Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For a kingdom of fire, the nights were unnervingly cold. Katara crossed the courtyard, pulling her robes closer, wishing she had on her water tribe skins. She should be asleep right now in the ridiculously feathered bed on the other side of the palace, where the rest of the Team had been given rooms. But tomorrow morning, she and Aang were setting out on Appa back to the Southern Water tribe, and her time was running out. She had to act now.

Besides, she had a feeling he would be awake as well.

The grounds were quiet; most of the guards were still stationed outside the palace or back in the coronation plaza, dealing with the last stragglers from the celebrations. It had been a week since the end of the war, but the air around her was still acrid, the residue of the battle lingering. She swallowed thickly, casting another furtive look to ensure no one else was around. As she slipped into the east wing of the palace, she winced at the sound of her footsteps, echoing against the walls. Why did the hallways of this blasted place have to be so tall and dark? Fingering her water flask, she moved down towards her destination. At the sight of the massive double doors and large gold insignia, she paused, anxiety roiling in her stomach. This was a bad idea, she knew; Aang’s disapproving face hovered in the back of her mind. But then she caught a smokey whiff of the wall sconce and was pulled back into the image of the blue lightning arcing towards her, and the maniacal grin of its caster.

No, she must do this.

Throwing open the door, she pulled short. The room was, like the hallway behind her, largely dark. Still, from the few small lamp flames hanging at the opposite end, she could make out the massive size of the Fire Lord’s throne room, its vast ceilings so tall Appa could only reach it on his hind legs with ease. Five rows of massive pillars held it up, detailed in 9 intricate, rows of gold ornamentation. But she had little patience or focus to look closer at the design, as her eyes were immediately drawn down the center of the room to the end, where, upon a raised dais, the throne stood empty. Its new owner was below it in deep conversation with two men. His gold headpiece, which Katara had seen placed upon his head mere hours before, glinted in the lamplight.

He turned at the door opening, eyes landing on Katara. The conversation between the men immediately ceased. Swallowing, Katara marched forward, refusing to break eye contact.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” she said, wincing internally at the awkwardness of her formal tone. Her eyes caught on the reflection of the flames as they danced on his headpiece.

“...Katara.” His tone was neutral. Despite having spoken to him just days ago, now his voice felt foreign. Something uncomfortable squirmed across her skin as if the lamps suddenly began burning lasers instead of mere flames.

“I need to speak to you,” She paused, glancing at the two other men. One of them was wearing robes of a Fire Sage, with a vaguely familiar lined face. The other was younger in his 40s, wearing well-cut tailored robes, denoting his noble status.

“Alone,” she clarified.

The man in noble robes, standing closest to Zuko, flushed in indignation. “H-How dare you speak to the Firelord in such a manner...you impudent-”

Zuko raised his hand, causing the other man to fall silent. “Leave us,” he said. He said it so quietly Katara could barely hear him, but the words left no room for negotiation.

The noble flushed even more. “But, but my lord–”

“Ukano,” the other man in the temple sage robes, interrupted this time. He gave Katara a gentle smile, before placing a hand on the nobleman–Ukano’s–arm. “It is late, we can always request a meeting with the Firelord tomorrow morning.”

Ukano pressed his lips together in displeasure, glancing at Zuko, who still hadn’t bothered to shift his gaze from Katara’s. Muttering under his breath, he let himself be guided by the Sage out of the hall. Katara stared at the pole to the right behind Zuko’s shoulder, listening to the receding footsteps and groans of the large doors to the room as they opened and closed, leaving just the two of them. Katara hadn’t thought it possible, but suddenly the room seemed even more cavernous.

Zuko’s posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing an inch. “I’m surprised you’re still up, Katara, I heard you and Aang are leaving early tomor–”

“Is it true?” Katara interrupted. His voice had gone back to sounding like his own, and she couldn’t bear it. The question that had been burning in her brain since two nights ago, when Aang had mentioned it over dinner, had to escape.

Zuko furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry?”

“I heard that you are planning on letting her go–Azula. That you were not going to punish her.”

The reaction was immediate. His shoulders stiffened again, his face matching his posture. There was a pause that seemed, to Katara, to last forever. She felt herself starting to sweat. The lamps burned.

“...I am not letting her go.”

“You’re sending her to a mind healing center. Aang told me. That is basically the same thing”

“She will be in restraints, watched at all times by guards. She will not be allowed to leave without my permission.”

“That’s not enough, she needs to be held accountable.”

“Katara, my sister is sick. You saw her, you saw how she was acting that day. Since then she’s,” he paused, his voice halting. He swallowed and broke eye contact. “She’s had a complete breakdown since the battle.”

“Oh yes, I remember exactly what I saw.” She said, unable to keep the anger from leaking in. Keep calm. She thought. “What I saw was someone who tried to burn me alive, if you had forgotten!”

Katara hadn’t realized she had been yelling. The sound echoed in the chamber. Her chest was heaving. Zuko had not moved, but his face had become more and more stonelike. She looked down at his hands, which had curled into fists.

“...I have not forgotten. She tried to kill me too.” His voice was quiet, so different in contrast to Katara’s own. But her blood was already boiling, pulling at the dark corner of her she so rarely acknowledged. Keep calm. But she could not stop.

“Zuko, you know what she is capable of. She is dangerous. How can you just set her free like this?”

“As I just explained to you, I am not just setting her free, she is sick-”

“She is not sick, Zuko! She is dangerous! How many times has she lied, manipulated us! She nearly killed us, nearly killed Aang.”

Zuko’s stone mask broke its mold, twisting into an expression she could not interpret. His voice began to rise, laced with a dangerous thread. “Oh, so this is for Aang, is it? Are you sure the holy Avatar would approve of a lack of mercy?”

“Aang doesn’t understand, he doesn’t see the bigger picture-”

“It sounds to me like you’re going behind the Avatar’s back-”

“-Aang dealt with Ozai! He is no longer a threat! But Azula is! She is his successor, his blood!”

“So am I!” Zuko finally looked back at her. The phrase whipped out of him, ricocheting across the room before dragging the remaining breath out of Katara. She had a wild longing for Aang to be here now and bend it back in. A small part of her mind was screaming at her, trying to make her see how far she had crossed the line, to demand these things of Zuko. But the much stronger part of her, the one that could still smell the lightning, won. Before she could even realize what she was saying, she opened her mouth.

“You owe me. She--she’s too dangerous. No one will be safe.” I would not be safe. Katara tried to keep this desperation from her voice, but she could tell from the shock that flitted across Zuko’s face, that it was not entirely successful.

Abruptly, as if a cord had been cut, his posture changed. His eyes turned to coal, and he looked away from her.

“That is not for you to decide. Despite everything, she is my blood.” He spit the last word out, bitterly. “And therefore, my responsibility.”

Zuko’s face was empty; any flint that had been there was now gone. Katara’s stomach dropped, and the realization began to set in. Of what she had done.

“I believe we are done here,” he said. It was not a request.

Feeling nauseous, Katara spun on her heels and hurried out of the room, as the shame and horror of asking a brother to punish his sister began to drown her. In her escape, she felt the flames behind her die but was unable to turn back to see what lay in the ashes.

Chapter Text

Zuko was running. The darkness pressed down on his throat, like a vise, but he had to keep going, he could not stop. He had a destination, he knows it, but what that is, he cannot remember. Just that he has to try to make it this time.

He turned down the tunnel, into a vast cave, running past the malachite as they cast green-fingered shadows across him. He heard a sound behind him, one he knew well, yet it did not stop the terror from slicing through his gut.

He turned to face the opposite end of the cavern, to come face to face with the dragon. It is just as large, and electrifyingly blue as when he had seen her last. She stared at him, nostrils flaring, a look of contempt in her eyes. Slowly she unfurled her long tail, dragging it across the dirt noisily as she stalked towards him.

He took a shuddering breath. “Please…please. Please.”

But, like every time before, she only unhinged her jaw and drowned him in her flames.

“My lord”

His eyes snapped open, and immediately blur from the sweat dripping off his forehead. Through the tears, he saw someone hovering, half bowing in that deferential form Zuko detested.

“I’m fine.” He said, swallowing roughly and pulling a hand across his face. Jiro’s face was, as usual, infuriatingly impassive, save for the brief flick of his eyes towards his left side. Zuko followed his gaze down to see the scorch marks now lining the silk sheets under his clenched palms. Great, another set of linens ruined.

“Shall I draw you a bath, my lord?” Jiro asked.

Zuko huffed, and swung his legs out from under the covers. It was annoying how competent his manservant was. “Yes, I shall be ready in a minute.”

Jiro bowed and withdrew from the room. Zuko took his time, swiping his hand across his face again, willing his breaths to normalize. Grabbing his robes he walked towards the windows, trying to gauge the time. The sky was as inky as before he closed his eyes; he must not have been asleep long. He sighed.

Eventually, he went to the baths. As he settled into the shallow pool, he felt his muscles finally start to relax. Lolling his head, he closed his aching eyes. He hadn’t had a full sleep in so long, not since the end of the war, and nearly five years of insomnia had left its marks on his body, no matter how hard he tried to not let it. Behind him, he heard the scuffle of the servants, and the quiet splash as they replenished the hot water.

Finally, he addressed the presence behind him. “What is on my schedule today?”

“My lord, the Council meeting is first in the morning, the trade officials briefing, and in the afternoon, a town hall with the farm workers, the west guard ceremony, and the Interior Minister has requested you come down to the coronation plaza to confirm your plans for the Fire Festival.”

Zuko’s mouth curled. “Oh my, that sounds rather too light, Jiro. I’m disappointed, you usually are much better at working me to the bone.”

“I apologize, sire, I shall reflect thoroughly upon myself and endeavor to do better tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, dear Jiro, all humans make mistakes.” Quite convenient that Jiro cannot find himself among those. “Leave me.”

When he doesn’t hear footsteps receding, he groans out loud. “What is it? Spit it out”

A breath. “Sire..perhaps it would be wise to consider calling for the physician again-”

“No.”

“But my lord–”

“I will not repeat myself.”

Zuko could practically feel his manservant’s frustration. Jiro tried again. “The last several months your attacks have gotten more…frequent. I understand the sessions last time were unhelpful, but Healer Cho is the best in the nation, if you would only let–”

“Jiro!” Zuko snapped, his voice echoing across the room. “I said, no. I am fine, I can handle it. Now leave me to my bath in peace.”

Jiro’s pause was pregnant but wisely he seemed to see it was a lost cause to push Zuko farther. “Yes, my lord. I shall alert you a quarter before the Council meeting.”

As he walked away, Zuko opened his eyes again, blinking through the steam of the room, his mind slipping back to the dream. His nightmares generally stuck to the same several scripts, but this one had not graced him in a while; it left him more unnerved than usual. He could hear Uncle in his head, telling him to look deeper.

He recognized the dragon, of course, it was the same one that appeared when he and Aang had gone to the Sun Temple. But unlike then, here she was slightly different, a shadow version of herself, always glaring at Zuko, offering no answers.

He hated this. Hated the nightmares, hated the way sleep had shriveled into a mere relic of his past, how its lack echoed in his bones. But most of all, he hated that he could not overcome it.

You are weak. Too pathetic to be a leader.

