so—whatever you need, Sokka, I'll be there. Just tell me what to do.”

Zuko doesn’t miss the glint of guilt in Aang’s eyes as he says it—but hell, if this is how he’s decided to make up for almost lying to them both, Zuko doesn’t mind. There are much worse ways to earn forgiveness. (Zuko would know.) 

“Thank you both.” Sokka squeezes Aang one last time before releasing him, then knocks Katara’s shoulder with his own. His eyes swing to Zuko, next, and Zuko groans preemptively. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! Live a little.”

“Ice dodging doesn’t sound like fun. It sounds like a death trap.”

“But it's a death trap that’s culturally important to me. I mean—” Sokka pauses and sniffs haughtily, looking away from him. “Unless you’re too scared to go.”

“I'm not scared!”

“No, no, it’s okay if you are. Ice dodging isn’t for everybody. Water Tribe kids are brave enough to handle it, obviously, but since you’re from the Fire Nation it makes sense that you—”

Zuko storms past him and onto the boat. 

Spirits, he’s such a sucker now. What have they all done to him? Behind him, Sokka laughs in delight, and Zuko very pointedly ignores the weird flip-flops his stomach does in response. He also ignores the weird look Katara gives him as she leans against the boat’s bow, her eyebrows arched and her gaze flicking between him and Sokka. 

“You know,” she says, “I expected that to be more of a fight.”

“I'm not a coward.”

“No, I know, I know.” she nods sagely, glancing towards Sokka and Bato. Both of them are chatting enthusiastically as they examine the sails. Aang is with them, glued to Sokka’s side and listening intently as Bato explains the ship’s controls. “And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he gave you the polar puppy eyes.”

“It’s culturally important to him,” Zuko grumbles, “and he was sad. I'm not always an asshole, you know.”

“I do know, actually.” She reaches out, rubbing his back, and Zuko blinks. That...feels nice? “Really, thank you, Li. This means a lot to him.”

“...yeah.” Zuko clears his throat and straightens up, inhaling briskly. Katara’s hand falls from his back. “Of course. You’re welcome.”

Approximately ten minutes later, Zuko finds himself—very grudgingly—sailing down the shore of the Earth Kingdom. The sun beats against their shoulders, and a cool wind whips the waves up. In the distance, Zuko can see the sand of the beach giving way to stony cliffs and crags. That, so it seems, is exactly where they’re heading. 

“Ice dodging is a ceremonial test,” Bato announces, clasping his hands behind his back and looking over the four of them. “In our village, ice dodging was done by weaving a boat through a field of icebergs.”

“Question: how are we supposed to ice dodge without ice?” Sokka asks, arching an eyebrow.

“You'll be dodging those.” Bato points ahead, at a series of looming, jagged rocks offshore. Zuko rubs his temples. Of course they’re going to dodge those. Of course. “Sokka, you steer and call the shots. Lead wisely. For this to be done right, I cannot help. You pass or fail on your own.”

“Right.” Sokka nods, his brow wrinkling as he thinks. He turns to them. “Katara, secure the mainsail. Li, you’re on the headsails. Aang, you control the jib.”

Zuko wraps his hands around a headsail’s halyard, and the damp rope bites against his palms. “Hey, you know what I don't understand?” he asks as they plunge towards their certain doom against the spines of a thousand rocks.

“What’s that?” Sokka asks.

“All of these weird barbarian traditions your tribe has. This seems like a super great way for most of your young Water Tribe members to die horrible deaths. No wonder you were the only teenage guy left.”

To his surprise, Sokka grins. “Oh, you’re one to talk to, Mr. Agni Kai.” 

Zuko opens his mouth, and then shuts it. 

“Now, listen up,” Sokka says, raising his voice as his eyes flash with excitement. “We’re getting close. Aang, ease up on the jib. Katara and Li, keep her steady.”

Zuko tightens his grip on the halyard of his sail, taking a deep breath and trading a worried look with Katara. At least she’s a waterbender, right? So they’re not likely to drown, although being crushed against a rock or trapped under the debris of a broken ship are still possibilities—and they’re possibilities that Zuko’s brain delights in detailing for him. He’s not a bad sailor himself, but he’s certainly never brought a ship this close to such large rocks—

You know, because he’s not a bad sailor. 

“Aang, less sail,” Sokka orders, and Zuko hears Aang scramble to obey behind him. The ship leans to the side and slips between a pair of arcing rocks. Two down, ninety thousand to go. Zuko exhales slowly as the next cluster of rocks approaches. “Helm to lee. Helm to lee!”

Zuko throws himself back, snapping the lee headsail out to catch the wind. Aang relaxes the jib to let him, and the boat jolts leeward. Waves slam against its bow, and only Zuko’s grip on the rope keeps him upright. Near the front of the boat, Bato goes staggering across the deck. It isn’t an elegant maneuver—not at all— but it gets them around the next few rocks. 

“Great job, guys,” Sokka calls, looking back at them. There’s a wide grin on his face, and something in Zuko starts to preen. “Keep it up. Starboard next, now!”

Zuko scrambles in the other direction, hauling the headsails around with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Katara doing the same with the mainsail. Together, they swing all of the ship’s sails into their proper positions, and the wind yanks them starboard. The boat rumbles and jolts beneath them as its side grates against an underwater rock, but they make it through undamaged. Sokka whoops in delight. 

Then, in front of them, rises the most closely-packed tangle of rocks yet. There is no way, even under Sokka’s guidance, that the boat is going to fit through. The laws of physics simply won’t allow it.

“Sokka,” he says urgently. “Sokka.” 

At the same time, Katara shouts, “There's no way through!”

“We can make it,” Sokka says firmly. He looks at them again, and the steel in his eyes makes Zuko think that maybe, just maybe, they actually can make it. He nods without thinking, because he’s a spirits-damned sucker— and judging by the smile that flits across Sokka’s face, Aang and Katara must do the same.

Bato is not so convinced. “Sokka, you've already proven yourself,” he says, gripping the side of the boat so tightly the skin over his knuckles pales. “Maybe we should—”

"Li, keep the sails wide. Aang, I'm gonna need air in them,” Sokka says, swinging his eyes forward again. “And Katara, I want you to bend as much water as you can between us and those rocks. Go!”

Katara shoves her hands out, pushing a wave forward with her palms. The water builds, lifting their boat higher and higher. Zuko snaps the sails as wide as they can go and then ducks, huddling close to the mast. A blast of cold air races above him, billowing the sails out. The boat surges up and forward, gliding over the tops of the rocks in an absolutely impossible maneuver.

As soon as the boat coasts back to sea level, Sokka—impossible, ridiculously clever Sokka—whirls around and lunges at them. Katara meets him in the middle of the boat, laughing as he embraces her and spins her around. Aang joins them a second later, crashing into their sides. Sokka and Katara both loop their arms out, dragging him into their embrace; all three of them look at Zuko.

“No,” Zuko says immediately. “Nuh-uh. Not happening.”

"Li,” Katara says, her voice warm.

"Li Li Li!” Aang agrees, flailing an arm out and making a grabby hand at him. “You survived the rock dodging ceremony, you can survive this.”

“Yeah.” Sokka hooks his chin over Katara’s head, looking fondly at Zuko. His eyes are unbearably soft, crinkled at the edges by his smile, and Zuko feels as though he’s swallowed a swarm of butterflies. “C’mere already.”

Zuko wavers on his feet and latches his teeth into the inside of his cheek.

“It’s part of the ritual,” Sokka adds.

“It is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“What would you know about Water Tribe cultural practices?” Sokka asks, then juts his lower lip out in a pout and makes those damnable puppy dog eyes at him again.

“Spirits, fine!”

As soon as he says it, Sokka reaches out and hauls him into their embrace. His face gets jammed into Sokka’s shoulder, and he smells boiled sea prunes and sweat and seasalt. Aang squeals in excitement and latches onto his arm, burrowing up against his side while Katara laughs and slips an arm around his back. It's awful. It’s strange, and overwhelming, and awful, and Zuko kind of never wants it to stop.

But, like, he’s going to freak out if it doesn’t, so.

“Alright, get off, get off, get off, get off,” he says a few seconds later, elbowing them until they get the message and release him. His cheeks feel warm, and he refuses to look at any of them. “That entire rock dodging stunt was incredibly risky. I can't believe we actually made it.”

“I knew we could do it,” says Sokka, puffing out his chest. “You guys are just that awesome.”

“We couldn't have done it without your guidance.” Katara nudges his shoulder with her own. “Dad would be proud.”

Sokka’s eyes soften, and he hugs her again. 

“Yeah, Sokka, you were awesome,” Aang agrees. “All of you were. We make a pretty good team, huh?”

Sokka reaches out, tweaking Aang’s nose affectionately. “Yeah we do, and don’t you forget it.”

“Bring the boat to shore,” Bato says, breathless as he pries his fingers from the bow, “and I'll offer my official congratulations.”

While Sokka directs the boat back to the beach, Bato disappears into the cabin. He returns several minutes later with a small cup of purple paint and gestures for them to gather around him.

“Sokka,” Bato says, and Sokka lifts his chin expectantly. He's clearly making an effort to stand straight and still, but the fingers of his left hand drum a fast tempo against his leg. “The spirits of water bear witness to these marks. For you, the mark of the wise: the same mark your father earned.”

Bato reaches out, smearing purple paint across Sokka’s forehead: a half-circle with a dot in the center. Wisdom, huh? It’s certainly not the trait Zuko would have chosen for Sokka a few months ago, but now? Now, he couldn’t think of anything more fitting (unless there’s a mark for being a smart, stubborn, and frankly ridiculous clown—but Zuko doesn’t think that’s very likely). 

“You did very well,” Bato continued. “I know Katara already said it, but I'll repeat it: you have done your father proud. I'll tell him of your talent as soon as I see him. I'll tell him of your leadership, your ingenuity, and your intelligence.”

Sokka offers him a smile, just a little wobbly at the edges. “...thanks, Bato.”

Good, Zuko thinks, more fiercely than he probably should. Sokka’s father should always know what a fine son he has. There should be no doubt in his mind. (Sokka and Katara aren’t like Zuko, after all. They’re good children, loyal and strong, and they have earned their father’s love. That should never be in question.)

“For Katara—” Bato reaches out again, painting a crescent across Katara’s forehead. “The mark of the brave. Your courage inspires us, and I know your father will be very proud of you, too. Already, he thinks you are the bravest of us all, and it will delight him to no end to hear how you performed today.”

Katara wraps her arms around Bato’s waist and squeezes, burying her face against his chest. If she says something, Zuko can’t make it out—but he sees Bato’s face soften before he returns her embrace. When she draws back to stand next to Sokka, she holds her chin high and proud. Bato dabs his fingertips into the paint again.

“Next, for Li,” Bato says, reaching for Zuko’s face, and Zuko?

Well, Zuko does what he does best when there’s a hand coming towards his face: he flinches.

“I'm—not part of the Water Tribe,” he says, a flimsy excuse for a moment of weakness that has Bato looking at him with far too much understanding.

“No,” Bato agrees, “you’re not. But you performed as well as any Water Tribe member today, and the spirits will honor that whether you belong to them or not. You honor them in return with this mark. You honor Sokka.”

Well, that’s—

That's something he should probably do, then. 

“You earned your mark just like the rest of us did,” Sokka says, stepping up to his side. “I want you to have it, just like I want Aang to have it, whether you’re tribe members or not. But if you don’t want it, I'll understand. I'm not going to be mad.”

“I—” Zuko hesitates, but Sokka is looking at him so earnestly. He shuts his eyes. He really doesn’t deserve that look. “I accept. Your tribe—you honor me with the gesture.”

Bato’s fingers touch his forehead, then, painting on a distinct mark: three vertical lines, the centermost of which is slightly taller than the other two. 

“For Li,” he announces, drawing his hand back, “the mark of loyalty.”

Zuko feels like he’s swallowed ice.

Sokka claps him on the shoulder, smiling.

“And for Aang—” Bato turns, painting a small arc on Aang’s forehead. “The mark of the trusted. Your friends have great faith in you, Avatar. You won’t let them down.”

Zuko doesn’t miss the lingering guilt in Aang’s eyes, or the way his chin dips when Sokka beams at him. Still, he thinks it’s an apt mark for the little Avatar—his friends do trust him, for better or for worse. Bato escorts them off of the ship, after their marks have been received, and Zuko resists the urge to scrub at the paint on his forehead. It itches as it dries.

“Loyalty, huh?” Sokka asks, falling into step with him. “That's apt.”

“There's nothing wrong with being loyal,” Zuko snaps, immediately defensive. His nerves are still too frayed from this morning—from questioning, questioning, questioning— and Sokka’s comment, no matter how well-intentioned, doesn’t sit easily with him. 

Sokka holds his hands up, palms out. “I know. There's nothing wrong with being loyal, just like there’s nothing inherently good about it. It's the same with wisdom, courage, or trust. They can all be good things, and they can all be bad things. Depends on how you use them.”

“...sometimes you sound a lot like my uncle.”

Sokka grimaces. “I'm not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It’s just…” Zuko shrugs, looking away. “Your mark. It’s apt too.”

“Thanks. I think they were all pretty fitting. I mean, I’d trust this knucklehead with my life—” Sokka reaches out, looping an arm around Aang’s shoulders and noogying him. Aang laughs, but when he pries his head from Sokka’s grip there’s a tight set to his jaw. Sokka doesn’t notice, too busy bounding to his sister’s side to elbow her. “And Katara’s braver than a polar bear dog!”

“I'll show you a polar bear dog.” Katara reaches out, jabbing Sokka in the side, and he squeals and scrambles away.

Then, before Sokka can retort, a low and mournful howl sweeps over them. They all pause to listen, and Zuko’s eyes sweep towards the forests behind the abbey. The trees shuffle gently in the breeze, dry leaves whispering against each other. If he listens hard enough, turning his good ear towards the forest, he can hear the rapid thump of pawsteps retreating. Bato’s mouth pulls down into a sharp frown.

“That wolf sounds so sad,” says Katara, her own face falling.

Sokka hums his agreement. “It's probably wounded.”

“No. It's been separated from the pack.” Bato’s voice is low, when he speaks, touched with a grief that Zuko recognizes—and wishes very much he did not. It's an aching grief, homesick and lost and lonely. “I understand that pain. It's how I felt when the Water Tribe warriors had to leave me behind. They were my family, and being apart from them was more painful than my wounds.”

Zuko recalls how it felt, those first nights he spent outside of the Fire Nation, and has to work to keep his breathing even. He’d been so frightened. He’d been so alone, so adrift and unsure and convinced, somehow, that it was all a mistake. He kept waiting for Father to change his mind and call him home—but Zuko’s error had been too grievous for such leniency. Realizing that had nearly broken him. 

He’d spent several days locked in his quarters after the realization. He neither ate nor drank, and when Uncle brought him tea he would do everything in his power to smash the porcelain cups against the walls. He lashed out, fists smoking and sparks flying from his breath, whenever the healers tried to touch his burn. His hair grew dull and lanky. His injury festered. His sleep was fragmented and interwoven with too many nightmares to count.

He wasn’t sure he would survive it (wasn’t sure he even wanted to).

But Uncle hadn’t given up. He’d been there when Zuko finally ran himself out of fury. He’d been there to smooth back his hair as he wept, to change his bandages when he would not allow the healers to do so, to bring him soft white rice in metal bowls and to eat alongside him. He’d slept in the chair beside Zuko’s bed and stirred him when the nightmares began to take hold. He taught Zuko to bend again, to breathe fire without fear of it turning on him. He’d been there, day in and day out, a reliable constant. Zuko had never truly been alone. 

It's Aang’s sniffles that draw Zuko’s attention back to the present, and he turns his eyes down. Aang’s shoulders are hunched, one arm wrapped around himself, eyes overbright with the threat of tears again. This has been a tough day for him. He must, Zuko realizes, understand the wolf as much as Zuko and Bato do. He’s been left alone too. He’s—

He’s been left alone more than any of them. 

“Hey,” Zuko says, elbowing Aang gently. “I’m sure the wolf’s gonna be fine. Its pack will hear it crying and come back for it.”

Aang looks at him, blinking the tears away, and then hugs Zuko’s arm because apparently he’s decided he’s allowed to do that now. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He indulges Aang’s clinging for a moment longer before clearing his throat and adding, “Now get off.”

Zuko’s so busy trying to pry the Avatar off of his arm that he doesn’t notice the look Sokka and Katara exchange ahead of him, nor the soft smiles on their faces. They’re almost to the abbey by the time Aang releases him, and Mother Superior meets them at the front gates. Zuko sees the distress on her face, and his hackles are up immediately.

“What is it?” he asks, pushing through Sokka and Katara to stand in front of her. “What's wrong?”

“You must leave at once,” Mother Superior says, her voice brisk. “A bounty hunter came looking for you, and she wasn’t friendly.”

Zhao, Zuko thinks immediately, his hands curling into fists. The commander must have sent someone after the Avatar. How cowardly! He should have come himself and fought them face to face instead of hiding behind hired hands.

“Thank you for letting us know,” Zuko says tersely. “We'll leave as soon as we can, but we have to get our things, and our animals are in the courtyard.”

“Wait, what bounty hunter? Was she with anyone?” Sokka asks, stopping next to Zuko. 

“I don't know her name, but she had long dark hair and she rode a terrible monster. There was no one with her, but there’s smoke on the horizon. A Fire Nation troop must be following her.”

“It’s probably Zhao,” Zuko mutters. “We need to go.”

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees, “we do. Bato, thank you for everything, but—”

“I understand.” Bato embraces him, and then Katara. “You kids be safe, and I’ll see you soon.”

Sokka and Katara sprint across the abbey to retrieve Momo—and their supplies—while Aang and Zuko saddle Appa. They have almost all of their things loaded when screams shatter the silence around them, and a massive beast bursts through the abbey’s front gates. It's quadrupedal, with shaggy brown fur, a strange pink nose, and a distinct lack of eyes: a shirshu, Zuko realizes, his own eyes widening. He's heard of them in his lessons, although he’s never been unlucky enough to meet one himself. This particular shirshu shrieks at them, its tail lashing, before fixing its muzzle in Zuko’s direction.

Just his luck, really.

The shirshu lunges, and Zuko punches a fireball at it. The flames are enough to make it skid to a stop, rearing backwards in alarm, but its rider—the dark-haired bounty hunter that Mother Superior had mentioned—whips it forward again. 

“What the hell is that thing?” Sokka demands, yanking his knife from his belt. “And how do we kill it?”

“It’s a shirshu,” Zuko explains as quickly as he can. “It's blind, but it can see using its nose, and its tongue has venomous barbs. Make sure it doesn’t—”

The shirshu lashes out with the aforementioned venomous barbed tongue, and Zuko narrowly avoids the strike. He and Sokka both cry out in alarm, springing away from each other as the tongue comes between them. Zuko readies another blast of fire, but Aang acts first, springing forward and heaving the shirshu back with a wall of air. 

“Quick,” Aang says. “Everybody on Appa. Let’s get out of here!”

Zuko turns, lunging for Appa’s side—but the second his back is turned, the shirshu’s tongue whips across the nape of his neck. He cries out, clapping a hand over the wound. The pain doesn’t last long: it’s rapidly replaced by a spreading numbness that locks his joints and weakens his muscles. He crashes to the ground, his chin striking the dirt and his teeth clacking together. 

“Zuko!” Katara shouts, and he hears her rush to his side. Her hands touch his shoulder, and he wishes he could move, could speak, could do anything— but he can’t, and the helplessness is every bit as horrible as he’d imagined it would be. The shirshu’s pawsteps grow closer, and Katara grabs his tunic and tries to drag him out of the way. She isn’t fast enough.

Appa, however, is.

The bison bellows, then lowers his horns and leaps over Zuko and Katara. He charges the shirshu, and Zuko hears it shriek in pain. A second later, Sokka drops to his knees beside Zuko.

“Katara, I need you and Aang to waterbend the perfumes at the shirshu to distract it,” he says, pointing back towards the heavy iron pots on the other side of the courtyard. “I'll keep Zuko safe.”

“Sokka, you’re a genius!”

“I know, I know, thank me later.”

Katara’s footsteps disappear, and Zuko hears her calling to Aang as Appa and the shirshu collide again. 

“Okay, buddy, c’mere.” Sokka rolls Zuko over, then loops one arm around his shoulders and the other behind his knees. He lifts, careful to keep his arm away from the injury on Zuko’s leg, and Zuko’s head lolls against his shoulder. It should upset him that this is not the first time Sokka has carried him like this. It really should. “On the subject of venomous barbed tongues, are you about to die?”

Zuko glares at him, because that’s really all he can do, at the moment.

“Paralysis, right, okay, no talking,” Sokka says, carrying him to the corner of the abbey before setting him down. His words come more quickly than normal, now, brisk with nerves. “Blink once for yes, twice for no?”

Zuko blinks once.

“Awesome. So, uh, are you dying?”

Zuko blinks twice.

“Oh, thank the spirits. Is this going to wear off soon?”

Zuko blinks once.

“In that case, just hang on, okay? Katara and Aang are gonna kick this thing’s ass—if Appa doesn’t do it first, I mean.”

From Zuko’s new point of view, Appa looks like he’s about to do it first. Blood mats the fur on the shirshu’s side, undoubtedly from where it’s been struck by Appa’s horns, and it quails in front of the bison. Despite this, its rider whips it into motion once again, and Zuko seethes. Can’t she see her animal has no will to continue the fight? Doesn’t she know when to give up?

The shirshu lashes out with its tongue as Appa bears down on it, and it manages to land a strike on one of his paws. Appa bellows in pain and turns, slamming his tail against the ground and blasting the shirshu backwards with a wave of air. The bison stumbles, after that, and crashes to his side with a ground-shaking thud. The shirshu struggles up again, hissing, but before it can move towards Appa, Katara douses it in a wave of pink perfume. 

Almost immediately, the shirshu begins to shake and paw its head. Its cries grow in distress, and it paces a frantic circle. “Nyla, no!” its rider shouts, lifting her whip. As soon as the shirshu hears the crack, it lashes out with its tongue again. The barbs tear through its rider’s tunic, and she topples from its saddle a few seconds later.

Hmph. Serves her right.

“Appa, come on,” Aang pleads, pressing his hands to Appa’s muzzle. “Get up, buddy. You’ve gotta get up.”

The bison looks at him, groaning softly, before beginning to move. Spirits, he really is an incredible animal. (The fact that he weighs over ten tons may also help his resistance to the shirshu’s venom, but, you know. Still incredible.) As soon as Appa is up, Sokka scoops Zuko into his arms again and carries him over. Aang airbends him into the saddle, and Sokka scrambles up after him. 

“Appa, yip yip!”

They lurch into the air, leaving the shirshu and its rider behind. Zuko’s breathing begins to slow, although the stress of being paralyzed and absolutely helpless has yet to vanish. Still, it’s easier, now that they’re away from their enemies (now that he’s safe with Aang and Sokka and Katara). He tries to force himself to relax, breathing deeply through his nose. He attempts to curl his hand. His fingers twitch. 

“Oh, Zuko.” Katara kneels next to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “You really have a knack for getting into trouble, don’t you?”

Zuko sighs deeply. He really does.

“He said the venom will wear off soon,” Sokka says, crouching next to his sister. “It's not life-threatening. Can you do anything to help him?”

Katara pools water in her palm, and it glows faintly as she touches it to the back of Zuko’s neck. He wants to squirm, wants to speak, wants to do something— he manages a whimper, and Katara draws her hand back quickly. This is humiliating. Why was the shirshu after him, anyway? Shouldn’t it have been targeting Aang? 

Not, of course, that Zuko would want Aang to endure this, either. This sucks.  

“It's alright, Zuko,” Katara soothes. “Just rest for a little while, okay? You don’t have to do anything. Sokka, give him space. He needs to breathe.”

Sokka scoots back, although he continues to watch Zuko anxiously from the side of the saddle. Aang joins them, cradling Momo in his arms. He chews his lip, then holds the lemur out.

“Would this help?” he asks.

Zuko blinks once.

“Was that a yes blink or a normal blink?” Sokka asks, squinting.

Zuko blinks again.

“Bestow upon him the lemur, Aang,” Sokka declares, and Momo is deposited onto Zuko’s chest. He curls up there, chattering softly, and drapes his tail over his own nose. His weight is a gentle, warm comfort over Zuko’s heart. 

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Aang asks fretfully, glancing at Katara. “He's not dying?”

“No, he’s not dying. He'll be just fine.” Katara sits cross-legged beside Zuko, although she takes care to give him his space. Mercifully, she turns the attention away from him when she asks, “Why was that thing after us, anyway?” 

“It was probably sent by Zhao,” Sokka says, his face darkening. “And here I thought we’d be able to travel easy once we had Princey off our tail.”

“Zhao...that was the guy who captured you at the solstice, wasn’t it, Aang? And after the storm?” Katara asks. 

“Yeah. He’s pretty good at the whole catching-the-Avatar-thing.”

Zuko’s scowl does not reach his face, but it’s there inside of his heart. It’s not fair that Zhao has been able to catch Aang twice already—and he’s still trying! Props for commitment, Zuko supposes, but spirits damn it. Capturing the Avatar is Zuko’s mission, not his, and this constant chase is starting to become a real pain in the ass.

...is this what Aang felt like when Zuko was chasing him?

Well, damn. Now he feels bad.

“We’re lucky we got away this time,” Katara continues, frowning. “If that thing really is tracking our scent, he’ll be able to find us anywhere.”

Zuko rolls his jaw and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. All functioning, albeit slowly. “Not,” he manages, and all six eyes snap to him, “if we cross the ocean.”

Katara brightens. “Of course. There’s no way it can detect our scent across all of that water. We’ll be safe once we reach the North Pole.”

“Zhao could follow us there, too. It’ll be pretty obvious where we’ve gone if our scent ends over the northern ocean,” Sokka says, frowning. “What if we lead him right to the North Pole?”

“The North Pole has managed to fight off every fleet the Fire Nation sends. I’m sure they can handle one measly ship,” Katara points out.

“Zhao's stubborn, but he’s not a good tactician,” Zuko agrees, wincing as he tries to sit up. Katara helps him, looping her arm around his shoulders and guiding him to lean against the back of the saddle. Momo settles into his lap, instead. “If the North Pole troops are as good as you think they are, he won’t pose a problem.”

“So that's it, then,” Sokka says decisively. “We keep moving until we reach the North Pole, and if Zhao’s ship comes, let it. We’ll kick their asses.”

Zuko nods as adamantly as his stiff neck will let him. He doesn’t like fighting his own people, but he can make an exception for Zhao—stubborn, arrogant, dangerous Zhao. So caught up is he in the idea that he doesn’t think to look over the saddle and back towards the abbey. He doesn’t see the ragtag crew of Fire Nation sailors spilling into the courtyard. He doesn’t see their frantic general speaking with the bounty hunter as she tends to her injured shirshu. He doesn’t see the family crest the crew flies, or he would recognize it: he knows the pattern of that jasmine dragon by heart.

But, seeing none of these things, he thinks only of defeating his newest enemy as they fly north.

Chapter Text

“They’re having a Fire Day Festival in the village.” Zuko peers up at the poster on the kiosk, his brow furrowed. He's not sure whether to be pleased or not. “We should probably fly a few more miles north and see if there are any other places to stop.”

