Chapter Text
Sokka watches as Zuko scales the cavern’s rocky wall. It’s relatively easy, with many footholds. He doesn’t want to be too high, that it would make jumping off dangerous and that he wouldn’t be able to hear any potential conversation between a firebender and Aang and his friends. He needs to be just high enough to give him an edge.
In the end, the Oasis chooses where he hides. There’s only one place that would work to hide him enough and not keep him from being able to know when to engage.
He peaks over the edge. Sokka smiles at him, shooting him a thumbs up. Zuko reciprocates after a second of hesitation, then retreats back into his hiding spot.
He hopes he’s wrong, that he leaped to a conclusion too quickly, and that Zhao’s target isn’t the Oasis at all, but it’s all fitting together a little too neatly.
Zuko stays hidden, listening to Sokka’s hushed words to Yue, her soft words back to him.
Katara, quiet and severe, warning Aang to not hold back. That makes Zuko pause. There’s a story there. He pushes it away for now.
Now, all they can do is wait while the world outside shatters.
The whine of wood creaking jerks Zuko out of his half-awareness. He sticks his head out, his movement pulling Katara’s gaze to him. Her eyes widen, and she stands up quickly, her action pulling up the others with her.
The two share a moment — a split second of terror. If the Fire Nation is here so quickly after the dawn attack, when the ground starting trembling, then it’s no mistake at all. They’re not just trying to take the city, they’re going to eliminate the waterbenders.
Zuko pulls back, hiding amongst the darkness as the door opens.
A soldier steps into the Oasis. The bone white markings of their skull helmet are stark in the natural low light. Then another, and another. Four soldiers.
Lastly Zhao steps through the threshold, crushing any hope that was left that he could be wrong.
Zhao follows his soldier’s gaze, clocking the three people standing guard.
“Clever,” he mutters. “Or-” he moves forward, and the soldiers around him part, flanking him at his sides as he approaches the pond. “— Perhaps an unhappy coincidence.”
“Zhao,” Aang brands his staff. It turns up dirt and crumbles the grass with the force. “You don’t have to do this. You can turn back.”
“And why would I do that, when I am so close to becoming a greater legend than even you, Avatar?”
Zuko can see Aang’s reaction, even from where he’s perched. He tenses, teeth gritting. Even the Avatar would not be able to placate Zhao’s drive for glory. And Zhao’s not the type to care how many corpses he must climb over to get there.
The soldiers are antsy. Hands clenched, ready at any moment to strike out while Zhao parades himself in front of them. Zuko tenses.
He has the advantage of height and surprise — he can take out one soldier at the very least, two if he’s lucky, before the situation will dissolve into chaos, then at least, they have more of a number advantage. He holds steady, sweat beading on his forehead, debating when to strike.
Zhao is at the bridge now, eyes on Aang like a hungry komodo-rhino. Humiliation is driving him now. Zuko understands that anger-born humiliation better than most. He’s embarrassed, and desperate, and that makes him unpredictable and more importantly, deadly.
Aang’s voice, still pleading, is only strengthening Zhao’s resolve. No one’s looked up, looked around. Aang holds their attention resolutely, working in Zuko’s favour, at least for now. When is the issue.
Zhao gloats some more, words not important. Zuko waits. Katara’s hands twitch with anticipation.
“It’s for the best that you’re here,” Zhao says the words slowly, like it’s sat on his tongue for an age, preparing for this moment. “I can eliminate waterbending once and for all, and neutralise the threat you pose. I want to see it on your face.”
All pretence gone, the soldier closest to the pond dives to the ground, reaching for the fish circling each other in the pond.
Katara’s hand jerks, encasing the man’s arm in thick ice, heavy enough to keep him pinned for at least a moment. Zhao moves as well, striking a blow at Sokka, and capturing Aang’s attention as he deflects it. Zhao takes the moment of Aang’s distraction to turn to the pool, readying himself to strike
Zuko leaps from the cavern. He hits the ground in a roll, remaining still on one knee as he, strikes out at the closest soldier with enough force to send them on their back, winded at the least, armour smouldering. Katara finishes the soldier off with a swift and brutal whip to the head, knocking him unconscious.