Closing his eyes once again, he let himself drift off to catch a few precious minutes before his day began. He couldn’t tell if the dragon or Jiro was more fearsome.

***

Zuko swept his glare across the vast table that his council sat at. All but one were filled with Fire Nation noble councilors perched stiffly in their starchly coiffed robes, trying desperately not to look him in the eyes. Only Sage Shyu met his gaze calmly.

“Well?” He asked. The old fools were silent. He tried to tamp down the irritation that was bubbling up. He hated this room, hated the looks of these men, many of whom were too familiar for comfort. Giving up on glaring at them all, he turned to his immediate right to zero in on the problem.

“Lord Ukano.”

The man in question, a tall, wiry figure with long oiled hair and a thin face, twitched in his seat, his gaze towards his hands in what was meant to convey deference, but the annoyance of his eyes betrayed him.

“Yes, my lord.”

“It has been nearly four years since we entered into an agreement regarding restoring the Earth Kingdom’s independence. So why is it that I am still receiving reports from Ba Sing Se that several of the Hu Xin colonies are still under your company’s control? As my Minister of the Foreign Relations, and in charge of the implementation, I would assume you have an explanation?”

Ukano shifted slightly. “Sire, those areas of Hu Xin contain several extremely critical mines that have been owned by the Fire Nation for nearly a century. They have been extremely successful and are critical to the livelihood of those villages.”

“Important for the mine owner’s livelihood, you mean.”

Zuko had to hand it to the man, the accusation barely ruffled him. “These mines employ hundreds of workers. The Fire Nation families in these towns have been there for decades, and their ownership has helped grow these colonies into large and prosperous communities. They also provide the crucial steel manufacturing that has powered this nation since well before Lord Ozai’s time—”

At the mention of his father, Zuko’s face, which he had been attempting to portray in a relaxing manner, hardened and Ukano, seeing his mistake, promptly shuts his mouth mid-sentence. The other council members began glancing at each other warily. They knew not to bring up Ozai’s name in front of him.

Zuko said, “Well, as we all know, my father no longer runs this nation. And I care not for the greed of some landowners when they disobey my orders. The land in Hu Xin must be returned to the property of the Earth Kingdom, along with any mines underneath them. I’ll give you a month, otherwise I’ll send in the soldiers. As for the steel…seeing as the Fire Nation army is no longer fighting a war, it seems that is no longer a problem.”

Ukano blinks in surprise at Zuko’s tone. “But sir, you don’t understand—”

Zuko slammed his fist on the large table, causing several council members who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes to jump.

“Enough! I am the Fire lord, and I do not appreciate when my orders are not being followed. You have until the Fire Festival to solve this problem, Lord Ukano. If I do not hear that the land has been returned and the fire nation soldiers that man it returned by then, you may have to reconsider your current position.”

Ukano flushed to match the collar of his expensive robes. He opened his mouth, but Zuko had already stood up. The other council members stumbled to their feet as he turned and stalked out of the throne room. Jiro, the bugger that he was, immediately fell into step behind him silently as he turned down the hallway. God, these meetings were infuriating. All these old councilmen, giving him excuse after excuse, running into wall after proverbial wall that even Toph could not earth bend out of her way. Every meeting with them was a test of his fledgling sense of self-control, and he had just had it.

“My lord.” Zuko paused, relaxing as he saw Shyu walk towards him. Together, they fell in step walking down the hallway.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Shyu kept his gaze straight, his face passive. “Is that so?”

Zuko grimaced, still feeling the after-effects of his outburst, but now trying to fight the creeping shame of acting like a petulant child.

“Yes. But in my defense, we have been discussing the issue in Hu Xin for months, and every time I am fed the same lines. It is becoming ridiculous.” He tried not to hear how this sounded like whining.

Shyu did not betray much of a reaction to Zuko’s excuses. For a moment they continued to walk in silence, before, in a mild tone, he said, “Sire, may I offer a bit of advice?”

Zuko sighed. “Of course, Great Sage.”

People had been shocked when Zuko broke from tradition and appointed the man excommunicated by the temple for helping the Avatar, as the head of the Fire Temple, but Zuko had known he needed allies, and over the past several years the priest had become an invaluable advisor. Unlike some other men. Zuko remembered the empty council seat again and pressed his lips together in irritation.

“My lord, you should be careful not to brush off Lord Ukano so quickly.”

Zuko couldn’t help but scoff. “Brush off? Hardly. He is the one who seems to be doing the sweeping.”

“He is the Minister of the Interior, and has held this position long before you were born. He was chosen to lead Omashu during the occupation for a reason. And he has a lot of support from many of the other nobles of the council. It is not wise to humiliate or threaten his position so openly.”

“He may be a Minister but I am the Fire Lord.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Zuko wished he could pull them back. God, that didn’t sound conceited at all.

Surprisingly, Shyu bobbed his head sincerely. “Yes, that is correct. But you cannot ignore the power the council has. Unless you intend to follow the precedent set by your ancestors.”

Zuko flinched, turning his head to look at Shyu next to him. They had reached the door to his private quarters. The Sage turned to face him, his brown eyes twinkling.

“…I will take your advice into consideration.” Zuko murmured, letting the chagrin leak into the words. As he stepped into his quarters, he turned back to see Shyu bow gracefully, his Sage robes sweeping across the marble floor, before Jiro closed the door between them.

***

Feeling restless, Zuko forced Jiro to clear his afternoon, changed into lighter training trousers and headed down to the field. Typically, the nobility had used the Agni Kai chambers to train, but the idea made Zuko’s skin crawl, so he had ordered to convert up a small unused patio instead. Standing in the clearing, he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. He began to breathe slowly, as he had been taught, feeling the curl of the fire begin in his belly. After several minutes, he began to raise his hands to begin his routine of stretches.

An hour later, he pulled out of his last sequence, releasing a curled flame into the air at the target across the space. As it hit its mark, he bent over, panting hard. He had forsaken his tunic earlier, and the sweat poured down his back onto the burnt field. Standing up straight, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose, enjoying the sting of his tired muscles. His bending felt good, despite his chronic insomnia. When teaching Aang, he had begun a practice of regularly working on his new form of bending, and the habit had stuck. It was in these moments, as he felt the flames race through his bloodstream, worn out from a grueling routine, that he felt satisfaction. Well, at least in one way.

“I can never understand how you can enjoy rolling around like a cabbage slug.”

Zuko grinned. Eyes still closed, he replied, “It’s called hard work. I can see why you wouldn’t see the appeal, given how foreign the concept is to you.”

Mai, who had been leaning against a pillar behind him, rolled her eyes, tossing her black hair behind her as she stepped into the courtyard. “Those who work hard are simply not smart enough to learn how not to.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “Are you accusing your Firelord of being stupid?”

“Of course not. I am simply lamenting on the plague of idiots our glorious nation is beset with. Perhaps you, o great lord, can direct your council to rid us of those in your next decree.”

At the mention of the council, Zuko felt the euphoric high of his exercise start to fade rapidly. “Hmm, well that would require a level of internal inquiry first.”

Mai narrowed her eyes knowingly. “You always tend to come out here after throwing some tantrum.”

Zuko threw her a glare. “I didn’t throw a tantrum.”

“Oh? So one of those old fools didn’t say something, and you didn’t make some ridiculous speech and then storm off like a child?”

“…it was not a speech.”

Mai smirked. “I bet Jiro would disagree if I asked him.”

“Jiro will agree with anything you say. He loves you.”

“No, I think Jiro just loves the idea of me being your queen.”

It was Zuko’s turn to smirk now. Mai’s bluntness was his favorite quality of hers. When they were together, it had a point of tension between them, but now he had grown to appreciate it. “That may be partially true. It certainly helped that your father is the Minister of the Interior.”

Mai hummed, then walked forward and plucked Zuko’s dusty shirt from the ground to hand to him. She waited for him to sling it over his head before answering. “Poor Jiro, I do feel rather bad at dashing his hopes.”

“Liar.”

“Ok, true. It was pretty funny though to see his face go through all those twitches when you told him.”

Zuko sighed and then frowned. “Tell your father to do his job for once.”

Mai rolled her eyes. “God, politics. I couldn't care less about these boring games. Sorry, you and my father are both on your own.”

Abruptly, he turned to Mai with suspicion. “Then why are you here? You never seek me out.”

Mai looked down, examining her nails a little too closely. “Ah.” She paused for a second. “I am to find you for tea.”

Zuko stopped walking. The anger from before started to rise again. “…Tea?”

Mai slid a side glance over to him, a small ironic smile on her lips. “Yes. Your Uncle has been arranging a party for this afternoon and requested your presence.”

He ground his teeth. A bloody party. “Lead the way.” Throwing another smirk, Mai turned on her heels and left the patio, Zuko trailing behind her.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when she led him to the garden. After his mother’s disappearance, it had fallen into disarray until Zuko was crowned and ordered it to be restored. Now, the small pond he and his mother had spent feeding bread to the turtle fish had clear water, with a new school that had been introduced and bred last Spring. Lining the water was a neat row of willow trees and silver wisteria. To the right of the pond, a small footbridge connected across the stream that fed the pond to the other section of the courtyard, which was lined with dozens of rows of Firelily varieties, arranged in a circle around a pavilion. There, underneath the shade of an old banyan tree was arranged a set of colorful chairs with an alarming amount of lace trimmings. And sitting in one of those ridiculous pieces sat Zuko’s Uncle, holding a ridiculously small cup, chortling at something his companion was saying.

At the sound of footsteps, Iroh turned, his face breaking into a large smile. “Ahh Zuko, my boy. Finally! It is good timing, Ty Lee was just in the middle of telling us an amusing tale from her days with the circus troupe. I believe it involved a jealous earthbender, a clown, and—get this—a bear! Just like the one the Earth King has!”

Ty Lee, who had been leaning close to Iroh, turned around to see Zuko and Mai approaching, and he saw the tips of her smile dip as their eyes met. “Yes,” she said, “it is quite incredible. Come join us.” She turned to point that last sentence at Mai.

Mai smiled, cat-like, and slid into the seat next to Ty Lee, her leg brushing hers as she settled. “Don’t mind if I do.” Ty Lee looked down for a moment, before turning back to her tea.

Zuko struggled to tamp down on his irritation as he sat in the remaining chair.

Iroh set down his china and clapped his hands. “You must try this new tea mix. Ty Lee, the dear, has been helping me discover new blends. This one includes a spice imported from the northern Earth Kingdom regions. I myself at first would never have thought to try tea with hot spice, but—“

“Uncle.” Zuko interrupted. Iroh stopped pouring and looked up with an easy smile. “We had a Fire Council meeting today.”

Iroh eased back in his chair slowly. “Ah, yes.”

Zuko gritted his teeth. “Uncle, it is required for all the Councilmen to be in attendance at these meetings. As the Grand General of the Fire Nation Army, you are considered a council member. Why did you not appear?”

Iroh sipped his tea, humming. “I must say Ty Lee, you might be on to something here, with this combination. We must continue to expand to other regions.”

“Uncle!”

“I agree, lord Iroh. I have some old contacts from the circus that used to work in the spice trades, I can reach out to.” Ty Lee said, twirling a lock of her bangs in her fingers.

“Oh, that would be lovely. Do reach out to her if you can.”

Zuko curled his fingers into a fist onto his lap as Zuko and Ty Lee continued to blather on.