“But I'm starving,” Sokka whines. "I don’t want to go any further.”

“Well, we don’t want to go to an occupied village right now, either. Look.” Katara plucks a poster off of the kiosk, holding it up for Sokka to see. It’s a wanted poster for him. There are four more alongside it: one for Aang, one for Katara, one for Zuko, and one for…him but with his mask on? He leans forward and squints. The characters beneath that post dub him the Blue Spirit.

“Hang on, why am I a criminal? Twice?” He scowls. 

“Maybe because you commit lots of crimes,” Aang offers helpfully.

“Well, yeah, but I was wearing a mask the whole time. Unless…” His scowl deepens. “Zhao must have reported my trespass into Fire Nation territory at the winter solstice, or that bounty hunter told him I was traveling with you. Damn it.”

That means Father will know, which means Father will have cause to be even angrier with him—although, hopefully, Zuko’s return with the Avatar in hand will be more important than any rules he may or may not have broken obtaining said Avatar. He crosses his arms over his chest, glowering at both of his wanted posters. The next time he sees Zhao, he’s going to wring the commander’s neck. Now he can't even wear his mask anywhere!

“If anyone asks,” Zuko says, whipping his glare towards his companions, “you kidnapped me.”

“Of course we did,” Katara says soothingly.

“Okay, crimes aside, it’s a festival, right?” Sokka says. “People wear masks at festivals. We could all sneak in, eat some food, see some firebending…”

"If you want to see firebending, I could show you,” Zuko mutters.

“But would you, Mr. The-Avatar-Must-Not-Learn-Firebending?” Sokka asks, arching an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Point exactly. This way, Aang can learn some firebending tricks without pissing Zuko off.”

“Zuko’s still pissed off,” Zuko points out.

“Ah, but when is he not?” Katara pats him on the shoulder. “Maybe it’s a good idea. We don’t have to stay long, and if we’re all wearing masks, it should be okay.”

“Yeah! Plus, I've been meaning to learn more about the Fire Nation,” Aang adds, sidling up to Zuko and peeking at him. “You don’t have to teach me firebending, but you can teach me about your culture, can’t you?”

"I think I've learned as much as I want to learn about Fire Nation culture,” Sokka grumbles. 

Zuko huffs at him. "It's not all bad.”

“Ah-ha! But you admit some of it is.”

“Yes, alright? There are parts of our culture that could stand to be...improved.”

“Like the whole genocidal maniacs thing?” Katara suggests.

“Yes,” Zuko sighs heavily, “like the whole genocidal maniacs thing. But that aside, the Fire Nation people are wonderful! They’re extremely well-educated, and devoted, and their works of art are outstanding. Have you ever seen Love Amongst Dragons?”  

“Nope! But I'd love to,” Aang says, bouncing on his toes. “So can we go?”

"I doubt this dinky little village is putting on a performance as exquisite as that,” Zuko says, scrambling into Appa’s saddle and rummaging through their things for his cane, “but there’s probably some sort of play on. Maybe it is time for you all to see what the Fire Nation is like outside of a fight.”

Zuko leads the way towards the village, breathing deeply—the air tastes like smoke and ash, and the red decorations all around them feel like home. Aang sneaks up to a rack of masks on the outskirts of the village, as close as he dares, and then airbends four of them over to himself. It's a trick that speaks to his airbending mastery, precise and specific, and Zuko finds himself impressed in spite of the fact that it’s being used to steal masks, of all things. Aang scrambles back to their sides, masks in hand, and they all disguise themselves before entering the village.

Zuko waits near a fountain as Sokka, Katara, and Aang purchase Fire Nation tunics for themselves, to supplement their masks. Around him, vendors line the streets selling familiar foods: fire flakes, sizzle crisps, and various types of udon. Several more vendors sell jewels and trinkets, and another handful have racks of clothing on display. He even spots a stable full of young komodo rhinos. 

Well, he knows where he’s going first.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the stablehand greets him, and Zuko nods formally to her. “These are the finest komodo rhinos in the whole Earth Kingdom.”

Somehow, Zuko doubts that. They are cute, though. He stops in front of the stalls, bending to offer one of the rhinos his hand. It sniffs him enthusiastically, then offers his palm a lick that has him smiling behind his mask. He plucks a handful of sweet hay from the haynet nearby, letting the rhino munch it out of his hand. 

“Hey, Li.” Sokka stops on his right side, peering down at the rhino. “We’re ready to go when you are. Is that one of those fire-breathing rhinos?”

“They still don’t breathe fire,” Zuko grumbles. He offers the rhino one last pat, then turns to stride back towards Aang and Katara—but he doesn’t miss the way Sokka hesitates behind him, leaning down to pet the rhino gently as he says goodbye, and Zuko’s chest feels too warm and too full all at once. It feels that way more often than not, lately, especially around Sokka. Maybe he should see a healer. “You guys wanna eat first?”

"Is that even a question?” Sokka demands, trotting to keep up with him. 

“What do you recommend?” Katara asks, glancing over all of the vendors. "I'm not familiar with any of this food.”

“The udon noodles are good. Most of them are pretty mild, if you’re not used to all of the Fire Nation flavoring, and there are ones without meat for Aang.”

“Well, I want to try those flaming fire flakes over there,” Sokka declares, already making a beeline for the vendor selling them.

“Of course you do,” Zuko says, sighing—the sound is just a little fond. Sokka is simultaneously the smartest and dumbest person Zuko thinks he’s ever met.

While Sokka purchases his flakes, the rest of them go to get their udon. Zuko grabs a small bottle of iced milk tea, too, because he knows exactly what’s going to happen once Sokka gets those flakes. Together, they take a seat on the side of the street across from a juggler—in the shadows, where they can push their masks up without risk of being seen—and Zuko endeavors to teach his companions how to use their chopsticks properly. Aang seems to have some experience with it, but Katara is floundering. She ends up with more noodles on her skirt than in her mouth, but hey, he appreciates her trying. The udon is good, warm, spicy and familiar, and Zuko eats it readily. He's almost finished by the time Sokka returns with a paper bag of fire flakes in hand.

“What are these for, anyway?” Sokka asks, sitting down next to them and plunging a hand into the bag. “They’re too big to be seasoning.”

“They’re a snack food, mostly,” Zuko explains. Sokka crams a handful into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you like them?”

Sokka does not. Sokka chews for about five seconds, then scrambles up with a hiss of alarm. His cheeks flush red, and tears gather in the corners of his eyes as he gulps the flakes down. “Ah! Hot, hot, hot!” he says, pushing the bag accusingly into Zuko’s lap. Zuko munches on a handful himself. Not bad, for festival food. 

“Flaming fire flakes, spicy?” Katara asks, arching an eyebrow. “What do you know?”

Sokka doubles over into a coughing fit. 

Zuko takes pity on him after a few seconds, shoving the bottle of milk tea into his hand. “Here. This will help.”

Sokka throws the milk tea back, swishing it in his mouth before swallowing. He hisses out a stream of air again, wiping his eyes and sniffling. “Ugh. Why did you let me do that?”

“For fun, mostly.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Guilty as charged.” Zuko finishes off Sokka’s fire flakes, pushing the last of his udon into Sokka’s hands. “Here, trade.”

Sokka has no complaints. He finishes the milk tea, then fumbles with Zuko’s chopsticks as he goes in for the udon. Zuko wipes bright red seasoning off of his fingers, then pulls his mask back down before reaching for Sokka’s hands. 

“Let me show you,” he says, taking the chopsticks back. He demonstrates the correct way to hold them, clicking the tips together. “They both go between your thumb and your first finger. Brace the second one with your middle finger.”

Sokka attempts this, his brow furrowed. It's better than his first attempt, but it’s far from perfect. “Like this?”

“No.” Zuko adjusts his fingers for him, careful to keep his touch light and brief. Sokka’s skin is cool beneath his, dry and soft, and he doesn’t flinch when Zuko touches him. Instead, he holds very still and lets Zuko move him at will. Zuko’s stomach is starting to feel funny again. Heartburn? Does he have heartburn? “Like this.”

Sokka click-clacks the tips of the chopsticks together, then beams. “Awesome! This is easy. I don't know what you were making such a fuss about, Katara.”

This attitude lasts him about thirty seconds. Despite Sokka’s solid hold on the chopsticks, his hold on the noodles is tenuous. They continue to slide back into the bowl despite his best efforts, and Katara gets her chance to mock him in return. Zuko looks away for a few seconds—the juggler is finally finishing his act—and when he looks back, Sokka is eating the noodles with his fingers.

“Barbaric,” Zuko decides. 

“What's barbaric is the fact that your eating utensils give me splinters,” Sokka says, dropping another noodle into his mouth. “Go haze somebody else.”

“Hey, look.” Aang tugs Zuko’s sleeve, and he glances over in time to see a troop of puppeteers replacing the juggler. “Do you think they’re gonna do Love Amongst Dragons?” 

“Love Amongst Dragons isn’t a puppet show,” Zuko says, his voice rife with offense.

Fortunately, the troop doesn’t seem to be doing Love Amongst Dragons. They are, instead, putting on a propaganda show. It makes sense, Zuko supposes, this being an occupied Earth Kingdom village—but it’s still a grotesque caricature of a thing. He groans and folds his arms over his chest as the play begins with a shoddily-made puppet of his own father.

“Li, that’s him, that’s the Firelord, right?” Aang asks, tugging his sleeve. “Right?”

“That's a puppet.”

“But it definitely represents the Firelord.” Katara laughs, elbowing Sokka so he looks up. “Look at his funny little goatee.”

Zuko has to admit, it’s amusing to see such a bad puppet of his own father—but he doubts the puppeteers or the nearby guards are going to think as much if they hear. It’s a touch too close to insulting the actual Firelord, and that’s not something any of them want to do. “Hush,” he hisses at his companions. “That's disrespectful.”

“Oh, so sorry, Your Highness,” Sokka says, puffing himself up. “We wouldn’t want to insult His Majesty The Asshole.”

“Sokka!”

“You’re too uptight,” Sokka says, laughing. “He's not here. Nobody’s gonna get onto you for talking shit about him. C’mon, try it! Maybe you’ll like it.”

"I will not like it. I  am a loyal Fire Nation citizen, just like you,” Zuko says, looking pointedly at the cluster of guards down the street, “and I treat my Firelord with the utmost respect because to do otherwise would be to spread treasonous ideas the likes of which could have me arrested.”

“Oooh, right.” Sokka’s eyes widen as he follows Zuko’s gaze towards the guards. Then he turns back, his shoulders relaxing, and he has the nerve to wink. “Some other time then.”

Zuko groans.

“Don't worry, loyal citizens,” the Firelord puppet declares. “No one can surprise the Firelord!”

Behind him, an Earth Kingdom puppet—somehow even more shoddily made—springs up, a rock made of crumpled parchment held above its head. The children in the crowd gasp, their eyes wide. Before the Earth Kingdom puppet can strike, however, the Firelord puppet opens its mouth and breathes flame across it. The paper warps and crumbles into ash, dusting across the street below the puppet stage.

“Wow.” Katara arches her eyebrows. “That's some propaganda.”

She's right. Honestly, if this is the kind of propaganda they’re using in the Earth Kingdom, no wonder the citizens haven’t wanted to surrender! Yeesh.

“Hey, what’s over there?” Sokka asks, pointing towards a large group of people down the street.

Aang hops up, gesturing for them to follow. "I don't know, but it’s a big crowd, so it must be good.”

The four of them weave their way through the crowd, stopping near the center. A wide stage has been set up at the end of the street, upon which a performer stands. He bends flashily, gaudily, his flames twisting and curling brightly around him. It’s impressive—even Zuko can’t deny that—although the moves would hardly be useful in an actual battle. 

“Wow.” Aang’s eyes go round, and Zuko wrinkles his nose. Come on, he can’t seriously be thinking about learning firebending from this gauche display? "I've gotta learn that move!”

“Yeah, if you want to be a circus monkey instead of a soldier,” Zuko mutters.

“Well, I don't hear you offering any tips,” Katara points out. 

“And you won’t.” Zuko harrumphs, turning his nose up. “Do what you want, Aang.”

The performer claps his hands together, dispelling his flames with a crackle of noise. The audience applauds, and he bows deeply. “Thank you. Now, for this next trick,” he announces, "I need a volunteer from the audience.”

Aang’s hand shoots into the air. “Oh, oh! Me!”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sokka grabs his arm, pushing his hand down.

"I want to get a closer look.”

“It’s better that we don’t attract any attention to ourselves,” Katara says, setting a hand on Aang’s shoulder. 

A second later, the performer gestures grandly to her. There’s a shark's grin on his face, and Zuko begins to bristle. “How about you, little lady?”

“Uh…” Katara backs away.

“Aww, she’s shy.” The performer’s eyes gleam. “Let's give her some encouragement, folks!”

The audience erupts into applause again, and Zuko feels the weight of every eye on his back. He feels Sokka tense beside him, too, although Aang only folds his arms and whines, “Aww, come on! That could’ve been me.”

Katara makes her uncertain way to the stage, where the performer directs her to sit in a chair—and then begins to tie her to it. Sokka grows even tenser, his hands balling into fists. Zuko reaches out, touching his elbow. "If there's trouble,” he says under his breath, “we can save her. She’s not that far away, and this guy’s not a great bender, anyway.”

“If he’s not a great bender,” Sokka hisses, “then why is he tying my little sister to a chair and bending around her?”

To this, Zuko has no good response.

“What are you guys talking about?” Aang whispers, pushing up onto his toes to put his face closer to theirs. 

“Nothing. Pay attention,” Zuko says, turning him to face the stage. “You’re the one who wanted to see this so badly, anyway.”

“This next trick is called ‘taming the dragon,’” the performer explains, moving to stand several feet away from Katara. “You will be my captured princess.”

The performer moves his hands in a sweeping arc, creating a line of writhing flame in the air—it looks, Zuko realizes with amazement, like a dragon (albeit a very simple one). Even he has to admit that’s pretty cool. The dragon curls and crackles through the air, sparks falling to the stage each time it spreads its wings. The audience oohs and aahs appreciatively. Beside Zuko, Aang begins to bounce. 

“Don’t worry, young maiden,” the performer says as the dragon swirls gracefully around his body. "I will tame this fiery beast!”

Zuko snorts. Taming a dragon? Yeah, right. Everyone knows dragons can’t be tamed—they can only be captured or killed. Even Uncle knew that: he’d been the one to slay the last great dragon, after all. So caught up is Zuko in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the moment the dragon begins to streak in Katara’s direction, trailing black smoke behind it. "It's too strong,” the performer cries, his eyes widening. "I can't hold it!”

Aang lurches forward before Zuko can stop him. “We gotta help her!”

“No, stop, it’s part of the performa—Aang, damn it!” Zuko runs after him, Sokka close on his heels. 

On stage, the dragon arcs even closer to Katara, and the audience gasps. “The rope,” the performer says, his voice strained, “it’s breaking!”

It’s not. Clearly it’s not. If the performer’s control over his bending broke, the dragon would dissipate into a formless fire. As it is, his control remains perfect, and Zuko knows he’ll stop the fire seconds before it touches Katara. Aang does not know this. Aang leaps onto the stage, puts himself between the dragon and Katara, and slams the fire away from her with a burst of air. The dragon vanishes in a plume of smoke, and the performer cries out in anger.

“Hey, you trying to upstage me, kid?” he demands, storming towards Aang. 

Around them, the crowd bursts into an uproar of disappointed noise. Zuko ignores them as best he can, scrambling onto the stage and quickly untying Katara’s ropes. He's just in time, too—behind him, someone in the crowd shouts, “Hey, that kid’s an airbender—he’s the Avatar!”

"I think it's time to go,” Sokka says, grabbing Katara’s hand and pulling her off of the stage. Together, they shove their way through the crowd and back into the street. Zuko looks around, desperate, but there are no clear exits. Everywhere he looks there are Fire Nation citizens, or vendors, or guards. “Everybody stay close!”

Easier said than done, with a crippled leg. Zuko tries his best to keep up with his companions—and Sokka continues to cast glances behind himself to make sure he’s not leaving anyone behind—but it’s a painful, frustrating process. They’ve almost made it to the end of the street when someone springs out, effectively blocking their path. Zuko pulls a hand back, ready to attack, but the man holds up his hands peacefully.

“Please! I mean you no harm,” he says, yanking the hood of his robe back. He's an old man, with weathered skin and dark, unkempt hair. "I can take you somewhere safe. Follow me.”

The four of them trade uncertain glances, but it doesn’t seem like they have much choice—or much time. Sokka makes the decision and nods, plunging after the man as he leads them towards the outskirts of the village. The guards shout as they fall into pursuit, and the man whips around and launches a handful of explosives at them. The resulting explosions rock the ground beneath Zuko’s feet, erupting in a cloud of thick gray smoke that has them all coughing.

"I'm calling Appa,” Aang says, fumbling to pull his bison whistle from his pocket. He blows into it, but it makes no noise. “There. He should be on his way.”

"I really hope that thing works,” Sokka says breathlessly, lurching after the man as he shifts into a run again. Zuko’s leg throbs beneath him, and he stumbles, once—but once is all it takes. He crashes to the ground, his cane clattering away from him. Shit. Sokka skids to an immediate halt and shouts, “Wait! Hey, old man, I said wait!” 

Katara is beside Zuko in seconds, pressing his cane into his hand again. “Come on, get up. We’ll slow down for you. Sokka, tell him we need to slow down! Li can't go this fast.”

It would be annoying, slowing them down, if he weren’t already so damn used to it. Sokka relays the message to the man, and when they take off again it’s at a slower pace. Katara stays beside him, guarding his left side—and for once, it feels safer having somewhere there than not. As they reach the outskirts of town, Appa flies overhead and lands hard in front of them. They all clamber into the saddle, and Appa turns and flattens his tail through the air once they’re all onboard. He sends the guards flying backwards, and Sokka cheers.

“This should distract them,” the man mutters, lighting another explosive with a deft twist of his fingers. He flings it out of the saddle, and it collides with the crates of fireworks at the edge of the village. They go off in a blossom of cracking color, and Zuko’s eyes widen. “Phew. That was a close one.”

“You sure know your explosives,” Sokka says, panting, as he slides down to sit next to Zuko.

"I'm familiar,” the man agrees, a wry smile on his face.

Sokka tenses as he realizes just what that means, reaching for his knife. “You’re a Fire Nation soldier.”

“Was.” The man holds his hands up again, palms out. “My name’s Chey.”

“What do you mean, was?” Zuko demands. “You’re old, but you’re not old enough to retire from the military.”

“No. I deserted the army." Chey lifts his eyes to meet Zuko’s through the slits of his mask. "I'm the second person ever to do so and live.”

“Who's the first?” Sokka asks.

“Jeong Jeong the deserter,” Chey explains as Aang and Katara gather around him, too. “He was a Fire Nation general—or admiral?”

“He was very highly ranked,” Sokka huffs. “We get it.”

“Yeah, way up there. But he couldn't take the madness any more. He's the first person ever to leave the army. Jeong Jeong's a firebending genius. Some say he's mad—but he's not. He's enlightened.” 

“Enlightened.” Zuko scoffs. “Yeah, right. You’d have to be mad to desert the Fire Nation military.”

“You mean there's a firebender out here who's not with the Firelord?” Aang hops up, eyes shining. “We've gotta go see him. He can train me!”

“We’re not gonna track down some crazy firebender,” Sokka snaps. “We have enough of those already, thanks.”

Zuko glowers at him. 

“He's not crazy,” Chey protests. "I told you, he's a genius, and he's the perfect person to train the Avatar! That's why I followed you into the festival.”

“Look, thanks for the help, but we're leaving for the North Pole in the morning,” Sokka says. “We’re already being hunted. We don’t have time to waste here.”

“Sokka, this could be my only chance to meet a firebending master who would actually be willing to teach me,” Aang pleads. 

Zuko looks away, seething. He's angry, not jealous. This is definitely anger he’s feeling. Definitely. “Sokka’s right. We don’t have time to waste on some cowardly, disloyal deserter.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you? You don’t want Aang to learn firebending,” Katara accuses.

“Of course I don't want Aang to learn firebending, but if he’s got to learn then it should be from someone with an actual sense of discipline and honor. A deserter doesn’t have that. You can’t trust them to accomplish anything properly.”

“Well, it can’t hurt just to talk to him,” Katara says. 

Sokka and Zuko both grumble, trading a bitter look with each other—but it’s three-to-two, and thus the decision is made. They land several miles into the forest, and Chey leads them to a small camp alongside a brook. They’re met there by a very unhappy man with a spear, and Chey stumbles to a halt.

“Hey, Lin Yee,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, brought the Avatar.”

"I can see that,” Lin Yee says irritably. “Jeong Jeong will not be happy. Go on and explain yourself to him. He's in the cottage.”

“Uh, hi! I'm the Avatar,” Aang says, stepping forward and waving. Lin Yee glares at him. “So can I talk to him, too?”

“No. You will wait here.”

Zuko drops his bag next to Appa’s leg and sits down, peeling off his mask. He's sick of all this running around—and so is his bad leg. Katara sits next to him, reaching out to press ice against his aching knee. He relaxes, gradually, and offers her a grateful look. The sun sets as they wait for Chey's return, and the bugs in the forest begin to chirp.

At least, he thinks, it’s peaceful. 

When it becomes clear that Chey won’t return before nightfall, Zuko unrolls his sleeping mat and curls up. Sokka and Katara follow suit, and before long they’re asleep. Zuko wakes several hours later to the sound of twigs cracking nearby, and he sits bolt upright. Lin Yee and Chey stand near Appa’s muzzle, and Aang goes to greet them.

“What happened?” he asks. “Can I see Jeong Jeong now?”

Chey's shoulders hunch, and he won’t meet their eyes. “He won't see you. He's very angry that I brought you here and he wants you to leave immediately.”

“Oh, finally.” Sokka stretches, groaning and bracing his hands against his lower back. “Let's hit the road.”

“Why won’t he see me?” Aang demands, stepping forward.

“He says you’re not ready,” Chey says. “Says you haven't mastered waterbending and earthbending yet.”

Aang’s eyes widened. “Wait, how does he know that?”

“He saw the way you walked into camp. He could tell.”

“Well, I'm going anyway!” 

Aang stomps towards the cottage, and Zuko arches his eyebrow, impressed. He'd known the kid was foolish, but that’s downright gutsy. A Fire Nation general won’t be as permissive as his Air Nomad leaders were, though, and Zuko’s stomach begins to twist with nerves. Aang has no idea what he’s getting into.

“Aang!” he calls, and Aang turns to look at him. There’s determination in the set of his jaw, and Zuko’s shoulders slump. “Just—be careful. Shout if you need us.”

Aang’s face softens some, and he nods at Zuko before plunging into the cottage.

“Oh, Zuko,” Sokka sighs, looping an arm around his shoulders. Zuko makes a disgusted face and pushes him off. “You get softer every day.”

“Soft? Soft?” Zuko jabs Sokka’s side the way he’s seen Katara do, taking advantage of his ticklishness, and it has just the result he wanted: Sokka shrieks and squirms away from him, hugging himself defensively. "I could kick your ass any day.”

Sokka’s face brightens, suddenly, like that’s a good idea. “You should spar with me!”

“Sokka, it’s the middle of the night.”

“No, I know, just—someday, when your leg is feeling better. We should spar.”

"I don't have my weapons, and I'm not going to firebend at you.”

“Oh, boo. What's the matter? Afraid? You didn’t have any problem firebending at me before.”

“We were enemies before.” Zuko scowls, looking away from him. "I'm not going to put you in danger for some silly practice.”

He expects Sokka to gripe, but instead Sokka—

Sokka grins. “Oh yeah? Enemies before, as in you don’t think we’re enemies now?” 

Zuko hugs his knees to his chest and pointedly looks away. “Well, you said we were friends,” he spits. “Didn’t you?”

"I did.” He can hear the smile in Sokka’s voice. “Are you our friend, Zuko?”

Zuko presses his mouth to his knees and mumbles.

“What's that? I can't hear you.” Sokka pokes him in the side. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

“Yes!” he snaps. “Yes, alright, I'm your friend. Now do me a solid, buddy, and go back to sleep. You’re much less annoying when you’re unconscious.”

Sokka laughs, flopping out next to Zuko. “Okay, okay. Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Several minutes later, Sokka’s breathing has smoothed back out in the rhythm of sleep. Zuko glances over at him, watching the rise and fall of his chest and the way his hair—loosed from its tie—spills around him. He tears his eyes away, then lays down with his back to his friends. He dares not sleep himself (what if Aang needs their help? What if Jeong Jeong attacks him for being so bold?), but he closes his eyes and tries to meditate. 

It’s harder than it should be. When did Sokka's mere presence become so distracting?

Almost half an hour later, Aang bursts back into their camp with a shout of joy. “Jeong Jeong agreed to teach me!”

Zuko groans.

“That's great, Aang,” says Katara, her voice tired but warm. “Will you start tomorrow?”

Aang nods so hard Zuko can hear it. “At dawn. You guys should come too.”

Sokka drags a pillow over his head and does not respond.

"I suppose someone has to make sure he doesn’t kill you,” Zuko mutters. Fire Nation generals are notoriously vicious teachers (with the exception of Uncle, of course, because Uncle is a very strange man).

They rise early the next morning and meet Jeong Jeong on the edge of the brook. Zuko rubs his eyes as he looks this infamous deserter over: he’s even older than Chey, with shaggy white hair and a scar over his right eye. He looks strong, for an old man, and Zuko has to wonder why he deserted. He’s physically fit enough to fight. Perhaps he’s mentally unstable?

It’s the only explanation, really.

Then Jeong Jeong’s eyes land on Zuko—on Zuko’s scar—and he stiffens. Zuko grimaces. He’s fully expecting a comment about his banishment, or his presence with the Avatar, but what he is not expecting is what Jeong Jeong actually says next:

“Prince Zuko, where in the world have you been? Your uncle has been worried sick about you!”

Chapter Text

“My uncle,” Zuko says, his eyes widening. “You know my uncle?”

“I've known him longer than you’ve been alive,” Jeong Jeong says, and Zuko’s respect for this deserter suddenly triples. Anyone who knows Uncle—especially anyone who has recent information about Uncle—is definitely worth listening to. “He’s been going half-mad looking for you.”

“Where is he?” Zuko demands, his heart twisting desperately. “Where—?”

“I couldn’t say for sure. He sent a message a few weeks ago to let me know he’s been traversing the whole Earth Kingdom just trying to find his little nephew, and to ask me to keep my eyes open for any sign of you. Suppose he should be glad he did.”

“Did he say where he was headed next? Did he—?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sokka says, stepping between them. “Listen, Zuko, I know your uncle is important to you, but we can’t go looking for him anymore than Katara or I could go looking for our da—”

“Shut up,” Zuko snaps, rounding on him. Sokka flinches, startled, and looks at Zuko like he’s never seen him before. Guilt curdles in Zuko’s chest under that look, and he forces his shoulders to relax. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “You have no idea what Uncle is going through. He doesn’t know if I'm dead or alive. He doesn’t know where I am, or who I'm with, or if I'm safe, and after Lu Ten—”

Zuko shakes his head, his eyes stinging. Why couldn’t Uncle have just gone home? Why couldn’t he have just brushed Zuko aside the way Father did? It would have been easier to bear. (Not for Zuko. Oh, no, not for Zuko—but for Uncle, and Uncle is who really matters.)

