Chapter Text
Zuko makes sure the hallway is clear before he carefully tiptoes out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as he can to avoid waking up Bato, whose eyebags are starting to rival Aang’s.
Even taking a step makes the wound on his stomach burn, and he hisses a sharp breath before he moves again. Katara had told him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t try and move around without help, but it’s apparently been weeks since he’s been outside, and there’s nothing apparent about the lack of sun he feels- which is how he’s currently justifying directly disobeying her.
Okay, maybe the sun set hours ago, but small, minor details. Maybe he also needs fresh air. Maybe, maybe, he really just needs to sit on the edge of the deck, legs carefully positioned to hang out over the side, stare blankly up at Yue, and try to force the panic that ebbs and flows in his chest back down to a low tide.
Maybe even attempt the breathing exercises Iroh taught him. Even though Iroh is probably being carted off to some work camp in the far corners of the Fire Nation, or-
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be out of bed.”
Zuko whips his head around, hands heating, but it’s just Aang. He sits down next to Zuko, resting his chin on the bottom bar of the railing.
“You gonna tell on me?” He asks. His voice is still rough, even after regularly talking for a few days.
Aang shrugs, gives him a small, heavy smile. “Only if I have to.”
They sit in blessed silence for a minute. Zuko stares down at the dark waves, the cut of the white foam against the hull, and thinks of fishing trips with Sokka and Hakoda, years ago.
“How are you feeling?” Aang asks.
Zuko resists the urge to snort. The wound on his chest is sprawling; an angry red with a cracked center- a nice, matched set for his face.
Zuko almost laughs, he really does, because they’re in the middle of a war, and he’s great-grandson of the man who started it, the grandson of the man who perpetuated it, the son of the man waging it. Because his mother is dead and it would be a kinder fate if his uncle was, too. Because his father killed him once, so his sister, who is nothing if not competitive, had to do it, too.
“I don’t know,” He says instead, because it’s mostly true.
“Yeah.” Aang says. “Me, either.”
Aang fiddles with Appa’s whistle, turning it over in his hands, pressing it into his palms. “Hey, Zuko?” He asks quietly, and Zuko turns to look at him, resting his head on his folded arms. “Do you know what happened, after Azula shot you?”
Zuko shrugs. “You guys came here, I woke up in Hakoda’s room-”
“No.” Aang says. “Between that. Do you- do you know?”
Aang sounds close to tears, and his stomach is starting its familiar routine of practicing rope knots on his intestines.
“Zuko, you-”
“I know.” Zuko interrupts, sharp. “I died, Aang.”
Aang usually cries like most kids do; noisy, exuberant, public and unashamed. Now, he ducks his head as silent tears roll down his cheeks, a quiet whine in the back of his throat and Zuko immediately regrets being so blunt.
“I’m here now, though. It’s okay,” He says softly.
Aang shakes his head. “Zuko, you- you were gone. For hours. You were gone. Do you even know-?”
“-How I came back?” Zuko finishes for him.
“Yeah.” Aang says. “How?”
“Your spirit is exhausted, child, I know.” Agni says softly. “You did your part when you helped find the Avatar and set him on the right path towards his destiny. If you want to be done, then you may be done. It is your decision.”
“I’m just tired.” Zuko says hoarsely, and covers his eyes again. “I’m just really, really tired.”
“Then so be it.”
There is a warm hand on his forehead, and the world begins to dissolve around him, snow building up on the ice.
“Wait.”
The hand lifts.
Zuko drags his eyes open, and when he forces himself to look directly at Agni, it burns.
“My family.” He says. “I can’t leave them.”
“I cannot tell you the fate of those around you, child.” Agni says. “Whether the Avatar survived is not my realm.”
“So if I go back,” Zuko takes a shuddering breath. “they could all be gone.”
“Perhaps.”
“But if they’re not-”
Katara, eyes wide with terror as the Dai Li closed in. Aang, unconscious in her arms. Sokka and Toph, facing unknown threats miles away-
Azula, panicked.
Covering her ears like a toddler as Zuko spoke, flinching when he mentioned Ozai.
Burn marks on her arms visible when her sleeves moved.
“I have to go back.” Zuko says, and his voice cracks. “I have to. I can’t- I can’t leave them.”
Agni regards him with an expression betraying nothing.
“Light-child.” She rises to her feet, and when Zuko blinks, she floats off the ground. “I cannot promise your survival nor safety, but I will allow your decision. Remember that I am always with you, and know that your inner flame is used for more than simple fire.”
“I had a choice.” Zuko answers, and hears Aang intake a sharp breath. “I was- I was so tired. But I had a choice, and you and Toph, and my siblings were here. So.”
“Your siblings.” Aang repeats, ever too perceptive for his own good, and Zuko is suddenly deeply thankful Katara is fast asleep still. “She killed you-”
“Ozai is not a kind man.” Zuko interrupts again. “I wish you didn’t have to learn this now, but some people-” red, gold, cold stone beneath him, fire above- “Some people should never be parents.”
“Zuko.” Aang’s eyes are dark, unreadable. “Did he-” small fingers ghost over his scar, and Zuko wills himself not to jump back, but his involuntary flinch is apparently enough of an answer for Aang, who pulls back his hand as though it burns.
“Oh.” Aang says, choked.
“He’s not a kind man.” Zuko repeats. “Aang, when the time comes- we have to take him out. He can’t- he can’t keep hurting people.”
“Take him out.” Aang says dumbly, and his hands fall to his sides. “Oh.”
According to the Fire Nation, the Air Nomads had a highly-trained army, could bend the air right out of someone’s lungs.
According to the skeletons in the back rooms of the Southern Air Temple, the Air Nomads practiced non-violence up until their flesh was melted from their bones.
Zuko can’t stop himself from slinging an arm around Aang’s shaking shoulders, pulling him closer even as his chest screams protests. “I’m sorry, Aang.”
“Me too,” Aang says, and then he straightens up, though he doesn’t throw off Zuko’s arm. “But it doesn’t matter. I failed the world at Ba Sing Se. It can't happen again."
Hakoda stands silently as his kids finish loading supplies onto the saddle. Zuko, who Katara sternly told to stay still, Tui, Zuko, you don’t have to be moving every second of every day, is standing next to him. If Hakoda doesn’t look so hard at the red fractal scarring that peeks out from under his tunic, the way his face seems to lose color far easier than it retains it, Zuko could almost pass for healthy.
“Tulok, I really don’t think we need ten pounds of seal jerky.” Sokka says, jumping down from Appa’s back.