When Zuko had been crowned, he assumed his Uncle would come out of retirement (ok, banishment) as General of the army. He was counting on him to be his closest advisor, sticking with him like he did all those years during his exile. And for the first year, that had been more or less the case. Iroh was around, came to meetings, provided advice. But soon he started to drift away, becoming less involved, and now did not even bother showing up for meetings, instead delegating his work to his second-in-command. Apparently, he preferred to blend ridiculous foods into tea with an ex-circus freak instead.

Mai’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Where do you think I found Zuko? Training for hours on the field again, half-naked again.”

“It didn’t seem like you were complaining,” Zuko said, stuffing down his thoughts and taking a sip of his lukewarm tea. Damn, it was good.

Ty Lee finally turned to look at him again. “It seems like such an odd use of your time. Does the Firelord not have soldiers to protect him?”

Zuko takes another sip. “It never hurts to be vigilant.”

Ty Lee giggled, her voice saccharine. “But the war is over? What enemies could you possibly be prepared against these days? There are none. You made sure of that, given the way you treated your own sister.”

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like drinking anymore. Mai placed a hand on her arm.

“Ty,” she said, frowning.

The other girl blinked but didn’t break her gaze.

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. While Mai had long ago denounced Azula and moved on, she had told him privately that Ty Lee still struggled with her defection.

“As Firelord, it is my duty to deal with enemies accordingly.” He replied.

“How very clinical of you.” Ty Lee said.

“It is not clinical, it is justice.”

“And what about loyalty? What about family?”

Mai tightened her grip on Ty Lee’s arm. “Enough. I’m getting bored of hearing you two argue.”

Zuko frowned. “Ty Lee, you have crossed a line. You cannot speak to the Firelord in such a manner.”

Ty Lee shook off Mai’s hand, her smiling facade now gone completely. “God, you are so pretentious. I guess one can only expect that.”

Zuko opened his mouth, feeling his emotions bubbling up again, but the sound of glass shattering interrupted him. He turned to see his Uncle, hand shaking, with his porcelain cup scattered in pieces on the cobblestones in front of his feet. The tea seeped into the ground. When Zuko looked back up, he saw a line of blood run out of the corner of Iroh’s mouth, before his Uncle’s face suddenly drained of color and he crumpled.

Chapter Text

“Master Katara! Am I doing it right?” 

Katara turned from where she had been standing, observing the ships coming in. Mya was waving her arms, which was hardly new; Katara had never seen the 8-year-old not moving. A thin stream of water was snaking up from a puddle, trembling as the child clumsily tried to bend it. Katara could see the weaknesses—her arms were, as usual, too twitchy and uncertain—and knew the water would likely collapse again, but the look of pure joy on Mya’s face provoked a smile on Katara’s as well. 

She walked away from the edge of the bridge to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder as the stream predictably fell back to the ground. “Good job,” she said. 

Mya beamed up at her toothily. Katara had taken the girl under her wing five months ago, excited to find another female Southern water tribe bender. True, the girl’s father was actually from the North, but still. It was a small seed of hope to sprout after so many years of terrible war. 

Katara bent down, murmuring her advice into Mya’s ear. The girl nodded, but she caught sight of a friend walking across the hill and began waving happily and clearly, not taking much of the words in. She was so easily distracted. 

Katara stepped back after readjusting Mya’s hands to demonstrate the flow again, and she began to copy her, brows furrowed in concentration. Slowly, her hands worked through the movements, and a thin liquid rose from the puddle, higher this time, but instead of freezing into ice like it was supposed to, it shuddered and immediately dissipated. Katara winced inwardly but tried to placate the disappointed her. “It’s ok, Mya, these things happen, we just–”

“Katara.” A voice behind her interrupted. Katara turned to see a wiry old man standing behind her, his face cast in his typical frown. 

“Master Pakku,” she said. She could tell he wanted something but knew not asking more would annoy him. 

As if he could hear her thoughts, his frown deepened. “End your little lessons now; your father has requested your presence at a meeting.” 

Katara looked down to mask her annoyance. Master Pakku had made it no small secret what he thought of her sessions with Mya, but despite herself, his message intrigued her. Her father never usually called her for council-related meetings; Sokka handled those, and it must be important for Pakku to come himself instead of sending one of his pupils to fetch her. Her curiosity won over her desire to be contrary, and she turned to her own student.

“Mya, we will pick this back up tomorrow morning. Keep practicing your stance.” The child smiled, bobbed her head quickly, and immediately high-tailed it. Katara watched her retreating figure for a moment, stifling a sigh.  

She turned to look at Pakku, and the two of them began to walk down the bridge into the village. For one, blissful moment, she thought he would not say anything.  

“Still trying to train that girl, I see,” Pakku said, sniffing. 

Never mind. “Mya has made incredible progress over these last several months.”

Pakku snorted. “You have been working with that girl for nearly half a year, and she can still barely manage an elementary-level move.”

Katara pressed her lips together. “Everyone learns at a different pace.”

“It is not a question of pace. She has very weak flow and more importantly, is not interested in bending. You are wasting your time.”

“Mya is still young,” Katara said levelly, although internally, she was remembering herself at eight, staying up past her bedtime just to practice molding the ice cubes under the covers. 

“And you do not have the skills or patience to teach her.”

Katara flushed, stopping in her tracks. “ Not enough skills? I trained the Avatar!”

Pakku stopped alongside her, looking unperturbed at her sudden change in attitude. “Exactly. No regular student will have nearly such a natural gift for water bending as an airbender-borne Avatar. After the basic theory, he could watch a river to learn the rest. Everyone cannot be avatars, however. And some are just naturally stronger benders than others.” 

Katara bristled. “If I’m such a bad teacher, then why do you not take on the girl?”

“I only train warriors.”

“You mean you only train boys. ”

Pakku leveled her with his gaze. “I trained you, didn’t I?” He watched as she struggled to respond for a moment before nodding and walking again. “And that girl is a healer.”

“That is incredibly small-minded of you, Master Pakku. She is a child; who knows what she will be?”

He shook his head. “No. I mean, she wants to be a healer. When her parents first brought her to the council, I interviewed her to see if she should join our school. But she told me her dream had always been to be a healer.”

Katara blinked. “Oh…I did not know you spoke with her.”

“Of course you did not,” Pakku said. “You were still flying across the world with that airbender boy, off following that pointless dream of his.”

Katara winced. She had accompanied Aang on his searches for other airbenders off and on for several years. After the war, she thought she would be so happy to go home, but when Aang asked her to go with him, she agreed. She had told herself at the time that Aang needed this from her. But here she was, four years later, without him. 

“Still,” Katara said after a moment. “She could always change her mind.”

Master Pakku shook his head, his eyes suddenly soft. “Did you?”

Katara was saved from answering as they arrived in front of her father’s tent. She took a moment to collect herself before nodding at the guard and lifting the flap, following Master Pakku inside. 

Looking around the warm, carpeted space of the Chief of the Southern Tribe’s main quarters, she noticed several men. Her father was seated at his desk. He gave a warm smile when he saw Katara. Standing across from him were two men. One of them, she recognized immediately. 

“...Chief Arnook,” she said, dipping her head slightly. 

The Chief of the Northern Water Tribe was a tall, broad-shouldered man. When Katara first met him years ago, she had thought him imposing, with his thick lines of ink and large muscles. However, now he appeared leaner, his face lined with new wrinkles. Still, in his fine tiger seal skins and azure headpiece, he cut in stark opposition to her father with his simple pants and tunic. Arnook turned his arctic eyes upon her, smiling widely to show off his teeth. 

“Ah, Katara, my dear, good to see you.” The presumed closeness surprised her. She did not recall they’d spoken much over the years since the war, although she knew he and other Northern delegates had been visiting much more frequently to push along talks to unify the two tribes. Talks which, she knew, had not been going smoothly. 

Arnook gestured to the man behind her, a stocky, athletic man with a square face who appeared to be around Sokka’s age. “This is my protege, Hahn.” Hahn grinned, and Katara shifted as his eyes blatantly crawled over her skin. 

“Will Sokka be joining us?” Arnook asked. 

Hakoda opened his mouth, but Katara spoke first. “He is away right now, training with the Kyoshi warriors.” 

The other man, Hahn, snorted loudly. “What is he learning there, how to put on make-up?” 

Katara narrowed her eyes and was about to respond, but her father cut her off.

“Katara, I have called you here because Chief Arnook has something to share,” Hakoda said. His voice was even, but his body was taut. 

“Yes,” Arnook continued smoothly. “As you may be aware, we have been negotiating with the Fire Nation to…return some items.” This sounded familiar. She remembered that several religious temples in the North and South had been looted early in the war, and soldiers had stolen the moonstones inside. The attacks were strategic, as the temples had been the location of many water-bending schools, and the stones had been considered hugely important in focusing the power of the moons. The attack itself was cruelly ingenious; it crushed the training centers of water benders and was a huge loss of morale to have the stones taken. Sokka had mentioned in passing that the tribes had been pushing to have the items returned but had been meeting resistance from the Fire Nation for god knows what reason. Katara pressed her lips together. Then again, what did she know of the Fire Nation’s motives anymore?

With a start, she realized Arnook had paused and was expecting her to respond. “I have heard that the Fire Nation has not cooperated.” 

The Chief’s mouth broadened into another large grin. “Until now, that is. They have finally agreed to release the items.”

Katara’s brow raised. “Congratulations.” She left the question hanging in the air. What does that have to do with me?

Sensing her thoughts, Arnook turned his eyes to Hakoda. Her father cleared his throat. “However, they have a condition. There’s been an outbreak of dragon pox in the capital, and they’ve requested the best Water Tribe Healer to be sent as an envoy to aid their healers. I believe you would be the best choice.” 

Katara felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. She tried to catch her father’s eyes in vain. “But I am a Bender, not a Healer.” 

A brief look of annoyance seemed to flash across Arnook’s face, but in a blink, it was gone. “…Right. But you are trained in the Healing arts, are you not?” 

“A little, but—“ 

“Unfortunately,” Arnook cut in, “Yagoda is too frail to make the journey herself, and all our other girls are too young.” 

Katara narrowed her eyes, feeling a familiar spring bubble up within her. “Then send one of the male benders along, or Pakku.” 

Arnook blinked. Then he let out a short laugh. “None of our men can be taken away right now. And Pakku must focus on training our next set of warriors.” 

She barely restrained herself from the hidden implications of his words. What, exactly, did he need warriors for now? She repeated, “I am a bender, not a healer.” 

Arnook, now prepared for this refrain apparently, waved her concerns away. “That is no worry; those Fire Nation fools will not know the difference. Plus, you women are natural healers, no? And, they will likely be more receptive to you, given your…relationship with the Avatar.” He paused, smirking at her. “And, of course, you know the Fire Lord.”

The thought made her stomach clench. “I cannot.” 

Arnook paused, surprise plain across his features. “…You decline? Do you not realize the significance of this?” He turned to Hakoda, who had been watching silently. “Chief, your daughter cannot just decline.”

Hakoda sighed, glancing at Arnook and his daughter. “Of course, these reparations are important,” prompting a triumphant grin from Arnook until he continued, “But my daughter is her own person and must decide for herself.” 