Zuko spins, avoiding a confused blast of fire, draws his swords, and stabs cleanly through the solider’s lower left abdomen, right where Zuko knows the armour ends. The soldier falls and doesn’t move. Red stains the bright green grass. Zuko’s heart stops beating for a horrible second.
Silence befalls the scene. One soldier lay dead, the second unconscious, and a third with their arm cased in ice. The final solider stands in front of Zhao, chest heaving from an unseen encounter with Aang.
They both stare at the intruder, a firebender dressed in white, swords drawn, defending the enemy. Zuko sees the exact moment when they both realise who they’re looking at. Zhao shoves past the solider, eyes wilder than Zuko has ever seen. He raises a fist, and levels a blast at Zuko’s face. The blast is fast, vicious, and hot. He barely deflects it, fire singing his shoulders, and lets it fizzle out on the moisture-rich grass behind him. Zuko holds his stance, and Zhao’s gaze.
Smoke smoulders from Zhao’s hands, his face is twisted up in disgust. After a moment he breathes out, relaxes and laughs. “Oh, this just keeps getting better.”
Zhao takes another step forward, flicking his gaze between the Avatar and the Southern waterbender, making vile comments in his mind at the connection. “Banished, and now a traitor. There is a special hell that awaits you, prince Zuko.”
A foreign calmness settles over Zuko as he watches Zhao’s face. There’s no more need for Zhao’s lies now. He doesn’t have to pretend to respect Zuko, and somehow, that brings more relief than anything else. He’s a real traitor now. He’s attacked a Fire Nation Navy Commander, murdered one of his soldiers, and all Zuko can feel is relief.
Zuko breathes in deep, eyes closed and feels the burn of fire in his chest rising then breathes out fire billows out from his nose. He keeps his stance. Katara and Aang remain stoic and ready, just the same as him.
“Nothing to say? How unlike you, Prince Zuko.”
Zhao draws a breath, twists back slightly, and Zuko moves, dodging Zhao’s kick as fire spews into the surrounding trees. Some catch, others splutter out. Zuko remains crouched, as Katara strikes — water from the lake pummels the final solider’s chest, throwing him backwards hard enough that he keeps rolling once he hits the ground.
Aang turns to Zhao, sweeping his staff in a brisk motion, forceful but cautious. Zhao tries to dodge, but it catches him enough to knock him off balance. He stumbles, just as the other soldier frees his arm from Katara’s ice. He ignores his superior, and reaches out again. This time, no one’s looking at him amongst the chaos. The soldier snags the white fish and throws it in the direction of Zhao, who catches it, reaching out with both hands blooming with flame in an impossible move as he tries to catch both the fish and himself in his fall.
Zuko hears someone yell, and he moves without thinking, lunging for Zhao as he recovers, taking a few steps forward to maintain his balance.
Several things happen quickly: Zhao catches Tui in a violent palm full of white-hot fire; Katara encases the soldier again in ice, this time, almost his entire frame; Zuko reaches Zhao, throwing himself at the man and tackling him to the ground with all the strength he can muster, and the entire world disappears into a muted grey.
Zuko pulls himself off of Zhao’s chest, near flailing in his effort to see Tui, but before he lays eyes on her, Zhao’s face tells him everything he needs to know. He’s smiling, uncaring that Zuko has him pinned. The burnt corpse of the moon lays next to them, and all Zuko can see under his grip is hatred.
Then, Aang screams, filled with a guttural pain and frustration, as Katara’s own water cascades around her.
Zhao takes advantage of Zuko’s shock, grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him off of him. He lands next to Tui and a violent desperation that he hasn’t felt since the early days of his banishment fills his bones with such a rush, his own speed surprises him.