Tulok gasps, affronted.
“Have you forgotten your roots so quickly, boy?” He demands. “What are you eating for meat, then?”
“We eat vegetarian a lot, actually.” Zuko says, and Tulok’s eyes go comically wide.
“Vege- what the fuck is vegetarian?”
“Aang doesn’t eat meat, so we make most meals without it!” Katara says cheerfully.
“You wound me, cuz.” Tulok claps a hand over his chest, and staggers back as though he’s been stabbed. Katara giggles and shoves him all the way over, and Tulok lays eagle-spread on the deck, feigning despair, until Bato kicks him lightly in the side to get him back up. Hakoda has to turn away for a moment.
Tulok hasn’t laughed in weeks.
Katara’s laugh grows closer to Kya’s every day.
“Okay, I think we’re ready to go?” Sokka says, and next to him, Zuko stills.
“Great! Help me on!” Toph- who’s terrifying, by the way, though Hakoda will never admit it out loud- holds out a hand, and Sokka rolls his eyes before taking her hand.
“I thought you could metal-bend now, Toph.”
“I’m still working on the metal-seeing part, Snoozles. Why don’t you invent a new kind of bending and then we can-”
“Technically, I invented a new kind of bending!” the Avatar pipes up, a gust of wind settling him on the bison’s head.
“So did I!” Sokka says. “Bo-”
“If you say boomerang-bending, so help me Shu, Sokka, I will throw you out of this saddle over the ocean-”
“Zuko.” Hakoda turns, when he realizes the boy hasn’t moved from his side. “Are you alright?”
Zuko shakes his head and resolutely doesn’t make eye contact.
“Zuko, talk-”
He’s cut off by Zuko throwing himself at him, burying his head in his chest. Hakoda immediately pulls him closer and realizes with a jolt that he’s grown at least three inches since he last saw him. Sokka attaches himself on without too much effort on his left, Katara on his right, and Hakoda tries to push the thought out of his mind that this could be the last time they’re all together.
“Watch each other’s backs.” He says, and Katara holds on tighter. “Be safe, keep each other safe, keep the younger kids safe. I love you so much.”
“Love you too, Dad.” Sokka says, and when he disengages, his eyes are shiny, but his jaw is set. “We’ll meet you at the islands in a few weeks. You have that list of contacts I gave you?” Hakoda nods, and Sokka and Katara go to hug Bato one more time. Zuko lingers for a second.
“I-” He starts and then cuts off. “I... Someone told me- when the war is over- that I could help bring about peace.”
Hakoda is quiet for a moment, before he moves to straighten out one of Zuko’s beads- a deep, wine-dark blue, almost maroon. “You certainly could.”
“You wouldn’t- you wouldn’t hate me?” Zuko asks, and his voice shakes. “If I was Fire Nation? If I tried to end the war?”
“Zuko,” Hakoda says. “how could I ever hate you? Son, if you ended the war and brought about peace- no matter what insignia you are bearing when you do it- I would be the proudest father alive.”
Hakoda is rewarded for this speech with another quick, tight hug, and Zuko’s shoulders shake for just a second, before he lets go and immediately flees to hug Bato, and then climbs onto the bison’s back.
“Bye!” The Avatar yells. “Thank you so much for everything! We’ll see you guys soon!”
The bison takes off into the cloudless blue sky, and Bato comes to stand next to him, gripping his shoulder.
“It’ll be alright, Koda.” he murmurs. Hakoda puts his hand on top of Bato’s, and turns to give him a thin smile.
“We’ll make sure it is.” He says.
“We do need to change clothes,” Sokka admits after they’ve landed on the outskirts of a small island, and Katara and Aang, having already discerned this, come back to camp with armfuls of red clothing with dubious origins. “We stick out way too much like this.”
“I already called the black suit, so no one take it!" Aang yells over.
Zuko knows that they’re right- Sokka and Katara will already be considered suspect because of their light eyes and dark skin; they can’t afford to call anymore attention to themselves through their clothes. But it feels wrong, so wrong, to shed his blue tunic and well-worn boots, to shrug on the red robes Sokka hands to him, even while his fingers remember the proper way to knot the sash.
“You guys should probably take out your beads,” Katara says, and Zuko’s hand flies up to his hair.
“Oh.” he says. “I guess, yeah. They don’t wear braids here, either.”
Katara gives him a thin smile, and helps him unwind the beads from his hair. Zuko takes his hair ribbon and slides the beads through, knotting it around his ankle to keep track of it, and stops when he sees Sokka gather his wolf’s tail into a top-knot.
Top-knots were a symbol of honor, pride; Zuko had never, ever, been allowed to wear one, his father constantly citing his inability to keep up with his lessons, his disrespectful demeanor. But Sokka is sliding a pin around his nonchalantly, like it doesn’t matter at all.
Maybe it doesn’t.
He’s seen it done enough times that it’s terribly easy to gather the top half of his hair into a bun and wrap the red ribbon Katara hands him around it.
“How do I look?” Sokka asks, flexing his arm.
“Terrible,” Toph supplies.
Sokka scowls at her before a look of realization dawns across his face.
“Hey!” He yells, and Toph cackles.
Zuko tunes out their bickering and goes to kneel by the water to see if his top-knot is straight. The reflection that peers back is almost not his own. Dark, long hair, straight jaw, golden eyes. If it wasn’t for the burn that dug craters into the right side of his face, Zuko would almost look like-
“You alright, Zuko?” Aang asks, tying a headband around his forehead to cover the tip of his arrow.
“Fine.” Zuko smiles thinly, and looks away. “Let’s just try and lay low, yeah?”
Having a dance party in a cave is not Zuko’s idea of laying low, and judging by Sokka’s permanently narrowed eyes, he doesn’t quite think so, either.
But Aang has an actual smile on his face for the first time in ages, and Toph is even bobbing her head as she sits on a rock, and Katara looks so carefree like this, swinging around in Aang’s arms. Aang dips her low, and Katara blushes.
“Oh, gross.” Sokka makes a gagging sound, and Zuko elbows him.
“Are you gonna tell me you didn’t see that coming?” He asks.
“Oh no, I saw it coming.” Sokka groans. “But like, in the same way you’d see the monorail coming while you’re strapped to the tracks. No way out, and you just have to wait for it to run you over.”
Zuko turns and stares at his brother. “Should I be concerned-?”
“Recurring nightmare.” Sokka waves him off. “Eugh, if they kiss, I’m gonna have to break up this party myself.”