Arnook frowned, anger twisting across his face briefly until it smoothed into a hollow smile again. The transition was disconcerting. He turned back to Katara. “My dear, I implore you to consider it. I cannot imagine the outbreak will last more than several months. And don’t worry about those Fire Nation bastards. I shall have Hahn here escort you. Unless,” he paused, peering at her sideways, “your Avatar does not allow it. Of course, I would understand.”

Katara considers how inconvenient it would be to slap the man with water from her flask. “I do not need Aang’s permission to say no.”

Arnook’s smile was oily, as if he’d just doused himself in arctic hippo blubber. “Fantastic, then there is no issue, as your father has already consented.”  Katara glanced again at Hakoda, who was studiously looking at his own hands.  

Nonplussed, Arnook continued. “You will be doing an incredible service for your people. Take the evening to consider.” 

Hahn stepped forward, rubbing his hand across the wrapped end of his blade. “And don’t worry, Katara,” he said, his chest out, rather like a spotted puffer, Katara noted absently, “I’ll be there to keep you company.” 

She could take no more of this conversation. “I have already made myself clear. You have plenty of benders; you can easily ask one of them. As I have said, I decline.” With that, she turned on her heel and wrenched back the tent fabric with enough power to sound dramatic but made sure not to rip the cloth. It was imported, after all. 

***

Perhaps unsurprisingly, her father found her later that evening while she was brushing her hair. He stood outside her door, tapping on its icy bricks. She sighed and turned in her chair. 

“Come in.”

Her father stooped at the entrance, glancing around the space. With a pang, she realized that he had almost never been in her room; since her return, she’d mostly seen him at formal dinners or the occasional council meeting. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. As she often did, Katara wished that  Sokka was here; his boisterousness had always been a balm to soothe the sandpaper bridge between father and daughter.  

Hakoda cleared his throat again. She opened her mouth, but he interrupted her. “I’m sorry, Katara.” 

She blinked, surprised, but he continued. “Arnook was right that I did agree with his suggestion to send you as the envoy.” Sensing her about to protest, he held up a hand. “I know you are an incredible bender, not just a healer. And I do not think anyone, myself included, has the right to order you to do anything.” 

Katara swallowed. She lifted her fingers to brush against the stone around her neck, a familiar habit. “I just don’t understand…why would you want to send me away?” 

Hakoda, watching her hands with a slightly sad gaze, stepped towards her and gently grasped one of her hands. She startled at the feel of his fingers, calloused from years at sea, and looked into his eyes. 

“My dear, I know you are not happy here.” 

Flustered, Katara tried weakly to pull her hand from his. “What do you mean? Of course, I am. I’m home.” 

Her father gave a small smile. Acquiescing, he let go of her and sat gingerly at the edge of her bed. 

“You know,” he said. “When the war first ended and I came home, I struggled a lot. I had been away for so long. I was not sure that I could still be the same person I was when I left. Sure, I’d been a good war chief, but could I be a good leader in peacetime…a good father?” 

He examined his nail beds, lost in thought for a moment. “It was Pakku who gave me the best advice. To not fight the idea of change, that I was different, and could decide how to lead based on who I was now, instead of chasing a ghost of who I’d been.” 

“I agreed with Arnook to send you because you are the most brilliant water bender I know, and if anyone can fight an epidemic, you could, no matter if you are labeled a healer or a warrior. But I also agreed because…I think you need this. Whatever it is you’re seeking, I’m not sure you’ll find it here.”

She swallowed. “What else is there to look for? The war is long over.” 

Her father leaned forward. The lamp light reflected off his tattoos and sabertooth necklace. She realized that his eyes were that same charcoal blue as hers. “My child, this will always be your home. But there are still battles left to be won.” 

They sat in silence for a couple more moments. Katara glanced away, finally. “I should start to pack.” 

Seeing that as his signal, Hakoda lurched to his feet. She noticed how time had begun to catch up to her father; how the thick curls of his long hair she used to braid as a child now flecked with grey. 

“Have a safe journey, my dear.” 

***

The ship was to leave before sunrise, so the docks were sparse when Katara approached the vessel. As she began directing the sailors to bring her bags onboard, a strong hand grabbed her elbow. Startled, she turned to see Pakku pulling her along into a side alley. 

“Master Pakku?” 

He pressed a finger against his mouth. “Hush, girl. I wanted to make sure to catch you before you board. There’s something you should know.” He paused, glancing around quickly before continuing. “Arnook is lying about the reparations. I overheard his meeting with the Fire Nation ambassador last night; they were confirming the last of the moonstone went out two months ago.” 

“Then…why did he agree to send the envoy?” 

“I’m not sure; I couldn’t hear the rest. Arnook has not held his position as Northern Tribe leader for no reason. He would never just offer our tribes’ benders out of the kindness of his heart, especially to the Fire Nation. No one hates them as he does, and ever since Yue’s death, he’s only become more–anyway, whatever deal he’s made with the Fire Nation, he’s not telling the truth.” 

“So,” Katara noticed the tips of her fingers had gone a bit cold. “Are you telling me not to go?” 

He peered at her with an unnervingly intense look. “No,” he said after a moment. “Whatever this deal is, he’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t send the daughter of the tribe he’s trying to court into an unsafe situation. You should go; try to figure out what that old man is scheming.” 

Katara was thinking of the irony that Pakku, with his multitude of wrinkles, was calling Arnook old, but her thoughts were interrupted by him stepping close to her and wrapping her in a hug. She felt him press a narrow object into her hands between them.

”Good luck.” He whispered before stepping back, straightening, and clasping his hands behind him before striding back towards the city gates. 

***

Later that evening, under the candlelit privacy of her cabin, she pulled out the wrapped object. But even before she’d unwound the covering, Katara knew it was a dagger. 

Chapter Text

The Golden Dragon was a bit more ambitious in name than in interior. But still, even in the late hours of the night, the dingy pub was buzzing with locals. Zuko hunched over his stool with his ale, which seemed to have been aged in barrels of piss. He took another sip, holding back a grimace, shifting to make sure the hood of his cloak stayed over his face, and keeping his eye on the door. At one end, a prostitute was batting her eyelashes at an overly flushed man in a ratty tunic, and given the way he was blatantly ogling her chest, it appeared to be going well. On the other side, three drunkards, all in the same dusty uniform of builders, were bellowing loudly, slamming down empty mugs at an alarming rate. Zuko’d already spent over an hour with only his cup of urine for company, but he wasn’t worried. He knew his tip was good; he just needed to be patient. 

Not long after he’d polished off his second glass, the man he was waiting for arrived. He was short and balding, dressed in a nondescript black coat and pants, but even across the tavern, Zuko could tell it was of finer quality than the other patrons. The man nodded at the bartender as he disappeared into the backroom. Zuko waited, and sure enough, a couple of minutes later, he came out, shouldering a small pouch. As soon as he left, Zuko slid over his coins and pushed away from his seat. 

Perhaps it was luck, but the moon was waning that night, casting long shadows across Harbor City, making it easy to hide as Zuko followed his target, who had now entered a brisk pace through the winding alleyways. Zuko crept along, pulling his hood lower as the man began to walk faster. Finally, he turned a corner and stopped in front of a large gate. Inside were several warehouses. In the dim glare of a streetlight, was a faded sign: Ellora Coal. Zuko didn’t recognize the name, but he could guess—this was likely an old military contractor that closed up shop after the demilitarization efforts post-war. He watched the man pull out a key and unlock the large metal chain wrapping the gates, huffing as he struggled to pull himself through before locking it behind him. 

Zuko squinted to follow his form proceed across the yard into the first of the buildings. He needed a better view. Turning to his surroundings, Zuko saw a shuttered flower shop across the street with a rusty fire escape ladder above it. Keeping to the shadows, he skirted over. The ladder was farther up than he’d realized, but not impossible to reach. With a quick jump, he managed to grab its edge. Grunting, he foisted himself up. Readjusting his rucksack, he climbed quickly and swung onto the fire escape before grabbing a brick jutting out above to pull himself onto the roof. Glancing around, he found it was perfect; he could see directly into the complex. 

As Zuko suspected, his target was not alone. He counted six men wearing unmarked clothing but carrying scythes that were popular for the local gangs, patrolling the main warehouse. Zuko observed the distance between the roof and the complex. Opening his rucksack, he pulled out his mask, slipping it over his face. As he tied its straps, Zuko felt a blade slide over his mind, cleaving himself into two halves. He took a moment, breathing through his nose as he felt himself shift. 

Finally, Zuko grabbed the rope within the sack, looping it into a firm knot, before swinging it across the street, nodding as it caught onto one of the gate spikes. After securing the other edge to the railing, he tied his bag shut, pulled it taught, and took a running leap, using the pack to swing across the cable. 

He’d slightly overcalculated and came to the other end of the line a little harder than planned. Stifling a grunt as he hit a spoke, he quickly cut the rope and jumped down to enter the compound. But the cord behind him caught on the grates, slamming into the metal with a clang that reverberated across the night. At the sound, Zuko heard footsteps and, seconds later, saw five guards turn the corner, alerting each other. 

“Intruder!” 

Despite himself, Zuko smiled, reaching behind him to pull his twin blades out of the sheaths strapped to his back. The polished metal caught a tiny sliver of moonlight, giving him a flash of his reflection—or rather, the spirit’s. The five men also unsheathed their weapons, slowing to a stop in front of him. Then, they began to attack. 

Zuko dived the swipe of the first man’s blade, retaliating by twisting in the air and planting a hard kick into his chest, hearing his attacker collapse. When two more lunged from either side, he dipped, rotating on his foot to catch them at the ankles. They cried in surprise at the move, falling to the floor, and Zuko took the chance to stab one of them in the knee. He gasped, clutching it, while Zuko turned. The other man had gotten up, and along with the remaining two, lunged, but Zuko was ready. Their swipes were clumsy, making it fairly easy for him to dodge. 

Zuko felt his muscles sing as he bent and bobbed around each man’s attacks. He had avoided yet another slice when he heard a noise behind him. Turning, he saw what he’d missed from the rooftop; there were other men from the warehouse, including his target, who were unarmed and now pushing open the back gate, loading large sacks into a carriage tied to restless cattle. Damn, he’d gotten too distracted having fun. 

Returning to the guards, Zuko dove forward, startling them. He promptly disarmed the first two, then lunged against the other, slicing his arm, before turning and using both blades to slide into the fifth’s leg. As the blood spurted, he turned and ran towards the end of the warehouse. The men who’d been loading the bags saw him and yelled in alarm. A couple of them dropped their packages, fleeing in the opposite direction. As he got to the dock, he saw his target yelling at the carriage driver, pointing toward him wildly. Zuko slowed his pace and adjusted the grips on his blades. The balding man began backing away from the truck, his eyes wide, sweat dripping down his brow. Zuko stopped in front of him, and pointed his right sword at him, nudging the edge of his silk blazer, causing the man to whimper and collapse to the ground. 

“Please,” he begged. “I can…whatever drugs you want, I can get it for you.” His voice was reedy and desperate. “Whatever fix–pain or pleasure–I can help, for free! Please, please don’t kill me.” 

Despite himself, Zuko couldn’t help but smirk. “There’s no drug to fix this,” he said, dragging the metal up the man’s quivering throat.  