“Please,” he says, turning back to Jeong Jeong. “Tell me where he’s gone. He needs to know I'm alright.”

Jeong Jeong shakes his head. “I would if I could, but he didn’t tell me where he was heading. To the east, I imagine. He's scoured most of the coast already.”

Zuko makes a frustrated sound, balling his hands into fists. Uncle still manages to confuse him at every turn, even if he isn’t trying to! He’s always been too clever.

“We may not have time to go searching for him,” Katara says, setting a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, “but maybe we can leave a message with Jeong Jeong.”

“It would be my honor to deliver a message to Iroh,” Jeong Jeong says, tilting his head. “I can send Chey to search for him as soon as possible.”

“You would do that?” Zuko asks, startled. A message isn’t as good as finding Uncle himself, but it may be the only compromise he can make without betraying his friends. On the other hand…“Why should I believe you’ll do what you say? You deserted our own nation. Who's to say you won’t betray me the same way?”

“Oh, I would betray you in a heartbeat,” Jeong Jeong says flatly, and Zuko’s lip curls into a snarl, “but I would never betray Iroh. He’s one of the greatest and wisest men I know, and my loyalty to him is not to be questioned, young brat.”

Zuko bristles, but Jeong Jeong is right: Uncle is one of the greatest and wisest men, and Jeong Jeong’s respect for him is evident. Besides, there doesn’t seem to be much of a choice. Zuko can’t abandon Sokka, Katara, or Aang now—not without breaking their deal, and after everything they’ve done, he’s loathe to turn on them. 

Still, his chest aches when he thinks of it. Uncle must be so worried! His care far is more than Zuko deserves, and it hurts them both at times like this. After traveling side-by-side for three years, it’s difficult to have been parted so violently and abruptly. At least Zuko knows that Uncle is safe and well; Uncle doesn’t even have that assurance. 

“Very well,” Zuko mutters, averting his eyes. “I will write a message for him while you train Aang.”

“To which I ask,” Jeong Jeong says pointedly, looking at Aang, “why am I training you, again? You said you had no master to teach you firebending. Who do you see standing beside you?”

Aang glances over at him. “Oh, Zuko? He won't train me.”

“Of course I won't train you,” Zuko spits. “I'm not a traitor.”  

Jeong Jeong scoffs, leading Aang to the side of the brook. “You've a lot to learn about loyalty, if a traitor is what you think of me. Young Avatar, it seems you’re right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The prince isn’t fit to be your master.”

Zuko snarls and stomps away from the brook, blowing smoke through his nose. He returns to Appa in a royal huff, pacing back and forth as he rants to the bison. “Loyalty! What does he know about loyalty, anyway? He’s a traitor! A deserter! He ran away from his own nation to live in the middle of the woods and do nothing all day. Loyalty.” 

Appa grumbles sympathetically.

“And, for the record, I would be a great master,” Zuko points out. “I've been training since I was three. I know every firebending move out there, and more! And—and guess who’s one of the only people on the planet to have dueled the actual Firelord and lived? Yeah, that’s right, you’re looking at him!”

Admittedly, it...wasn’t much of a duel, but the point stands! Zuko knows how the Firelord fights.

“I can't believe Uncle is actually friends with this guy. Of course, he’s always been eccentric. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that his taste in friends is no different. I mean, if he were only friends with the best, he...wouldn’t be friends with me, would he.”

Appa stretches a paw out, pulling Zuko towards him and beginning to lick his head. 

“Ugh, Appa. That's disgusting. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm okay.” Zuko wrinkles his nose, pushing Appa’s muzzle away. The bison settles for tucking Zuko against his chest, instead, sighing softly. “I just...loyalty! I'm loyal. I am . I spoke out against someone I shouldn't have, and I disappointed my father, I'll admit that. But my loyalty is not in question. Everything I've done has been for my nation. Everything I've done has been for him!”

…if he isn’t loyal, then what is he? Who is he?

“Even the dumb water spirits agree,” Zuko mutters, petting Appa’s fur. The movement helps him calm down, and he breathes deeply through his nose. “That was my mark, you know. Loyalty. Sokka thought it was fitting.”

Sokka, who he snapped at. Sokka, who he’ll abandon after the North Pole. Sokka, who he’ll fight again in only a few short months.

His heart stings.

“Well, you can’t be loyal to people from other nations,” Zuko says defensively when Appa looks at him. “It doesn’t work that way.”

But why not? he wonders, and almost shoves the thought away in a panic. Then he remembers what Sokka had told him about figuring things out for himself. It’s uncomfortable, and scary, and he kind of hates it, but the question remains: why not?  

He doesn't have a good answer.

“I wish Uncle were here,” Zuko mumbles, rubbing his temples. As he thinks of it, he scrambles into the saddle bag to grab a roll of parchment and an inkstone. “What do I even say to him?”

He starts and restarts several times before finally jotting his message down:

Uncle, 

I hope you’re well. I'm very sorry to have left you so suddenly, and for so long. Believe me, I would have tried to find you as soon as possible, but certain events did not allow me to. I was injured during the winter solstice (I'm well now, don’t worry!) and forced to take refuge with the Avatar and his friends. They have kidnapped coerced

I'm going with them to the North Pole. Their healer tends my wound, and in return for this, I have agreed to forgo my search for the Avatar for the time being. I hope to return to the Earth Kingdom in spring, and will part from the Avatar and find you as soon as I can so that we may resume our hunt duty. I also hope to bring valuable information regarding the layout of the North Pole. I hope this will make up for whatever treason I commit by traveling with our enemies. 

Please do not worry about me, and keep yourself safe. I hope to see you soon. traveling without you has been strange, although I'm sure I will have many tales to amuse you upon my return. My traveling companions make for quite the adventure! I think you would like they’re my enemies, but they aren’t altogether horrible. I find my travels with them comfortable, albeit too exciting, at times. Even now, we prepare to fly farther north in order to avoid Commander Zhao’s hunt. 

I have sent this letter with Chey—one of Jeong Jeong’s disciples—in the hopes that it will soothe your worries and allow you to rest, so please do so. I will return to you as soon as I can, if you remain in the Earth Kingdom. If you are able, please meet me outside of Ba Sing Se come spring. i love 

Sincerely, 

Zuko 

Once he’s finished, Zuko rolls the parchment up and ties it with a piece of twine. It hardly feels good enough, but it should comfort Uncle, at least—provided Chey can find him, and quickly. He pats Appa’s nose one last time, then goes to find Jeong Jeong. He expects to find the old man with Aang, but Aang is alone on the edge of the brook. He’s breathing with focus, his eyes closed and his face turned towards the sun. Zuko pauses to watch the timing of his breaths; it’s not bad, for an amauteur. 

“From the stomach,” Zuko calls to him, and Aang’s eyes snap open. Zuko gestures, taking a deep breath to demonstrate. “The stomach is the center of firebending. It should rise and fall with your breath.”

“Thank you, Sifu Hotman!”

Zuko makes a face. “Don’t call me that.”

“If you feel like offering tips, maybe you could teach me some actual…?”

“No. Where’s Jeong Jeong?”

“He went back to his cottage,” Aang says, frowning. “I think he’s just wasting my time.”

“Breathing is fundamental to firebending. Don’t take it for granted.” 

Zuko leaves Aang to do his breathing exercises and crosses the clearing to Jeong Jeong’s cottage. He hammers his fist against the door. A few seconds later, Jeong Jeong yanks it open and scowls at him. Zuko thrusts the message at him.

“Take this,” he says, “for my uncle. Be sure that it reaches him.”

Jeong Jeong takes the scroll, setting it on his desk. “Very well.”

“And, by the way,” Zuko says, scowling, “I don't appreciate you calling me disloyal. I may have made my mistakes, but disloyalty has never been one of them. If you or Chey insinuate such a thing to my uncle, then—”

Jeong Jeong groans, rubbing his temples. “You’re lucky Iroh loves you,” he grumbles, “or I wouldn't waste my time. Come with me.”

“Wait, where are you—?”

Jeong Jeong pushes past him, striding down the brook. Aang cracks an eye open to watch them go, clearly interested. Katara has found her way to him and is practicing her bending upstream, but even she pauses to watch as Zuko trots after Jeong Jeong. 

“Where are you going?” Zuko demands again. “I don't have to follow you anywhere.”

“And yet,” Jeong Jeong says wearily, as Zuko continues to follow him. “I want to speak with you privately. Here, sit down.”

They take a seat on the edge of the brook, out of sight of Aang and Katara. Jeong Jeong crosses his legs, resting his hands on his knees and taking a deep breath. Zuko scowls, sitting down beside him but pointedly keeping his posture loose and informal. Uncle’s friend or not, Jeong Jeong is a jerk. Zuko’s not going to bend over backwards to please him. 

“Your uncle,” Jeong Jeong says, and Zuko does straighten up at that, just a little. “He believes in you, despite your unfortunate heritage.”

“What are you talking about? I'm the Firelord’s son!”

“My point exactly,” Jeong Jeong says grimly. Before Zuko can snap at him again, he raises a hand in silence. “I'm not here to insult your father. I know I cannot convince you to see him the way he ought to be seen. Your blindness runs far deeper than that.”

Zuko recoils. Has Jeong Jeong picked up on Zuko’s partial blindness so quickly? Or is he speaking in riddles, the way Uncle always does?  “Speak clearly, if you’re going to speak at all. I don't have time to play games.”

“I want to speak to you about loyalty,” Jeong Jeong says, and Zuko scoffs. What can he learn about loyalty from a deserter? “You say you are loyal. What do you mean by this?”

“I have never betrayed my father, or my nation,” Zuko says firmly. “I travel with the Avatar only because I owe him a debt. I will still bring him to my father when the time comes. I have not turned my back on my mission.”

“And you see me as a traitor because that is exactly what I have done,” Jeong Jeong says, stroking his beard. “I have turned my back on the Firelord, and the Fire Nation, and I now train their very enemy, the Avatar.”

“Precisely. If anyone needs to learn about loyalty, it’s you.”

“I left the Fire Nation because I couldn't stand what I was doing. I was a general, as your uncle was, and day after day I slaughtered people—Earth Kingdom soldiers, mostly, but civilians were often caught in the crossfire, and my troops themselves were not spared.”

“Such is the reality of war,” Zuko argues. “Those soldiers chose to serve their country, even knowing the risks that such service posed. They died with honor. The civilian casualties are tragic, of course, and I do wish they had been avoided. But that’s no reason to turn your back on your entire country! If you had stayed, you could have tried to prevent those casualties with your skills as a leader.”

“I thought much the same as you, for years and years,” Jeong Jeong says. “But I grew tired of such constant violence and death. The war was no closer to ending than it was when I began. I thought about retiring, but I was not permitted to. My skills were too valuable to my nation. I was to be their instrument of destruction, whether I wanted to be or not.”

Zuko looks away, his mouth twisting. He wants to argue, but that truly is an awful fate, isn’t it? Still, if Father thought Jeong Jeong’s skills were so valuable, then he must have been right. He must have—he must have—

He must have nothing. It’s another of his father’s mistakes, just like the southern raids were.

“That was wrong,” Zuko says. His heart hammers in his chest, and the cold chill of fear sits heavily on his shoulders. He forces the next words through his teeth anyway: “You can’t force someone to participate in a war.”

Jeong Jeong looks at him with surprise, and then the faintest smile flickers across his lips. “No, you can’t. Even the Fire Nation knows better than to draft soldiers. What need have they to do that, anyway, when their propaganda can so easily convince young men and women to fight for them? But I digress. Perhaps I would have continued to serve the military, even in spite of my hesitations, if it hadn’t been for the forty-first division.”

The cold chill on Zuko’s shoulders dives deep, then, latching itself into his heart. It's hard to breathe. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t find the words. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to talk about this. 

“Yes. You recognize that, don’t you?” Jeong Jeong asks quietly. “The forty-first division was a group of new recruits that General Bao planned to sacrifice in order to win a battle in the Earth Kingdom. I was to lead them to their deaths.”

“I—that—” Zuko squeezes his eyes shut. “G-general Bao is a very intelligent leader. He knew what he was doing. You should have just listened to him and—and—”

“Enough, now,” Jeong Jeong says sternly, and Zuko flinches and curls into himself. “You knew it was wrong as a child, and you know it now. It was you who argued with the general first, and you who paid the price for it. But I tell you, child, it was not something you should have been punished for. You had more honor than any of the men there! Your loyalty was to those soldiers, not to some petty hope of victory.”

Zuko shakes his head, bringing his hands up to clamp them over his ears. He hasn’t thought about the forty-first division in so long. It’s his biggest mistake, his biggest regret, his biggest failure. He may as well have spit in his own father’s face, and for what? For nothing! The troops had died anyway, and the Fire Nation had secured its victory. 

“And look at you now,” Jeong Jeong says, the sadness clear in his tone. Zuko can’t quit shaking. “Your father has ruined you. Your loyalty to him is no loyalty at all, but blind obedience—and that’s just the way he wants it. You must learn to understand the difference. I am loyal to your uncle, but I question his motivations regularly. I especially question his motivation to travel alongside you.” 

Zuko drags his knees up to his chest, breathing hard. “I don’t—I don’t know, I can’t—”

“Prince Zuko, it’s alright. You—”

“What are you doing to him?” Sokka’s voice, hard and cold, from Zuko’s blind side. Zuko whips around to see him standing a few feet away, his hands balled into fists and his eyes dark. Jeong Jeong looks startled, too, his eyes widening minisculely when they meet Sokka’s. “I said, what are you doing to him?”

“We were merely talking,” Jeong Jeong says, standing and dusting his robes off, “but such matters don’t concern a Water Tribe child.”

“If they concern my friend they concern me,” Sokka snarls, storming towards Jeong Jeong. To Zuko’s surprise, Jeong Jeong actually steps back. “Get away from him.”

“It wasn’t my intention to upset—”

“Get away!”

Jeong Jeong takes a deep breath, then turns to go. “I'll be in my cottage if you would like to continue this conversation before you leave, Prince Zuko.”

“Zuko?” Sokka moves to Zuko’s other side as soon as Jeong Jeong has gone, kneeling beside him and setting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Zuko nods jerkily, trying to control his breathing. Spirits, what is he doing? He hasn’t reacted like this for months—and Jeong Jeong hadn’t even done anything! All he had to do was mention the forty-first division and Zuko spiraled the way he did so very often during the first wretched year after his banishment, small and afraid and out of control. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, I'm—I'm fine,” Zuko says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, this is so stupid, I'm—”

“It's not stupid. He scared you.” Sokka’s voice hardens, again, and his hand tightens on Zuko’s shoulder. “I'll tell him to stay away from you. I'll tell Aang we need to leave. It’s not worth sticking around if that guy’s going to—”

“No! No, it’s okay. He didn’t do anything wrong. We were just talking and I—” Zuko gestures, laughing wetly. And he what? He freaked out? He completely embarrassed himself in front of one of Uncle’s closest friends? “I'm sorry.”

Sokka sits down next to him, pressing his side to Zuko’s. It’s a comfort, and Zuko finds himself leaning into it. “What were you talking about?”

“The—” Zuko’s tongue feels thick in his mouth, and he falters. He forces himself to breathe. He has to be able to talk about this. He has to. “The forty-first division. They’re the ones that I argued with General Bao about before my banishment.”

“The ones that your dad hurt you over?” Sokka asks darkly, and Zuko nods. “You tried to save them, Zuko. If Jeong Jeong was getting onto you about that, I'll—”

“No, he wasn’t. He—he was happy? I mean, he didn’t sound happy, but he didn’t want to sacrifice them, either. I think he was glad.”

“And he should have been! What you did was really badass, even if your dad made you feel like it wasn’t.”

“No. It was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was.” Father wouldn’t have dueled him otherwise. Father wouldn’t have hurt him otherwise. Father wouldn’t have deafened him, blinded him, mauled him— “Father said it was.”

“Your father was wrong.” 

Zuko shakes his head again, more frantically, and hears Sokka make a soft, frustrated noise. “I'm sorry,” Zuko blurts again. He doesn’t want Sokka to be angry with him. He doesn’t want anyone to be angry with him. He's so tired of making people angry when he really doesn’t mean to. 

“No, it’s…” Sokka sighs, looking out over the brook. Zuko follows his gaze, and his heartbeat begins to slow as he watches the water. “It's one of those things you’re gonna have to figure out for yourself, I guess. You know your dad makes mistakes, right?”

Zuko nods, folding his arms over the tops of his knees and resting his chin on them. Father doesn’t make many mistakes, but he does make some. That's obvious enough, now. Firelord or not, he isn’t perfect. He never has been. 

“Why’s it so hard to believe that what he did to you could have been a mistake, too?”

Zuko shakes his head. It can’t be a mistake. He can’t be blind and deaf and ugly all because of a mistake. There had to be a point, a reason, a purpose to his suffering. It hurts too badly to believe otherwise. 

“Okay,” Sokka says softly, tipping his head back to look at the treetops. “Okay. But someday I'm gonna convince you.”

They sit in the quiet together for several minutes, listening to the burbling of the stream and the distant chatter of birdsong. In the distance, Zuko can hear Jeong Jeong’s voice as he guides Aang through another firebending exercise (sans the actual fire, of course—he’s not ready for that). Sokka breathes softly next to him, his chest rising and falling in a steady tempo. Zuko tries to match their breaths, and calm begins to blanket him like the sunshine.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles, eventually, and Sokka arches an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “For snapping at you earlier today. I shouldn't have done that.”

“Oh. Thanks. Uh, forgiven, and all that. Besides, I get it. You’re worried about your uncle.”

“I am. He lost his son,” Zuko confesses, “in the war. He gets very worried if he thinks I'm in danger. I don't think he could handle it if he lost anyone else.”

“Well, hopefully your message gets to him soon,” Sokka says, although he doesn’t actually sound thrilled about the prospect. 

A moment later, Zuko dares to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue: “Sokka? Why did you interrupt Jeong Jeong? You didn’t have to do that.”

“What? Of course I did. Dude, you were freaking out.”

Zuko grimaces. “I wasn’t freaking out—” 

Sokka arches an eyebrow.

“—but even if I had been, it wasn’t your place to interfere.”

“You’re my friend, so—”

“You keep saying that. We're friends now, but...” Zuko shakes his head. “You know we can’t stay friends. You know we’re meant to be enemies. I know you know. I'm only here because you don’t trust me, so why do you act like you care?”

“Uh, because I do?” Sokka says, looking at him. “Sure, we were enemies, and we’ll probably be enemies again, but right now you’re part of our group and that means you’re my responsibility. Plus, you’re actually not a total dickhead, believe it or not. You helped me save all of those people at Gaipan. You rescued Aang. You helped us keep Makapu from burning and you went ice dodging with me.”

“That was just—I had to—”

“You didn’t have to do any of it. You chose to, and I appreciate that. I like being your friend.” Sokka cocks his head. “Huh. Never thought I'd be saying that to the prince of the Fire Nation.”

“You’re only making this harder for the both of us.”

“Good,” Sokka says, simply. “I want it to be hard for you. I want it to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

Zuko thinks it just might be—and he’s dueled the Firelord, for spirits’ sake. 

“I—I have to go talk to Jeong Jeong,” he says, standing. “That was a shameful end to our conversation.”

“Yeah, shame on him,” Sokka says, following him back towards the cottage. “Couldn’t he see you were, like, having a meltdown? He should have shut up before I showed up.”

“I'm sure he didn’t mean to—”

A cry cuts through the air, suddenly. Sokka and Zuko both freeze, their eyes widening as they recognize it: Katara. Sokka takes off, his boots tearing up the leaf litter as he races around the bend in the brook. Zuko follows close behind, albeit more slowly. When he catches up, he finds Katara on the edge of the brook, cradling her hands close to her chest. Sokka stands protectively beside her, one hand on her shoulder and eyes blazing.

He’s glaring at Aang.

Aang, who is several feet away from them and clutching his own hands. His chest rises and falls choppily. There’s panic in his eyes. “I'm sorry!” he says. “I'm sorry, Katara, I didn’t mean to—”

“I told you we shouldn't mess around with this,” Sokka snaps. “Look what you did! You burned my sister!”

“You did what?” Jeong Jeong asks, striding from his cottage. He looks almost as angry as Sokka.

“And you,” Sokka snarls, whirling on Jeong Jeong. Katara backs away from them, and Zuko takes a step in her direction before halting—the last thing she wants is a firebender tending to her burns. “This is all your fault!”

Jeong Jeong lowers his head. “I know. I think it’s time for you all to leave.”

“Gladly.” Sokka storms after Katara. 

Zuko glances warily in Jeong Jeong’s direction before taking a step towards Aang, who is still looking after Katara and Sokka. “Aang…”

Aang jumps away from him, his eyes wide. 

“It's okay,” Zuko says. “I mean, it’s not, but you have to understand—you can’t—firebending isn’t—ah. Why don’t you come pack our things with me?”

Zuko turns, leading the way back towards Appa, and after a moment he hears Aang’s faltering footsteps behind him. Together, they roll up their sleeping mats and load them into Appa’s saddle. Zuko watches Aang out of the corner of his eye as they pack—the boy looks miserable, his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast. 

“I burnt my mother, once,” Zuko says. He refuses to look at Aang, although he can feel the weight of his gaze. “I was trying to perfect a trick to outdo my sister. I wasn't cautious enough, and she was the one who suffered for it.”

“...what did you do?”

“Cried for about two hours,” Zuko says. “I was six. She was okay, but I was always very careful when I practiced after that. I tried not to do it around her anymore. Father thought it was cowardice. I knew it was care. Fire is dangerous, Aang. It does nothing but destroy.”

Aang wipes his eyes, then straps down a crate of their supplies. “I'll never firebend again.”

Perhaps, Zuko thinks, that’s for the best. 

“I'm sure Katara will be okay.” He reaches out, setting a hand on Aang’s shoulder. “She has healing abilities.”

Aang nods jerkily, then reaches out to cling to Zuko’s arm. Zuko lets him.

“Just apologize when you see her, okay?” Zuko suggests. “She knows you didn’t mean it. She’ll forgive you, especially if you’re more careful from now on. I doubt that—”

“Guys!” Katara skids to a stop near Appa’s tail, her eyes wide. Her hands, to Zuko’s relief, look perfectly fine.

“Katara!” Aang says. His grip on Zuko’s arm tightens. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I—”

“Thank you, Aang, I appreciate that—but right now we need to go.”

“Go?” Zuko’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“Zhao.”

Well, that's enough for Zuko. He scrambles to shove the last of their things into Appa’s saddle, his heart in his throat. His leg aches. He doesn’t want to face Zhao again. He really, really doesn’t—and he doesn’t care if that makes him a coward, either. Fuck that guy.

“Where are Sokka and Jeong Jeong?” Aang asks, airbending Sokka’s bag into Zuko’s hands. Zuko quickly sets it near the back of the saddle before going back to retrieve Katara’s. 

“Sokka’s right here,” Sokka says, rounding Appa’s tail at a sprint. “Jeong Jeong’s holding Zhao off, but he can’t do it for long. the guy brought, like, three ships. Talk about overkill! Now let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

“What? No, we have to help him!” Aang says. He meets Sokka’s eyes, and he doesn’t back down even as Sokka’s disbelief turns to irritation. “Sokka, please. He helped us. We can’t let him take the fall for this.”

“Help us,” Sokka mutters. “Yeah, that’s what he did.”

“Aang’s right, Sokka.” Katara touches Sokka’s shoulder, and he looks grudgingly at her. “If we can help him, we need to. We don’t just abandon people when they’re in trouble.”

Sokka flings his hands into the air. “Alright, alright! But don’t get onto me for going after trouble this time. This one’s on you guys—and I'm staying here with Zuko.”

“Wait, why do I have to stay here?” Zuko asks, bristling. 

“Because you’re injured,” Sokka says, gesturing grandly at Zuko’s leg. “And you know what happened last time you tried to fight Zhao while you were injured? Yeah. Yeah, we’re not doing that again. Stay put.”

Zuko grumbles, but he slumps into the saddle and folds his arms over his chest. Sokka sits across from him, also sulking. They sulk together for about ten minutes, listening to the shouts and crackles of fire behind them. Then Aang and Katara scramble back into Appa’s saddle, panting and smeared with soot.

“So?” Sokka asks. “How was that?”

“Oh, it was great,” Katara says, pushing her hair off of his forehead. “I've been wanting to beat him up ever since the solstice.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly beat him up,” Aang says. “We just tricked him into setting all of his boats on fire. It felt fitting.”

Zuko snorts. “Ah, what a dumbass. I guess he’ll have a hard time chasing us now.”

“One can dream,” Sokka says, sighing wistfully. 

“One can indeed,” Jeong Jeong says, stepping out of the woods near Appa’s flank. All of them jump, and Momo chatters in alarm and latches onto Zuko’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help. Do be careful on your way north.”

Aang nods to him. “We will, Master. Thank you for trying to teach me.”

Jeong Jeong bows to him. “I'm sorry I couldn't do more.”

“My message,” Zuko says, leaning over the edge of the saddle, “do you have it?”

Jeong Jeong slides a scroll from his sleeve, smiling. “I'll deliver it myself. I have nothing keeping me here, now that my abode has been discovered. And a word of advice, if I may?”

Zuko narrows his eyes but nods.

“You may have been able to avoid scrutiny in the Earth Kingdom without much of a disguise, but I doubt you’ll be so lucky in the North Pole. They’re a much smaller people, and it will be hard for you to avoid the attention of high-ranking officials and military leaders. Many of them will have heard of you and may suspect your identity.”

“And what am I supposed to do about that?” Zuko asks. “I can't get rid of this scar. Believe me, if there was a way to do it I would have done so by now.”

“No. I'm sorry to say that’s a lost cause,” Jeong Jeong says regretfully. “But be sure you have a good explanation for it. Get rid of your armor and change your boots. Grow your hair out. Do everything you can to avoid looking like you’re from the Fire Nation, or you may very well find yourself trapped amongst enemies. You don’t want your uncle coming to your rescue. I fear he may very well break his military retirement to win you back.”

Zuko understands. He’d destroy the North Pole for Uncle, too.

Chapter Text

“wow. fuzzy.” aang rubs his hands over zuko’s scalp and the new, bristly hairs there. this is the third time he’s done it today. zuko sighs heavily. (does it feel nice? yes. is he going to let anyone know that? absolutely not—but he’s not going to drive aang away too soon, either. he’ll just huff like he hates it and then proceed to not move.) “fuuuuzzy.”

it’s shameful, is what it is. fuzzy and shameful. zuko doesn’t recognize himself anymore. he certainly doesn’t look like a fire nation citizen—which is, he supposes, the point. still, it’s uncomfortable. he’d shaved all his hair a few days ago, and he’s finally beginning to grow in a new layer. it’s just in time, too. the farther north they go, the colder it gets. zuko doesn’t know how aang can stand to be completely bald in this climate.

“it almost feels like sokka’s,” aang comments. 

“um, excuse me?” sokka shakes his head, flipping his wolftail. “i have long, luscious locks!”

“no, the underneath part.” aang laughs, reaching forward to pet sokka’s undercut. “yeah! they feel the same now.”