Turns out, Sokka doesn’t have to worry about that. Even as they make a quick escape on Appa’s back, Aang is still grinning, and he blushes even deeper when Katara leans over and plants a kiss on his cheek.
“I’m gonna go throw up now.” Sokka announces, and is met with a wave of water to his face.
“Don’t act like you’d be any different if Suki was here.” Zuko says.
Katara shoots him a grateful look.
That, apparently, is the wrong thing to say. Sokka immediately turns away, and when Zuko turns to look at Aang and Katara, they shrug, confused. Zuko climbs to the back of the saddle.
“Is something wrong?” He asks.
Sokka stares out at the lands passing beneath them. “When you guys were in the catacombs,” He says quietly. “Toph and I went to the throne room. There were these two girls there who were with Azula. Kuei told us they’d gotten in dressed as Kyoshi warriors.”
“But how could-”
“I don’t know. I mean, Suki was fine last time I saw her, but…”
“If Azula got a hold of them.” Zuko slumps down and scrubs at his face. “Agni. I’m sorry, Sokka.”
“It’s not your fault, Zuko.” Sokka says.
“She’s my sister.”
“Yeah, she’s kind of insane.”
“A little.” Zuko admits, even as a pang of guilt rises in his chest. “Listen. Iroh is somewhere in the Fire Nation- maybe- and if he’s being held, then maybe Suki is, too. Maybe we can find them.”
“Yeah,” Sokka says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “Maybe.”
“This is Fire Nation?” Toph asked, plugging her nose with one hand as Zuko helps her off the small dinghy with the other. “It smells like rotten fish!”
Inwardly, Zuko has to agree. The town Sokka’s designated as the refuel spot is barely anything more than a floating trash barge.
“Hey-” Aang says distractedly, stopping in front of a bulletin board right next to the docks. “This is weird.”
“If it’s another wanted poster of you, leave it, you already have a collection and there’s no point in-”
“No!” Aang interrupts, and grabs Zuko’s arm, dragging him over to the board. “Look!’
A poster has been pinned in front of the normal ones, and is clearly hand-painted. A simple portrait of a young man is painted at the top, and below it reads:
My name is Tadashi.
I was conscripted into the 41st division.
I was 16 years old when I was cut down at the battle of Omashu by order of Fire Lord Ozai.
No land was gained.
No advancement made.
I am one of thousands.
How many more sons will Ozai kill?
There’s no signature beneath, but a small jasmine flower is painted in the corner.
Zuko stares at it, something like anticipation settling heavy in his stomach.
“Isn’t that weird?” Aang says, hushed. “I’ve never seen anything like it before in a Fire Nation town.”
A soldier stationed at the end of the dock is eyeing them warily. Zuko takes Aang’s shoulder and steers him back towards the rest of the group, who are haggling over fish in the small marketplace.
Katara is stooped down a few feet away, and Zuko cranes his head to see what she’s looking at. it’s a child, probably no older than Panuk or Aake. But this child doesn’t have Aake’s flushed cheek, Panuk’s baby fat. She’s emaciated, and the brittle, thin hair that hangs in front of her face is hopelessly knotted up. Katara gives her a small pack of nuts out of her pack, and immediately takes one of the fish Sokka’s just bargained for to give to her as well.
The child’s eyes widen, and she gives Katara a deep sign of the flame, before she scampers around the corner.
“No point in feeding the street urchins.” The merchant grunts, counting out Sokka’s coins.
Katara whirls around on her heels, eyes narrowed. “What?” She demands.
“No point.” The merchant repeats, unbothered. “They’ll go hungry tomorrow, anyways. Takes food out of your own mouth.”
“Why are there children starving here in the first place?” Aang asks quietly, and Zuko nods in agreement.
When they were in the Earth Kingdom, it had been so easy to see what the Fire Nation had destroyed- towns wiped off the map with black scorch marks. Children with burns around their arms, their legs, even their faces, like Zuko. Families missing any men older than fifteen, mothers struggling to protect and feed who remained.
He hadn’t expected to see the same devastation within the Fire Nation.
The merchant snorts and gestures up the river to the metal monstrosity built into the mountain. “They built the factory there a couple years ago. Pollutes the river. No food supply, no economy. No economy, folks get desperate.” He turns to Katara. “Street urchins.”
He swings the wooden doors of his stand closed with a final snap, and Katara steps back, obviously incensed.
“This is horrible!” She fumes. “We have to-”
Sokka claps a hand over her mouth and his eyes flit up to the street corner, where a couple more Fire Nation guards are stationed.
“Let’s talk about this on the road.” He says, and doesn’t loosen his hand till Katara nods.
Zuko stokes the fire as Katara finishes the stew.
“We need to help.” She says quietly.
“We’ll be helping by ending the war.” Sokka says. “We need to move on, Katara.”
“But they’re starving!” Katara says. “And that horrible factory is causing all of it!”
“She’s right.” Zuko says, even surprising himself. “They need help.”
“What could we possibly do?” Sokka throws his hands up. “We can’t go back in time and stop the Fire Nation from being horrible to its own citizens! We have to stick to-“
“-the schedule, I know.” Katara finished irritably. “Fine. We can leave in the morning.”
Katara seems to have acquiesced to Sokka’s demands- oddly quickly- but something’s off about this place.
And Zuko’s going to figure out what it is.
The camp is silent when Zuko carefully gets up from his sleeping bag. The fire is almost completely out, Yue high in the dark sky. Sokka is snoring, and Katara’s pulled an extra blanket over her head to block it out. Aang is asleep against Appa’s back, and Toph’s feet are sticking out from her earth tent. None of them stir when Zuko creeps out of the camp and towards the dock.
He doesn’t remember much about his lessons at the palace. He’d never been allowed to go to school like Azula was; he would embarrass the family. Azula never did. Zuko remembers being half-convinced Azula couldn’t make mistakes, and that maybe he was just doomed to always incur the wrath of his father over mistaken dates in his history lessons.
Zuko glances out the side of the small dinghy he’s temporarily borrowed and sees the green sludge settled across the top of the water, and wonders if, perhaps, his mistakes were not the most pertinent ones in his history lessons.
The Fire Nation is the greatest civilization in history.
Zuko pulls up to the far end of the decrepit docks and creeps out, careful to stay in the shadows while he ties the dinghy up.
A couple of kids are huddled together against the side of a building. Their clothes are threadbare, their faces gaunt. One of them is a firebender; they keep a small fire going, one hand stoking the flames, the other smoothing back the thin hair of a smaller child in their lap.