But before Zuko could say anymore, however, he felt the air change by his ear and had only a split second to duck as a fireball nearly singed him. He turned, surprised, to see the sixth guard he’d missed earlier. This one was burlier than the others, walking calmly. The guard lowered his hand, adjusting his stance. Zuko noticed the position of the gesture: ex-military. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the balding man frantically begin crawling back towards the carriage, but was unable to stop him before the bender sent another jet towards him. Zuko turned to focus on him and began walking sideways. For a moment, the pair circled each other. Zuko couldn’t help the slight thrill; it had been so long since a real fight. 

The other man broke the silence first, throwing three short flares. Zuko swung to the left to avoid them, but before the other could turn, he crossed the circle, thrusting his left sword towards the man’s chest. The guard dodged, sending a retaliatory flame. Back and forth, the two went. The other was not unskilled, Zuko reflected, but like most soldier firebenders, he relied too much on his flames to save him. Zuko feinted to the right, and the man, taking the bait, planted his feet to bend a more complex move. But as he was mid-form, Zuko hopped on his heel and pounced, his blades flashing, and stabbed an X across the man’s chest. The bender cried out in pain, breaking form as he clutched his chest, blood springing like a geyser and spraying across the ground and Zuko’s own clothing. Zuko watched the man collapse for a moment—he knew he’d only made a shallow cut, nothing fatal, just enough to incapacitate—before spinning around, only to see that during their fight, the other smugglers had managed to get the gate opened all the way, and the carriage loaded. With a shout, the bald man scrambled atop the moose, whipping it frantically. Zuko ran forward, but it was too late. 

The caravan took off through the gates, turning quickly into the Habor City darkness. Zuko felt the euphoria drain from him, with only latent anger in its place. Kicking at a broken scythe, he walked back towards the loading area. As he suspected, it had been cleaned out. He groaned in frustration, but as he turned to leave, Zuko’s eyes caught on a corner near the entrance. He grabbed the fabric, feeling the torn black silk against his fingers. Perhaps this was not a total waste. 

***

Zuko should’ve expected it when he found the window unlocked. Still, as he stepped into the dark apartment, he was caught off guard by the strong blow to his head. Swearing, he spun around wildly as the lamp flickered on. 

“June, it’s just me!” 

The woman lowered her knife, recognition flitting across her face before it was quickly replaced by her normal expression of general disapproval. 

“Why don’t you ever come through the front door like a normal person?” June said, irritation coloring her words. 

Zuko shrugged, readjusting his pack, patting to feel the mask and blades he’d stashed within. “This is easier.” 

She scoffed, turning to light a bigger lamp, which cast light onto the rest of her apartment. “So it didn’t go well then?” 

“How did you know?” 

She faced him again, brows raised as her eyes slid to his chest. “You’re covered in blood.” 

“Ah.” He’d forgotten about that. “No…I mean, your tip was good—” 

“My tips always are,” she interrupted. 

“---But he ran away before I could question him.” 

June leaned her hip against an armoire, jostling the mess of bottles and ashtray on top of it. 

“Well, smugglers are known to do that. Jok hasn’t become so prolific at drug dealing without being a bit slippery.” 

The frustration of the night came rushing back to him. “That doesn’t excuse him getting away from me,” Zuko bit out. “I got distracted.” 

June crossed her arms, watching him for a moment. “And why, exactly, are you so determined to find this guy yourself? If I remember, you might have a fancy little headpiece and title that could help with this.” 

Zuko shook his head. “No, this has to be under the radar.” He glared at her. “You can’t tell anyone, alright? You promised.” 

June threw her hands up in mock surrender. “Trust me, fire boy, I’m not sure anyone would even believe me.” 

Zuko wasn’t so sure about that but refrained from sharing that particular opinion. Suddenly remembering his purpose, he opened his bag, shifting around the contents to get what he was looking for. 

“Anyway, I think I know how to find him now,” he produced the torn portion of the silk jacket that his target, Jok, had been wearing. “With your help, of course.” 

June pushed herself off the furniture, walking closer to pull the fabric from his fingers. Examining it closer, she said, “It’s going to cost you, you know.” 

“Of course.” 

“Alright. I’ll send word when Nyla gives me a lead. But it’ll take a couple of days, I have some other orders first.” 

“I don’t care. This takes priority. I’ll pay extra.” 

June snorted, rolling her eyes. “Fine.”

Then she placed the cloth on her kitchen table and stepped up to his chest, her dark eyes absently tracing across his figure. Zuko noticed she was wearing only a black slip, her shoulders bare to reveal the ink of her new tattoo. 

“Now take off those bloody clothes.”  

***

It was nearly dawn by the time Zuko slipped back into the castle. As was his new habit, he made one stop before his bed. The windows to Iroh’s room had been thrown open, a strong breeze making the drapes twist and turn. Quietly, Zuko drew them closed, before looking over at his sleeping uncle on the bed, his face half-hidden in the dim lighting of the nearly-spent candle. After watching his chest move up and down for a few minutes, Zuko left, closing the door slowly behind him. He must’ve been more preoccupied than he’d thought, though, because for the second time that night, he was caught unaware. 

“My lord.” 

Zuko barely restrained himself from withdrawing his blades in surprise. Exhaling, he looked towards the voice. 

“Jiro, what are you doing?” 

“It is my turn to replace the candles in Lord Iroh’s room.” Jiro’s raised eyebrows silently seemed to be asking a similar question of Zuko, but sweet mercies he didn’t force the man to make up a lie right then.

Zuko straightened, pulling the rucksack behind him. “...Right, of course. Good job.” 

After a moment of silence, he began walking back to his room. 

“As you’ve requested, the Northern Water tribe has agreed to send their best water bender. I believe they’ll arrive this morning.” Jiro said.

Zuko paused, not turning around. “I see. That’s good.” 

“Should I bring them to greet you first?” 

“Why bother? They’re here to do a job. Just get them up to speed. The sooner they get started, the sooner they can leave.” 

With that, he returned back to his quarters to exercise another fruitless attempt at sleep. 

Chapter Text

Katara leaned over the hull of the ship, straining her eyes as First Lord’s Harbor came into view. It felt like just yesterday when she had laid eyes on this same port, fearing the very vessels she was now a guest upon. 

She felt the gentle spray of the ocean, its salty scent wafting across the breeze. As their destination grew closer, Katara found herself anxious; Pakku’s warning had hovered like a specter in the back of her mind, but there were other reasons, too—would five years away truly be enough for things to change? Just being aboard with Fire Nation soldiers walking around brought back unpleasant memories. 

To stave it off, Katara had taken to long, restless rounds through the ship. This spot, a small corner at the front of the vessel in a small observation tower, had become her favorite. With a panoramic view of the sea and relative seclusion, it felt like Katara was floating on an undisturbed island. Most of the crew were situated further back, and others aboard tended to avoid this area due to the choppiness, like—

“Katara!” 

Damn it. Hahn was lumbering up the ladder, his feet scrambling for purchase as the deck dipped left. He wrinkled his nose. “What are you doing up here?” At yet another tide, he clutched his stomach, his face turning decidedly chartreuse. 

“I like it up here; it’s a nice view and quiet,” she replied. At least it was. 

“You must be joking; it’s bloody freezing up here. I can’t wait to get off this death trap and away from these murderers. I’m pretty sure the cook poisoned my scallops last night.” 

To be fair, Katara’d likely have resorted to the same if she was forced to remake his dish four times after he claimed they were overcooked. But instead, she replied, “Well, it looks like we’ll be off soon.” 

Hahn followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing at the approaching island. He cleared his throat. “Although…this weather reminds me of when my mates and I went hunting for lion seals. Did I ever tell you?”

He had. Multiple times, in fact. As he launched again into his hunting story, which seemed to grant him a more and more heroic role in each re-telling, Katara tried to tune him out, taking in the view. A flock of flying dolphin fish dived in and out of the waves a few yards away, wiggling their fins up at her.

“But god, I can’t believe we’re back here again.” He said, interrupting her thoughts. 

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you had remained in the Northern Tribe during the last battle.” 

Hahn flushed at this. “I mean–yes, I was defending the Water Tribes’ crown jewel, of course. But I meant for us, in general. I thought we’d be done with this place once the war was over.” 

What a nice thought, Katara mused. She saw the port looming, its twin white pillars reflecting off the midday sun. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be free of this place. 

Hahn grunted again, clearly uncomfortable with Katara’s lack of response. “But not to worry. I’m here to protect you, of course. And make sure those Fire Nation scumbags don’t go back on their word.” With that, he attempted to lean against the railing but missed when his foot slipped against the slick deck floor.  

Katara glanced at him sideways. “And, what, exactly, are you going to do to help with this deal?” She asked delicately. 

But of course, just like all the other times she’d broached the question, he merely shrugged. 

“The usual, of course. Just political stuff, you know. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.” It was then that he seemed to notice that she’d taken off her usual skins from her shoulders in the sun, a smirk forming on his face. 

Well, it seems her view here was ruined. Pulling up her shawl, she excused herself, murmuring that she needed to pack. 

An hour later, as she crossed the drawbridge, Hahn on her heels, she was greeted by a young man swathed in humble but well-tailored taupe robes. Upon her approach, he swept into a neat bow. 

“Good afternoon, I am Jiro, a member of the Fire Lord’s staff. Thank you for accepting our nation’s request, Master Katara.” His eyes slid to her companion, who had been barking at the poor sailor carrying his overweight bags. 

“...And who might you be, sir?”

Hahn straightened. “My name’s Hahn. I’ve been sent as Chief Arnook’s delegate and to care for Katara.”

She tried to control her grimace at the wording. A brief look passed over Jiro’s face, too fast for her to identify, before it was smoothed away. “I see. We were not informed you would be joining us, Sir Hahn. I apologize.”

Hahn waived away this absently. “I’m here under our Chief’s orders. Now, can we get a move on? We’ve been stuck on your beastly ship for weeks, you know.”

Jiro dipped his head. “Of course. Follow me.”

He gestured to the awaiting carriage with two Fire Rhinos attached. The three of them entered, and the vehicle lurched to a start, beginning to wind up the crater. Jiro was sitting quietly across from them, hands folded in his lap. 

“So, where are the patients?”

Another smile. “I know you’ve had a long journey, and I’m sure you’d like to rest. So we’ll be showing you to your accommodations first. After you’re settled, I’m happy to take you to meet the site where the sick are being treated.”

Jiro’s tone was mild but brooked no disagreement. Shrugging, Katara occupied herself by peering out the window as they moved along the zig-zagging road that cut up the mountain. The streets were busy; she noted with surprise a couple of green garbs mixed in with the typical red ones. 

“Our Lord opened our borders several years ago,” Jiro said, seeing her gaze. 

As Katara watched, she saw an older man in Earth kingdom clothing rolling a cart of vegetables knock into a younger Fire Nation man. The man in red yelled in indignation, and the pair began to argue. Finally, the Fire Nation man lunged to throw a punch, causing the cart to overturn, sending Savoys flying. But before the fight could go any further, policemen ran to the scene, waving their sticks and pulling the two apart. 

“...people are still adjusting,” Jiro amended. 

Hahn scoffed. 

The vehicle slowed to a milder roll, and the ground leveled as they approached guard towers built into the raised lip of Hari Bulkan. The ride became smoother as the cart rolled onto the paved, clean streets of the Royal City. As the houses became more and more luxurious, a thought struck Katara. 