Zhao’s retreating back is a target, and Zuko charges him, fire bursts out, igniting the oasis in a brightness that feels foreign without the moon. Zhao holds fast but stumbles. Curses slip from his lips as he realises Zuko will catch him.
Zuko reaches out, snags the shoulder plate of Zhao’s armour, and puts all his strength into throwing him backwards.
Zhao sees it coming and twists, unable to stop himself from hitting the ground, but turns at the last second, making sure not to leave his back vulnerable, and lands in a squat.
Slowly, Zhao rises from his crouch. The twitch of the corner of his mouth doesn’t leave.
Zuko flicks out a blade hidden in a pocket of his pants in reply. He hears the muffled sounds of anguish behind him, the two waterbenders experiencing a pain that Zuko can hardly even fathom. It’s a level of cruelty that he’d detached himself from, refused to believe his nation capable of until an Earth Kingdom man forced him to look. How can he hold an ounce of pride, when this is his country? How can he kneel and swear loyalty when his home is what tried to destroy Katara and her people? The ruined villages that spread across the Earth Kingdom tell a story of violence that was caused by his people.
Zuko came North to protect the Avatar from a monster. He just forgot that monsters look like men.
Zhao twitches, then thrusts an arm forward with a burst of fire, and Zuko dodges, rolling to the side. The fire strikes closely behind him as the heat billows against Zuko’s back. Zuko bares teeth, and strikes once again, attempting to pin Zhao down once and for all, but Zhao predicts his move and pivots. Zuko catches himself before he overcompensates and hits the ground, one hand hitting the grass. He uses the leverage to stabilise himself and narrowly avoids a violent blast of fire that singes his shoulder and ear.
They pause for a moment, the only sounds Zuko can hear is their heavy breathing. Zuko strikes first this time, fire blooming along the blade that’s seen him through more fights than he cares to admin, handcrafted by Earth. A flurry of blows are exchanged — Zuko lands strikes as does Zhao, until the sudden silence behind them cuts to short, unwillingly pulling their attention away from their fight and back to the Oasis. The pond glows, illuminating both the glittering grass and the bodies of the fallen and incapacitated soldiers, one killed by Zuko’s own hands. Distantly, Zuko realises that the glow is from Aang. The water ripples and begins to rise, gathering more water with it than contained in the pond until it stands, towering over even the mighty Water Tribe walls.
It’s a kind of power that’s otherworldly- like the old stories Uncle would tell of him of spirits pushed to the brink and then some. There should always be two fish in the pond. The Moon Spirit was killed and balance has been disrupted, and now the Ocean stands over this village with a goal that Zuko can fathom a guess at.
He wants to kill the firebenders.
Zhao mutters under his breath, bringing Zuko plummeting back to himself with it. Pale, a sheen of sweat forms as he realises the ocean himself seeks revenge.
The creature stands tall, formless and glowing. It reaches out with tendrils, wrapping around the bodies of soldiers fighting in the city and crushes them, throwing them into icy water outside the city walls. He’d call it a monster, if he didn’t understand the spirits. The Moon is dead, and Aang is the vessel for the Ocean to wreak havoc on those who’ve disrupted the balance of the world, who ripped the Moon away from its eternal partner.
As the Ocean begins to move further into the city, it’s back facing the Oasis, he can see the tiny form of Aang, arms outstretched, with a single-minded goal of revenge. It’s a power he only understood conceptually, but to see it before him, his knees tremble.
A sob behind him tears him from his reverie, plunging him back to reality, but he doesn’t have time to find its source, as Zhao disappears from in front of him, making for the door with an impressive speed.
Zuko turns back just quick enough to see a scene of despair. The three of them crouched over Tui, their expressions hidden by the unnatural darkness from her absence. Any reservations he might have had deep with him seem to evaporate at the sight. Another culture destroyed and for what?