Other countries, without centralized power, leave their citizens on the periphery to starve.
Zuko pulls his hood higher as he walks over and places the last couple of apples and jerky he’d swiped from Sokka’s pack in front of them. The firebender’s eyes are narrowed, but Zuko keeps his hands up and backs away before the kid makes a move.
That’s why your Great-grandfather Sozin started his holy conquest- to bring the greatness of the Fire Nation to the savages across the world.
The kids tear into the food the minute Zuko is out of their line of sight.
Something hot and angry is stirring in his chest as Zuko ducks around a corner. It is so obvious the destruction this war has wrought on its own people. Why is the Fire Nation so hell-bent on perpetuating a pointless conflict?
A small building on the edge of town is lit-up, even while the rest of the houses are dark, and Zuko ducks through the low doorway.
The tender behind the bar raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment as Zuko sits at the counter. It’s quiet; a few men and women are drinking at tables behind him, with rarely a word passing between them. A small statue of the town patron, the Painted Lady, stands in the corner.
“What do you want, kid?” The bartender says gruffly.
“Whatever you got.” Zuko shrugs.
She raises an eyebrow again, and fills a glass of water, throwing it down the counter at him. “You came in with those other kids, didn’t you?”
“We’re just passing through. “ Zuko says noncommittally. “Needed supplies.”
“And you stopped here to get’em?” The bartender snorts. “Kid, everyone knows this place is a write-off. Might as well go eight klicks east to Nikki and get your supplies there.”
“Didn’t have the time.” Zuko says, and puts the glass down. “What happened here, anyways?”
“The war happened.” The bartender says, and it might be Zuko’s imagination, but she straightens up, quiets down, when she says it. “The war effort meant more production. Meant the factory. Every citizen has to do their part.”
Zuko narrows his eyes. This is why he had such an uneasy feeling around this place. “But it’s destroyed your-”
“Have you heard the tale of the son of the Jasmine Farmer?” the bartender asks. Her hands are tight around her rag.
“What?” Zuko blinks.
“The tale of the Jasmine Farmer.” The bartender repeats, and she stares steadily at him.
“Uh.”
“It’s a well-known tale.” She says. “There was a jasmine farm at the edge of an archipelago, passed down from father to son. The farm had known fair weather and terrible storms, good farmers and bad, but it always grew plentiful crops, no matter what.”
“I don’t know-”
“When the farmer was on his death-bed, he called his son to him,” The bartender blazes on, as though she can’t hear him. “And he told him that the reason their crops always yielded abundance was that a benevolent spirit guarded the farm.”
‘How can this be?’ The son asked. ‘I have not seen nor felt any spirit protecting me.’
‘The spirit does not protect you.’ The father refuted. ‘The spirit protects the farm and its inhabitants. Do not harm the farm, nor its inhabitants, and the spirit will persist in its blessing. But harm this land, or one person on it, and the blessing will break and turn. Promise that you will abide by these rules.’
‘I promise,’ The son said, and the father passed away.
Years passed, and the son grew and had a child himself, and the son grew careless in minding his father’s rules, even becoming cruel at times. His son, just a child, witnessed his father’s callousness and spoke out against it. The father grew enraged with his son and killed him for his disrespect. The spirit, witnessing this act, broke the blessing that guarded the farm."
The bartender finishes wiping down the counter, and turns to look at him.
“What happened next?” Zuko asks, and the bartender shrugs, a wry half-smile forming on her face.
“Don’t know,” she shrugs. “We’re still living in it.”
Zuko stares at her. Before he can open his mouth, the woman places a small Pai Sho piece down in front of him. A wooden jasmine piece, cracked in the middle.
“Come by the bar tomorrow night,” the bartender says. “If you want to learn what happens to the farm.”
The small Pai Sho piece seems to burn a hole through his pocket as he docks the dinghy and climbs out to start the short walk towards camp.
Everything about the woman screamed that she wouldn’t exactly be first in line to lay down her life for the Dragon Throne. That doesn’t necessarily mean she isn’t dangerous, but isn’t the enemy of his enemy his friend?
A stick cracks to his right, and Zuko whirls around, fire alight on his hand.
“Who’s there?” he demands.
“Zuko?”
There’s some rustling, and Katara emerges from behind some bushes. Red paint is marked in careful strokes on her face, and she’s wearing a flowing white fabric tied off with rope. It looks familiar, and Zuko spends a second trying to place it before-
“Are you pretending to be the Painted Lady?” He hisses, stepping forward. “Katara, that’s so dangerous!”
Katara shushes him and throws a panicked glance towards the camp, but no one makes a sound. “I just-” She groans. “I need to help, but I can’t exactly waterbend without getting in trouble, and this seemed like the easiest solution, so- wait.” Her eyes narrow, and she jabs a finger in his chest. “Where are you coming from?”
“Uh,” Zuko closes his fingers around the Pai Sho piece in his palm.
“You went out to look around, didn’t you?” Katara accuses.
“Maybe.”
“I can’t believe you’re yelling at me about ‘dangerous’ when you’re-”
“I didn’t waterbend in a Fire Nation town-”
“You’re literally their prince, you dumbass! ”
“Okay, okay.” Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, let’s just- are you gonna be stupid?”
Katara crosses her arms. “Are you?”
“Not on purpose!”
“Fine.” Katara says, offering him her forearm. “I won’t tell Sokka if you don’t tell Sokka.”
“Definitely let’s not tell Sokka.” Zuko agrees, and clasps her forearm in promise. “He’d kill us.”
“I think Appa’s sick!” Aang announces after breakfast the next morning. “His tongue’s a weird purple color!”
“Oh, no!” Katara says, eyes wide and concerned. “We better go see if we can get medicine in town for him.”
“We have a lot of ground to cover,” Sokka objects.
“Appa can’t fly when he’s sick.” Aang says crossly. “He gets sick days and vacation days, Sokka.”
“Yeah, Sokka, you’ve been working us too hard, anyways! Appa needs medicine!” Katara says.
“Fine.” Sokka relents. “Let’s go see if they have any. But we’re leaving tomorrow.”
Zuko catches Katara’s eye and raises his eyebrow, and she flushes before she turns away.
Katara is already gone when Zuko quietly gets up that night. Her sleeping bag is suspiciously lumpy, when Zuko takes a closer look at it, and some of Appa’s straw is missing. He rolls his eyes, but pulls his hood up and creeps quietly towards the dock.