“that’s nice, aang.” sokka bats him away. “how much longer until we’re there, katara? aang is getting touchy-feely again.”

“just a few more minutes,” katara says from her spot between appa’s horns. “look over there.”

zuko glances over the side of appa’s saddle and sees the spires of the northern air temple rising before them. aang had insisted on a visit after they’d had the misfortune of camping with a group of people who were convinced they’d seen airbenders there. zuko isn’t getting his hopes up.

“just don’t get too excited, alright?” zuko says, glancing over at aang. he’s returned to the side of the saddle, wiggling like an eel hound pup.

“i’m not, i’m not.”

“because you know if there were any other airbenders around, i’m sure my father would have found them already. he doesn’t destroy things halfway. well.” zuko snorts, wryly amused. “except for my face, i guess.”

silence. katara looks back at him, horrified.

“no?” zuko asks, hunching his shoulders. “bad joke? okay. right. noted.”

“hey, guys, look at this!” aang says suddenly, jumping onto his feet and mercifully tearing the attention away from zuko.

zuko glances back towards the air temple and realizes that he can now make out several dim shapes fliting around it. at first, he thinks they might be flying lemurs like momo—but as they approach, it rapidly becomes clear they’re too big and too human-shaped for that.

“they really are airbenders,” katara says, her eyes wide. “that’s incredible!”

aang leans over the edge of the saddle, straining to see more closely—and then, to zuko’s surprise, his expression sours. “no, they’re not.”

“what do you mean they’re not?” sokka demands, gesturing towards the gliders. “those guys are flying.”

“gliding, maybe,” aang says bitterly, “but not flying. you can tell by the way they move, they're not airbending. those people have no spirit.”

and then, because the universe enjoys proving them wrong, a not-airbender in a strangely-shaped glider swoops overhead. zuko ducks and narrowly avoids being clipped by the glider’s wing. above them, the not-airbender laughs and veers away. 

“i don’t know, aang,” katara says, arching an eyebrow. “that kid seems pretty spirited.”

“oh yeah?” aang snags his own glider, popping the wings out. “we’ll see about that.”

“be careful!” sokka shouts after him as aang springs from the saddle, soaring after the not-airbender. the two of them duck and weave together, and before long aang’s laugh joins that of the not-airbender’s. appa veers sharply to avoid another group of not-airbenders in front of the temple, and sokka slams into zuko’s side. “ugh. i think we’d better find some solid ground before it finds us.”

katara steers appa to land in the temple courtyard, where more not-airbenders are gathered and watching the sky. several of them cheer, and zuko twists around to see aang gliding upside with an enormous grin on his face. the not-airbender he’s flying with yanks one of the handles on his strange gliding chair and whips into an impressive spiral.

“go teo!” a nearby child whoops, punching the air. “show that bald kid how it's done!”

after a completely unnecessary—albeit very impressive—aerial competition, both aang and teo land in the courtyard beside appa. they’re grinning and laughing with each other, and whatever disappointment aang felt upon learning these people weren’t airbenders seems to have vanished, to zuko’s relief. 

“you’re a real airbender,” teo says, looking wide-eyed at aang as the other not-airbenders gather around them. “you must be the avatar. that’s amazing! i’ve heard stories about you.”

aang grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.  “thanks.”

“wow!” sokka nudges aang aside, bending to examine teo’s odd glider—which, zuko can see now, also functions as a sort of wheelchair. “this glider chair is incredible.”

teo grins. “you think this is good? wait until you see the other stuff my dad designed. c’mon, let me show you around.”

sokka and aang follow teo and the rest of the kids eagerly, although zuko and katara hang back several feet. the main entrance to the northern air temple is enormous, filled from floor to ceiling with various machinery. sokka’s eyes go round. he runs up to one of the machines, reaching out and resting his hands on it with an air of reverence.

spirits, he really is a giant nerd. 

aang looks less thrilled with their surroundings. his eyes flicker to the back wall, where a faded mural has been obstructed by several large metal pipes. even zuko feels a flicker of annoyance, when he sees that. it’s bad enough that the entire air nation is gone—shouldn’t they at least try to preserve the history here?

“my dad is the mastermind behind this whole place,” teo explains. “everything’s powered by hot air. it even pumps hot air currents outside to give us a lift while we're gliding.”

“this place is unbelievable,” aang says, his voice flat.

teo beams. “yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?”

“no. just unbelievable.”

“aang used to come here a long time ago. i think he's a little shocked it's so...different,” katara explains, looking sympathetically at teo.

“so better!” sokka exclaims as he bounds around another piece of complicated machinery.

teo leads them across a bridge to another large room. zuko more or less drags sokka along with them, nudging him along every time he stops to drool over another odd contraption. he looks much less interested in the marble statues the next room houses, and picks his teeth as aang strolls around them. 

“it's nice to see that at least one part of the temple that isn't ruined,” aang comments. he pauses in front of a statute of a long-bearded monk, and opens his mouth as though to speak again—but before he can, a shout rings over the room.

“look out!”

zuko springs backwards, ducking and covering his head as a wrecking ball smashes through the wall—and through the statue directly in front of aang. dust plumes into the air, and zuko sneezes as it begins to settle on his head and shoulders.

“aw,” sokka says. “you sneeze like a kitten.”

before zuko can respond, a man with a white apron and a scruffy, dust-spattered beard strides into the room with his eyebrows arched. “what the doodle?” he asks. “don't you know enough to stay away from construction sites? we have to make room for the bathhouse.” 

and aang? aang turns on the man and shouts like zuko hasn’t heard him shout since zhao kidnapped him: “do you know what you did? you just destroyed something sacred for a stupid bathhouse!”

“well, people around here are starting to stink,” the man says nonchalantly. 

this is, naturally, the wrong answer.

“this whole place stinks!” aang lashes out, sweeping a hand through the air. a gust of wind follows in its wake, slamming into the side of the man’s wrecking crane and knocking it back through the wall. zuko hears it screech across the floor, then smash through another wall before crashing down the cliffside to a very timely demise. “this is a sacred temple! you can't treat it this way! i've seen it when the monks were here; i know what it's supposed to be like!”

the man, who had been staring slack-jawed after his wrecking crane, finally looks back at aang. “the monks? but you’re twelve.”

teo rolls his chair up to the man. “dad, he's the avatar. he used to come here a hundred years ago.”

aang takes another step in the man’s direction. the man wisely takes a step back. “what are you doing, anyway?” aang demands. “who said you could be here?”

the man holds his hands up in surrender. “let me explain, please. a long time ago—but not a hundred years—my people became refugees after a terrible flood.”

zuko straightens up, his mind immediately straying to gaipan. it’s clear from his friends’ alarmed expressions that they’re thinking the same thing. there’s no way this man can be from gaipan himself, but the similarities are discomforting. even aang’s face begins to soften.

“my infant son, teo, was badly hurt and lost his mother. i needed somewhere to rebuild and i stumbled across this place. couldn't believe it. everywhere, pictures of flying people! but empty, nobody home. then i came across these fan-like contraptions!”

“our gliders,” aang says, his brow furrowing.

“yes! little, light flying machines. they gave me an idea: build a new life for my son, in the air! then everyone will be on equal ground, so to speak. we're just in the process of improving upon what's already here. and, after all, isn't that what nature does?”

“nature knows where to stop,” aang says, although his voice is quieter, now.

“i suppose that's true. unfortunately, progress has a way of getting away from us. look at the time!” the man gestures widely to a nearby candle. “come. the pulley system must be oiled before dark.”

“wait, how can you tell the time from that thing?” sokka asks, clearly intrigued. “the notches all look the same.”

the man smiles. “the candle will tell us. watch.”

a few seconds later, the candle pops four distinct times, and sokka’s eyes widen in amazement. “you put spark powder in the candle!”

“four flashes, so it's exactly four hours past midday—or, as i call it: four o'candle.”

sokka laughs while katara groans and drags her hands down her face.

“if you like that, wait till you see my finger-safe knife sharpener.” the man holds up his left hand—three of which, zuko realizes with alarm, are wooden. he plucks all three of them off and throws them into sokka’s hands. “only took me three tries to get it right.”

sokka recoils in alarm, nearly dropping the fingers as he does. 

the man grins, then pokes sokka’s shoulder with his remaining finger. “follow me.”

sokka runs after the man with a handful of wooden fingers and a giddy expression on his face. zuko hesitates, torn between following him—what if the man tries to hurt him?—and staying with aang and katara. aang decides for him, reaching out to grab his hand as teo approaches them again. 

“hey, aang,” he says. “i want to show you something.”

teo leads them further into the temple. zuko follows slowly, once aang releases his hand. he sweeps his gaze over all that he can, curious and disheartened in equal measure—he’s never seen an air temple before, and he doubts he ever will again. that’s a. yeah, that’s a sad thought. it prickles uncomfortably at him. 

“i just can’t get over it,” aang says quietly. “there’s not a single thing that's the same.”

“i don’t know about that. the temple might be different,” teo says, reaching down to pick up a small hermit crab near the side of the hall, “but the creatures that live here are probably direct descendants of the ones who lived here a long time ago.”

teo hands the hermit crab to katara, who cups it gently in her palms. “you're right. they're kind of keepers of the temple's origins.”

she passes the crab to aang, who strokes his thumb across its shell. he offers it to zuko, and who is zuko to resist a cute animal? he takes the crab, and it waves its antenna at him before sinking its pinchers into his palm. he yowls and shakes it off—katara narrowly saves it, catching it in a ball of water before laughing at him. even aang manages a small smile as zuko’s misfortune, and zuko can’t begrudge it (not this time).

“besides,” teo says, grinning, “there's one part of the temple that hasn't changed at all.”

they stop at the end of the hall, and teo gestures to an enormous door with several golden horns on its center. 

“only an airbender can open it,” teo explains, “so inside it's completely untouched, just the way the monks left it. i've always wondered what it's like in there.”

katara looks at aang, reaching out to set a hand on his shoulder. “aang?”

aang hunches his shoulders, turning away and shaking his head. “i'm sorry. this is the last part of the temple that's the same as it was. i want it to stay that way.”

the disappointment on teo’s face is evident, although he keeps his tone upbeat as he says, “i completely understand.  just wanted you to know that it's here.”

“thanks.”

“come on. let me show you something else,” teo offers, and leads them back towards the outskirts of the temple. the sun is high in the sky when they step outside, glinting off of the thin layer of snow that coats the ground. a rack of green gliders rests along the wall, and teo reaches for one. “i know it’s not the same as airbending, but these allow us to glide on the thermals that surround the temple. do you guys want to try?”

aang glances hopefully at katara and, well, that’s all the encouragement katara needs. she takes the glider from teo, holding it close. aang’s eyes turn to zuko, next, and zuko freezes. 

“no,” he says, “no way.”

aang’s lower lip begins to wobble.

“i can’t fly. you know i can’t fly!”

“come on, zuko,” katara says, elbowing him. “if i can do it, so can you. what? are you scared?”

“i’m not scared. i just don’t fancy the idea of falling to my death,” zuko huffs. “and i—”

“please?” aang asks, inching closer. “i won’t let you fall. i promise.”

ugh. ugh. zuko is such a sucker. he snags another glider from the rack and stomps over to the cliff. katara laughs and comes to join him, along with aang and teo. 

“you put your feet here when you jump,” teo explains, pointing to a footbar near the bottom of the gliders. “and you hold onto the handles at the front. the wind will carry you. it supports something inside you—something even lighter than air, and that something takes over when you fly.”

katara gulps. that makes zuko feel better, a little. at least he’s not the only one who’s nervous. “i’m not so sure i was born with that something,” she says.

teo laughs. “impossible. everybody has it.”

“spirit.”

all three of them look over at aang. teo arches an eyebrow inquisitively and asks, “what?”

“spirit,” aang repeats. “that's the something you're talking about.”

“yeah, I suppose it is,” teo says thoughtfully. then a grin spreads across his face again as he looks back to zuko and katara. “are you guys ready?”

“no.” katara squeezes her eyes shut, and then she jumps. “aaaa aaaaah!”

this is not comforting, to say the least.

“come on, zuko,” aang says, his toes touching the edge of the cliff. several pebbles skitter away from his shoes and fall to their doom. zuko wheezes. “you don’t have to be scared. i won’t let anything happen to you. it’ll be fun, really!”

“if i die,” zuko says, squeezing his eyes shut the same way katara had, “it’s on your head.”

then he jumps. 

he doesn’t scream, because he’s a prince, and princes don’t do that. he does, however, whimper just a little bit when he opens his eyes again. the wind tugs at him, cold and sharp, and immediately makes his eyes water—but a thermal catches him quickly, tossing him back up. how does he steer? oh spirits how does he steer? 

momo—his hero—shows up beside him a few seconds later, chasing the bugs in the air. he tips his wings to turn, and zuko copies him. he leans the glider to the right, and the wind pushes him along. he leans his weight back to the left to even out, and he manages to fly in a straight line for several seconds. he’s doing it? he’s—he actually doing it?

he’s doing it!

a grin spreads across his face, and he tips his weight forward to send the glider into a dive. he chases momo through the currents, and the lemur chatters excitedly at him and leads him to all the best thermals. his turns are wobbly, and several times he misses a thermal and drops rapidly, but he’s not dying—and, well, that’s better than he thought he’d do. 

he catches glimpses of the others gliding around him, several times, but never for long. it’s hard to focus on anything but where he’s going, and the darkness on his left side makes him shy. he tries his best to keep momo on that side, and he veers away whenever momo does to avoid crashing into something he can’t see. 

“zuko!” aang shouts, his shadow falling over zuko as he flies overhead. “you’re doing great!”

zuko wants to try something. zuko throws his weight to one side, pulling the wing of his glider over until he’s upside down and grinning at aang. aang’s eyes widen, and then he laughs—and then zuko begins to plummet towards the ground because he can’t get himself the right way around again. aang only laughs harder and rights him with a burst of air. 

“are you having fun?” aang asks, dipping down so they can fly wing-to-wing. 

zuko...is, actually? how weird is that? “i’m not dying, so,” he says, but he flickers another grin in aang’s direction to really answer him. 

aang beams. 

they glide together for several more minutes, and then comes the issue of landing. this, zuko realizes, was something that should have been taught to him before he took off. katara seems to be having the same issue. she flies by him calling, “wait, how do i land this thing? what if i land over a-ack-ack-bleck! bug! bug! ack, that was a bug!”

so zuko’s landing experience seems to be going better than hers, anyway.

that doesn’t last long. he banks his glider in an attempt to turn back towards the cliff they had launched off of, but the wind snags at him and he overcorrects. this sends him diving straight for the side of the temple, and he yelps in alarm and rolls the glider back to the right. there’s an open window off to the side, and he’d much rather hit that than solid stone!

a second later, he dives through the window and crashes into the ground. he hears several things shatter around him, as well as two surprised shouts—one of which he can identify as sokka’s. he skids across the floor on his stomach, cringing. one of his glider wings had broken against the windowsill, and now it slumps over his side. yep. yep, that was every bit as terrible as he thought it would be. he goes to push himself onto hands and knees, then pauses and wrinkles his nose. 

“...why does it smell like rotten eggs in here?’

“that’s because of science!” sokka declares, pointing a finger at him. then he lets his hand drop and arches his eyebrows. “but seriously, are you okay?”

zuko groans.

after aang, katara, and teo come to collect zuko—who isn’t actually hurt, a few bruises and scrapes aside—they return to the untouched room deep in the temple. sokka lets them go without him (instructing them to “maybe not try to kill li again because i seriously can’t babysit you all right now”). aang apologizes profusely, but zuko waves him off. the gliding was fun, harsh landing aside, and he doesn’t regret it.

aang, too, seems to have gotten something from the gliding. he’s in a gentler mood when they approach the untouched room again, and he agrees to open the doors for them. he bends air into the three horns on the front of the door, and low brass note fills the room and echoes in zuko’s chest. the doors peel open with a low creak, and as the light from outside spills in, zuko freezes.

there are fire nation insignias everywhere.

weapons stock the room—tanks and swords and shields, bombs and bows and heavy machines zuko has no name for. all four of them fall utterly silent, their eyes wide. zuko’s heart begins to thunder in his chest. what is this? what is this? 

“this is a nightmare,” aang says hollowly.

footsteps pound behind them, and zuko whirls around and bares his teeth. the man sokka has been working with skids to a stop in front of them, his chest heaving, and zuko places himself defensively in front of aang and katara. sokka stumbles to a stop behind the man, and that’s exactly where zuko doesn’t want him. his hands curl into fists.

“you don't understand,” the man pants. 

“you’re making weapons for the fire nation,” aang snaps.

sokka’s eyes widen as he looks at the room behind him, and his face darkens rapidly. “you make weapons for the fire nation?!”

“explain all this!” teo says, rolling his chair towards his father. there are furious tears in his eyes. “now!”

“it was—” the man takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “it was about a year after we moved here. fire nation soldiers found our settlement. you were too young to remember this, teo. they were going to destroy everything, burn it to the ground! i pleaded with them, i begged them to spare us. they asked what i had to offer. i offered...my services. you must understand, i did this for you!”

zuko feels ill. it’s altogether too possible to believe the fire nation would do such a hideous thing. it’s altogether too possible to believe that they would have slaughtered everyone here—even an infant like teo—before destroying the air temple. it’s altogether too possible to fear his own nation, right now.

teo storms past his father, his jaw set. aang grabs zuko’s hand, as well as katara’s, and tugs them both out. sokka casts one last bitter look at the man before following them. together, they make their way back to the outside of the temple and sit down on the cliff’s edge. the sun is beginning to set, now, and zuko’s breath clouds in the cold air. 

“i’m so sorry,” teo says, first. “i didn’t know.”

“i know,” aang says bleakly. “it’s okay. it’s not your fault.”

“what are we going to do?” katara asks, rubbing her temples. “the last thing the fire nation needs is more weapons.”

zuko shakes his head. “this isn’t our business. that man has an agreement with the fire nation that keeps him and his family alive. if we take that away from him, who knows what could happen? the fire nation isn’t merciful to traitors.”

“as much as i hate it, li has a point,” sokka says, sighing wearily. “the fire nation already has weapons. a few more aren’t going to change the course of the war, and if making those weapons keeps everyone here alive, then...i don’t know. maybe it’s a worthwhile sacrifice.”

“there has to be another way,” aang insists. “we—”

teo pales, suddenly, and points into the distance. “whatever we’re going to do, we need to do it fast. i think that’s them.”

smoke billows over the horizon, and zuko sees a caravan of fire nation soldiers trekking towards the air temple. he wonders, briefly, if it might be zhao—but the crest on the flag is different. zuko still recognizes it. “that’s commander qin,” he says, standing up. “he won’t back down from a fight. he’ll raze the temple as soon as he gets the excuse.”

“...how do you know that?” teo asks quietly, looking up at him. 

“never mind that,” sokka says hastily. “if we fight these guys, we risk condemning everyone here to death. is that what we want to do?”

“we can’t fight them,” zuko says, shaking his head. 

“li…” katara twists around to look at him. “we may not have a choice.”

“yes, we do. nobody is fighting anybody today,” zuko says firmly.

“i mean, i like that idea,” aang says, “but how are we going to pull it off?”

“i think it’s time,” zuko says, setting his jaw, “to give my armor a proper send-off.”

“he’s from the fire nation?” teo hisses, gesturing wildly at zuko as he pulls his armor on for the first time since the winter solstice. it’s heavier than he remembers, sharp and uncomfortable. 

“it’s a long story,” katara says. “he’s with us, right now.”

“and how do you know he’s not just going to go out there and tell them all everything they need to know?” teo demands. “like where the weapons are kept, or how many people are here, or the fact that there’s a natural gas chamber in the temple?”

“there’s a natural gas chamber in the temple?” zuko asks, surprised.

sokka smacks his forehead.

“i’m just saying, maybe we should have someone else do this part,” teo continues. 

“the armor is a custom fit,” zuko says. what he doesn’t say is that its resemblance to royal armor should straighten commander qin out very nicely. it’s bad enough that teo knows he’s from the fire nation; the last thing he needs to know is that zuko is its prince. “i don’t want this temple destroyed anymore than you do. there’d be no point to it. you guys are living peacefully here, and sokka was right—a handful of weapons won or lost aren’t going to change the course of the whole war. would it be easier to just hand them over? uh, duh. but if you guys are deadset against that, this is our only other peaceful option. i just need one thing from your father.”

“what’s that?”

zuko scrubs a hand over his shorn hair. “a fire nation helmet.”

as teo goes to speak with his father, katara steps to zuko’s side and rests a hand on his arm. “are you sure you want to do this?” she asks. he sees the unspoken question in the worry behind her eyes: can we trust you to do this?

“i won’t fail you,” zuko says firmly. “senseless violence is as repulsive to me as it is to you. i don’t want anyone hurt today—earth kingdom or fire nation.”

katara meets his eyes for a moment, then nods. “alright. i trust you.”

“as do i,” sokka says, nodding to him. 

“oh, me too, me too!” aang says, jumping to his side. zuko’s chest feels warm, for some inexplicable reason. “you can do this, zuko. we’re all supporting you.”

“but in the meantime,” sokka says, striding for the doorway, “i’m gonna go help figure out this whole war balloon situation just in case things go sour—because no offense, looking at you in that armor is giving me the heebie jeebies.”

zuko glances down at himself, frowning.

“you look fine,” katara assures him, using her sleeve to rub a smudge from the black metal of his breastplate. “you look like a—like a fire nation prince.”

...that’s the trouble, isn’t it? 

teo bursts back into the room a moment later, tossing a helmet to zuko. “you’re gonna wanna hurry,” he says. “that qin guy is coming up the stairs right now!”

zuko takes a deep breath, settling the helmet into place. aang flashes him a thumbs-up. with that encouragement, zuko strides back into the temple and towards the courtyard. he hears the soldiers’ marching footsteps before they crest the stairs, filing neatly behind their commander. zuko takes a step forward as the enter the courtyard, placing himself directly in front of them and drawing his shoulders back.

he’s a prince. he’s a prince, he’s a spirits-damned crown prince, and he is his father’s son. these are his soldiers, and it’s about time he acted like it. he claws his way back into his memories, trying to recall what it felt like to command—trying to recall his father’s voice, cold and unyielding. his word is law. 

his word is law, and these soldiers are about to obey.

“stop where you are, commander qin,” he orders in father’s voice, and it has exactly the effect he had hoped it would: the troops grate to a halt, shuffling nervously. 

“and who,” commander qin says, drawing up short, “are you?”

“who are you, sir,” zuko corrects sharply. “my name is admiral li. i’m commandeering the weapons in this temple by order of the firelord.”

“well, that’s odd.” commander qin crosses the distance between them, his eyes narrowing, “as i’m supposed to be commandeering these weapons for the firelord. when were your orders received?”

“a week ago. i received a message requesting reinforcements for the siege at ba sing se. these weapons are needed there immediately.”

“is that so?” commander qin looks him up and down. “and where are your troops, admiral? how do you plan to transport these weapons? if i could be of any assistance to you—”

“that will be unnecessary. i traveled ahead of my fleet to intercept you, but it will be arriving shortly. i have all the manpower i need. as for you, general bao requests the assistance of your troops outside of the si wong desert.”

commander qin’s brows furrow. “the si wong desert? there’s nothing there.”

“i assure you, there is,” zuko says, lifting his chin, “but such matters cannot be spoken of openly. the work there is extremely confidential. general bao will explain when you arrive.”

“that’s all well and good, but why should i—?”

“i grow tired of being questioned, commander!”

i grow tired of being questioned, zuko! 

“i am your superior, and you will do as i say.”

i am your father, and it is your duty to obey me. 

“if you should like to argue the point, i’ll see to it that you are stripped of your titles and reported for your insubordination.”

now quit this ceaseless whining of yours or i’ll have you put away for the rest of the day—no lunch, no dinner, and certainly no wandering the grounds.

“now go!”

get out of my sight already. i weary of your presence.

“yes, sir!” commander qin steps backwards, his eyes wide. “my apologies. i’ll report to si wong at once.”

“good,” zuko says tersely, turning his back and striding away from the troops. “i want to see your fleet gone by sundown. you’d best hurry.”

as the troops retreat, zuko ducks back into the temple and slumps against a nearby wall. he did it. he actually did it. that’s what a real prince should act like. (so why are his hands shaking so badly? why does he feel so ill?) 

“zuko, you did it!” katara runs down the hall, crashing into his side and wrapping her arms around him. he stumbles backwards, startled. “that was incredible.”

aang latches onto him a split second later, laughing. “i can’t believe that actually worked. and nobody had to fight! thank you! you should be, like, an actor.”

zuko worms his way out of their grips, already overwhelmed. “it really wasn’t that big of a deal. i just told him what to do.”

“but you did it compellingly, like you were an actual admiral with actual orders,” aang says, spreading his hands through the air. “like i said: actor. think about it.”

but it wasn’t acting, was it? that was him. that was who he’s supposed to be. that was prince zuko, heir to the throne and future firelord, and zuko hated it. moreover, he hates that he hated it. everything is confusing and his head hurts and his hands won’t stop shaking. 

“zuko…?” katara asks, her voice softening. “are you okay?”

zuko opens his mouth to respond, but at the same moment sokka strides into the hallway. “great job, team!” he says, clapping his hands together briskly. “crisis averted. the troops are headed back to their ships now. zuko, way to go, man.”

zuko nods his thanks to sokka. 

“now c’mon. let’s celebrate on the way north. i don’t know about you guys, but i don’t wanna be here when zhao shows up,” sokka says, hooking a thumb towards the door. 

“you don’t think he’ll hurt these people, do you?” aang asks.

“nah. that wouldn’t benefit him in any way. he won’t want to waste time on them while he’s searching for us—but the sooner we leave, the sooner we lead him away,” sokka says. “come on. grab your stuff.”

as aang, katara, and sokka go to pack their things onto appa, zuko slips back to the weapon room. he sheds his armor, setting it near the back of the room. he pauses, briefly, to press his trembling palm to the breastplate. he wants to think that he’ll come back for it, some day, but the future feels shakier and shakier all the time. everything he wanted to be is crumbling in front of him, and he has no idea what’s going to be left behind.

Chapter Text

zuko can’t meditate.

this isn’t completely unusual—after his banishment, meditation was the farthest thing from his mind. he couldn’t sit still without thinking of father and fire and loss. it was only uncle’s patience and persistence that allowed him to find inner quiet again. now that quiet seems to have vanished from him the same way it did all those years ago, and when he closes his eyes his thoughts jumble and crash against each other in a cacophony of confusing noise that makes his heart hammer in his chest. sweat prickles against the back of his neck. his hands tremble. guilt and fear coat the back of his tongue in a bitter tang that leaves him nauseous. 

he never lasts long before forcing his eyes open again. 

the nights are easier, if only because exhaustion weighs him down and slows his thoughts—but early mornings are best. he wakes up surrounded by friends, warm in the sunrise, and for a few hazy seconds the world seems right and good and safe. 

that doesn’t last long, either, but zuko will take what he can get at this point.

unfortunately, while his loss of peace is not unfamiliar, it is inconvenient. they set out across the ocean a day after leaving the northern air temple, and with nowhere to land, things quickly become crowded. zuko can’t stray more than a few feet from any of his companions. there’s nothing particularly exciting to draw his attention, either—on every side he finds nothing but water, and water, and more water.