Iroh would scold him, but Zhao’s retreating back fills him with a determination that he knows he can’t leave alone.
“He won’t get away!” Zuko calls out, only waiting long enough to see Sokka look up at him before he takes after Zhao through the icy grey streets.
They dodge bodies of Fire and Water alike, corpses littering the ground no matter where they seem to step. There are dark splatters of blood along walls and footpaths. The Ocean still slowly moves above them, arms sweeping down, carefully leaving the Water Tribe men and devouring the Fire.
Zuko finally catches Zhao at a bridge, stretching across a narrow waterway, a burst of Zuko’s flame forces Zhao to stop, igniting his tunic, and he tears it from his shoulders, growling. He tosses it to the side and turns around.
Zuko and Zhao face each other, silent for only a moment, as the screams of Zhao’s soldiers roar distantly just over the wall.
“I never thought it would come to this, my Prince,” Zhao says, taking a stance, fists at the ready, no longer smiling. “I thought many times I’d like to kill you, but I never thought you’d side with them, I never thought I’d kill a traitor,” he spits out the words with venom.
A noise rises from Zuko’s throat, visceral and real. These people are just that — people — and Zuko understands that he too once believed Zhao’s violence, but how can anyone look into the eyes of the little children of war torn countries like Shoh and Taru, or the weathered faces of people who’ve lived in fear since the day they were born like Lia. All Zuko can find in him is disgust at hearing those words, and looking at the man who spoke them into the air.
“Murder is murder, Zhao. The Water Tribe will make sure you reap the consequences of this. I’ll see to it.” Zuko replies, sliding a foot back for a more secure stance and raising his hands, ready.
“They’re not even benders now, Zuko. I’ve won, and the only one I answer to is the Fire Lord himself.”
Zhao steps forward. Zuko matches him. The Ocean flows through the city, melting and forming again as it pleases, but even its presence fades in comparison to the pounding in Zuko’s chest. It’s not his place to take revenge, but he can’t let Zhao walk away. Even if the fight is lost, Zhao cannot leave unscathed and victorious. There’s rope hanging off Zuko’s waist. He’ll hand Zhao over to any survivors and let them decide his fate.
Zhao strikes first, a flurry of quick bursts that Zuko dodges by hopping up onto the bridge’s boundary. Zhao aims for his feet and sweeps fire like a scythe. Zuko leaps over it, landing behind Zhao, who twists to face him just as quickly. They exchange more blows in much the same way: Zhao strikes hard and fast, orange fire lighting up the dying world around them as Zuko flips and spins, striking when an opportunity opens itself. Then: the world changes, lights up, colours bloom in Zuko’s vision and soft white and blues arise again, illuminated by the moon. He breathes out, unsure how this can be, but not finding it in himself to care. There’s a crash, the sound of splashing water, and yells of vindication somewhere past the wall and hidden among buildings that tell him that Zhao’s plan has crumbled.
Zhao is still, staring up at the moon, eyes blown wide. “No!” He screams. Zuko doesn’t try to respond, taking advantage of Zhao’s distraction. He hits him with blast after blast until Zhao is on his back and Zuko’ fists are inches from his face.
“Do it,” Zhao hisses.
Zuko grunts, flipping him over onto his back as he unhooks the rope and quickly ties Zhao’s arms behind him, and then his ankles. Once secure, Zuko leans in close, grabbing material around Zhao’s neck and pressing him into the ground, perhaps harder than he needs to but no less deserving. “Your life or death is dependent on the mercy of those you tried to eradicate,” Zuko returns.
The Ocean is suddenly rising up from around the bridge, enclosing around them. Its long tendrils reach out, prying Zuko’s hands off of Zhao and pushing him back away from him. He stumbles, but the Ocean doesn’t let him fall, soft water levelling him to his feet.