The bar is as quiet as it was the night before, and when Zuko approaches the bartender- a man this time, with a large scar through one eyebrow- he flashes the Pai Sho piece in his palm. The man glances at it before he jerks with his head towards the back, and Zuko follows him. The man silently leads him to a supply closet. He moves a shelf in the back, and knocks three times at the door behind it. The door opens, and the man gestures Zuko through, before leaving to go back to the bar.
The room is small and cramped, with a table shoved to the side overflowing with maps and documents, and far too many people in it. The bartender from yesterday stands in front of Zuko, arms crossed.
“So, you showed.” She says, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t think you would.”
Zuko meets her gaze, even when it begins to flit to his scar. “What’s happening here is wrong. And I think you think so, too.”
“Perhaps.” The woman agrees. “If we are to trust each other, we need to exchange names. I am Teruko.”
Zuko weighs and measures his choices. He’s not a great firebender, only maybe a passable one, but he’s gotten out of worse situations than this, if it does go wrong.
“Zuko.” He says. Teruko’s eyes widen, and now she’s staring unabashedly at his scar.
“Is that your full name?” She asks, and Zuko can feel his palms heating up.
“I-”
“We’d heard stories.” Teruko says, and one of the men comes to stand behind her. “We couldn’t believe they were true.”
“Stories?” Zuko manages to croak out.
“That you had returned.” Teruko says, and her eyes avert to the ground. “Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.”
She bows deep, forehead to the floor, and every other person in the room immediately follows suit. Zuko stares at their backs, feeling deeply uncomfortable.
“Please,” he begs. “Please, rise.”
Teruko does first. “It’s true, then?” She asks, and her voice is oddly cold. “Your father killed you, but you returned somehow?”
It’s shocking, how blunt she says it.
“Yes,” Zuko says, and murmurs go throughout the small room. “I can’t really explain how.”
“The White Lotus informed us that you were traveling with the Avatar.” Teruko says.
“The White Lotus-?”
“Yes, yes, your uncle-”
“My uncle?” Zuko repeats, and oh damn it all to Koh, he’s dumb, isn’t he? Iroh had practically screamed that he was working with a rebellion of some sort, and that spirits-damned white lotus Pai Sho piece-
“You’re a rebellion.” He says, and feels stupid when the man next to Teruko laughs.
“Well, yes, but we don’t generally call ourselves that.”
“I thought-” Zuko stares at the faces staring back at him. “I thought the Fire Nation didn’t have any rebellions-”
“Oh, kid.” Teruko says, and grins, gesturing at the table behind him. “We’re not even the only group in this area. Though-” She frowns, turning towards the man. “-we lost contact with Chan in Gaoling, didn’t we?”
“You have groups in the Earth Kingdom?”
“Freedom doesn’t belong to any nation.” Teruko crosses her arms. “And it’s every nation’s responsibility to fight for it.”
But-” Zuko stares at them. “How is it possible- how have they not tracked you down?”
“They have.” Teruko says shortly. “About half of our members have already been carted off to that work camp up near the Caldera.” She looks back up at him. “We’re aware of the cost, Prince Zuko. We’ve been marked for years. Might as well do everything we can before our time is up.”
The use of his long-dusty title does not get past Zuko, who looks over the cramped room with a growing fear gnawing in his stomach, but something like determination in his head.
“Okay.” He says. “Okay. How can I help?”
Teruko grins sharply at him.
“You know that factory down the river?”
The plan is simple in its complexity.
The factory, which produces the sheet metal then used to make everything from ships to weapons, is polluting the river. They’ve been walking a tight line between sabotaging the factory enough to make the products unusable and making the authorities suspicious enough to punish the entire town.
Teruko also explains that the man who is constantly at her right, who gruffly introduces himself as Katsuo, has been working at the factory for a little over six months, and has managed to identify a gap in the patrols, a few hours after midnight. If they can get in and mess with enough of the machines in subtle ways- remove some bolts, deaden some fires, make sure enough paperwork goes missing- the plant will have to shut down for at least a few weeks, and they can make their next move.
“And what’s the next move?” Zuko asks suspiciously, and Teruko shrugs with one shoulder.
“No one should know everything about everything.” She says, and the look on her face is hard enough that Zuko decides not to question her further. She tells him to meet them about a mile outside the plant in the dead of night, the following night.
“Last chance to back out, take the Avatar, and run. We might get caught. “ Teruko says, crossing her arms. Yue is new tonight; Zuko can barely make Teruko out without Her light, and it takes Zuko a minute to realize he could just, you know, firebend to make light. “This isn’t something we can guarantee we’ll come back from. Maybe you should sit this out.”
“I’m a little new at this Prince thing,” Zuko says. “But don’t I, like, technically outrank you?”
Teruko’s eyebrows shoot into her bangs, and she lets out a surprised laugh. “Technically, yes.” She admits.
“Then you can’t really tell me no.”
“Technically.” Teruko says. “But I have to strongly advise that you-”
“Do you know many people I’ve seen here, starving? Kids, mostly?” Zuko interrupts. Did you know, I spent the past four years in the Southern Water Tribe? They really don’t have much of anything. We’ve completely decimated them. And yet, no one goes hungry. Every single member of the tribe is taken care of. How can we possibly claim to be the greatest nation in the world when our own people are starving?”
“We can’t.” Teruko agrees.
“So, then, I have to do something about it.” Zuko says. “You can’t stop me.”
“Prince Zuko,” Teruko tilts her chin up. “I wouldn’t want to.”
She places a fist at the heel of her hand, and bows, and Zuko can’t stop the grin that takes over his face when he bows back.
“Let’s go then,” Teruko says, and nods towards the dark factory, looming in the distance.
But before Zuko can take a single step forward, the ground shakes, there’s a distant boom, and fire explodes out the front of the factory, blowing debris in the river below. Teruko straightens up and glances at Katsuo, who’s gone very pale.
“You didn’t-” Teruko starts.
“No.” Katsuo croaks out. “No, I wouldn’t be this stupid.”
“Then who-”
The ripples over the water seem a little too consistent to be natural, and when Zuko steps out onto the bank, he sees two dark figures gliding quickly over the water. He can’t stop himself from letting out a string of filthy swears that would definitely get him smacked if Kanna was here.
He lights his hand and holds it up to his face as the dark figures approach the bank, and by the time the Painted Lady and Kuzon the Definitely Very Normal Fire Nation Colonist Child step onto the riverbank, they at least have the conscience to look vaguely sheepish.