“no wonder the waterbenders live all the way out here,” he complains, bracing his elbow on the side of the saddle and propping his chin in his hand. 

“oh, you’re one to talk,” katara snips. “the fire nation is an island, too.”

zuko hates it when she’s right.

“didn’t you live on a boat for three years?” aang asks. “i thought you’d be used to it.”

“i don’t know if you noticed, but a warship is a little bigger than a flying bison. agni. i’d even take one of uncle’s music nights right now.”

“woah, music nights?” aang leans forward, clearly intrigued.

“we had music nights on the ship. uncle played the tsungi horn. jee sang for us. have you ever heard the four seasons?”

“no. you should sing it!”

“absolutely not.” zuko turns his gaze back to the choppy sea beneath them. “maybe i’ll have uncle sing it for you when we meet him back in the earth kingdom.”

“i’d like that.”

“well, i wouldn’t,” sokka says airily, dangling his feet over the edge of the saddle. “zuko is all the dastardly firebender i want in my life, thanks.”

zuko rolls his eyes. 

“anyone want to play another round of marbles?” aang offers.

katara and sokka join him in the middle of the saddle to play, so zuko moves to sit between appa’s horns. he closes his eyes and breathes. breathe in, breathe out. breathe in, breathe—

you became the traitor when you started murdering innocent people.

zuko scowls, tearing his focus away from the thought and back to his breathing. in, out, in, out—

you used us. you used me!

breathe. breathe, he just has to remember to breathe. 

you should have been allowed to have a childhood. 

ugh! this is impossible! zuko snaps his eyes open again, scowling. his head throbs, and he brings his hands up to massage his temples. someone touches his shoulder, suddenly, and he jumps—but it’s only katara, sitting down next to him and smoothing her skirt out.

“are you alright?”

“i’m fine,” zuko says, dropping his hands into his lap. “just thinking.”

“well, while you’re at it, we need to think up a cover story for the north pole. they’ll have questions about your injuries,” katara says. “any ideas?”

zuko sighs heavily. “the rhino story will work as far as my leg goes.”

“the one where you were attacked by komodo rhinos outside of gaipan and aang saved you?”

“oh, i like that one!” aang says, spinning a handful of marbles above his palm. 

“good. as long as everyone’s clear on it, that’s fine. what about your eye?” katara asks. she looks unflinchingly at his scar, her head cocked. 

zuko sighs, scrubbing a hand over his scalp. “i got hurt stealing from a fire nation ship when i was younger? that’s what we told jet, right? it should work.”

katara nods thoughtfully. “i don’t see why not. they shouldn’t pry more than that. but if they mention your resemblance to prince zuko…?”

“the crewmates on the ship thought it would be funny to give me a scar that matched the prince’s,” zuko says flatly.

“eugh,” sokka says from somewhere behind him. “dark.”

“but really, they’re not going to know what prince zuko looks like in that much detail, are they?” zuko asks. “i’m not exactly a high-priority enemy. i haven’t even been involved in any military movements before.”

“you’re the crown prince,” katara argues. “the next firelord.”

zuko snorts. “not at this rate. besides, the north pole is notoriously isolated. they barely have anything to do with the war.”

“but they’ve been attacked before—and people don’t forget when stuff like that happens,” sokka says. “they won’t have forgotten to keep an eye on the fire nation. so! what’s your name?”

“li,” zuko says wearily.

“where are you from?”

“the southern earth kingdom. a small city called palatuk.”

“why did you leave?”

“my parents were killed in a raid by firebenders. i lived on my own for several years. i stole from a fire nation ship and got this scar. i wandered farther north and ran into a group of komodo rhinos a couple of months ago, but i was fortunate enough that avatar aang was there to rescue me. i’ve been traveling with him ever since. there, happy?”

sokka nods approvingly. 

ten games of marbles later, the sun begins to set. the cold grows increasingly vicious, and zuko cups his hands over his ears to warm them. they had purchased winter clothing from the earth kingdom, but even that is hardly enough to fend off the arctic chill. their first order of business upon reaching the north pole will be to go clothes shopping. sokka is particularly excited to replace his singed parka—a fact he announces quite loudly every time the wind blows. zuko still feels pretty bad about that parka, even though sokka waves his apologies off and says, “it kept you from getting burnt, didn’t it? worth it.” 

it doesn’t feel worth it.

as the sky darkens, zuko tugs out their furs and blankets and begins to layer them across the back of the saddle. once he’s done, he burrows his way underneath them. he sits up, creating a small tent around himself, and cups his hand around a flame. aang pokes his head in a few minutes later, eyebrows arched. 

“what are you—oh, wow, it’s warm in here!” 

“that’s the idea. now put the blankets back down, you’re letting all the warm air out.”

“can we come in?”

“just a second. i don’t want a bunch of people in here while i’m firebending. blankets are flammable enough without you all tossing them around.” that, and he doesn’t like it when people get too close to his fire—not unless he’s trying to hurt them, anyway. 

once the air is suitably warm, zuko extinguishes his flame and lays back down. aang takes that as an open invitation and burrows under the blankets with him, plastering himself against zuko’s right side. momo scurries in on his heels, curling up on top of zuko’s chest, while katara comes to lay beside aang and sokka wedges himself in on zuko’s left. it should be uncomfortable, having someone so close to that side, but it’s...not actually as bad as it usually is. 

besides, sokka talks loudly enough that zuko won’t have any trouble hearing him even if he is next to zuko’s deaf ear.

“maybe firebenders are good for something after all,” sokka teases, drawing the blankets up over his head and humming happily at the warmth.

“thank you, zuko,” katara says, propping herself up on one elbow so she can look at him. 

“well, it’s this or hypothermia,” zuko says, sighing. 

“you’re kind of great,” aang says, yawning widely and resting his head on zuko’s shoulder. “you know that, right?”

...how can he say that to someone who’s only going to betray him? how can he say that to zuko? that’s mortifying (and completely, hideously untrue). zuko swallows thickly around the guilt lodged in his throat. fortunately, aang doesn’t push him any further. he simply hums and closes his eyes, and before long his breathing falls into the rhythm of sleep. 

zuko tries to sleep, too, but it’s hard. these people are his friends, as much as it pains him to think about. these people have fed him, protected him, healed him, cared about him, and—

and it hurts too much to think about the future.

when he wakes the next morning, aang is sprawled out like a starfish. katara is curled up, her hair a wild mess around her and a hand on aang’s chest. sokka is—

sokka is bundled up against zuko’s side, one of his legs hooked over zuko’s and his face tucked into the crook of zuko’s neck. several soft brown hairs have snuck free of their tie and tickle zuko’s jaw. zuko’s arm has somehow found its way around his shoulders, and one of sokka’s own arms lays across his chest. his fingers curl into zuko’s heavy earth kingdom jacket.

the air under the blankets has grown cooler overnight, but zuko is suddenly very, very warm.

zuko has no idea how to squirm his way out of this situation without waking his friends. katara spares him the decision, because her eyes open a moment later. she blinks blearily at him for a moment, and then her eyes widen. 

“help me,” he mouths. 

instead, katara cups her hands over her mouth and laughs—but once she’s done giggling at his expense, she leans over and shakes sokka’s shoulder. to zuko’s mortification, sokka whines and tightens his grip. he nuzzles further into zuko’s neck, warm breath fanning out against his skin. zuko’s cheeks have never felt hotter.

“sokka, hey, come on,” katara whispers. “let go.”

“nnnn,” soka says, very coherently. “five more minutes.”

“no, not five more minutes. just roll over and you can go back to sleep. i think zuko’s head is about to explode.”

“zuko?” sokka pries his eyes open, squinting at katara. “what?”

“let go of zuko,” katara repeats slowly, “before he explodes.”

“yes please,” zuko whispers.

sokka seems to realize where he is, then, because he yelps and shoves himself away from zuko. his own cheeks are pink, and he won’t meet zuko’s eyes. “ah! spirits, shit, sorry!”

“it’s fine,” zuko says, sitting up and clearing his throat. “don’t mention it—like, seriously. never mention it again.”

“sounds good,” sokka says. he sounds squeakier than usual. 

“zukooo,” aang whines, wrapping his arms around zuko’s waist and clinging. “where’re you going?”

“it’s time to get up.” zuko pries aang’s scrawny little arms off of him, standing and shaking off the blankets. aang latches onto his leg, instead. “come on, i can’t just lay here all day.”

“yeah you can. we’re nowhere close to the north pole,” aang insists.

zuko rolls his eyes and steps out of their nest of blankets, shaking aang off. he makes his way to the front of the saddle, stretching his limbs out. the sunrise scatters light across the waves below them. appa’s flying low, this morning, his tail waving slowly through the frigid air. zuko’s brow furrows in concern, and he kneels and pats appa’s shoulder. 

“do you think he’ll be okay?” he asks.

“if worst comes to worst, i’ll make an ice floe for him to rest on,” katara says. “but his fur should be thick enough to keep him warm, and we should be close to the north pole by tomorrow.”

tomorrow has never seemed so far away.

this day passes much the same as the previous. they play far, far too many games of marbles and talk about nothing more often than not. when they aren’t talking or playing, zuko leans against the side of the saddle and gazes out across the waves and fills his mind with aimless thoughts to avoid thinking about the things that actually matter. he has plenty of time to think about those things later. they’ll be in the north pole for at least a month.

how long does it take to master waterbending, anyway? more than a month, certainly, but a month should put aang on the right track. zuko has been practicing firebending for almost thirteen years, and he still feels like he has more to learn. uncle and father are true masters, but they’ve been firebending for decades. zuko could never best them. he could never even hope to try. they can bend lightning, for spirits’ sake! what can zuko do?

that night, they sleep curled together beneath the blankets again. sokka stubbornly refuses to look at zuko as he burrows in, and he falls asleep with his back turned and a carefully-maintained few inches between them. those inches do not last long. when zuko wakes the next day, sokka is plastered across him like a croctopus again. it’s not horrible. he’s warm, and his weight is a comfort, and his face is soft when he’s asleep, and—

and no no no zuko is not entertaining those thoughts. 

“sokka,” he hisses, prising sokka’s arms off of him. “sokka, wake up, come on.”

sokka snaps awake and fumbles his way through the world’s most embarrassing apology before fleeing to appa’s head. by late afternoon, they’re all getting anxious. appa barely hovers above the waves, his head low. the north pole, by all accounts, should be very close by—but there’s no sign of it in any direction. 

“well maybe we could see it,” sokka complains, “if appa were flying more than two feet above the ocean.”

“i have an idea,” aang says irritably. “why don't we all get on your back and you could fly us to the north pole?”

“i’d love to.” he hooks a thumb over his shoulder and towards his back, scowling. “climb on, everyone. sokka’s ready for take-off.”

momo takes him up on this offer, bounding forward and latching onto his shoulders. sokka glares.

“look, we're all just a little tired and cranky because we've been flying for two days straight,” katara says, motioning for them both to settle down. 

“and for what?” sokka demands, prying momo off and slumping against the saddle. “we can’t even find the northern water tribe. there’s nothing up here.”

this, of course, incites the universe to do what it does best and prove them wrong: a crest of water suddenly lurches up in front of appa, hardening into an array of severe spikes. appa bellows in alarm and veers to the side, sending the rest of them careening across his saddle. several more spears of ice lash up at the bison, and he rises swiftly through the air—but not swiftly enough. he jerks to a sudden stop as something strikes him, then tumbles over himself and crashes towards the water. he manages to land upright, paddling his legs frantically as the water crusts into ice around him. 

“no! appa!” zuko shouts, lifting his hand—he has to melt the water, he has to free appa, they have to get out of here before they’re killed—but aang grabs his hand before he can bend.

“wait, li, look.” aang points out at the vicious spears of ice, and between them zuko sees...boats? each one carries a crew of men dressed in blue and white, their faces hard and suspicious. 

“they’re waterbenders,” katara says, leaning over the saddle. “we found the water tribe!”

well. a warm welcome was probably too much to expect from a bunch of arctic barbarians, anyway. zuko scowls, dropping his hands and resting a hand on appa’s head. water tribe or not, if they’ve hurt him, they’re going to have to pay. 

“who are you?” one of the waterbenders demands as their boats encircle appa. “and what are you doing in our waters?”

katara steps forward, bowing over her hands. “my name is katara, and this is my brother, sokka. we come from the southern water tribe. these are our friends, aang and li. aang is the avatar, and—”

the waterbender’s eyebrows arch, and and zuko hears a few scattered laughs from the boatsmen. “the avatar, you say? there’s no such thing. the avatar has been missing for a hundred years.”

“that’s true,” aang says, hopping onto the side of the saddle, “but he’s back now. see?”

aang springs up, then collects a ball of air and balances carefully on it. once he’s balanced, hovering above appa’s back, he pulls up a handful of ocean water and freezes it into a sphere of ice. he tosses it from hand to hand, grinning, and a stunned silence spreads across the water. the lead waterbender’s eyes grow wide. 

“so?” he asks. “will you take us to your tribe now?”

agna qel'a is massive. 

zuko had known, logically, that it was—but seeing it is an entirely different matter. his lessons had always been vague, given that no fire nation force had successfully infiltrated the water tribe capital, and to see the actual intricacy of the city floors him. a series of complex channels and thick walls of ice bar the way in, but beyond that the city sprawls: ornate, ancient, gorgeous. 

zuko takes back literally everything he said about the northern tribe being barbaric.

“wow,” katara breathes, her eyes wide and awestruck as she looks out over the city. “this is amazing. it’s so different from the southern tribe!”

sokka hums, a frown on his face. “it’s okay, i guess.”

“and there are so many waterbenders here.” katara bounces on her feet, clasping her hands in front of her and beaming. “think of how much we can learn.”

“we’ll find a master to teach us, no problem,” aang agrees.

appa glides down one of the many canals in the city, and water tribe citizens gather along the edge to stare at him as he passes. zuko doubts any of them have seen a flying bison, before. they look suitably impressed. aang waves cheerfully to them all, a wide grin on his face. in the canal across from theirs, a gondola with intricate blue carvings passes. 

“oh, look at the palace! it’s beautiful,” katara breathes.

“yeah,” sokka says wistfully, “she is.”

it really is a beautiful palace, multi-tiered and imposing and—

wait, she?

zuko’s head snaps back to the passing gondola, and he sees a young woman in a long, dark blue kimono. her hair is done up in an intricate style, and it’s startlingly white. she is beautiful, objectively speaking, but zuko doesn’t quite understand the level of yearning in sokka’s voice. he certainly doesn’t understand the sudden blush on sokka’s cheeks, or the way he jumps out of the saddle and onto appa’s tail as her gondola leaves his view.

zuko frowns.

“wow,” sokka says. “i wonder who she is.”

she, as it turns out, is the princess of the northern water tribe: yue. they’re introduced at the enormous celebration chief arnook holds that night—which is, to zuko’s incredulous amazement, a celebration for yue’s sixteenth birthday. the festivities are completely over the top. even the firelord had never celebrated his own birthday in such a manner. he’d certainly never gone to such lengths for zuko and azula. 

in fact, zuko’s not quite sure father even knows when his birthday is.

but, to all appearances, chief arnook adores his daughter. it leaves a sour taste in zuko’s mouth, although he can’t quite fathom why.

“tonight,” chief arnook announces from the front of the palace’s great hall, “we celebrate the arrival of our brother and sister from the southern tribe. and they have brought with them someone very special, someone whom many of us believed disappeared from the world until now—the avatar!”

the crowd around them cheers, and applause fills the hall. aang preens under the attention, waving and bowing in equal measure. but of course the celebration for aang is merely a sideshow, and arnook is quick to get to the actual point of the party.

“we also celebrate my daughter's sixteenth birthday. princess yue is now of marrying age,” chief arnook continues, and the cheers grow louder.

yue, from her spot beside the chief, rises and bows gracefully over her arms. “thank you, father. may the great ocean and moon spirits watch over us during these troubled times.”

after that, several waterbenders perform in the center of the hall. zuko perks up, some, watching their techniques with fascination: their style differs greatly from katara’s. it’s sharper, firmer, honed for fighting. that’s the waterbending style, he supposes, that has kept the fire nation at bay for a hundred years. 

that’s the waterbending style , he realizes more slowly, of a people group that hasn’t been utterly decimated.

“why the long face?” aang whispers, elbowing him. “isn’t this cool?”

“yeah. it’s cool.”

“so smile!” aang beams at him. “we finally made it. oh, look, the chief’s coming over.”

zuko straightens up as the chief approaches, and sees katara and aang do the same. chief arnook smiles benevolently at all of them, nodding formally. 

“hello, children,” he says. “i hope you’re enjoying the celebration. i’m sorry to interrupt, but master pakku would like to meet the avatar. would you have time to speak with him, aang?”

aang hops up, eyes shining. “definitely!”

as chief arnook leads aang across the room, katara leans over and whispers, “what do you think of him?”

“who? the chief?”

“mm-hm.”

“he’s okay,” zuko says, fiddling with his bowl of seaweed stew. it’s exactly as appetizing as it sounds. “a little informal, but—”

“you think that’s informal?”

“compared to the—” he clears his throat. “yeah. compared to some people, yeah. i dunno. he’s okay. i’d just as soon stay on his good side.”

katara nods thoughtfully.

“what do you think?” zuko asks. 

“i thought he was too formal, compared to the southern chief,” katara says. “he seems a little aloof. maybe it’s just the culture difference. i don’t know why, but i expected our two tribes to be more similar than this.”

“hey, what are you guys talking about?” sokka whispers, scooting his chair closer to them. “i want in on the gossip.”

“it’s nothing important. we were just talking about the chief,” katara explains.

“oh, that guy! he’s pretty cool, huh?”

“you seem more cheerful than you were earlier.” katara quirks an eyebrow. “what’s up?”

“why wouldn’t i be cheerful? we’ve got space to move around with stepping on each other, we’re warm, we have nice new water tribe clothes, and we have a whole feast. what’s not to love?”

“and it has nothing to do with her?” katara’s eyes flick to the side, where princess yue is crossing the room. 

sokka pales dramatically. “oh crap. guys, she’s coming over here. act cool!”

“i’m always cool,” zuko huffs, jamming a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

“hi there,” sokka says, clearing his throat as yue stops in front of their table. zuko eyes her uncertainly. “sokka, southern water tribe.”

yue bows slightly, a smile flickering across her face. “very nice to meet you.”

an awkward silence stretches between them, and zuko cringes. this is painful to watch.

“so, uhhh, you're a princess, huh?”

yue nods, a smile flickering across her face.

“you know, back in my tribe, i'm kind of like a prince, myself.”

katara snorts, and zuko nearly chokes on his disgusting, slimy stew. sokka shoots them both a heated glare. 

“ha, prince of what?” katara asks, grinning.

“a lot of things,” sokka says, puffing himself up defensively. “do you mind?”

“if you’re a prince,” zuko teases, “then i’m the firelord.”

both sokka and katara glower at him, but yue laughs, and zuko feels himself ease towards her. sure, she’s spoiled, and sokka’s infatuated for some unfathomable reason, but maybe she’s not so bad. not very many people laugh at zuko’s jokes, after all.

“i'm trying to have a conversation here,” sokka says grouchily. 

“my apologies, prince sokka,” katara says haughtily. 

“yes, your highness,” zuko agrees, trading a sly look with katara. “do forgive us for disturbing you.”

“ugh!”

“you’re katara, right?” yue asks, glancing away from sokka. her eyes sparkle with amusement. “and you’re li?”

“right. it’s a pleasure to meet you.” zuko fumbles to recall the proper water tribe bow, keeping his hands tucked into his sleeves and leaning over them.

“that’s right,” katara agrees. “and sokka may not be a prince, but our father is the chief of our tribe.”

“chief hakoda, isn’t it?”

katara nods, beaming. “yes! you know him?”

“we’ve heard word of his conquests in the fire nation,” yue says. “he’s very impressive.”

“he’s great,” sokka says, his eyes warming with affection. “so, uh, yue, it looks like i’m going to be in town for a while. i’m thinking maybe we could...do an activity, together?”

yue arches an eyebrow in confusion. “do an activity?”

katara wheezes, and zuko buries his face in his hands. he can’t watch. mercifully, chief arnook calls yue to him a second later, and she excuses herself from the conversation.

“you guys,” sokka hisses at them, “are the worst wingmen in history!”

“oh, no, i thought you were doing great,” katara says.

“yeah. aloof, cocky, emotionally stunted.” zuko studies his nails, smirking. “isn’t that your thing?”

sokka groans and drags his hands down his face. 

later that night, chief arnook escorts them to their temporary abode: a small, neat little hut near the center of the city. zuko rolls his sleeping mat out along the far wall, then layers it over with the many furs provided for them. he sheds his parka—his own parka!—and hangs it near the door, alongside his friends’ parkas. they’re darker than the southern tribe’s parkas, but the fur lining them is the same thick white.

“polar bear dog,” sokka explains. “they’re big, vicious creatures—but they also make really great insulators.”

aang grimaces and tentatively sets his parka aside.

zuko lights the fireplace using flint, like a plebian, and then sits in front of it to warm himself. “so what happened with master pakku?” he asks aang. “will he train you?”

aang nods eagerly. “yes! katara and i are supposed to meet him at sunrise tomorrow.”

“and what are we poor non-waterbenders supposed to do while you guys are off brawling each other?” sokka asks, sprawling out on his own sleeping roll and kicking his legs over his back. 

“i guess you can do whatever you want,” katara says, then winks. “why don’t you ask yue?”

sokka buries his face against his blankets to muffle his frustrated shriek.

“i’m sure we’ll find something to do,” zuko says, wiggling his toes in front of the fire. “this place is huge.”

“do you like it?” aang asks.

“it’s pretty,” zuko says diplomatically. “the people seem nice. i admire the defenses.”

“maybe we can go on a walk tomorrow,” sokka suggests. “i’d like to look around a little more. i bet they have armories, and training centers, and i wanna know how they fish here.”

“well, i hope you two boys have fun exploring.” katara stands, stretching. “i think i’m going to bed early. we’ve got a long day tomorrow, aang.”

the four of them all retire to their sleeping mats, curling up and falling asleep to the sound of quiet breathing and a crackling fireplace—unfortunately, zuko’s sleep doesn’t last long. a hand shakes him awake in the middle of the night, and his eyes snap open to see sokka crouching in front of him. there’s a wide smile on his face.

“hey, zuko,” he says. “come outside. you’ve gotta see this.”

zuko rubs his eyes, groaning, but goes to get his parka. katara and aang are nowhere to be found, but he isn’t concerned—sokka wouldn’t be smiling if they were in trouble. as sokka waits impatiently by the hut’s door, zuko fumbles to button his parka. for some reason, it doesn’t look as dark as it should outside. he squints at the window, but sokka ushers him forward before he can look too long.

“c’mon, hurry. you’re gonna love it.”

zuko pulls his parka hood up, then follows sokka outside—and you know what? sokka was right. as soon as they step out of the hut, zuko’s breath falters. the night sky above is decorated with ribbons of moving light: reds and greens, blues and purples, all bright and effervescent. the snow reflects the light in shimmering patches until the whole world is painted in dazzling, dancing color.

“what is that?” zuko breathes. the lights catch his breath, illuminating the fine droplets in the air. 

“the northern lights,” sokka replies. his face is tipped back, his eyes riveted on the skies as light dances across him. “the spirits are happy tonight. they’re dancing.”

“agni, that’s incredible.” 

“i’ve heard of them before, but i’ve never seen them,” katara says. she’s standing off to the side with aang, beaming. aang’s jaw is dropped, his eyes round as he stares up at the lights. “they don’t happen very often in the south.”

“probably why they’re called the northern lights,” sokka comments breezily. then he elbows zuko. “hey, grumpy, you’re smiling.”

zuko is smiling. he is definitely, definitely smiling. “it’s beautiful. thank you for showing me.”

“yeah, well, what are friends for?” sokka grins at him. the lights glitter in his eyes, throwing shadows across the edge of his jaw, and he’s—

he’s beautiful.

zuko jerks his eyes away from sokka’s face and pins them back on the lights, his cheeks hot and heart hammering. everything’s beautiful right now. the snow, and the ice, and the stars, and—and katara and aang, too! everything’s beautiful in this lighting and there’s nothing more to it than that. there’s not. 

then sokka returns his gaze to the sky, saying, “i’m glad you’re happy, zuko,” and zuko’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. this is a problem. this is a very big problem. 

but it’s a problem that can wait until later to solve, because right now?

right now, the spirits are happy, and zuko is too.

Chapter Text

the first place they visit the next morning is the stables. appa greets them both with an enthusiastic rumble, nuzzling them so hard zuko nearly topples over and then dragging his tongue up the side of sokka’s face. while sokka complains and wipes drool off, zuko goes to gather an armful of winter moss and lichens from the feed room. momo perches on his shoulder, chattering cheerfully as he works.

“for the bison?” one of the stablehands asks as he passes, and zuko nods. “he can have some of the stored grain, too, if he needs it. he’s awfully big.”

that he is. appa chows down on the foliage as soon as zuko drops it into his manger, so zuko tosses in several scoops of grain to supplement it. the poor guy must be starving after two days with no food or rest. even now, he moves more slowly than normal and, after finishing his breakfast, lays back down in his straw and sets his head on the floor. 

“here.” sokka offers zuko a brush. “he’s a mess.”

the two of them spend a couple of hours brushing through appa’s fur in relative silence—it’s hard, after all, to have a conversation through a ten-ton bison. the damp ocean breeze has matted appa’s fur in several places, but zuko works gently and carefully to untangle what he can. once he’s done, he’s collected a sizeable pile of thick white fur. 

“hey, do you guys want this fur?” sokka asks one of the stablehands. 

they do, as it turns out, want it. zuko and sokka help gather it up, cramming it into a burlap sack for one of the stablehands to carry away. afterwards, they say their goodbyes to appa and almost make it out of the stables unaccosted. right before they reach the doors, however, a small white lump slams itself into zuko’s knees. he yelps and crashes backwards, landing hard in the straw and bringing his arms up to defend himself from—

from a whole lot of licking. what the hell?

“polar dogs!” sokka cries in delight, sitting down next to zuko in the sudden swarm of fuzzy monsters. he reaches out and grabs one, hugging it to his chest and cooing. “oh, they’re so cute.”

zuko attempts to wrangle the puppy currently chewing on his fingers, his eyes wide. “i thought you said they were vicious beasts.”

“those are polar bear dogs,” sokka corrects. he hoists his puppy into the air, and it wriggles and yaps at him. it’s the size of one of appa’s paws, already, and it clearly has further to grow. its fur is thick and white, and its eyes are bright black beads in its face. its tail wags a million miles an hour as sokka rubs his face against its. that’s cuter than it has any right to be. “these are just polar dogs. we use them to pull sleds in the south. of course, they’re not as common there anymore, because a lot of them were killed off in the raids after they tried to protect their masters.”

zuko looks at the puppy in his arms, and his chest aches. “that’s awful.”

“it was. but look at these little guys!” sokka laughs, reaching out to ruffle several of the puppies’ ears. “they’re thriving up here.”

the click of claws on hard flooring draws zuko’s eyes up, and he sees a much larger polar dog trotting towards them. zuko gulps. the dog elects to size up sokka first, however, and thrusts her nose into his face to begin sniffing. once she’s finished her inspection, sokka brings his hands up and settles them in her ruff.