“...Where are we staying, exactly?”

Jiro looked mildly puzzled at the question as if the answer was obvious. 

“The Palace, of course. We have prepared the guest quarters. Rest assured, we have plenty of rooms to accommodate Sir Hahn.” 

Damn it. 

“W-wouldn’t it be better for us to be closer to the outbreak to help the sick more easily?” Katara said desperately.

“Your passion is admirable, Master Katara. But the outbreak has been localized and isolated to East Harbor; there aren’t any sufficient accommodations over there.”

“But—!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hahn cut in. “We’re treasured guests here. The least they could do after dragging us here to solve their problems for them would be to put us up in the Palace.” 

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she let Hahn’s implication that they owed him as well go. On the ship, Katara had fostered a small hope in her chest. Just get here, heal the sick, and leave. In and out. But staying in the Palace would make that nigh impossible. She racked her brain for any other excuse, but coming up empty, she met Jiro’s gaze and mustered a limp smile. 

“All right.” 

As if on cue, the carriage lurched to a stop. Out of the window, the gates of the Fire Nation palace loomed. A large maroon banner with a flame stitched across it lay above the entrance. Circling them was a broad wall dotted with lamps. A loud creaking sound began as the iron grates were lifted, and after a couple of minutes, they stopped, and she got out. 

The interior plaza was mostly as she remembered it. Apart from the now numerous guard squadrons patrolling the edges, it was bare without much vegetation. In the center were the entrance steps to the palace, a large red central building with two wings stretching to the left and right in a Y shape, its gabled roofs lined with gold paint, glinting. It cut a stark image in the scenery, like a dark saber—proud, powerful, maybe a little dangerous. 

Behind her, she heard Hahn swallow loudly at the sight. 

As servants rushed to unload their luggage, Jiro gestured for them to follow inside. Instead of entering via the massive main gates, they walked to the edge, Jiro sliding open a side door, bringing them to a much dimmer hallway. 

“Welcome to our Lord’s Palace. As Master Katara may recall from her previous visit here, we are in the East Wing, which houses our guest quarters.” Jiro said before another servant approached him. He whispered something in her ears, and the servant dipped her head before heading down the hallway past them. 

“Shouldn’t we see the Fire Lord first?” Hahn whined. Apparently, he’d recovered from the shock of the palace’s appearance. “What kind of Lord doesn’t even greet us?” Despite herself, Katara cringed.

It appeared, however, that Jiro was used to rude houseguests. “Your ship arrived here a little earlier than expected, and unfortunately, our Lord is currently occupied. But tonight, we will call a Grand Feast in your honor.”

Katara bit her lip at the prospect.

They stopped in front of a door, and the other servant came out to greet them. “Sir Hahn, this is your room. If you have any questions, Pei will be here to assist you. We will be sure to indicate when dinner is served.” 

As Katara turned to follow Jiro, Hahn interrupted. “Wait a minute, where are you going?”

“I’m just going to my own room,” she replied. 

He frowned. “Alone? I’m coming with.”

Katara tried not to roll her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not my bodyguard, Hahn. I’m perfectly safe.”

“I assure you, Sir Hahn,” Jiro said, “As you’ve seen upon your entrance, Lord Zuko’s palace is heavily fortified against intruders.”

Hahn narrowed his eyes, clearly intending to say more, but Katara cut him off. “You said you were tired, were you not? I’ll wash up and see you at dinner.” 

 Pressing his lips together, he nodded tightly, entering his room. 

Jiro gestured, and the pair continued their walk, turning down another, smaller corridor. As the minutes ticked by, Katara realized they were moving farther away from the East Wing. Despite her assurances earlier, a trickle of doubt began to grow. She reached for her flask. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

Jiro didn’t pause in his strides. “You asked me about seeing the patients.”

“...But you said that they’re down in Harbor City.”

“The dragonpox ones are, yes.” They paused in front of another door, and as he opened it, Katara saw a large tapestry on the other end. He pushed it aside, and cautiously, Katara followed him. They were now in a broader hallway, lined with ornate sconces, much more lavishly designed than the East Wing ones. A couple of feet away stood a sizeable door, two guards stationed at each side. At Jiro’s nod, they moved aside, grabbing the knocker to open it.

“There is one more patient we were hoping Master Katara might be able to assist with.” 

Another patient? Katara’s mind raced. There were few people who’d be important enough to be housed in what she now realized was the Imperial family’s wing. She swallowed, hand clutching the flask, feeling the water within it stir at her agitation.

Jiro stepped inside, and slowly, she followed. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she saw she was in a suite. To one side stood a large bed, the canvas slightly covering a small figure's outline. Another person stood to the side, frowning. Although their hair was grey, the lack of lines on their face made Katara estimate their age to be in the mid-thirties at most. They stiffened at Katara and Jiro’s approach, displeasure flitting across their roughened features. 

“Cho,” Jiro acknowledged. The person, Cho, nodded their head quickly and stepped aside as Katara approached the bed. 

Slowly, palms sweating, she pushed aside the silk of the canopy. The candlelight was anemic, but she didn’t need too much to confirm. 

“Lord Iroh,” Katara breathed. Even though she’d suspected, seeing him was still a shock. He looked so different from the last time she’d seen him. He’d lost a shocking amount of weight, turning his cheeks sallow. He was pale, his white hair had thinned, and his breathing was labored even in his sleep. Occasionally, he would grimace as if in pain. 

Letting the curtain drop, she turned to Jiro and Cho. “What is going on?” She whispered. The pair exchanged glances. 

“Not here,” Jiro said, walking into the small antechamber. They followed him out, and Katara glanced at them, expectant. 

There was a pause before Jiro cleared his throat. “A month ago, Lord Iroh collapsed, suffering unexplainable bleedings, bruising, and fainting spells. He has been unable to keep much food down and has frequent fevers.”

He glanced at Cho, whose jaw was tight. “Pharmacist Cho is the head of the Palace’s medical staff and has been seeing to him, but his condition only seems to be worsening.”

Katara’s heart was racing as the pieces began to fall into place. “Is there even a dragonpox outbreak?” 

Jiro looked guilty. “Yes. It is a minor one that Cho’s apprentices have mostly been able to keep under control. But it provides a convenient cover story.”

“Why all the secrecy?” 

“Because,” Jiro said, sighing, “we think he was poisoned.”

Katara sucked in a breath.

“Some of us disagree,” the pharmacist, Cho, interjected, finally speaking. Their voice was gravelly. 

“Yes, Cho, you’ve made your position on this matter clear,” Jiro said wearily. 

“So,” Katara said, trying to keep up with the load of information being dumped onto her. “You’re saying Lord Iroh has been bedridden, prone to infections and bleedings for a month, and there hasn’t been anything you’ve been able to do to stop it.”

“Hardly,” Cho said, defensiveness coloring their tone. “I’ve been working around the clock. My potions are mitigating his symptoms, and so far we’ve been able to stop the bleedings when they occur, without any need for bending.” 

Katara looked at Jiro, who was still watching her closely. 

“He’s dying, isn’t he?”

He smiled sadly. “Not unless Healer Katara helps him.”

***

In her room, Katara had thrown on a new set of garments, but she felt anything but refreshed. Jiro had guided her here, promising he’d take her to Cho’s office the next morning for further details. 

“Lord Zuko has forbidden anyone outside of a select few to know about Iroh’s condition, so I must ask that you keep this from your companion. I hope you can understand, given that his poisoner may still be at large.” 

Katara nodded, but as he turned to go, she stopped him. “Jiro…” she said, hesitant. 

“What is it, Master Katara?”

She swallowed, chickening out. “Never mind. Will you come to alert me for dinner?”

He nodded and let her know she had a couple of hours yet. 

She’d spent about twenty minutes after, frantically pacing. Feeling claustrophobic, she gave up and left her room. 

Her heart was pounding, and she knew what she needed to feel better. Water. Desperately, she quickened her pace, searching for a door to lead outside. 

She had been so busy focusing on Pakku’s hint about the Northern Water Tribe’s machinations that she had failed to account for the other side. But now, looking back, it seemed so obvious that the outbreak was an excuse; after all, the Fire Nation was not without its own healers, like that Cho person, so why would they need help from the Water Tribes? 

This was so much worse than she’d expected. 

What had she gotten into? She’d wanted to tell Jiro the truth—that, while she’d learned some healing from Hakoda, she was a warrior, NOT a healer. And certainly not one qualified to save Iroh from a mysterious illness. But she’d arrogantly accepted Arnook’s word without question. It had taken nearly two weeks to get here; even if they sent for a more experienced Healer now, would Iroh even survive? Not to mention, she’d have to reveal the reason for it.

What if she accidentally killed him? Gods, she’d never forgive herself. And not to mention how it’d devastate—

An errant cobblestone caused her to stumble to a stop, breaking her doom spiral. Katara blinked, finally taking in her surroundings. She was standing in a small quad. Behind her, the wall surrounding the palace loomed. In front, a neat garden spread before her. On the right, a stone path winded towards a small table and chairs. Ruby fire lilies, white peonies, and the pale blush of roses dotted its path and the manicured lawns. But it was what was on the left that explained her path. There, a small pond lay, with a large willow overhanging it. In the water, Katara saw a small flock of turtle ducks skimming its surface. They had formed a crowd around the pool’s edge, looking up eagerly at a figure crouched in front, his hand outstretched. 

At her approach, he paused and straightened to see the intruder. 

Zuko was taller now; the edges of the wisteria brushed his arms easily. His hair had followed suit: it was slightly undone, his topknot tied loosely, errant strands escaping to hang across his shoulders. He was dressed in casual robes—only a thin tunic and pants with a simple belt, the collar draping open across his chest. The boyish weight of youth had mostly fallen away, leaving his face a good deal sharper, his cheekbones angled. 

His turn had startled the turtle doves, and several had splashed him in retaliation so that he had to brush droplets out of his eyes as he surveyed her, and Katara could recognize the shock that reverberated through them as he registered her. 

“...What are you doing here?”

Katara was startled from her catalog of him, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words. But when the words were finally processed, she frowned. 

“What do you mean? I–you asked me to come. You sent a message to the Water Tribes.”

There was a pause. “You’re the Healer Arnook sent?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re,” not a healer, she finished mentally. 

Katara had been through a lot of things in her relatively young life: her mother’s death, a war, fights, near death. But it was here, in a garden facing a man drenched in wisteria, that she felt the most discombobulated that she had in years. As the heat began creeping up her cheeks, she swallowed. 

“I’m what? I’m a waterbender, so I said I would come to help.”

“Right,” Zuko snorted. Even his voice had gotten lower, she realized with dismay. “That does sound like you.” 

Katara didn’t know how to react to this comment (was it a compliment?), so she chose to focus on a more familiar feeling he sparked in her: indignation. “Why are you surprised? Didn’t you know I was coming?”

Zuko glanced back towards the turtle ducks. One of them, the runt of the litter, she supposed, was limping towards him, its wing bent at an awkward angle. “I didn’t know. I just asked them to send their best Healer.”

Katara flushed. “So you’re confused as to why you got me instead, is that it?” 

Zuko blinked. “No, I mean that’s not what I—” 

But Katara had heard enough. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Fire Lord, but I’m what you got. Sorry to disappoint!” 