“The Painted Lady-?” Teruko asks in a hushed tone, and Katara’s eyes widen.
“Not quite.” Zuko says shortly, and gestures at his sister, who’s expression has already molded into sheer defiance by the time she rips off the gauze around her face.
”You- you’re a child. You’re both kids.” Katsuo says. “Did you- did you two just blow up that factory?”
An alarm begins to sound by the blown-out factory, and Teruko swears and gestures for them to stand closer to the cliff-side.
“It was polluting the river.” Katara says. “I had to help-”
“They’re gonna rain hellfire down on us.” Katsuo says distantly. “There’s no way they’ll just-”
“Katsuo, breathe, ” Teruko says firmly, wrapping a tight hand around his arm. “You all need to go.”
“But-” Zuko starts, but Teruko shakes her head.
“Prince Zuko.” She says, harsh. “You can do much more from the Dragon Throne. To go down now, for this- It’s selfish. Go!”
Zuko stares at her, until Katara grabs his arm and begins pulling him away. He keeps staring as Teruko and Katsuo sit down side by side on the cliff, and watch the factory burn.
Toph and Sokka are awake when they get back to camp, and Sokka looks three seconds away from pulling his hair out by the root.
“Where the fuck have you been?” He shouts, boomerang in hand. “I wake up to an explosion, and you’re all just gone? You have three second to explain before I start smashing heads-”
“Katara and Aang blew up the factory.” Zuko says dully, wrenching his arm out of Katara’s grip and going to pack up his sleeping bag. “We need to go before they send more authorities to investigate.”
“You did what?” Toph crows. “Hell yeah, Sugar Queen! Rock on!”
“Zuko joined a rebellion!” Katara yells. “And I was just trying to help- they’re starving, Zuko-”
“You think I didn’t see that?” Zuko demands, whirling around. “Katara, I fucking saw. Do you even know what they’re gonna do to this place? To anyone they think is responsible?”
Katara’s gone slightly pale, and Sokka steps between them, jaw set.
“We have to go.” Sokka says. “We can’t let them get Aang or Zuko.”
“No.” Katara says resolute, though her eyes are shiny. “I’m not leaving them.”
“There’s nothing we can do.” Zuko says, and tries to soften his tone. “Other than end the war.”
“Maybe there is?” Aang steps forward, even though Sokka turns on him next.
“Oh, don’t think you’re getting out of this just because you’re the “Avatar” or whatever,” Sokka says. “What you did was so dangerous and stupid and completely-”
“Listen to me!” Aang pulls off his headband, running his hands over the short black hair that covers his tattoos. “Listen, I know, we didn’t think, but maybe we can still stop them from destroying the town?”
“How?” Zuko says. “We fucked up, but if we get caught, we definitely can’t do anything to help these people.”
“Sparky’s right.” Toph says. “We should just go.”
“No, listen. What’s the one thing everyone in this town people would actually fear if it turned against them?”
“I don’t know?” Sokka throws his hands up. “You?”
Aang makes an affronted noise. “I don’t want people to be afraid of me!” He says indignantly, then shakes his head. “But no, no- who do they all actually respect? Like, who would they listen to?” Katara stares at her hands, where red paint is smeared from her face. “The Painted Lady.” She says quietly, and Aang beams at her.
“Whaddaya say we give the town a little spirit action, chalk the explosion up to some divine retribution?”
“I’d say that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” Sokka crosses his arms. “Everyone on the bison, let’s go, chop-chop, little terrorists, we have a schedule to-”
“Let’s do it.” Zuko interrupts his brother. “I think we have to at least try.”
Katara lifts her head, and gives him a little grin. “Let’s at least try.” She agrees, and puts her hat back on. “I’m feeling spirit-y tonight. Toph, can you supply some ground-shaking terror?”
Toph leaps up, cracking her knuckles. “That’s the greatest thing you’ve ever said to me!” She cries. “Let’s go!”
“I hate that that worked.” Sokka slumps down, hands over his eyes as they speed away from the clean river and non-destroyed town. “Please don’t ever blow up a factory ever again.”
“No promises.” Katara says cheerfully from Appa’s head, and Sokka just groans harder.
Sokka’s bad mood hasn’t dissipated by the time they land in their next stop, the last before they head to the islands that Sokka’s designated as the meet-up space before the invasion. He doesn’t perk up, not even when Zuko suggests heading into town for dinner instead of cooking.
“Is he...not eating?” Zuko half-stage whispers, glancing at Sokka’s hunched over back.
“Snoozles isn’t eating?” Toph demands. “Not even the meat? Oh, spirits. The world must be ending.”
“I can hear you guys!” Sokka grumbles, turning around.
“We weren’t trying to be quiet!” Toph shoots back. “Either tell us what’s wrong or shut up!”
Sokka scowls and turns back, and Aang kicks Toph’s ankle before calling,
“Sokka, is something wrong?”
“It’s fine.” Sokka says, and Katara raises her eyebrow at Zuko, who shrugs. He can’t think of anything that might have upset Sokka lately.
“Sokka?” Katara asks. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just hard, sometimes.” Sokka mumbles, and Katara shoots out of her chair at the same time Zuko immediately stands up, and they sit on either side of their brother.
“What’s hard?” Zuko asks.
Sokka won’t even meet his eyes, and that’s enough to make Zuko think of those terrible weeks after Yue’s sacrifice, when Sokka talked little and slept less. “You’re all incredible benders, and that’s great, it’s so cool to see you guys develop your gifts, but-” Sokka makes a noise of frustration. “I don’t have anything like that. I can’t- I can’t protect you. I’m useless. ”
It’s silent for a second, while Katara shoots a panicked glance at Aang, who looks just as bewildered.
“Sokka.” Katara says firmly. “You’re the farthest thing from useless.”
“Pretty sure we’d all be dead by now if it wasn’t for you.” Zuko says, and nudges his shoulder against Sokka.
“Honestly.” Toph pipes up. “You’re the only one here with half a brain cell.”
“Hey!” Aang says indignantly, and there’s a plick and a gasp of pain, like Toph’s just thrown a pebble against Aang’s arrow.
Sokka shrugs one shoulder. “I guess. I just don’t really see how I’m contributing, right now. Dead weight.”
“I’m really sorry you’re feeling that way,” Katara says. “But I hope you know that none of us see you that way. Hey, I know what will make you feel better!”
“What?” Sokka groans.
“Shopping!”
The shopping trip works well enough, but the advice of the shopkeeper to go see the word-master who has an estate at the edge of the town for training works even better.