“hey, mama dog,” he says. “it’s alright. you have very cute babies.”

she turns her attention to zuko, next, and zuko cautiously stretches a hand towards her. she snuffles at his palm and arm before moving up, her muzzle brushing his face. he cringes as she touches his blind side, but she doesn’t hurt him—instead, she draws back and lets him pet her shoulder while she greets her puppies.

when they leave the stables, zuko is covered in white fur. he attempts to pluck several strands off but gives up entirely when he notices just how many there are. he supposes that’s what he gets for cuddling both appa, momo, and nine dogs. 

“what was your mom like?” sokka asks, hooking his hands behind his head and stretching as they stroll down the city street.

zuko arches an eyebrow. “what brought that up?”

“the mama dog. she reminded me of my mom.”

“i’m not sure your mother would take being compared to a dog as a compliment.”

sokka laughs. “no, just—she was really protective, you know? she’d never let anything hurt us, and she was always there to help if we got hurt. she was the best.”

“i’m sorry you lost her.”

“thanks.” a small, sad smile crosses sokka’s face—there and gone. “so what about your mom? i mean, i know what i think of your dad, but you don’t really talk about her.”

“i haven’t seen her in five years. she left when i was a child.”

“oh.” sokka’s mouth twists into a grimace. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. she loved me. she was a good mother.”

“good mothers don’t abandon their kids, zu—li.”

“she had to.”

“why?”

“father was going to kill me,” zuko says, simply, like the very thought doesn’t make him feel ill. it does, a little, but he’s trying to get over it. it wasn’t personal. “she stopped him. i don’t know how, and i never got the chance to ask. she disappeared right after that.”

sokka, he realizes, is no longer beside him—because sokka had stopped moving as soon as the words kill me left zuko’s lips. when zuko glances back at him, his eyes are wide with horror. “your dad tried to…?”

zuko shrugs. “he didn’t want to. grandfather ordered him to.”

sokka jogs to catch up to him, grabbing his elbow and looking surreptitiously around them to make sure no one overhears. “you know that’s fucked up, right?” he hisses under his breath. his fingers are tight on zuko’s arm. “you know that’s—?”

“father was obeying orders,” zuko says, his voice chilling. he doesn’t want to think about this. he really, really doesn’t want to think about this. “it’s not your place to question his morality.”

“he would have murdered you just because—?”

“i don’t want to talk about this.” zuko yanks his arm away, bringing his hands up to rub his forehead. “especially not here. remember where you are, sokka.”

sokka glances around the street, then grinds his teeth around a frustrated noise. “fine. but we’re talking about it later.”

they definitely aren’t talking about it later. zuko’s not going to let them. 

“look,” he says, pointing at a nearby restaurant. “why don’t you introduce me to some water tribe cuisine? i have no idea what you people eat for lunch, and i can’t pronounce half the menu.”

sokka sighs, but he takes the peace offering for what it is and leads the way to lunch. zuko gets introduced to pickled fish and tentacle soup, neither of which is particularly appealing—but both of which sokka seems delighted with. zuko supposes it’s only fair that he tries some of the water tribe’s dishes, after the whole fiasco with the fire flakes at the festival, so he does his best to cram the food down. 

(zuko doesn’t think about how this could be construed as a date, because they’re alone and they’re eating and is sokka is laughing at his stilted attempts at humor and—he doesn’t think about it. they’re just two guys hanging out, eating weird fish, and talking about their life-changing adventures. besides, it’s not like sokka would even want to date him anyway. it’s not like zuko would want to date sokka, either. they’re from two different nations! it would be obscene. sokka probably hates him, anyway, after everything the fire nation has done to the water tribe, and— and it doesn’t matter because it’s not a date and it never will be and zuko’s going to stop thinking about this now.)

“how do you think aang and katara are doing?” sokka asks through a mouthful of fish. 

zuko shrugs, picking at his tentacle soup as nonchalantly as he can. that is an actual whole tentacle staring back up at him. he shudders. “i don’t know. they already seem like good waterbenders to me, but bending masters can be finicky. hopefully they won’t be punished for anything, since it’s only their first day.”

“punished?” sokka’s brow wrinkles in worry.

zuko nods, and then jams in another forkful of fish so he doesn’t have to expound. given sokka’s current mood, that would only spiral them into another argument. once they’ve finished their meal, they head back out to the streets and meander their way uptown. there’s so much to see and do—zuko thinks he could be here for years and still never fathom it all. 

“it’s weird,” he says, and sokka quirks an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “i always thought the water tribes would be poor and destitute and barbaric. the southern water tribe certainly lived up to my expectations—”

“hey!”

“—but this place is completely different.”

“yeah. maybe the fire nation thinks it’s doing a good thing by bringing its own culture and legal system and protection to these ruthless savages,” sokka says, scoffing, “but that means destroying everything that’s already here, and what’s here is wonderful already. it doesn’t need to be helped. it doesn’t need to be changed.”

zuko bring a hand up to rub his eye, but it does nothing to dull the ache behind his forehead. he thought he slept well after the lights last night, but evidently it wasn’t enough. “maybe that’s why the fire nation gave up,” he suggests hopefully. “because they realized that.”

sokka snickers. “yeah, or because they got their asses handed to them every time they tried to invade.”

zuko rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to comment again, but before he can, sokka’s attention is snatched away by the appearance of one very familiar person on the other side of the street: yue. sokka runs to catch up with her, falling into step at her side. zuko hangs back, although it’s not hard to catch up once they both stop walking.

“princess yue, good morning,” sokka says, beaming. “how about that banquet last night? boy, your dad sure does know how to throw a party.”

“i’m happy you enjoyed yourself,” yue says, the edges of her eyes crinkling around a smile.

sokka scuffs the street with his boot, his cheeks pink. “well, it wasn't as much fun after you left.”

spirits, he really is infatuated, isn’t he? zuko can’t blame him—she’s pretty, and sweet, and mild, and not heir to the throne of an imperialist nation that slaughtered half of his tribe. hell, even zuko likes her. it’s hard not to. really, maybe it’s for the best that sokka is mooning over her. she’s a much better match for him, and zuko can use this time to remind himself of his ideals and his future—one which does not, and never can, include sokka.

really, zuko’s just being silly. so what if sokka’s cute when he’s staring at the northern lights, or cuddling puppies, or blushing when yue looks at him just right? so are other people. probably.

“good afternoon, princess,” zuko greets, stopping beside them and bowing slightly. “it’s nice to see you again.”

“it’s good to see you too, li,” she says, turning her smile to him. “how are you two enjoying agna qel'a so far? i hope everything is to your liking.”

“it’s been really wonderful,” sokka says. “the lights last night were beautiful, and the food is great.” 

“your father’s accommodations have been more than generous,” zuko agrees. 

sokka clears his throat, and then adds, “so, uh, yue, i’m still hoping we can see more of each other.”

“do an activity, you mean?” yue asks, her eyes glittering with mirth.

zuko laughs—because how can he not laugh at sokka’s lovestruck foolishness?—and yue grins at him. at least they can both agree that sokka is a huge dork.

“yes, at a—a place, for some time,” sokka says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as his cheeks grow pinker. zuko looks away before his gaze can linger. “maybe.”

“i’d love to. why don’t you meet me by the western gates tonight? i can show you the tundra. bring the rest of your friends, too. it’ll be fun!”

“totally,” sokka says, and then he sighs wistfully as she leaves them there to catch up with her escort. “wow. i mean, right, li? wow.”

“she’s nice,” zuko says, and he means it. yue really is nice.  “where to next?”

“let’s go check out the palace!”

by the time they’re done exploring the city, it’s nearly dinnertime. they head back to their hut to meet up with aang and katara, who are already inside and slouched near the fireplace. neither one of them looks happy. zuko looks them over for injuries— were they punished?—but it’s difficult to see anything beneath their water tribe clothes. 

“are you alright?” zuko asks, hanging his parka next to the door before coming to sit beside them. 

“peachy,” katara spits. 

“that bad, huh?” sokka asks sympathetically.

“master pakku is a jerk,” aang says, frowning and folding his arms over his chest. “he teaches me like i’m five, and he won’t teach katara at all.”

“what do you mean he won’t teach katara?” sokka asks, his gaze snapping to his sister.

“girls aren’t allowed to use their waterbending to fight,” katara says, her scowl deepening. she pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “they can only heal. master pakku sent me to the healing huts.”

“well—well that’s good, though, right? at least you get to learn healing?” sokka asks hopefully.

“no, it’s not good,” katara snarls, and sokka winces. “i can fight as well as any of the men here already. it’s not fair that he won’t teach me. he’s being a—a big, sexist jerk.”

“do you want me to talk to him?” sokka asks. “maybe i can—”

“no. i need to do this to myself. i don’t want him to train me just because a man asked him to.” katara glowers at the fire.

“what are you gonna do?” zuko asks quietly. “i don’t want him to hurt you if you challenge his orders.”

katara bares her teeth at the flames. “i’d like to see him try.”

that’s a fair point, zuko supposes.

“well, whatever you decide to do,” sokka says, setting his jaw, “i’ve got your back. you’re badass, katara. nobody should tell you otherwise.”

katara’s face warms, then, and she reaches over to squeeze sokka’s hand. “thank you. i think i’m going to stay in the healing huts for a few days, just because it will be good to know, but after that i’m going to talk to master pakku again.”

“heh.” sokka smirks. “he won’t know what hit him.”

“in the meantime, zuko, you should come down to the healing huts too,” katara says, leaning around to look at him. “the healers there are much more experienced than me. they can finish healing your leg.”

zuko brightens. his leg is infinitely better than it was, but it still aches in the cold, or if he walks too far on it without his cane. he’d be glad to get rid of the residual soreness. “you think so?”

katara nods adamantly. “it’ll be good as new. how about tomorrow?”

“...and you’ll be there, too?”

“i’ll be there the whole time, promise.”

“okay. tomorrow morning.”

“but in the meantime, yue invited us out tonight,” sokka says. “she’s meeting us at the western gates after sundown. we should grab dinner and then head over.”

on their way to the western gates, it begins to snow. fat white flakes fall from the sky, dusting zuko’s head and shoulders. his breath glistens in the air, and the darkness grows fuller and more complete as the clouds block out the northern lights. yue greets them at the western gates, then leads them out of the city and into the artic tundra. 

the tundra’s not quite as incredible as the city itself, but it is still stunning: jagged land spreads out in all direction, dusted in a layer of thick white snow. the top layer is soft and deep and difficult to trod through, but beneath that zuko can feel packed ice. it’s absolutely frigid, and before long zuko’s teeth are chattering. 

“hey, li!” sokka shouts. “heads up!”

zuko turns, his eyes wide, and a snowball smacks into his face. he yelps and stumbles backwards, shaking the snow off while sokka cackles. zuko knows what that means. that means war. he lurches forward, grabbing a handful of snow and fumbling to mash it into a ball with his oversized mittens—but sokka is infinitely more experienced, and he’s pelted zuko with two more by the time zuko finishes one. 

“here,” katara says, laughing and helping zuko to roll the snow into shape. “i’ll gladly help you kick his ass.”

“no fair! you can’t have a waterbender on your team, that’s cheating,” sokka cries. 

“i’ll be on your team, sokka.” aang jumps to his side, eyes shining. 

“okay, but only if yue is on my team too, because—” he cuts off with a muffled shout as zuko’s snowball hits him squarely in the mouth. 

before long, aang and katara have both constructed elaborate forts from which to launch their armade of snowballs. zuko crouches behind a wall of ice, forming his own snowballs for katara to fling—although it does seem like rather irrelevant work, given that she can make a hundred in the time it takes him to make one. still, she grins sharply each time he hands her another one, and zuko gets the satisfaction of seeing her pelt sokka with it.

it quickly becomes clear that, with two waterbenders between them, the war is at a stalemate. this is when sokka’s team resorts to sabotage. zuko is huddled defensively in his fort, making his clumsy snowballs like an honorable soldier, when someone catches him from behind. a pile of snow gets shoved down his parka, and he makes a very dignified manly shriek and hops away. when he whirls around, glaring, he sees yue laughing at him.

“gotcha! oh, you should see the look on your—”

katara dumps an armload of snow onto her head, and it’s zuko’s turn to point and laugh. 

“yue, i’ll save you!” sokka says, skidding around katara’s fort with an armful of snowballs. “i’ll—”

katara lifts the snow under his feet, tossing him into the air with a shriek of surprise. as he begins to fall back towards the ground, however, aang catches him with a whirlwind of air. both waterbenders square off, their eyes narrowed, and zuko sees his chance. he grabs one final snowball, then lunges at aang. he uses swipes aang’s feet out from under him with one deft kick, and when aang hits the ground zuko launches a snowball into a face.

“ha ha!” he says victoriously. “at long last, i’ve defeated the avatar. you’ll rue the day you—”

sokka tackles him. 

half an hour later, they all find themselves sprawled out between their forts and struggling to catch their breaths. zuko isn’t cold, anymore—far from it. the exercise has been enough to make him sweat. the air is almost painfully cold when he gulps it in, but it feels blissfully cool against his flushed skin. 

eventually, yue sits up and pushes her hair away from her face. “this was fun.” she sounds surprised, like she hadn’t expected it to be.

sokka scoots to sit next to her. “it really was. thanks for inviting us out.”

“we should do it again,” aang says brightly. “after katara and i have trained with master pakku, we’ll be even better.”

“i’d love to, but…” yue laughs breathlessly. “i don’t know how fondly my father will look on my having snowball fights outside of the city. it isn’t very ladylike.”

katara rolls her eyes. “ladylike, yeah. your tribe has a thing about that.”

“not just my tribe. my father has certain expectations of me, both as a lady and a princess.” yue sighs, propping her face in her hands. “i can’t disappoint him.”

“if your dad is going to be disappointed in you for having a snowball fight, maybe he should rethink his priorities,” sokka grumbles. 

“if only it were that simple. my father is set in his ways, but he only wants what’s best for me and for the tribe. he’s doing the best that he can, and i do love him. all he asks in return is that i behave the way a princess should.”

“is it love if it comes with stipulations?” aang wonders, glancing over at yue. 

“all love has stipulations,” yue says, smoothing her skirt out. “i would not love a man who hit me, or who insulted me. i would not love a brother who betrayed me. i would not love a mother who abandoned me. unconditional love is too dangerous.”

“but it’s not fair for your father to force you to be somebody you’re not. if he really loved you, wouldn’t he want you to be happy?” sokka asks, his brow furrowing. “isn’t that kind of the whole point of love? wanting somebody to be healthy and happy?”

“well, i am happy. sure, i don’t get to do everything i want to do, but neither does anyone else. if this is what it takes for my father and people to be well, then it’s a small price to pay.”

“well, i don’t like it,” sokka announces, folding his arms over his chest. “don’t you ever wish you could be your own person?”

“sometimes,” yue admits. “sometimes i think father has this—this image of me in his head that doesn’t exist, and it’s one that i’m afraid never will. i want so badly to be the person he thinks i can be. i want to make him proud. he’s loved me, and raised me, and protected me, and to think that i could fail him now is terrifying.”

“i understand,” zuko says, sitting up and shaking melting snowflakes out of his hair. “it can be difficult to meet such rigorous expectations, especially when you feel differently about things than your father does. but that’s part of growing up, isn’t it? learning who you are, and how to accept your place in the world.”

yue nods, smiling sadly at him. “still, there are some duties that are harder to fulfill than others.”

“i know what you mean,” zuko says, glancing away. his sigh clouds the air in front of him. “and if it was just your father’s approval at risk, that would be one thing, but it isn’t—all of your people are counting on you, too. your destiny is not yours to control. it never has been.”

“accepting that is one of the hardest thing for me.” yue turns her gaze down, back to the snow gathering in her lap. “i want to. i need to. and yet, there’s always some part of me that hopes to change things—that hopes i can convince my father to let me follow a different path than one set out for me. do you think that’s futile?”

“i wish i knew,” zuko murmurs. 

yue reaches out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “well, whatever happens down the road, we’ll all make the best of our destinies. i’m sure of it.”

zuko offers her a small smile. he hopes so. he really, really hopes so.

a guard comes to fetch yue a few minutes later, and she leaves them with a smile and a wave and an invitation to dinner the next day. zuko sits on his hands, rather chuffed with the evening. yue’s pretty cool. he expects sokka to be equally impressed, but as soon as yue is gone he pins zuko with a withering glare.

“that,” sokka hisses, “was a crock of shit.”

“what? i wasn’t trying to hit on her,” zuko says defensively. “i know you’ve got a crush, and i’m not interested anyway. we were just talking—you know, like friends?”

“i don’t care about that! i mean what you said to her!”

zuko narrows his eyes, rethinking their conversation. had he said something unintentionally insulting…? “what did i say?”

“all of that! about—about how you should just throw away all of your own hopes and dreams to make your dad happy. that is the worst advice i have ever heard. you seriously think either of you owe your shitbag dads anything?”

“i wouldn’t be alive without my father,” zuko snaps.

“you would be dead because of your father! you just told me this afternoon that he tried to kill you.”

“he what?” katara and aang both demand, rising to their feet.

zuko scrambles up, too, unwilling to be shouted at while he’s sitting down. “i also told you he was following the firelord’s orders,” he snaps. “when the firelord gives an order, you don’t have a choice. you obey or face the consequences, and my father knew that.”

“you think he should have killed you?” aang asks, horrified. “just because some guy with a fancy hairpiece told him to?”

“if that was what his own father commanded him to do, then—”

“no!” katara snaps. “no. that’s wrong. you don’t kill people—you don’t kill kids— just because somebody tells you to. i don’t care who that somebody is or how much you love them. you know that. zuko, you know that.”

“yeah, you do.” sokka looks at him, eyes narrowed. “so why are you still defending him?”

“i’ve told you before and i’ll tell you again: he’s my firelord and my father. i owe him my loyalty and my love. i know maybe that doesn’t mean as much in your culture, but—”

“you’re right,” aang says, “it doesn’t. in my culture, we give love to the people who earn it. you don’t have to love someone who hurts you.”

zuko curls his lip. his head throbs. “it wasn’t like he hurt me for fun. he had to. it was discipline.”

“no.” aang’s voice hardens, and he glares at zuko. “that’s abuse. do you know what the monks did to discipline me?”

zuko tries not to look at him, but he can’t resist a curious glance over. he has wondered. aang’s not a bad kid—clearly, someone had to teach him how to behave. but who, if not a mother or father? and how, in such a pacifist society? 

“i got to go to my room and calm down,” aang says. “sometimes i had to do extra chores. that’s all. that’s it. no one ever hit me. no one ever burned me. no one ever tried to kill me, and i turned out alright, didn’t i? you don’t have to hit kids to teach them. your dad did that to make you afraid of him, to make you obedient.”

“well,” zuko spits, bringing a hand up to scrub the ache behind his eyes, “it worked, didn’t it? maybe he didn’t have to do it that way, but it’s how his father raised him, and how his father raised him. it wasn’t his fault. he wasn’t doing it just to be cruel. he did it because he loved me and he wanted me to be a good son.”

“but he doesn’t love you,” katara says, her voice rising with distress. “zuko, i’m sorry, but he doesn’t. why would he send you away if he did?”

“i told you, it’s discipline! to make me better!” zuko says, his voice raising. he’s glad they’re out on the tundra, or he’s sure the whole damn north pole could hear. the wind picks up, howling angrily around them and throwing snow against zuko’s shoulders. “i fucked up. i insulted him and his men. i almost cost the fire nation an enormous military victory. behavior like that can’t go unchecked, especially not in a prince. i deserved—”

“that’s not true,” sokka snarls, turning on him with teeth bared. “i’m sick of this. your father had no idea the avatar was even alive when he sent you away. he set you up to fail because he didn’t want you around. he didn’t hurt you to make you better, he hurt you because he was a jackass and he could.”

“shut up, just shut up!”

spirits, his head hurts. 

“no!” sokka shouts. “tui and la, listen to me for once, zuko. your father was an abusive, manipulative asshole and he will never love you!”

zuko does not listen. zuko lunges.

Chapter Text

see, here’s the thing: sokka isn’t stupid.

he knows zuko has been improving. he knows zuko doesn’t hate aang—doesn’t hate any of them—and he knows that even if zuko could deliver aang to the firelord, it would destroy him. he knows zuko only wants to do what’s best for his nation. he knows that zuko’s idea of best is pretty fucked up, but it’s getting better slowly and gradually. he knows that zuko is learning.

he knows, too, that zuko likes dogs and tea and he eats chilies like they’re rice balls and shares his udon. he knows that zuko’s hands are gentle when he touches any of them. he knows the way zuko’s voice sweetens when he speaks to appa or momo. he knows zuko burns like a campfire on winter nights, and that his cheeks grow pink whenever he wakes up to sokka starfished all over him. he knows zuko likes to cook, even if he says he doesn’t, and that he’d fight to protect any of them if he needed to. he knows they’re friends.

he knows that they all want to keep being friends.

but here is another thing sokka knows: they cannot be friends if zuko takes aang to the firelord. they will, in fact, be mortal enemies. zuko also knows this. and yet, zuko continues to plan on returning to the firelord. and why? because the firelord loves him.

here is one last, important thing sokka knows, and it’s a knowing more solid than his own bones: the firelord has never, not once, loved zuko.

he knows it when he sees the dark, rubbery skin spilling across zuko’s face. he knows it when he sees the thin trails of white, puckered scars along zuko’s skin. he knows it when he sees zuko flinch away from their touch, or wake up shaking from nightmares, or shy away from a raised voice. he knows it when he makes a point to stand only on zuko’s right side when they’re alone, or on his left in crowds.  he knows it when confusion flickers across zuko’s face every time a kind word is directed towards him. he knows. 

zuko, somehow, doesn’t. 

and that’s the thing, isn’t it? that’s the thing that’s going to tear them all apart. as long as zuko believes his father loves him, he’ll do whatever it takes to obtain that love—including dragging aang back to the fire nation. his loyalty to his father is a sick, desperate thing built on fear and sixteen years’ ruthless conditioning. how the hell is sokka supposed to compete with that? 

he doesn’t know, but a fistfight seems like a pretty bad start.

zuko slams into him, knocking him back into the snow. he lands with an ooph, the air jarred from his lungs as zuko lands on top of him. zuko’s face is twisted in rage, and his fingers dig painfully into sokka’s shoulders. he draws one hand back, curling it into a fist, and sokka cringes in preparation for the blow. at least, he thinks, the mittens will soften it some.

but the blow doesn’t come.

sokka forces his eyes open again, staring up at zuko. zuko stares back. sokka’s never seen such rage in his eyes before—not even when he fought them time and time again for aang. “well?” sokka demands, his own anger licking at the backs of his ribs. he won’t fight zuko. he won’t. that would make this easier for him. “do it, if you’re going to do it! hit me!”

zuko doesn’t hit him. his hands shake. his breath comes in sharp white plumes. 

“sokka, zuko, stop it!” aang shouts. he’s hovering somewhere behind them, but sokka can’t see him. he can’t see anything but the fire in zuko’s eyes. “what are you doing? you’re friends, you’re—”

“hurry up,” sokka says, lifting his chin in defiance. “make your choice already, zuko.”

and zuko makes his choice. he brings his fist back down and grips sokka’s shoulder with it, and as he does relief begins to uncoil in sokka’s chest. thank the spirits. sokka doesn’t know he would have done—let alone what katara would have done—if zuko had actually struck him.

“i hate you,” zuko hisses, his eyes narrowed to golden slits. “i fucking hate you—all of you!”

sokka hesitates, then brings his hands up to rest them over zuko’s. he swallows his anger and tries to find sympathy, instead. it’s not hard. the fury in zuko’s eyes is the heartbroken kind, and sokka knows he’s the one who put it there. 

“why would you say that about my father?” zuko demands. “why the hell would you—?”

“i said it because it’s true,” sokka says, his voice hardening again. he’s done listening to zuko praise his jackass of a dad. he’s so fucking done with it. “he’s never loved you and he never will.”

he expects zuko to lash out again. instead, zuko shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. when he opens them again, sokka sees the sheen of tears across his irises. “stop it! just stop it, okay? why are you being so horrible?”

“i’m not trying to be horrible,” sokka snaps, “but you just don’t get it. what is it going to take, man? he already burnt half your face off. i don’t want you to go groveling back to him just so he can get the other side, too!”

“he wouldn’t! i’m better now. i’m good now.” zuko’s voice is thick, wobbling at the edges, and sokka feels his own heart begin to splinter apart. “i’m a good son. once i bring aang to him, he’ll—he’ll—”

katara kneels beside them in the snow, reaching out to lay a hand on zuko’s back. “zuko, i’m so sorry. i wish your father loved you. i really, really do, but he doesn’t, and i think sokka’s right. i don’t think he ever will.”

“no! he will! he said after i brought him the avatar, he’d welcome me home.” zuko squeezes his eyes shut again, and tears glisten across his eyelashes. “he’ll love me then.”

aang crouches on zuko’s other side, and then leans over to hug him. quietly, gently, he says, “we love you now.”

zuko makes a low, wounded sound and curls in on himself. his forehead touches sokka’s chest, and he releases his grip on sokka’s shoulders to wrap his arms around himself. katara leans over to wrap her arms over aang’s, and sokka struggles to sit up. it puts zuko more or less in his lap, but whatever. the guy’s having a breakdown. he needs a group hug. once sokka is sitting, he wraps his arms around zuko and squeezes.

“it isn’t fair,” zuko wails, his voice cracking. sokka expects him to push them away, but he doesn’t. he simply trembles in their grip, pressing his face to sokka’s shoulder. “it’s not fair! i tried—i t-tried to be good, i wanted to be good, i did. i didn’t mean to mess up so much. i didn’t mean to make him hate me.”

“oh, zuko,” katara says, her voice thick with grief. “you are good. if your father can’t see that, it’s his own fault. his hate isn’t a reflection of you, it’s a reflection of him. no child should have to earn their father’s love.”

“but i want to!” zuko says, hiccupping around a sob. “i want him to love me. i know it’s stupid. i know you guys don’t care, because you think he’s a-awful, but i just—he’s my dad! why doesn’t he love me? what did i do wrong?”

aang’s grip on him tightens, and sokka can see tears in his eyes, too. “you didn’t do anything wrong. he was the one who was wrong. he hurt you, zuko—he hurt you so many times. and yes, maybe you made a few mistakes, but what kid doesn’t?”

“azula doesn’t,” zuko says, shuddering in their grip. “father loves her. she was better than i was. she knew all her f-forms, and she never spoke back, and she never—never insulted father’s generals.”

“i don’t know anything about azula,” katara admits, stroking one hand soothingly over zuko’s hair, “but it sounds like you were treated very unfairly. it doesn’t matter if she was better than you at some things—you were both his children, and he should have loved you equally. it sucks that he didn’t. there’s nothing i can say to make anything he did to you better. it just sucks, and i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault,” zuko mumbles. “it’s—”

“not yours, either,” sokka says firmly. “it’s his. all his. he’s an absolute piece of shit.”