Zuko stared at her, his mouth agape, as Katara turned on her heel and fled. But even she couldn’t escape her sense of deja vu.

Chapter Text

“Jiro!” Zuko yelled, storming into the Fire Lord’s office. His manservant looked up from where he’d been rearranging papers. 

He paused. 

“Yes, my lord?”

“It’s…nothing. I mean, no, it—.” Restless, Zuko brushed a hand through his hair shakily. Damn, his top knot was loose. 

“Sir?” 

Taking a breath, he tried again. “Why didn’t you mention that the Healer being sent was her?”

“You mean, Master Katara?” 

“Yes. Her.” 

“I’m sorry, my lord. I had assumed, based on your request—”

“My request?” 

“Well, you asked the tribes to send their best Waterbender.” Jiro frowned. “Is Master Katara not that? She was the Avatar’s teacher, after all.”

Zuko swallowed, suddenly wishing he was anywhere else. “No, Katara is,” how to describe her? “...brilliant.” What a strange word. It felt almost too small.  

“Is it something else then? Do you think that she might not be able to care for Lord Iroh?” 

“No, that girl puts her heart and soul into helping people. She wouldn’t—I mean,” Zuko licked his lips. Jiro was looking at him like Zuko’d just grown another head. 

“Never mind. You’re dismissed.” 

As the door shut, Zuko collapsed into his chair, wincing as he made contact with the scratchy upholstery. He leaned against the desk, pressing his eyelids into the heel of his hands in frustration. He can’t be mad at Jiro for not being clear; after all, it should’ve been obvious Katara’d be considered. It wasn’t as if, when this all began, he hadn’t thought of her. But he’d dismissed the idea of reaching out quickly. She owed him—this nation, enough, after all.

You owe me.

Seeing her standing there in his mother’s garden was jarring—as if he’d suddenly stumbled into the whisps of a memory, with the strangeness of a dream—so familiar, yet so different. And sitting here, he had to admit to himself that his surprise was two-fold; not just that she was the emissary the Water Tribes would send, but that she’d accepted. That she’d come back here, willingly, to a place that he knew held no happy memories for her. For him?

He sat back, expelling a breath in a short laugh. God, what was he thinking? She’d been only told the dragonpox cover story—although it was clear that she now knew the truth. And of course she’d accept. Because she was so frustratingly good. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for Uncle.

Zuko wasn’t lying; she likely was his Uncle’s best hope. He should be grateful that she’d come back here to help. If he was a smarter ruler, a better nephew, he should’ve bent over backwards to get back on her good side. After all, he’d done it before, hadn’t he? 

If only he’d thought about this fact ten minutes earlier. 

He passed a hand over his face. What was it about that girl that made him act like a bumbling, slack-jawed cabbage slug? 

“My lord?” Jiro said, poking his head through the door to interrupt Zuko’s ruminations. “Ambassador Beifong is here to see you.” 

Zuko took a long breath, feeling the fire within his chest swirl before he expelled it through his nostrils. He grabbed the formal jacket draped across the chair, aggressively tightening its belt across his chest. 

“Let him in.”

The Ambassador of the Earth Kingdom was a portly man with a whisper of grey in his thinning mustache. He walked in slowly, trying not to be obvious in his nervous appraisal of the room. Zuko couldn’t really blame him; his father’s office, where he entertained official visitors, was designed to intimidate. With its obsidian columns, black walls, and massive, wrought iron desk and chairs, which seemed created to inspire back pain, it left an impression. Zuko'd spent many hours on the other side, straining his neck to catch his father's gaze. It was only once he became Fire Lord himself that Zuko learned this was on purpose; his grandfather had specially commissioned the guest's chairs to be lowered, forcing any unfortunate visitor to look upwards at the room's owner.  

Subtle, his forefathers were not.

Upon seeing Zuko, Beifong swept into an exaggerated bow before taking a seat.

“How may I help you, Ambassador?” 

“I’m here about the mines in Hu Xin.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve been telling Ukano that the Ellora company must withdraw—” 

“Actually, my lord. We would prefer if that didn’t happen.” 

Zuko frowned, thrown. “You would?”

Lord Beifong shifted slightly. “Yes. As I’m sure Lord Ukano mentioned, those mines have been operating for a long time there. People rely on them for jobs, your highness. And these days, well, the Earth Kingdom’s economy has struggled to rebuild after the war.”

“I see…so you don’t want the mines closed, is that it?” 

“Yes. And given that Ellora has been the company that’s been operating them, if they leave, there won’t be enough money or resources to keep it going.” 

Zuko couldn’t contain his surprise. “Are you saying you want Ellora to remain? Even though it’s owned by Fire Nation folk?” 

“It isn’t like before, where the mines are being used to make Fire Nation weapons, after all.” Beifong paused. Zuko noted the dribble of sweat that had gathered on his upper lip.

“It’s difficult to find work. And it is important not to lose the mines. I’ve spoken with Hu Xin, and they need this after all they’ve suffered.” 

Zuko felt the usual twist in his stomach that accompanied any discussion with Ambassadors about the war. He cleared his throat.

“Of course, I understand. I’d only ordered the mines closed because…well, as per our discussions with your King, our nation had agreed to withdraw completely. But if you’re saying that you want Ellora to remain in operation, I will allow it.” He thought back to Ukano. “After all, it would serve to benefit our countrymen as well.”

Beifong leapt up, bowing as much as his belly would allow. “Thank you, thank you, my lord!” He said before excusing himself hurriedly. 

Zuko watched his exit with mixed feelings. He’d assumed the Earth Kingdom would want to take back control, but he supposed the man had a point. He was getting daily reports about the rising unemployment across the country, particularly from ex-soldiers who had to find new jobs since the army had been decommissioned. He could only imagine how bad it was for the Earth Kingdom. Maybe Ukano was right. The idea made his lip curl involuntarily. 

For a moment, he longed to chat with his Uncle about this. But, of course, what was the point in going down that road? And he couldn’t even try to imagine what the man would say. He was terrible at impressions. 

Another knock, and Jiro appeared again. “My lord, Pharmacist Cho is here.”

Without waiting for Zuko to respond, Cho pulled open the door, walking in brusquely. 

“How is my Uncle doing?” Zuko asked. 

“The same as yesterday, my lord.” Which, of course, meant he was still bedridden. 

Seeing the look on his face, Cho softened. “This is a good thing, Lord Zuko. For so long, your Uncle was deteriorating at such a rapid pace; each hour was a gift. Now, I’ve been able to finally find a regimen that’s stabilized him. It’s a big step.” 

Zuko nodded, pulling one of his hands to press into his bouncing leg, hidden underneath the desk. “Well, that’s good timing, now that the waterbender has arrived.” 

It was slight, but Zuko didn’t miss the slight stiffening in the pharmacist’s posture. “What’s wrong?”

Cho attempted to smooth their face out but failed. “It’s nothing, my lord, it’s just…” 

“Yes?”

“Well, are you sure we need them? Waterbending for healing is…it’s unpredictable and quite archaic; most waterbenders refuse to even work with basic pharmaceutical sciences, just relying solely on bending. And given the way your Uncle’s reacted so far, I’m worried that it might make things worse.” 

Zuko regarded Cho for a moment. Jiro had told him a little about their background: raised on an outer island, they’d fought their way into the capitol’s most prestigious healing program on a scholarship and then spent years going up the ranks to become the youngest Imperial Pharmacist in a century. 

“Pharmacist Cho,” he said, slowly. “I understand your reservations. But as you’ve said yourself, my Uncle may be stable, but that isn’t a cure. I’m not well-versed enough in healing arts to give my opinion on your interpretation of bending, but I think it’s fair to say that more help is better than less.” 

“As for working with waterbenders, in my experience, it’s in their nature to be flexible, if you give them a chance. And I think we’ve reached the point where there’s no other option. So, give her access to the Archives and work with her, alright?” 

Cho hesitated. 

“That’s an order.”

They frowned but nodded. 

Zuko started to pull the new mountain of papers Jiro had set down for him to look over but was interrupted as Cho placed a small vial onto the table. 

“Your sleep tonic. Be sure not to take more than a teaspoon per dose this time.” 

He grimaced but gave a brief nod of assent. A moment later, the door clicked shut, and he was alone with his thoughts again. 

***

Zuko had just finished re-tying his top knot in his room when Jiro entered, this time with another servant carrying a wide box. 

“My Lord, we’ve come to prepare you for the banquet.” 

Zuko turned from his mirror in surprise. “What banquet?”

“To welcome our Water Tribe guests, of course. Officially, I mean.”

Zuko jerked. “What do you mean, officially?”

“Well, I assume earlier you must’ve met when you came into the office.” 

“Right, right, yes.” Thank god. He’d been worried someone else had witnessed what happened in the garden. Then, the rest of his words filtered in.

“Wait, but why do we need a banquet? I don’t remember ordering that.” 

At this, his manservant broke from his usual relentlessly polite façade to give him an unimpressed look. “My lord, it is protocol to hold one anytime the Palace is hosting emissaries from other countries.” 

“Since when? I don’t remember that ever happening.” 

Jiro paused in opening up the package, which Zuko could now see held dress robes. “...Well, before the war, at least.” 

Right. He doubted his egomaniac of a father was hosting many teas with water tribes before raiding their homes. 

Still, Zuko couldn’t contain a groan. He had tried so far to duck out of most royal social events for a reason. “I’m not going.”

“My lord, you must. These are honored guests. It would be good to show our Nation’s gratitude.” 

God, he hated it when Jiro was right. And if that scene in the garden was any indication, he needed all the help he could get. Resigned, he nodded, allowing the other servant to scurry forward and help him into the new robes. 

Less than an hour later, Zuko strode into the hall. At his entrance, the buzz of voices immediately dampened as people hastened to stand. Gaze fixed, he walked across the dais to his open seat. Servants appeared carrying large silver dishes and began to serve the first course. 

Finally, he let his eyes sweep across the room. Jiro had called the usual cast of characters: the fire council members and various other nobles. On the right, he saw Mai absently poking at a stray tomato on her plate, ignoring her mother’s chatter. Ukano sat on her other side in deep discussion with Ambassador Beifong. Nearest to him, Shyu was chatting amiably with another priest. And finally, at the leftmost edge, he saw her. 

Katara was sitting stiffly, gazing intently at her glass. Now prepared, he took his chance out of the corner of his eye to observe her more clearly. Her signature braids that framed her face were more tightly bound than he remembered, although still adorned with azure beads. Her face had become slimmer, and she was wearing different clothes from earlier: an elegant dress, with a high neck, the blue fabric dipping to expose the narrow bend of her shoulders. He watched as she bit her lip, her fingers absently playing with the chocker across her neck. He was struck by an errant memory of his own fingers, sliding across the blue pendant.  

Then, a man he didn’t recognize leaned towards her, resting his hand on her wrist. 

“Who is that?” Zuko asked. 

“His name is Hahn. Apparently, he was sent by Northern Tribe Leader Arnook to care for Katara.” Jiro responded from his usual position behind Zuko’s chair.

Zuko couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. Below, Katara had reached over to grab her goblet, which had the effect of dislodging the other man’s hand. He could see her other hand continue to toy with the necklace. “I see.” 

As though she could hear him, suddenly, her eyes snapped to meet his. For a moment, his breath caught. 