“Are we sure we should just let him go see a random Fire Nation guy for training? What if he gets caught?” Katara asks, wrapping her arms around her stomach as they eye Sokka’s retreating figure.
Zuko snorts. “The last time you were loose in a Fire Nation town without supervision you blew up a factory.”
“You joined a rebellion-”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re both idiots, we get it.” Toph groans. “Spirits. It’s gonna be so boring around here until he gets back.”
Toph is about as good at predicting the future as Aunt Wu.
They spend the next few days in various stages of boredom and heat stroke, until Toph sits straight up one day and yells, “Sokka’s coming!”
“Hi!” Sokka says brightly as he walks into camp. “I need help wi- ugh-” The wind is knocked out of him as the younger kids go flying towards him, wrapping their arms around him. Zuko snorts at Sokka’s half-annoyed, half-pleased expression.
“I need help,” He complains, as Aang makes kissy faces at him, squishing his cheeks together. “not hugs.”
“Sshh.” Toph shoves a finger over his mouth. “No talking.”
Sokka makes desperate eye contact with Zuko, who shrugs at him, smirking, until the kids finally show mercy and let go.
“How’s training?” Katara asks. Sokka grins.
“Great! Master Piandao says I’m doing really well- I’m actually about to forge my own sword, and I need some help moving that meteor.” He turns to Toph. “Wanna bend a really big rock?”
“Snoozles,” Toph sighs. “I would like nothing better.”
The estate is at the top of a hill, and Toph and Aang are able to subtly bend the rock while Zuko, Katara, and Sokka pretend like they’re pushing it, until they reach the front door.
Zuko stares at the lotus design carved into the wood, a niggling feeling in the back of his head. There’s no way- “Hey, Sokka?” He asks slowly, running his fingers over the carving. “What did you say this guy’s name was?”
The door swings open, and a tall, familiar man with tan skin, and lines by his eyes that used to wrinkle whenever he laughed at Lu Ten’s antics, wide hands that used to correct Zuko’s stance without hitting or burning or pinching, not once, dark eyes that widen, staring at him-
“Zuko,” Master Piandao croaks out, “They told me- I didn’t dare think it true-”
Zuko swallows the lump that’s already taken up half his throat when Piandao takes a step forward and wraps his arms around his shoulders.
“Hi, Master Piandao,” Zuko manages to get out.
Piandao’s estate is almost exactly how Zuko remembers it- immaculately kept gardens, massive windows, sunlight spilling across the floors, the hall of students-
It takes Zuko about ten seconds to find what he’s looking for.
Lu Ten, eyes crinkling in amusement, though he wasn’t allowed to smile for the portrait, stares at him, perpetually frozen as a teenager. Zuko remembers sitting a few feet away, legs swinging, chattering to his cousin, as the portrait was done.
“It is one of my greatest regrets that I didn’t have one done for you.” Piandao says quietly, and Zuko shakes his head, fingers grazing the parchment.
“I wasn’t really one of your students.” Zuko says.
“Didn't seem to matter so much, after the-” Piandao glances at Katara, Aang, and Toph, who are trailing them with wide eyes, unabashedly listening to their conversation. Sokka had been dragged away by Fat to the workshop to forge his sword, with Piandao promising to meet them soon.
Zuko shrugs. “They know.” He says simply, unable to look away from the picture. “I, uh, woke up in the Southern Water Tribe.”
“I was told. I just didn’t know how much to believe- even after many others told me, too.” Piandao says. “You’ve been on quite the reckless adventure, young man.”
“Wait, wait-” Toph interrupts. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused. Isn’t he Fire Nation?”
“I am.” There’s a note of amusement in Piandao’s voice. “But the way of the sword does not belong to any one nation.”
“Neither does Pai Sho, apparently,” Zuko turns to him, one eyebrow raised, and Piandao chuckles.
“I see your uncle finally got to you.” He says, and slips a small white lotus tile out from his pocket, flipping it between his fingers.
“He did get to me.” Zuko admits, the guilt heavy in his throat. “But he’s gone. I-I let him get captured-”
“That wasn’t your fault, Zuko,” Katara says firmly.
“If anything, it’s my fault,” Aang butts in, and Zuko looks up sharply
“It is not your fault, Aang, you were unconscious. If it’s anyone’s fault that Iroh’s gone and probably dead, it’s me-”
“Prince Zuko.” Piandao interrupts sharply, and spirits, Zuko is never going to get used to that stupid fucking title. “Your uncle is not dead.”
The room goes silent, and Zuko turns to look at his old master. “He- he’s not? But I saw him get captured-”
Piandao snorts. “You think something as trivial as getting arrested for treason would take down the Dragon of the West? No, no, Iroh is very much alive.” A ghost of irritation passes over Piandao’s face. “How that man manages to send enough messages to annoy me from a prison cell is beyond me-”
“Uncle’s in prison?” Toph asks. She steps forward and subtly wraps her hand tight around Zuko’s fingers, squeezing tightly enough that Zuko feels less like he’s floating above the room. “Where?”
“The Caldera,” Piandao shakes his head. “A prison a few klicks from the palace, used mostly for political prisoners. It’s practically impenetrable.”
Toph squeezes, once, twice, three times, and Zuko understands her meaning perfectly.
Prisons are only impenetrable until someone breaks into them.
And luckily, just by coincidence, they’ll be up that way within a few weeks.
Piandao brings them to a small garden outside, and Zuko can remember, painfully well, playing cards with Lu Ten on the stone ground, giggling and shoving his cousin when he cheated.
“I need to get back to Sokka, but please, wait here, and we can all have dinner together. Your uncle will be overjoyed to hear that I’ve finally set eyes on you. In the meantime, Prince Zuko-” Piandao hands him a scabbard. “If I remember correctly, you favored these quite heavily. Perhaps you’d like to get reacquainted?”
Piandao disappears back into the house, and Zuko stares down at the unassuming black leather of the scabbard.
“What is it?” Aang demands, lifting himself up on a gust of wind to look over Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko carefully pulls out the sword within by the hilt, the metal glinting in the afternoon sun.
“Oh, it’s just a sword.” Aang blows a raspberry. “Boring. Hey, who wants to play air ball with me-?”
Zuko separates the sword into two, each half equally well-balanced in his hands, and feels a grin spread across his face.
“Two swords?” Katara asks dubiously. “That seems a little excessive,”
“Dao.” Zuko corrects, flexing his wrist as he moves the swords in concentric circles. “It’s not two swords- it’s two halves of the same sword.”