Then, it envelopes Zhao, dragging him off the bridge. Zhao thrashes, desperate for purchase, a sound echoes from his throat that’s violent and guttural, but all Zuko does is watch, and La drags him to the river below them.
The Water judged him, and found him guilty.
The city still stands as dawn breaks.
The wounds are visceral, and even when washed out of the snow and ice, Zuko knows the people will never forget what happened this day. What sacrifices had to be made to ensure their survival.
There are too many bodies to bury, and the Princess’s death echoes around every corner, with every gust of wind it carries her sacrifice. Even Zuko can feel it, despite exchanging only a few words with her.
Walls and architecture created and designed by beloved Waterbenders long since past now lay in ruin. Their touch and impact erased in a single night. Zuko can’t help feeling haunted the longer he stays here. A responsibility weighs upon him. It was his people after all, no matter how much they'll want his head on a spike after his actions. It’s still his blood, his country.
He joins Aang and the others in the cleanup, sticking close to them. He’s not afraid, but he doesn’t know the Warriors, and they don’t know him. They have just fought a battle for their lives against people who look like him, and he doesn’t want to take a chance that he might bear the brunt of someone’s anger. His survival here banks on the Avatar’s trust and the word of the civilians in the bunker.
In the hours until dawn and just after it, everyone’s eyes drift to him. He senses it with every step, like there are eyes in the walls themselves. He never considered the aftermath. Zuko was lucky that Lia saw his intentions through to his very bones, but he also knows Lia is special. Most only have their eyes and an intuition on whether a stranger can be allowed to breathe the same air they fought to protect.
It’s only when he finds himself separated from the others that fear finds its way into his heart. The sun has long since breached the ocean, peering over the snow and ice and making it shine impossibly. A man snatches him away, piling boxes into his arms, and then accompanying him with his own as they trudge through winding streets to am unknown destination. His hair has been pulled out of its wolf tail, and he hasn’t tried to fix it, nor has he tried to do anything about the blood on his tunic, or the deep, painful looking bruises across his forearms.
Zuko trails behind the man, and tries not to let the silence threaten him. Most of the civilians are gathered together, working hard to make priority areas usable again, caring for the wounded and gathering essentials. Zuko’s not sure what’s in these boxes or why they’re moving away from the others, but Zuko is not in a position to question anyone here.
Eventually, they arrive at a large cavern, formed roughly, indicating a lack of care and personality. It’s not a home. He pauses outside, steps unwilling to travel across the threshold. He isn’t sure of this man’s intentions. Perhaps it’s as simple as using the extra pair of hands, or maybe it’s another test — likely with fewer words and more fists if Zuko knows anything about soldiers.
The warrior steps into the house. When Zuko doesn’t follow, the man sticks his head back out, gesturing for Zuko to enter. When that doesn’t work, the man walks up to him, carefully removing the box from his hands, and shuffles back inside. He doesn’t seem angry, but Zuko still can’t be sure, or bring himself to cooperate. At least here, someone might see that Zuko didn’t initiate whatever conflict may erupt.
“There’s nothing to be frightened of,” the man says once he emerges from the darkened storage room. His voice is gruff, yet warm. Zuko’s shoulders shudder. “Not if your loyalty is as true as the Avatar claims.”
“It is,” Zuko says. “I've committed the greatest betrayal in the eyes of my county. They’ll do everything they can to kill me now,” Zuko hears himself talk, and knows the words he says are true, and yet the whole world is a little far away to be real. He swam through arctic waters, boarded a ship as a stowaway, attacked and assaulted an officer of the Navy, personally killed a fire nation seaman and, at the very least, indirectly killed his crew all to ensure the survival of people he never met. His father is going to want his head and more.
His body begins to feel the consequences.
The man gestures again for him to come closer, and this time Zuko trails along behind him. His legs burn now that he’s aware of the ache, and the rest of him is a moment away from catching up. The Warrior finds a low ledge jutting out from a wall. It’s meant to be decorative, but he lowers himself down onto it with a wince. He pats the space next to him.