“he’s my father,” zuko protests, although it’s weaker, now. “and i’m—i’m his loyal son.”

sokka squeezes him tighter, leaning their heads together. “yeah,” he murmurs. “you are, and he sure as fuck doesn’t deserve you.”

they sit there, holding zuko while he shakes himself apart. eventually, however, the chill of the artic night begins to sink through their parkas and into their skin. they nudge each other onto their feet, and zuko trudges after them with his head low. he scrubs frozen tears from his face before they enter the city gates.

back at the hut, katara takes zuko’s hand and leads him to the fireplace. she cleans his face with water, and aang takes his parka and hangs it at the door. zuko huddles in on himself, shivering, his face drawn and pale as he watches the flames. sokka hangs a blanket around his shoulders. he doesn’t sleep that night, and they sit with him in turns. it’s sokka who settles in at his side shortly before dawn, when the fire is fading to embers.

“hey,” he says softly.

zuko nods slowly to acknowledge him.

“i’m sorry about last night.” sokka pulls his knees to his chest. “not about what i said, ‘cause i meant it all, but—about how it made you feel. katara was right. it just sucks.”

zuko doesn’t respond, this time, although his breath hitches slightly.

“but...what aang said was right, too. we love you. you’re our friend. i know none of us were planning to become friends after the winter solstice, but what can i say? you grew on me, like a—a fungus.”

that one gets a tiny, startled quirk of zuko’s mouth in response.

“so, even if your dad doesn’t love you or take you back, you’ve always got us. we can be your family if you want. but, if after this, you still want to take aang back to the fire nation…”

zuko shakes his head—a short, sharp jerk of a thing that makes sokka’s heart feel lighter than it has in ages.

“you’re not going to?” he asks hopefully. 

“i don’t want to. i don’t know what i’ll do,” zuko rasps. then, squeezing his eyes shut: “my head hurts.”

“do you want me to get katara?”

another head shake.

“alright. why don’t you try to get some sleep, then? we can figure everything out later.”

zuko hesitates, and then, to sokka’s surprise, he nods. he goes to lay down on his sleeping roll, and sokka drapes a blanket over him. he curls up underneath it, as small as he can, and closes his eyes. he sleeps well into the afternoon, to their collective relief—he needed the rest. unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be sleeping well. he shifts restlessly, his breathing unsteady, and several times they almost wake him up from what seems to be a nightmare. he's feverish, but not dangerously so, and katara says it's probably brought on by stress rather than any illness. there's nothing she can do for him. there's nothing any of them can do.

sokka hates it.

they leave him around midday, for only a short time, to go get lunch.

“do you think he’s gonna be okay?” aang asks, poking aimlessly at his five flavor soup. 

katara leans her elbow on the table, propping her face in her hand. “yes…? i mean, eventually. i can’t imagine what it’s like coming to terms with the fact that you’ve spent most of your life trying to please a man who’s never going to love you.”

“he needed to hear it,” sokka says, although he can’t deny that seeing zuko so unhappy makes him uncomfortable. it’s not right. sure, zuko’s grumpy and snippy, but he’s never this—this downright miserable. 

“i know,” aang says. “it’s just—he’s so sad.”

“can’t blame him,” sokka mutters. he’d be sad if his dad was a loveless sack of shit, too. 

“no, we can’t,” katara agrees. she picks aimlessly at a kale chip, green crumbs falling to her plate. “what are we going to do with him? if he decides he doesn’t want to go back to the fire nation?”

“easy,” aang says. “we take him with us. maybe he can even be my firebending teacher!”

“i don’t know about that, aang.” sokka frowns. “he may give up on his dad after this, but i don’t think he’ll ever give up on his nation. he won’t want to teach you how to fight his own people.”

“but i don’t want to fight his people. i just want to defeat the firelord.”

“and have you thought about how you’re going to do that?” sokka arches an eyebrow at him. “you can’t just waltz up to him and say ‘hey, mr. genocidal maniac sir, can you stop being a genocidal maniac and surrender your whole nation please?’ that’s not how victories are won.”

aang hunches his shoulders. “i’ll figure it out.”

“i hope so.”

“come on, you two.” katara stands, gathering up a box of kale chips and seal blubber jerky for zuko. “we don’t need to construct a complete war plan right now. let’s get back home before zuko wakes up.”

once home, they sit and talk quietly until late afternoon, when zuko finally stirs. he sits up, rubbing his eyes, and glances over at them. there are still bags under his eyes, and his shoulders slump as he curls one arm hesitantly around himself.

“morning, sunshine.” sokka tries for upbeat. it doesn’t even earn him a smile. “are you feeling better?”

“no,” zuko says. his voice is raspier than usual, worn from disuse.

“i’m sorry.” katara kneels next to him, resting one hand on his shoulder. “is there anything we can do?”

“aren’t you and aang supposed to be at waterbending practice?” zuko asks, instead of answering, as his brow begins to furrow.

aang rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “well, yeah, but we didn’t wanna just leave you after last night.”

“why not?”

“‘cause you’re our friend, silly, and you’re really sad right now. we thought you might need us. c’mon, answer katara. is there anything we can do?”

zuko looks like he’s about to shake his head, then thinks better of it. he looks miserably at katara. “can you make my head stop hurting?”

“i can try.”

and try she does—the next hour is spent cajoling zuko into drinking and eating, as well as going outside for a breath of fresh air. none of it seems to help. what little seal jerky zuko manages to force down, in fact, comes right back up several minutes later. katara does what she can with her healing abilities, but even that doesn’t ease the pained lines around zuko’s eyes or bring down his fever.

“here, let me try something,” aang says, taking zuko’s hand and leading him back to the fireplace. “why don’t you meditate with me? sometimes that helps me when i’m feeling all bad inside. it might help you, too.”

“i can’t,” zuko says bleakly.

“why not?”

“i can’t focus. i haven’t been able to since we left the earth kingdom. i just keep thinking about—” zuko winces. “i just keep thinking.”

“well, that’s okay,” aang says brightly, to which zuko immediately replies: “no it’s not.”

“why don’t you just try it aang’s way?” katara suggests. “if nothing else, a little calm and quiet might help your head.”

sokka thinks they’ve been calm and quiet all afternoon, thanks, but nobody asked him.

“okay,” zuko says, finally, settling cross-legged onto the floor next to aang. “i’ll try.”

“well, while you guys are doing your weird meditation mumbo-jumbo,” sokka says, standing and stretching himself out, “i’m gonna go grab dinner and bring it back here.”

“what about our dinner with yue?” katara asks.

“i think that’s gonna have to wait. don’t get me wrong—yue’s awesome— but zuko needs us right now. i’ll just pop in, say hi to her, and then bring something back for you guys. what do you want?”

zuko shakes his head. “don’t worry about me. if you want to see yue—”

“the worry train has already left the station, my dude. it is so far gone right now. trust me, i want to be with you.”

zuko looks away from him, swallowing thickly. “...okay.”

“thanks, sokka,” aang says. “could i get some of that seaweed stew?”

once everyone has placed their orders with him, sokka steps out of the hut. he breathes deeply, and the air burns as it hits his lungs. above him, the sky is beginning to darken. he sees no lights. the spirits, he thinks, are as worried as we are.

Chapter Text

this is one of the worst days of zuko’s life—and that’s saying a lot, because he’s had some pretty damn bad days. but his stomach won’t stop rolling, and his heart won’t stop pounding, and his head hurts. everything feels too big and too overwhelming and he just wants to curl up until the world stops and it’s quiet again. 

it hasn’t been quiet in so long.

his universe is fracturing apart under his feet again—noisily, messily—and he can’t even begin to fathom putting it back together. what is he supposed to believe? has anything he learned growing up actually been right? can he trust anyone? can he even trust himself? if what his friends say is right, it means zuko has been wrong about—

about so, so many things.

“sit however you’re comfortable,” aang instructs, and zuko does. it’s easier to follow orders. it’s always been easier. “focus on your breath. if it’s hard to do that, you can count them. one for the inhale, two for the exhale, up to ten and then back.”

zuko keeps his eyes open, focused on the agitated flames in the fireplace. he breathes in on one, paying attention to the way his chest and stomach rise, and for a moment that’s all he thinks about: his head is blissfully silent. he exhales on two and feels the way the air pushes through his throat and nose, warmer now than it was when it came in. he makes it through three, and four, and five—then his mind begins to wander. it does this even on the good days, but on the good days he knows how to refocus his attention. now? now he couldn’t stop himself from digging teeth into the thought if he tried.

why’s aang even here? why’s he helping? you were—are—were?—going to betray him. you’re the worst friend in the world. he should hate you. everyone should hate you. your own father doesn’t even—

zuko recoils. “i can’t. i’m sorry, aang, i can’t. it’s just not working.”

“well, if you can’t stop thinking, then just think,” aang suggests.

“the whole point of meditation—”

“this isn’t normal meditation. you have a lot to think about, zuko, and it’s stressing you out. so think, but stay removed from your thoughts. you don’t have to get all tangled up in them. just watch as they go by.”

“easier said than done.”

“i know. if you get lost, just try to focus on your breath again. i’ll be here to help.”

zuko inhales again, slowly, then exhales through his mouth. one, two, three, four, five, six.

your dad dueled you, burned half of your face off, and then banished you because you spoke when you shouldn’t have?

but he deserved it! didn’t he? ...didn’t he? he’s spent three spirits-damned years thinking he did, and no one ever argued otherwise (except, of course, for these ridiculous peasants he now calls friends). uncle never outwardly said that zuko deserved it, but he didn’t step in to stop father during the agni kai, either—so some part of him must have thought it was necessary, right? 

the thought makes his eyes sting, and his breath wobbles precariously. he was bad. he was bad, he deserved it, he was bad and even his gentle, lackadaisical uncle thought his punishment was warranted. father thought it, and azula thought it, and uncle thought it, and the whole staff thought it, and how can that many people be wrong?

zuko’s punishment was horrible because he was horrible, and everyone knew it.

but people don’t—parents don’t do that to their kids.

maybe not in other cultures, but in the fire nation they do! sure, they may not burn their kids’ faces, most of them, but father had to because zuko’s error was so vast and costly. besides, a prince has to be held to a higher standard than most children, and—

you should hear the way zuko talks about him; it’s like he’s brainwashed or something!

zuko brings his hands up and clamps them over his ears, his breath shaking.

“it’s okay.” aang’s hand touches his shoulder. squeezes. “you’re here. whatever you’re thinking can’t hurt you.”

zuko drags his focus back to his body. he feels his hands trembling, feels his weight against the earth, feels the rapid in-and-out of his breath. one, two, three, four—

you really think your father’s never done anything bad?

tui and la, listen to me for once, zuko! your father was an abusive, manipulative asshole and he will never love you!

shut up, shut up, shut up! so fine, fine, maybe father didn’t love him before, but that’s only because zuko is such an awful son. if he were better, if he were like azula, then things would be different. things will be different once he brings the avatar home. father will love him then, when he’s good and strong and honorable. 

...but what if he doesn’t?

what if zuko’s friends are right? what if father will never love him, no matter what zuko does or how hard he tries? the thought hurts. it hurts so fucking much. all zuko has wanted for so, so long is his father’s love. father is clearly capable of loving—he adores azula. shouldn’t he love zuko, too, if zuko performs as well as his sister does? isn’t that logical? 

and then what? supposing he can make father love him, then what? 

father is dangerous, whether he loves someone or not. making mistakes around father is even more so. even azula gets hurt from time to time, and zuko knows that—try as he might—he cannot be perfect. if he returns home, father will have to scold him. father will have to correct him. father will have to hurt him. that is the price of his love, and it is the price of being a prince. 

zuko is so, so afraid to pay it. 

what’s more, if zuko returns home, he loses his friends. there’s no way around that, if he brings aang to the fire nation. he’ll lose aang, and sokka, and katara. he’ll help the fire nation to conquer the world. he’ll become lord of all nations when his father dies. he can help people, once he’s firelord, but—but what will his father do to the other nations, first? zuko has heard too many horror stories, now. the fire nation is not kind to its subjects. his people aren’t evil, but in the last hundred years they have been cruel, and ignorant, and deadly.

that little girl you saved at gaipan? they would have killed her.

yes. they would have. they would have killed nessa the same was they killed the air nomads, and the southern waterbenders, and teo’s mother. his nation—his father—is ruthless in conquest, and zuko realizes, for the first time, that it terrifies him. he doesn’t want to be a part of a nation like that. he certainly doesn’t want to be its ruler. but—

for li, the mark of loyalty.

everything i’ve done has been for my nation. everything i’ve done has been for him!

—but loyalty—but being his father’s son—but being the fire nation’s prince— it’s all such an enormous part of his identity. if he turns his back on that, what’s left? who is he? what’s he worth? he’d become nothing but a miserable, lowlife coward and traitor. the past sixteen years will have been a waste of time—a waste of suffering, and oh, how he’s suffered! he’s suffered to make himself better, to win father’s love, and if he doesn’t do that, then—

then it was all pointless. none of it mattered. he suffered just to suffer. he suffered because father wanted him to, because father never loved him, never cared, never expected him to be anything or anyone good—

his breath grows ragged, and he feels aang lean against him. the flames in the fireplace flicker wildly, lashing at the stone around them. “it’s okay,” aang says firmly. “it’s okay, zuko, you’re okay. breathe with me.”

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

do it again.

again.

suffering will be your teacher.

and what has it taught him? to be afraid of hands on his face? to bite his pillow in the night so he won’t wake screaming from nightmares? to never, ever, ever trust anyone else? to be cruel and hateful and horrible so no one ever gets close enough to hurt him again? 

it hasn’t taught him strength. it hasn’t taught him honor. it hasn’t taught him how to lead.

it’s only ever made things worse.

there’s nothing i can say to make anything he did to you better. it just sucks, and i’m sorry.

katara was right. it just fucking sucks.

and if zuko returns home, he will face his father’s hard hands and cold eyes and deadly fire again. is any love worth that? (is it even love if it comes at such a price?)

worse, still, if zuko goes home it means giving aang up. how would father treat such a prisoner of war? no more gently than he treated zuko, that’s for sure—perhaps even he’d even be treated worse. zuko tries to think of father hurting aang the way he’d hurt zuko, and the fireplace roars. aang hugs his arm and breathes slowly, loudly, until zuko copies him. zuko can’t imagine it. he can’t imagine how anyone—anyone!—could hold their hand to a child’s face as they screamed and screamed and screamed. and that, after begging for mercy!

fuck, it makes him sick. he can’t think about it anymore. he can’t.

(the urge crosses his mind, briefly, to find another excuse for his father—because surely there had to be a reason? surely a person could never be cruel enough to do something so awful to a child without a just cause? surely there’s a silver lining to be found somewhere, if he looks hard enough? 

spirits, he’s so damn tired of looking.)

in addition to condemning aang to a life of fear and pain, going home would mean ensuring the fire nation’s victory. zuko doesn’t want that. he doesn’t want the fire nation to win, not after everything they’ve done. they’re too dangerous. they would destroy the water tribes and the earth kingdom with their ambition. the realization makes his heart roar in his throat. that heart has always belonged to his people, but this victory wouldn’t be for them. it would be for father.

father has never wanted zuko’s heart.

anger, slow and hot, begins to curl at the base of his lungs. sokka was right. the north pole is fine as it is. the earth kingdom is fine as it is. they’re not suffering without the fire nation to guide them. they’re fine, and they need no interference. they certainly need no firelord! especially not one like father, who murders waterbenders and hunts the avatar and sends the forty-first division marching to their deaths.

he’s wrong. for the first time the thought does not cripple zuko with fear—instead, it fills him with rage: rage for the water tribes, for sokka and katara’s mother, for the earth kingdom and teo, for all the slaughtered air nomads and their sky bison, for his own people and their suicidal marching orders. father’s wrong.

he was wrong when he sent the southern raids to katara and sokka’s tribe. he was wrong when he sent zuko after aang. he was wrong when he sacrificed an entire troop of soldiers—barely older than zuko!—just to secure a victory, and if he was wrong about that, then maybe—

maybe he was wrong when he held his hand to zuko’s face and melted it, too. maybe zuko didn’t deserve it.

it’s a thought too big and too overwhelming to accept at once, but zuko tucks it away in the corners of his mind. he’ll look at it later. he’ll look at it often, and he’ll wonder and wonder and wonder.

but if father is wrong in his conquest—if the fire nation is wrong—what does that mean for zuko? he’s been so awful—to his crew, to the civilians in his way, to his friends, to uncle. 

zuko may very well follow in his father’s footsteps. already, he has begun.

i’ve been hunting you for weeks, and i’m not planning on stopping. i’ll bring the avatar to my father if it’s the last thing i do, so if you have any sense whatsoever you’ll stop wasting time and fight me already!

he’s too dangerous to let go. he’ll hurt people— innocent people.

get away from that monster!

he’s terrible. the things he’s said—the things he’s done!—all for the love of a tyrant. how pathetic is he? how spineless, how heartless? he hasn’t ever chosen his own path. he’s always done what father asked of him, chasing after that tiniest hope of love like some stupid dog after a bone. he’s hurt so many people. he’s hurt aang, and katara, and sokka—yet, despite his cruelties, they’ve been good to him. they’re so much more than he deserves.

what we can do is show him kindness. we can show him the world away from his father. we can show him a reason to change—we can give him a chance.

we’re your friends. we would have done anything to get you back.

you can do this, zuko. we’re all supporting you.

you’re kind of great. you know that, right?

he’s our friend, so you don’t have to be scared of him.

i’m glad you’re happy, zuko.

we love you now.

zuko shakes, and he breathes: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. aang is a warm, sturdy line against his side and zuko fumbles to ground himself with the feeling. his chest rises and falls. his lungs stretch and relax. sweat rolls down his back as the flames in the fireplace continue to roar and rage against each other.

“my people,” zuko rasps, and feels aang shift against him. “you’ll take care of them, too?”

“i will. always.”

zuko exhales, letting his eyes close. as he does, he feels the flames in the fireplace settle themselves. they rise and fall with his breath: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and again. it is not peace, but it is acceptance. he can’t let father hurt aang. he can’t let father destroy the world. if that makes him worthless and a coward and a traitor, then so be it.

better a traitor than a tyrant.

he breathes, and his mind is finally, finally quiet.

Chapter Text

aang never leaves his side. they sit there, leaning against one another, as the night grows deeper and colder. the constant ache in zuko’s head begins to subside, and he allows his shoulders to relax. he opens his eyes when aang begins to snore on his shoulder, and he can’t fight back a hoarse chuckle. when he looks back, he finds katara asleep on her mat and sokka slumped against the wall beside her, a bowl of kale chips in his lap. 

warm affection fills zuko’s chest, and he breathes deeply and allows himself to indulge in the feeling. it’s okay. he doesn’t have to hurt them anymore. they’re going to stay safe, and happy, and friends. maybe he’s lost something today, but he’s also gained this: these friends of his, and their love for him.

(and maybe, just maybe, his love for them, too.)

zuko shifts, gently picking aang up and depositing him onto his sleeping mat. he draws the blankets up over aang’s shoulders, then kneels next to sokka and jostles him gently after setting the bowl of chips aside. “hey. c’mon, go lay down.”

sokka cracks an eye open, then stretches and flops over to drop his head onto katara’s pillow. their skulls collide, and they both whine at each other. a second later, katara moves her head over, and sokka relaxes with a contented sigh. zuko rolls his eyes. these two, honestly. is this what siblings are supposed to be like? 

once he’s sure his friends are comfortable, zuko retreats to his sleeping mat and buries himself beneath the blankets. he’s asleep within seconds, his mind exhausted and finally out of things to think about—if only for the moment. he expects to wake at sunrise the next morning, and is thus understandably confused when he opens his eyes to find early afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. he sits bolt upright, scrubbing a hand across his face and looking around the hut. 

he’s alone.

rather disgruntled, zuko picks himself up off of the floor and stretches. he supposes aang and katara have returned to their training, and sokka has gone to do...something more interesting than watching zuko sleep the day away, anyway. he should be grateful for the time to himself, but it’s too soon. his heart is too sore for all the empty, loveless space around him. maybe he should go down to the stables to visit appa and momo.

then, to his relief, he hears the low murmur of voices outside. he pokes his head out of the front door, squinting as the sun glints off of the snow, and finds sokka and yue standing off to the side. he focuses his squint on them, instead, and hopes it doesn’t look too much like a glower.

sokka beams at him. “well, good morning, sunshine. i thought you’d never wake up.”

zuko grunts in response, rubbing his eyes. it’s too early for that kind of cheer.

“good morning, li.” yue bows, offering him a small smile. “i heard you were ill yesterday. i do hope you’re feeling better.”

“oh, um—” zuko clears his throat, trying to smooth out some of the early-morning rasp from his voice. “yes, i’m feeling much better. i’m sorry for the trouble. i wish i could have attended your dinner last night.”

yue’s eyes widen. “no, no, that’s quite alright. don’t be sorry for getting sick. if you’d like, we can reschedule?”

a smile tugs at zuko’s mouth, and he lets it cross it face. “yes,” he says. “i think we’d all like that very much.”

sokka especially, if the pink flush to his cheeks is anything to go by. zuko could be jealous, but—spirits, sokka’s happy. he deserves that. “how about tonight?” sokka suggests. “i mean, if you’re feeling up to it, li.”

“yes, that’s fine with me.”

“great.” yue beams at them both, her eyes bright. “i’ll see you all tonight at iknik’s, then.”

“totally.” sokka goes to lean against the corner of the hut but misses. he trips over himself and flails backwards into a drift of snow, which has both yue and zuko laughing. he flails, sitting up and glaring at them both—but his eyes soften quickly, his expression morphing into something warm and fond and undoubtedly meant for yue. “alright, alright, yuck it up, you two.”

“very suave,” zuko says wryly, trading an amused glance with yue. she giggles as sokka scrambles out of the snow, and then she picks up a small basket that had been sitting near her feet. she offers it to zuko. “what’s this?”

“it’s from my father and the palace staff,” yue says. “when i heard you were sick, i wanted to put together a little something for you, and they joined in. it isn’t much, but i hope you like it. i really have to be going now, but it was nice to speak with both of you.”

“you too,” zuko says.

“yeah, you too!” sokka shakes snow out of his hair and looks giddily after yue as she leaves. once she’s gone, he sighs happily and comes to stand next to zuko. he cocks his head, eyeing the basket. “you lucky duck. what’d she get you?”

zuko opens his basket while sokka hovers impatiently over his shoulder. inside, he finds a bag of kale chips, a bar of tallow soap, seal blubber jerky, frozen cloudberries, and a bag of several small, black-and-white cubes. zuko plucks one of the cubes out, turning it between his fingers. it’s disconcertingly fleshy. 

“oh, wow, is that muktuk? dude, she must really like you. maybe next time i should be the one getting sick, huh?” sokka asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“trust me, you have nothing to be jealous of.” yue’s pretty, and sweet, but zuko’s just not interested. besides, it’s not like she’d want to date him. he’s ugly, and angry, and he never listens, and he’s the heir to a nation that’s tried over and over again to destroy her people. of course she wouldn’t be interested in him. who would be? “what’s muktuk?”

sokka digs into the basket, grabbing a cube of his own. “well, in the south, anyway, it comes from whale hunts. the spirits get angry if any part of a hunt isn’t used—the animal gave its life to provide for us, and it’s our responsibility to make sure none of that life is wasted. muktuk is a way to make sure even the skin and blubber get used.”

“this is…” zuko makes a face. “whale skin?”

“and blubber.” sokka pops his cube into his mouth. 

oh, spirits. zuko wrinkles his nose and sniffs warily at the muktuk. its scent is mild and watery. it’s slippery between his fingers, damp and cold and completely unappetizing. he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes the cube into his mouth. this does not improve his experience of it at all. “hrk.”

sokka laughs, tossing another cube into the air and catching it in his mouth. “good, right? lil chewy.”

lil chewy is a horrific understatement. all of the blubber dissolves into a terrible blend of saliva and fat in his mouth, and after he’s swallowed (i.e. forced himself to choke it down so he doesn’t offend sokka) he’s left with a wad of tough skin. his jaw aches by the time he’s ground it into a swallowable consistency. he chokes that down, too, and then shudders all over. 

“there you go, man!” sokka claps him on the shoulder, laughing. “oh, you should have seen your face. want another?”

the horrified look zuko gives sokka is enough to have him laughing again. together, they retreat inside and sit down next to the fireplace to rummage their way through the rest of the basket. the jerky and cloudberries and chips are, mercifully, better than the muktuk. sokka is quieter than usual, although zuko thinks that has more to do with the endless chewing muktuk requires than his state of mind.

“so,” sokka eventually asks, swallowing another mouthful of muktuk, “did your weird meditation stuff help last night?”

zuko pauses, breaking off a piece of jerky and turning it between his fingers. “yes.”

“so any, uh, mind-blowing revelations?” 

“i made some decisions. i’d like to talk about them with all of you tonight, after dinner.”

sokka leans forward, clearly intrigued. “ooor you could talk about them to me right now?”

zuko flicks the jerky at him, and he yelps before leaning back again. “tonight. just let me keep it to myself for a little while longer.”

it’s safer, keeping it to himself. it feels less real. it feels like his. 

“okay, okay. in the meantime, katara would probably like to see you down in the healing huts,” sokka says. “i think she’s only going to stay there a couple more days before she overthrows the patriarchy.”

so, once they’ve finished their basket lunch, zuko makes his way down to the healing huts. he hears katara’s voice nearby, and he steps hesitantly into the hut she’s in. she sits next to an old woman, a small smile on her face as they talk. zuko’s loathe to interrupt them—katara’s learning, after all. (that, and zuko’s afraid of what’s going to happen as soon as he steps inside. letting katara heal him is one thing, but a stranger? what if they mess up? what if they hurt him?) 

“so, who's the lucky boy?” the old woman asks, her eyes sparkling. ah. maybe this isn’t exactly the rigorous learning zuko was expecting. has he accidently walked in on a gossip session?

katara’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “huh?”

“your betrothal necklace. you're getting married, right?”

zuko arches an eyebrow. is that what that necklace is?

“ah, no.” katara brings a hand up, touching her necklace. “i don't think i'm ready for that yet. my grandmother gave my mother this necklace and my mother passed it down to me.”

“why, i recognize this carving. i don't know why i didn't realize sooner; you're the spitting image of kanna!”

“wait, how do you know my gran-gran's name?”

“when i was about your age, i was friends with kanna. she was born here in the northern tribe.”

katara’s eyes widen as she leans forward. “she never told me.”

“your grandmother had an arranged marriage with a young waterbender. he carved that necklace for her.”

“if gran-gran was engaged, why did she leave?”

“i don’t know. that’s always—” the old woman stops, suddenly, her eyes falling on zuko. “well, hello there, young man.”

zuko clears his throat, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “hi. i’m, uh, li. i’m sorry to intrude, but katara invited me here…?”

“li.” katara crosses the room, then draws him down into a hug. startled, he leans into her, and she lowers her voice to ask, “are you feeling up to this after yesterday? we can always wait.”

“i’ll be okay,” he assures her. “just don’t go anywhere.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it.” katara offers him one last squeeze, then draws back and leads him to the old woman’s side. “yagoda, this is my friend, li. li, this is yagoda. she’s a healing master here.”

zuko bows formally to her. “it’s an honor to meet you, yagoda.”