He whips one above his head, inadvertently taking off the leaves of a nearby tree branch, and Katara gives a surprised laugh.
“You already know how to use them?” She asks.
Zuko nods and pulls the halves together again. “My cousin.” He says. “Lu Ten trained with Master Piandao when I was little. I came with him, and Master Piandao let me train, too.”
“You’re a firebender,” Toph points out. “Why would you need weapons?”
Zuko gives a half-shrug and very purposefully does not think about the dark, rough skin splotched across his torso, his arms. “I wasn’t very good at it when I was younger. A lot of firebenders make their first flames as a baby, but I think I didn’t spark until I was five or six.”
“How old was Azula?” Aang asks curiously.
“Six months.” Zuko says, and laughs. “Mom told me she lit my hair on fire.”
“That tracks.” Katara says darkly. “She’s crazy.”
“Ozai is a lot worse.” Zuko says, and slides the swords back into the scabbard. It feels right, hanging over his shoulder. Like he was missing a part of himself, and now it’s returned.
Katara makes a disbelieving sound, like she’s going to argue with him, but Aang distracts her into a playing a game, and Zuko runs through the katas he remembers, thinking of a little girl with bright eyes and hot fire in the garden, running away from him, giggling.
Sokka’s sword is dark and far heavier than any weapon Zuko’s ever seen, and Sokka’s pride for it is even denser. They leave Piandao’s estate a few days later, burdened with extra supplies, a white lotus tile in Sokka’s pocket, and Piandao’s promise to contact Iroh.
The islands where they’ll meet the rest of the invasion forces are only a few hours’ flight away, and they arrive several days ahead of schedule. Sokka spends most of their free time hunched over maps.
“Don’t you have this memorized by now?” Zuko asks him, the night before the fleet is due to arrive. It’s late; the rest of the kids are already asleep.
Sokka doesn’t tear his eyes away to say, “Maybe, but we need more back-up plans, in case Aang can’t get to the Fire Lord, or something else goes wrong in the palace, or-” Sokka cuts off. He glances up at Zuko. “Are you gonna be okay, going into the palace?” He asks quietly.
Zuko is meant to accompany Aang through the tunnels under the Caldera, in plan A.
Zuko shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter if I am or I’m not.” He says. “This has to be done.”
“I know he’s, like, the worst person in history,” Sokka says hesitantly. “but Ozai’s still your dad, Zuko.”
“He burned off half my face in front of a crowd, Sokka.” Zuko says, and only feels a little bad when his brother cringes, intaking a sharp breath. “And he killed my mother. I’d kill him myself if it wasn’t Aang’s job.”
“It’s not one that I want.” Aang says, mumbled, and Sokka and Zuko both look up. Zuko had thought the younger kids were all asleep, but Aang is staring at them with wide eyes.
“What, Aang?” Sokka asks.
“Killing anyone.” He repeats. “It goes directly against everything I was taught.”
“Aang.” Zuko says, and forces his tone to be gentle. “Do you know how many deaths he’s responsible for? How many more people he’ll kill?”
“I know, I know,” Aang shakes his head, rubbing his hands over his dark hair. “You think I don’t know that? Acting in self-defense is one thing, but to go to the palace with the intention to deliberately murder someone? It’s not right.”
“I was your age when he killed me.” Zuko says bluntly. “I was twelve, and I was defenseless. Don't you get that he won’t hesitate to kill you, too? He'll-”
Aang gets up, face paling, and within a few seconds, has disappeared completely from view of the fire. Zuko stares into the darkness, his stomach curdling sour.
“Uh,” Sokka says. “I think you maybe were a little harsh, Zuko.”
“You think?” Zuko scrubs at his face. “Fuck. I’m an idiot. He’s a kid.”
“Go find him, I’ll stay here.” Sokka says, and Zuko, the guilt already settling around his neck like a whetstone, doesn’t need anymore prompting to take off in the direction Aang went.
The islands aren’t big, but Aang has a habit of finding the most precarious, isolated areas and shoving himself into tight corners, so it takes Zuko a couple of hours to cover all the ground.
Zuko finds him as Agni’s face is barely cresting over the ocean, drenching the sky in the palest pinks and blues. He carefully climbs down the cliff-face, and settles himself on the ledge next to Aang, who has a razor in one hand, and is staring out over the water with a blank expression.
“You’re right, aren’t you?” Aang says, and his voice is rough, like he’s been crying. “I have to do it.”
“Aang-” Zuko takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you. All I did was scare you, and it wasn’t okay.”
“But you’re right.” Aang insists. “He did kill you. And maybe- maybe I have to just do it.” His hand tightens around the razor, and he reaches up to touch the edge of his arrow, just barely visible under his hair.
“I won’t let anyone else get hurt because of me.” He says. “I failed everyone once already. I won’t do it again.”
Not too terribly far away, the Princess of the Fire Nation climbs the steps to a prison cell once again, her cloak wrapped tight around her. Her uncle sits with his back turned, his head bowed, showing only his bedraggled hair and dirty neck.
“Today’s the invasion.” Azula says by way of greeting. “Mai, Ty Lee, and Father are already underneath the palace.”
Uncle doesn’t respond. He never does.
“I don’t know why those idiots would still try and invade, after I clearly learned their plans in Ba Sing Se.” Azula studies her nails. “But if they’re dumb enough to get killed from a little lightning, then-”
“Azula.” Uncle says, and Azula freezes to the spot.
Uncle turns, and his face is determined, his eyes bright, though he hasn’t seen the outside of this prison cell in months. “Your brother did not die from your lightning.”
“He’s not my brother,” Azula says automatically, though the words feel wrong, even now.
The boy in the catacombs had looked so much like her.
Like looking in a mirror.
Like looking at a mirrored past where she knelt on cold stone while Father towered above her, hand alight.
“Azula.” Uncle says again. “Zuko did not die. Despite your father’s best efforts. And yours.”
“Why are you even talking to me, now, after months?” Azula snaps. “What, all it takes is one mention of my idiot brother, and you're finally ready?"
Uncle’s eyes soften, if just for a moment. “I love you just as much as I love Zuko.”
“Loved Zuko.”
“Love.” Uncle repeats firmly. “And I will say that to you as many times as it takes before you understand that what your father has done and will do, is not love.”
“Love is a weakness.” Azula says, and her mouth feels bitter. Uncle raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s a weakness to be cut out. Have fun rotting away in your cell, Uncle. I’ll see you after the invasion.”