This, Zuko follows. What else is he to do?
“I am Yosko.”
“Zuko.”
Yosko huffs, leaning his head against the wall.
“A reflection of my heritage,” Zuko offers.
Yosko breathes quietly. “As is mine.”
Silence descends. Zuko cannot fathom Yosko’s intentions. Mostly, the man seems tired. There are deep lines in his face that make him look older than he is. There is no anger that Zuko can sense, only a sadness. It doesn’t dull Zuko’s suspicions. Their view is a ruined bridge, piles of displaced snow and ice that Zuko remembers seeing upon entering. Its carvings destroyed. He knows the waterbenders can re-create it, but he’s not so stupid that he doesn’t understand that that’s not the point.
“News travels slow to us, out here,” Yosko breaks the silence. “We isolated ourselves for our own protection, but that isolation also has left us vulnerable.” He doesn’t look at Zuko as he speaks, just gazes up at the sky — pale blue and cloudless. The sun pierces the cold just enough that makes being here in the heart of water possible for Zuko.
“We hear about things late, or not at all. It allows fears to fester and hollow us out. Until the attack, it sometimes did not feel real.”
Zuko understands he is building up to a point. He waits Yosko out.
“The Fire Nation tried to eradicate my people. How can someone of your status, possibly end up here, sitting next to me in the heart of the North Pole, when the alternative is a life of luxury?”
Zuko stares at Yosko, drinking in his question, and fumbles a way to answer. He knew the truth of his identity would spread the second that Aang had to swear Zuko’s allegiance was genuine to the Chief, but the answer still seems impossible. For Yosko’s sake, he knows he must try.
“I met a man, Manu, in the Earth Kingdom. He asked me to find his daughter. She’d been taken by human traffickers.” He doesn’t attempt to hide the bite in his words at the thought of those men.
“I managed to get her back to her father. After that, it happened again. A woman whose husband was a greedy scumbag, a man who was stealing from an Abbey…” He doesn’t mention Taru, fearing that Yosko would take it the wrong way, that Zuko is inflating his own importance in this conflict.
A tiny frown has formed across Yosko’s forehead.
“I guess it’s hard to hate the enemy once you understand them,” he finishes lamely. How else can he explain it? He spent three years exploring the world. He’s met civilians and soldiers; poor and rich; benders and non-benders; lawmakers and lawbreakers; spiritualists and scientists. How can he walk away from that and not realise the great lie?
When Yosko doesn’t say something immediately, Zuko continues, trying to hide his desperation to be believed.
“I killed a Fire Nation seaman today. I may have killed my own fucking crew, and the thing is, I don’t regret it. I murdered a fellow countryman and I didn’t feel anything at all.”
His eyes suddenly burn and he ducks his head. “I know this is my destiny, I understand that now, but I murdered my friends to do it,” he finishes with. “My crew were good men. They stood by me all this time and never buckled, even when I strayed further and further from our country’s cause.”
Yosko speaks only after Zuko is left breathless. His words are quiet and said with meaning. “If your men are as half as good as you say them to be, then they’ll understand why you chose this path. There’s nothing to forgive.”
His throat burns and Zuko doesn’t trust himself to reply.
“My son says you’re the bravest soldier he’s ever met,” he says after a minute.
Zuko looks up at him.
“Taru. You took him back to my wife.” A ghost of a smile flits over his face.
Zuko’s head swims through the exhaustion and finally puts the pieces together — why the man singled him out, isolating him. For no nefarious reason at all, but for his son.
He curses under his breath, rubbing his blistered and bruised hand over his face.
Yosko just laughs loud and hearty.
He extends out a hand, and Zuko stares blankly. Yosko reaches out and takes Zuko’s corresponding arm in his. He clasps Zuko’s forearm, and Zuko catches on, grasping back.
“Welcome to the North Pole.”