“likewise, dear. please, sit with us. what seems to be the problem?”

zuko glances at katara, who nods encouragingly at him as he sits down. “it’s my leg,” he explains haltingly, jamming his hands into the pockets of his parka. “i picked a fight with the wrong firebenders, and one of their komodo rhinos got me with its horn. katara has healed it very well, but she wanted me to come here to see if there was anything else you could do for it.”

“a komodo rhino. i’ve heard of those, although i’ve been fortunate enough not to meet one.” yagoda clicks her tongue, then scoots back and pats the floor of the hut. “lay down, please. let me see the injury.”

zuko takes a deep breath, then forces himself flat onto his stomach in front of her. katara sets a steady hand on his back, and he tries to relax. it’s more or less impossible—especially once yagoda begins rolling up his pant leg. he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes deeply. she isn’t going to hurt him. healers don’t do that, and even if she wanted to, katara is here and won’t let her. the thought allows his breath to come a little easier. 

“my, what a scar!” yagoda exclaims, her hands touching the back of his leg. her touch is firm but gentle as she brushes fingers along the line of his injury. zuko’s caught glimpses of it, and he knows the scar is long and ropey and pale. it’s one of his worse scars (although it’s certainly not the worst). “katara, you healed this?”

“over a matter of weeks,” katara says, and she has the nerve to sound apologetic. zuko shoots a glare at her over his shoulder. she should be proud. she did all of that with no formal training! who cares if it took a few weeks? “i’m not even sure i did it all right, but it looks better, and it seems to cause him less pain.”

“that’s incredible. you’ve never healed before this?”

“no, ma’am.” there’s a smile in katara’s voice, now, and zuko’s shoulders begin to relax. “it looks okay?”

“it looks wonderful. i can only imagine what a bad wound it was. li, do you have any residual pain or stiffness?”

“it aches a little,” zuko admits, “if i use it too much, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was. the cold makes it stiff if i don’t move it for long periods of time.”

“well, let me have a look here.” zuko hears the gentle swish of water through the air before it settles against the back of his leg, and the familiar coolness of healing sinks into his skin. it’s different than katara’s—the coolness comes in questing waves, narrow and focused. zuko winces as she hits against something deep in his knee, and she pauses. “there’s some scar tissue inside of your knee, and your bones...did you break this?”

“yes. uh, the rhino—” zuko cringes as yagoda’s healing probes deeper. “—stepped on me a few times.”

“tui and la.” yagoda sounds angry, now, and zuko’s heart rate begins to pick up again. “those firebenders! i’ll never understand them. how could they do something like that? oh, pardon me, dear, but you’re hardly more than a child. what quarrel could they have possibly had with you?”

“i—i stole from them,” zuko says, swallowing hard. “they didn’t—they—”

katara’s hand touches the back of his head, smoothing over his hair. “it’s alright, li. she isn’t angry at you. she’s angry at the people who hurt you, because you didn’t deserve it.”

“oh, yes, i’m sorry. i don’t mean to frighten you. it just makes me so angry, thinking about what those firebenders are capable of.” yagoda sighs, her hands drawing back for a moment. “katara, set your hands here, please. i’d like you to feel this. try to press your healing forward, and—”

zuko yelps, because whatever katara’s pushing against does not want to be pushed. 

“sorry!” katara snatches her hands back. 

“it’s alright. we’ll go a little gentler next time,” yagoda says soothingly—to zuko or katara, he’s not sure. “that’s scar tissue. you can’t heal it out, since it’s a result of healing. what we can do is break it up so his range of movement improves. physical therapy will continue to keep the joint loose, and hot towels will help with any pain the cold causes.”

“should he be walking on it?” katara asks. 

“oh, yes, yes. he needs movement to keep the joint functional. rest is important for healing wounds, but only to a certain point. gentle activity is equally important. now, set your hands here again.”

katara’s hands settle against the back of zuko’s leg, and he grimaces in anticipation. 

“i’ll do this part, since it’s fairly advanced. you keep a tight hold, now,” yagoda says, and zuko immediately narrows his eyes. nobody holds him unless they’re about to do something really—

“ow!” zuko snarls as pain flares through the back of his leg, and he whips himself around to push both katara and yagoda off. “what the hell was that for?”

katara looks at him, shame-faced, but yagoda only reaches out to pat his shoulder. “i’m sorry, dear,” she says. “that’s the worst part over. i just had to break through some of the scar tissue that’s built up around the joint. you should have an easier time moving it, now, although you might be a bit sore.”

zuko, still scowling, flexes his knee. it hurts worse than it did before. why did he come here, again? “it’s worse now.”

“sore,” yagoda corrects him, then moves to the corner of the hut. she returns with a hot towel, which she wraps securely around zuko’s knee. the warmth of it melts into his skin, and he finds himself relaxing. “it will feel much better in a few days. continue to move it—gently—and i’ll show you and katara some physical therapy for it.”

zuko manages to escape the healing huts intact, almost an hour later, and limps his way grudgingly through town. yagoda had better be right about his knee feeling better in a few days, because right now it feels as though he’s taken several steps back in terms of recovery. he’s seriously considering going back to the hut to grab his cane when a sign catches his eye—a nearby store, so it seems, is selling akutaq.

sokka likes akutaq, doesn’t he?

then, because he’s a good friend and for absolutely no other reason, zuko heads into the store. he purchases a carton of akutaq—which, the shopkeeper explains, is a blend of whipped fat and bilberries—before heading back towards the hut. he buries the carton in the snow outside to keep it cold, then grabs his cane and makes a visit to the stables to see appa and momo. he doesn’t return to the hut until late that afternoon, when he needs to meet up with the others for yue’s dinner.

“hey, zuko. how’s your knee?” katara asks, her eyes catching on his cane as he slips into the hut. 

“it’s fine,” he says, trying his best not to sound too sulky about the lingering pain. it’s not her fault, anyway. 

“wait, what happened to your knee?” sokka asks, tipping his head back. he’s sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace, his parka draped over him like a blanket, while aang tucks up against his side. “i thought the healers were supposed to finish fixing it today.”

zuko sniffs. “i thought so, too.”

“it’ll get better,” katara insists, standing and grabbing a towel that had been heating next to the fireplace. she pushes it into zuko’s hands. “here, sit with that. we don’t have to leave quite yet.”

as zuko sits down next to aang and sokka, wrapping the towel around his knee, he asks, “how were your days?”

sokka blows a raspberry.

“that bad, huh?” katara asks, taking a seat on his other side. 

“it's princess yue. i keep asking her out, and she keeps making up excuses to go out with me and her friends at the same time. it’s not a date if there are, like, thirteen other people there.” he sighs heavily, then waves a dismissive hand in the air. “maybe i should just take the hint and get lost.”

“well, it’s not like she has a choice in the matter,” zuko offers, “if that makes you feel better.”

sokka squints at him. “why do you say so?”

“she’s a princess. she can’t date you. you’re a—” zuko gestures to him. “you know.”

sokka groans and covers his face. “yes, that makes me feel so much better, zuko, thank you.” 

“no, it’s not—well, it’s not personal,” zuko says hastily. he really isn’t trying to make sokka feel bad! spirits, why is he so awful at this—at friends, and comfort, and socializing in general? “you’re a great guy. i mean, you’re smart, and funny, and—”

sokka quirks an eyebrow at him, and he fumbles to a stop, his cheeks pink. “no, no,” sokka says. “do go on, that was working.”

“you’re mocking me.”

“i’m not! i mean, i know. i know. just look at all this.” sokka gestures to himself, sighing wistfully. “tall, dark, and handsome.”

“well,” zuko says reasonably, “two out of three isn’t bad.”

“hey!” sokka glares at him—and then he gets a little thinking crinkle on his brow. “hey, wait. which two?”

zuko glances away from him, smirking.

“which two? zuko which two?”

“anyway,” zuko says, clearing his throat pointedly, “how’s waterbending training, aang? katara?”

“eh.” aang teeter-totters his hand in the air. “it’s okay, i guess.”

“learning about healing is good. i mean, it’ll be useful in the future. i just wish i could learn other bending, too. i think i’m going to go talk to master pakku tonight after dinner.”

“actually, um, i’d like to talk to you all after dinner,” zuko says, glancing away when all of their eyes latch onto him. “if—if you have time. if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“of course we have time,” katara says. “i can talk to master pakku tomorrow, instead. it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

“but first!” sokka hops onto his feet, clapping his hands together. “let’s go have dinner with yue. spirits, this is going to be awkward.”

it is awkward—at least, for sokka and yue it is. they talk in starts and stops, sneaking sideways glances at each other. and sure, maybe sokka said yue didn’t want to go out with him, but the way she looks at him makes that seem very untrue. every time he talks, she props her chin in her hand and listens with rapt attention. but there’s something sad in her eyes when she looks at him, too, something distant, and zuko—

zuko understands that better than he’d like to and much, much better than he should.

so, as much as he likes yue, he’s glad when dinner (and all of its attendant, complex emotions) is done and they can return to their hut. he sheds his parka, hanging it next to the door and leaning his cane against the wall. there’s just one last thing he has to do today before he can rest. it’s the hardest, he thinks, and also the most necessary.

“so?” aang asks as soon as he’s inside, bouncing impatiently on his toes. “what’d you want to talk to us about, zuko?”

sokka and katara pause to look at him, too, their eyebrows raised.

well. here goes nothing.

“i—well, i—” zuko takes a deep breath, and then he lowers himself to his knees. the movement sends a flare of pain through the back of his leg, but it stoutly ignores it. after everything he’s put these three through, he can bear a little pain for a proper apology. he bows forward, touching his head to the floor. “i wanted to apologize.”

their silence greets him, and he huddles further into himself. this is as low as he can go—he can’t make his apology anymore humble. they deserve more, he knows they do, but this is all he has to give. he can only hope it’s enough.

“i’ve done such awful things to you, and to those you care about,” he continues, thinking of suki and her ruined village and her injured warriors. “but you’ve never hurt me in return. your mercy has been more than i deserve, and you will never know how grateful i am for it. i—”

shame burns in his cheeks, and he forces himself to breathe. this shame is the least of what he deserves. 

“i’ve been horrible to you all. i’ve threatened you, and mocked you, and i would have betrayed you if you hadn’t—if i couldn’t have—” he squeezes his eyes shut. “but i can’t do that now, and i—i don’t think i should. i—”

someone kneels in front of him, and hands touch his shoulders. “hey,” sokka says, his voice unusually soft. “hey, it’s okay. sit up.”

no! no, zuko has to finish, he—“i’m sorry!” he blurts, his shoulders trembling. “i’m sorry for everything, for what i’ve put you through. there’s no excuse for what i’ve done to you, and to the people around me, all for—for a father who’s never going to love me. it was foolish, and selfish, and—”

“zuko, please.” sokka pushes on his shoulders. “you can finish, just sit up, okay, buddy? you’re gonna hurt your leg.”

zuko scrambles up, his cheeks hot. they don’t bow in the water tribe, do they? not like that. he’s probably made them feel terrible, and awkward, and—and—spirits, why is he so bad at everything? 

but when he sits, and he looks, he finds aang and katara on their knees beside sokka. they’re all watching him, their eyes wide with concern, and he can’t stand it. he pulls his legs to his chest and buries his face against them, gripping his sleeves in his own hands.

“i was wrong,” he says, swallowing hard. “and i know that now, so i don’t want to—i’m not going to keep doing wrong things. i don’t want to hurt aang. i don’t want to hurt the water tribes, or the earth kingdom, or stop the air nomads from coming back. the fire nation—my people—they aren’t evil, but they’ve hurt so many others, and i don’t—i can’t be a part of it anymore, not the way it is, not after everything i’ve seen. i know i can’t stop my father, but i can tell you that you have nothing to fear from me, anymore. i won’t hunt you. i won’t stop you from fighting the firelord, if you think that’s what you have to do to keep the world safe.”

it makes him a horrible prince and an even worse person, turning his back on his own people like this, but what’s the alternative? turning his back on the rest of the world? there are lives at stake either way, and zuko—

zuko can’t always do what’s best for his people, or his father, or for himself—not at the cost of the world. he can’t. 

“you don’t have to forgive me, but i hope you can find some comfort in knowing that i won’t interfere with your plans after we return to the earth kingdom. i know it’s a small gesture in return for everything you’ve put up with, but i—”

someone slams into him, suddenly, and two scrawny arms seize tightly around his waist. “i forgive you,” aang whispers, tucking his face against zuko’s shoulder. 

zuko’s eyes sting, and he unfolds himself just enough to wrap his arms around aang in return. he doesn’t deserve this forgiveness—but spirits, he’s so grateful for it. he glimpses sokka and katara over aang’s head and sees them trade a glance between each other, their eyes soft and warm and endlessly blue.

“of course we forgive you,” katara says reaching forward to cup zuko’s face in her hand. for the first time, zuko doesn’t flinch. 

“and for what it’s worth,” sokka adds, ducking his head to meet zuko’s eyes, “thank you.”

zuko can’t hold his gaze. he swallows thickly, then buries his face against aang before he can start crying. he’s shed enough tears to last him several months, at least. they still have so many decisions to make, and zuko’s future is a tenuous thing at best—but for right now, he holds onto aang and he breathes.

Chapter Text

two weeks after zuko’s revelation—and one week plus six days after katara overthrows the entire northern water tribe’s patriarchy and continues to be the world’s most badass waterbender—yue comes to visit him in the stables. 

the stables are where zuko has been spending most of his time, now. it’s quiet, and calm, and the animals are gentle and friendly. so is the staff, once zuko offers to help them out, and it feels good to be useful. sure, maybe he’s not helping his father conquer the world anymore, but he can still bring groom the polar dogs and bring the muskox-deer armfuls of sweet hay and scrub the tack until it shines. besides, it gives him something to do while katara and aang are waterbending and sokka is out with the tribe’s warriors. he’s in the middle of grooming one of the mama dogs, nuvua, when the stable doors creak open behind him.

“princess yue! what a pleasant surprise,” panuk, one of the other stablehands, says. zuko straightens up and turns to look at them, brushing clumps of white fur from his parka. “what can we do for you?”

“actually, i’m here to borrow li, if you can spare him,” yue says, bowing to panuk before aiming a smile in zuko’s direction. zuko nods, setting aside his brushes and giving nuvua’s ears one last, friendly ruffle. she licks his hands, then lets him go. “i’ll bring him back in just a little while.”

“good afternoon, your highness,” zuko says, stepping lightly over the straw-laden floors to reach yue. his leg hardly twinges, anymore, now that yagoda has healed the deepest parts of his wound and he does his physical therapy with katara regularly.

“good afternoon.” yue looks warmly at him, bowing. “would you mind taking a walk with me? there are some things i’d like to discuss.”

“of course. lead the way.”

yue leads him back out of the stables, and the two of them fall into step as they stroll towards the outskirts of agna qel’a. she seems content to keep the silence between them for several moments, although it makes zuko nervous. what could she possibly want to talk to him about? she doesn’t suspect his identity, does she? or—worse—is she here to tell him that his friends have gotten hurt, or into some kind of trouble?

“is—is everything alright?” he asks, finally, glancing over at her.

“oh, yes. i just—well, i wanted your advice, actually.”

zuko arches his eyebrow. his advice? “i’m flattered, but i don’t know what kind of advice i could offer a princess of the water tribe.”

“you managed it well enough the night of the snowstorm,” yue says, simply, and zuko winces. that had...not been great advice, according to sokka, and since then zuko’s come to agree with him. “you’re very wise, you know.”

is he really? that seems a bit far-fetched. but if he is, at all, it’s only because of one person. “well, that would be my uncle’s fault.”

yue grins. “tell him thank you for me, then, if you should see him again.”

“i will.” zuko wedges his hands into his pockets. it’s been hard, adjusting to how absolutely frigid this place is, and he still can’t say that he enjoys it. “what did you want advice about?”

yue reaches out to touch his elbow, guiding him down a narrow side street. it’s emptier, here, and much quieter. their boots rasp against the packed snow underfoot, their path well-worn by thousands of other steps before theirs. yue takes a deep breath before speaking again. 

“it’s about sokka,” she admits, quietly, and zuko stumbles but rights himself. “i couldn’t talk to katara about it—she’s so protective of him—and aang’s so young, still. he wouldn’t know what to do. but you’re his friend, too, and you might know how to help.”

“help with what?” 

yue takes another deep, bracing breath. “i like him.”

“i know.”

“what?” yue whirls around, her eyes wide. “is it so obvious?”

“no, no, it’s just—i guess it’s easy to see, spending time with the two of you.” they’ve hung out more than once, after all, these past few weeks. sokka continues to be head-over-heels, and yue continues to stare longingly at him when she thinks he’s not looking. “i’m sorry. do you want to know if he likes you back? because i would think he’s made that pretty obvious.”

yue laughs, cupping a hand over her mouth. “oh, yes, he has.”

“then what do you want from me?”

“well, you know...” she looks uncertainly at him. “you know it wouldn’t work, him and i. us. my father wouldn’t allow it.”

“so, what? you want me to talk you out of it?” zuko will admit, he’s got some experience trying to convince people (namely himself) that they shouldn’t be so infatuated with sokka. he could do the same here, with yue, now. he’s not sure he wants to, though. 

yue nods. 

“why?” zuko asks, instead. 

“because my father wouldn’t allow it,” yue repeats. “it would cause unnecessary drama and friction within our tribe.”

“will your father arrange a marriage for you?”

yue reaches up, touching her throat the same way zuko has seen katara do before. his stomach plummets. “...he already has.”

“you’re engaged?” zuko hisses. “and you haven’t told sokka?”

“it was only made official a few days ago,” yue says, folding her arms over her chest and frowning at the snow. “of course i knew it was a possibility. that’s why i’ve tried to avoid going out with him.”

“if you want him to stop courting you, you need to tell him to—and you need to be clear about it. right now he still thinks that you’re going to fall in love with him any second.”

yue looks at him, and for a moment her gaze is strikingly open and vulnerable and oh—

“oh, no,” zuko breathes. “you are. you’re in love with him.”

“i don’t mean to be,” yue says, pleading, like she needs his forgiveness for it—but it’s not his forgiveness she really wants, is it? it’s her father’s. zuko understands and very, very much wishes he didn’t. “i can’t be. i must wed hahn for the good of our tribe.”

zuko groans, sitting down next to a nearby canal and putting his head in his hands. yue sits next to him, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. the quiet stretches between them again, and zuko tries desperately to sort through his thoughts—and through the raw, sticky emotions amassing in his chest.

“you understood,” yue says softly, “during the snowstorm: about responsibility, and loyalty, and duty. i don’t know where you come from, or how you know, and i won’t ask. please just tell me again what i have to do.”

“yue, i—” zuko exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand over his hair. “i don’t know.”

“you said i should do what my father wants. i owe it to him. i owe it to my people.”

“maybe i was wrong, okay?”

yue’s eyes widen. “wrong? but you—”

“i’m wrong about a lot of stuff. even when i think i’m right, i’m wrong. i am really not the person you should be asking about advice. why don’t you talk to sokka about this?”

“because i don’t want to break his heart.”

zuko can appreciate that. “okay, but—you like him, right? and he likes you?”

“but i’m betrothed.”

“can you ask your father to change your betrothal?”

“to who?” yue laughs, and there’s an edge of bitterness to it. “to sokka? he wouldn’t.”

“but sokka’s the son of a water tribe chief, too, and he’s friends with the avatar. surely that’s enough to win your father’s favor? i don’t know this hahn guy, but sokka’s as brave and strong as any warrior out there. he’s clever, too. did you know he saved a village from a volcano, once? and he saved another village from a flood.” zuko hugs his legs to his chest, looking out over the canal. “he’s sweet, and he cares about people even if he likes to pretend he doesn’t so he looks cool. sure, he can still be immature sometimes, but he’s growing up. he’s going to make a great chief someday. you’d be lucky to have him and your father’s a fool if he doesn’t realize that.”

for a moment, yue is quiet—and when he meets her eyes again, there’s something soft and sad in her gaze. “li, you…”

zuko’s cheeks heat, and he shakes his head. “no.”

“you do.” yue’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “you love him too. oh, spirits, i’m sorry. i should never have asked you to—”

“i don’t,” zuko blurts, his heart wedging itself into his throat, and yue freezes. “i don’t love him—not like that, and even if i didn’t it wouldn’t matter, so—so. we don’t even need to talk about it. what matters is that you want to be with him, and he wants to be with you, and that’s the way things should be. you’re a perfect match.”

“but you—”

“i’m never going to be with him,” zuko says firmly. the words stick like thorns in his throat, and they hurt just as badly—but zuko is very used to pushing through pain. “i know that. we’re from two completely different nations, and our destinies take us down separate paths. besides, i’ve—i’ve hurt him before, yue. we weren’t always friends. he’s forgiven me for it, but i couldn’t ask him for anything more than that.”

yue reaches out, taking his his hand. “have you tried asking him?”

“no, and i’m not going to. he wants to be with you,” zuko says, looking over at her. “you make him happy. this place makes him happy. if he could become your betrothed, and stay here until the end of the war, then maybe—maybe that would be for the best.”

sokka would be safe, here—safe and happy—and that’s what matters more than any of zuko’s stupid, selfish emotions. to drag sokka away from yue, away from his people, away from this place? it would be horrible. what waits for them out there is a war. (what waits for them out there is father, and zuko can’t stand the thought of father anywhere near sokka.) 

yue squeezes his hand. “you’re sure?”

“i’m sure. you should talk to him about this—and then talk to your father,” zuko says. “it’s important to do what’s best for your people, but i’m pretty sure sokka is what’s best for your people. although maybe i’m biased.”

“maybe just a little,” yue says, a smile flickering across her face. 

“as for loyalty, and responsibility, and duty?” zuko leans back, sighing heavily. “i don’t know anymore. in the—in my home, i was raised to believe that you should obey without question. unconditional loyalty is like unconditional love, though, isn’t it? it’s dangerous. you have to think for yourself.”

“but if you only ever do what you think is right, you’ll still make mistakes.”

“i know. it’s scary. that’s why it’s important to have people around you to help you. it’s important to listen to advice, and think about things from all sides, but at the end of the day i think—well, i have to do what i think is right. i can’t mindlessly obey anyone else anymore. i’ve hurt too many people doing that. maybe that makes me disloyal and untrustworthy, but…”

“i understand.” yue pats his hand gently. “what changed?”

“hm?”

“what changed? you seemed so convinced that you were right during the snowstorm. something must have changed to make you think this way.”

“yeah.” zuko huffs out a laugh. “my friends finally talked some sense into me.”

“well, i’m glad they did. this wasn’t the advice i meant to get, but—” yue stands up, pulling zuko onto his feet. “i think i like this advice much better.”

together, the two of them walk back to the stables. appa rumbles a greeting at them, and they both falter when they see who’s standing beside him. 

“hey, guys,” sokka says cheerfully, patting appa’s flank and grinning. “yue, i didn’t think i’d see you here. i was just coming to get li for some dinner. you wanna come with?”

yue and zuko trade a glance, and zuko nods encouragingly.

“actually, i was wondering if i could talk with you alone,” yue says, bunching up the edges of her robes so she can step over the straw to sokka’s side. “it won’t take long, but if you’d rather wait until after dinner—”

“no, no, that’s totally fine,” sokka says. he already looks giddy. “we could, uh, go for a ride on appa? he’s probably feeling all cooped up, in the stables like this.”

yue touches his shoulder, then reaches out to touch appa’s muzzle, too. “i’d love that.”

“li, aang and katara are having dinner in the hut,” sokka says. his eyes shine when they meet zuko’s, and zuko knows he’s made the right decision, however much it hurts: sokka is happy. “yue and i’ll be there in just a little while, okay?”

zuko puts his grooming equipment away as sokka helps yue into appa’s saddle. appa nuzzles him goodbye, and sokka and yue both wave as the bison lumbers out of the stables. they take off, yue tucked into sokka’s side, and he loses them to the sky. he lingers in the stable doorway for several long seconds, nursing the ache in his heart, before he breathes and lets it go.

a northern breeze tugs at zuko’s parka as he makes his way back to the hut he currently calls home. pale gray clouds swirl overhead, masking the sun’s descent to the west, and he shivers in the cold. several minutes into his walk, snow begins to flurry from the sky. it dusts his shoulders and gloves and the ground before him and he—

he pauses.

that’s not what snow should look like. now, admittedly, zuko doesn’t have a lot of experience with snow, but he’s been here long enough to know that black snow? black snow doesn’t exist. so he kneels, wiping his hand through several of the dark flakes that now litter the street. he brings it to his nose and inhales. the scent is familiar: bitter, acrid, smokey. 

fire nation.

Chapter Text

iroh is having a very bad time. 

this very bad time started approximately three months ago, when he lost his nephew to the destruction at crescent island. of course zuko hadn’t been dead (that simply wasn’t an option) and so iroh had set about searching for him. he and the crew of the wani had spent days combing through the rubble at the island to no avail, for which iroh was immensely grateful: he knows he would not have survived finding zuko’s body buried there. 

after that, iroh had begun trailing the avatar again. his nephew is nothing if not stubborn, and if he isn’t trying to find the wani he must be trying to find something else: the avatar. at least, this is what iroh tells himself, because there’s only one other reason zuko would not have returned to him and yet, and that reason—

that reason is unthinkable.

but the avatar is a hard person to keep up with, especially with that flying bison of his, and iroh’s progress had been frustratingly inefficient until he met june. her shirshu had been a spark of hope in a darkening world, and iroh had been willing to pay her just about anything for news of his nephew. he’s not rich anymore, royalty or not, and he’s even less rich after hiring june. he’d given her an old shirt of zuko’s, and her shirshu had snuffled it for several long minutes before lifting its muzzle to the sky.

it had smelled him—it had smelled zuko, and iroh could have wept with joy knowing his nephew yet lived and roamed!—and led them north, over miles and miles of cliffs and forests and rivers. it took them to an abbey on the coast of the northern earth kingdom, but when they arrived june was empty-handed and full of fury. 

“you didn’t tell me,” she snarled, “that your kid was traveling with the avatar!”

to be fair, iroh hadn’t known he was. he’d half-expected it, given the consistent glimpses he caught of the bison as the shirshu led them north, but he hadn’t quite been sure. on one hand, it’s a relief: the avatar is a child, as are his companions, and they don’t pose a threat to zuko. on the other hand, it’s terribly concerning that zuko should be traveling with them. he wouldn’t do so willingly—they must have manipulated him somehow, or he found himself so injured at the crescent island that he was unable to escape them.

“were they well?” he had asked june. “the children?”

june threw her hands into the air, scowling. “i don’t know! they were well enough to escape, and that stupid bison of theirs was well enough to gore nyla. spirits, old man. some warning would have been nice.”

his search for zuko was less desperate, after that. he knows zuko is alive, and relatively safe, and that’s all he can ask. still, he knows it’s important for him to find zuko. it won’t do for the avatar to hold him captive—that will only deepen zuko’s hatred of the boy, and hatred of the avatar drives him ever closer to his father’s side. nor would it do for him to think iroh had abandoned him to his fate; he’s already been abandoned far, far too much in his young life, and he needs to know that iroh, at least, will always come for him. 

then, at the northern air temple, iroh met zhao.

it was an unfortunate meeting, to be sure, but zhao was amenable enough as long as iroh played his cards right. it wasn’t difficult to do. iroh is, after all, very experienced when it comes to pacifying hotheaded, arrogant firebenders.