No one will be safe.

At his look, she sat up as if electrocuted, accidentally knocking the glass out of her hands. She hurriedly turned to grab her napkin as a servant rushed forward to help her mop up the spilled wine.

Fighting the twitch of his mouth, he tore his gaze away, forcing himself to engage in conversation with the councilors seated next to him, who had been trying to drag him into another mind-numbing discussion over taxes since earlier. 

Midway through the final course, Jiro leaned forward to whisper in his ear. 

“You should make a remark, my lord.”  

Gritting his teeth, Zuko gave a tight nod. As he stood, the murmurs again died down, expectant. He looked straight ahead but felt the prickle of her gaze as he cleared his throat. 

“Today, we welcome our guests from the Southern and Northern Water Tribes, Master Katara and Sir Hahn. In this time of peace, it is so crucial to build long-lasting relationships with each other—”

Without meaning to, his eyes strayed back to hers. Her expression was inscrutable. 

“--and our nations moving forward. To peace and unity.” 

As the others began to applaud, Jiro discreetly handed him a slip of paper. “A message, my lord.” 

Zuko skimmed it enough to read the signature before straightening to look back at the crowd.

“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. The work, unfortunately, never ends for a Fire Lord, so I must excuse myself. But please, stay and enjoy the feast.” 

He hurried out—past Shyu’s expression of pity, Mai’s eye roll, and Katara’s frown—to the dark corridor. For now, all of them would have to wait.

Chapter Text

Pharmacist Cho’s office was housed in the west wing, alongside most of the staff quarters. The area was surprisingly homey, with rich cherrywood accents along the walls and a variety of plants hanging from the rafters. On the left side, a small window looked out to the courtyard, and every available floor space seemed to be stuffed with tomes, errant papers, and vegetation Katara couldn’t identify. Even though the space was cluttered, it was meticulously clean, not a speck of dust to be found. The room was dwarfed by a massive table holding a number of glass flasks. At one end, Cho stood stirring a vial of bubbling orange liquid over a small flame. When Katara closed the door behind her, they didn’t react, continuing to frown at the container, so she tried to weave her way through the various stacks. On her way, a pot with a small bush of red berries caught her eye, and she leaned closer to get a better look. 

“Don’t touch that.” Cho’s voice interrupted, causing Katara to jump involuntarily. 

“Sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand. Cho had finally looked up. “I thought it was a pakui bush.” 

 “It’s maka ’ole berries, actually. Easy mistake, but I wouldn’t touch this one if you like your vision.” 

“Oh,” Katara said, gulping.

They stood looking at each other for a moment in silence. Then, Cho heaved a sigh, turning to a smaller desk crammed in the corner and pulling out some papers from within a thick tome wrapped in red leather.

“Well, since you’re finally here, I might as well show you what his treatment plan has been so far.” 

Katara bit back a retort—it was only nine in the morning. She’d woken up before sunrise and soon after rang the bell to call for a meal, as she’d eaten practically nothing of the lavish dinner the evening before. Breakfast, which was served in a small antechamber in the North Wing, was a quiet affair. When she’d finally gotten the courage to ask after their host, Jiro merely smiled, saying that the Fire Lord was away from the palace for the day on an errand. She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or upset by that. Hahn was also a no-show, unsurprising, given the way he’d been guzzling port at the banquet last night. 

God, the banquet. Katara had been to her fair share of awkward meals, but last night had seemed particularly endless. Zuko was dressed in lavish scarlet robes, his hair neatly pulled behind his gleaming crown. She felt as if she was watching him from across the ocean rather than a ballroom: him, floating above them on that dais, her, on the seafloor below. Katara could feel the way in which the space bent around him, how the crowd hung onto his every word. And his parting smile was perfectly tailored as he excused himself, sweeping out as smoothly as he’d entered.

After attempting to shut out Hahn’s incessant complaints about the food, she’d tried to focus on the meal in front of her. But instead, when she caught his impassive gaze, she remembered the way she’d yelled at him in the garden, the open surprise in his face. He hadn’t asked for her. The tinge of embarrassment caused her to jerk, making a mess of the fancy tablecloths. As her face burned, she almost thought she’d caught him smirk. 

“Master Katara? Are you listening?” 

Cho’s irritation cut through her own, and she started. “Sorry, would you mind repeating what you were saying?” 

They rolled their eyes but shook the papers again for Katara to take. “As I was saying, Lord Iroh first started displaying symptoms nearly four weeks ago. He collapsed while having tea with several companions in the courtyard, experiencing unexplainable bleeding from his mouth and nose, as well as spiking a high fever. For the first week, he would begin internally or externally bleeding at random intervals and has struggled to keep any food down. Every two hours, he was vomiting up blood, so I was forced to try new medication formulations until I could finally settle on one that he could keep down. Although I’ve stabilized him for now, he still frequently gets infections and has been sleeping around 18 hours a day.”

Cho rubbed their eyes, and Katara was struck by how tired they looked. 

“I tried all the classic remedies to address his symptoms, yet almost all of the potions just seemed to make his symptoms worse. For a while, I just focused on keeping him from bleeding out. But several days ago, out of desperation, I finally found a potion regimen that finally seemed to work.” 

“Oh? What was it?” 

Cho scratched their temple, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “Well, to be honest, it was kind of a fluke. I’d been working long nights…I thought the new ingredient I’d requested was pakui, but I hadn’t double-checked before extracting a sample. It was only when I analyzed the formulation afterward that I realized the shipment was actually maka’ ole. Thank god I’d been using proper protocol.” They gestured to their hands, which were covered in thick leather gloves.

“Are you saying that you actually purposely gave him a poisonous berry?!” 

Cho shook their head vigorously at this. 

“No, no! The perilla oil has neutralized its poisonous effects. I tested it.” At this, they gestured to a small set of cages Katara hadn’t noticed earlier, containing sloth mice. 

Katara raised her eyebrows. “Tested it? You mean on animals. What do you—” 

“Animal testing is a valid scientific method. Would you rather I try it on my patient first? Anyway, my hypothesis is that whatever is happening, the inherent non-toxic aspects of the pakui can actually have a stabilizing effect. I’ve run several independent experiments with different empirical dependent valuables. It’s a valid protocol, I assure you.”

“Science? This is healing, not some, made up torture of animals—” 

“And what would you have me do!” Cho interrupted, frustrated. “The local waterbender we brought concluded he was a lost cause. And all the other pharmacists as well. But I wasn’t about to just give up on him. And it’s worked! He’s stable!” 

Katara bit her lip, trying to quell her uneasiness; half of what Cho had been explaining was alien to her, and the idea of purposely poisoning animals made her stomach churn. But she closed her eyes and pictured Iroh again, lying prone in that bed. He hadn’t looked good, yes, but she was forced to admit that, based on the picture Cho was giving her of how he was when he first collapsed, clearly whatever they’d done had worked. 

Taking a slow breath out, she looked back at Cho, who was still glaring, chest out. 

“Alright.” 

They blinked, looking thrown. Clearly, they’d been expecting Katara to put up more of a fight. 

“Alright?” 

“It’s as you said. You had no other choice. Even I can see he’s improved. But it’s not a permanent solution, correct?” 

Cho narrowed their eyes at her, suspicion plainly written across their features. “Right…”

Katara nodded, looking around as her mind raced. “So, we still don’t know what is causing this? From the symptoms you’ve mentioned, it doesn’t appear to be a common disease, obviously. And you don’t think it’s a poison?” 

“Well, to be more accurate, I don’t think the tea was poison.” 

“Why?” 

“Common sense. All of the people there that day drank from the same brew, but none of them have any symptoms. Plus, I analyzed a sample of it afterward, and it didn’t contain any toxic ingredients—in fact, it had a lot of well-known herbs meant for healing.” 

“Why did the other waterbender say he was a lost cause?” 

Cho sneered. “She realized her bending couldn’t fix him, so she just assumed nothing else could be effective. So she just gave up. Typical.” 

Katara bristled. “What does that mean?” 

“Nothing, never mind. The Fire Lord’s asked me to get you up to speed, so come along.” They turned abruptly towards a door at the back of the office. 

“Where are we going?” Katara worked to keep the irritation out of her voice at their attempt to avoid her question. This was the person who’d been caring for Iroh. Getting on their bad side wasn’t worth it. 

“It’s time to administer the next dose.” 

They walked quickly back through the smaller corridors—servant halls, she realized now—until they were again in front of Iroh’s rooms. This time when they entered, however, the patient was awake. 

“Katara.” Lord Iroh’s voice was thin but still as warm as she remembered. “What a lovely surprise.” 

She mustered a smile. “Lord Iroh. It has been too long.” 

 “Yes, it really has. Not that I blame you, child. I only wish it was under better circumstances.” He chuckled.

She reached out to give his hand a squeeze. “How are you feeling?” 

“The same as always these days. Tired, sore. Could do with a good cup of tea.” 

“Unfortunately, can’t do that just yet. But I can do you one almost as good.” Cho replied, holding out a vial with a distinctly sludgy mixture. Iroh wrinkled his nose. 

“Almost is a generous interpretation, pharmacist Cho.” But he downed the contents without complaint, settling back into his pillows as he handed them the empty container. 

Katara summoned up some courage. “Lord Iroh I…I’m sorry you’re going through this. If I’d known sooner, I—” 

He waived away her concerns. “Do not fret, my dear. My nephew’s kept everything about me under wraps, so it’s understandable. Apparently, I’m on a prolonged trip exploring the teahouses of the Earth Kingdom. I suppose I should be offended by how easily people would believe that.” 

“Well, I’m here now. And I promise I’ll do everything I can to help you.” She raised her hands above his chest. “May I?” 

He nodded assent, and she gently pressed her fingers against his stomach. She focused on letting her senses open up, feeling the familiar brush of chi surround her, like soaking in a warm bath. As she was trained to do, she started from the top of his body, tracing the swirl of the cosmic chakra, a clear pool, to the throat, the heart, also vibrant, to the—” 

Katara pulled away, a gasp escaping her throat. She looked up wildly into Iroh’s knowing eyes. 

“So you saw it too.” He said. 

“Y-your fire chakra, is it—” 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

It was black. Not merely blocked or slightly muddy. Iroh’s fire chakra was an inky sludge, so thick and putrid that she could almost smell its stench. It was as if he was rotting from the inside out. 

***

Katara was quiet as they left Iroh to rest. Cho peered at them through the corner of their eyes but didn’t comment at her quiet sniffles. 

They crossed into the central hall, past the throne room. 

“Katara! Where the hell have you been?” 

She froze, turning to see Hahn walking up to them in the atrium. 

“Umm,” she said, scrambling. 

“Master Katara has been out visiting the patients.” Cho cut in smoothly.

Hahn wrinkled his nose, taking a step back. “Oh. Is it contagious?” 

“No,” Katara said. 

“Well, good thing they have a waterbender, I suppose. How long do you think it’ll take?”

“Huh?” 

“To heal them?” He asked, rolling his eyes as if his question were obvious. 

“Oh…” she shook her head, trying to escape the image of the black liquid. “Um, I’m not sure. It was…a lot worse than I thought.” 

“Hmm. Well, anyway, the Water Tribe Ambassador has invited us for tea tomorrow afternoon at his house, so be sure to be back and cleaned up. They’ll send a carriage.” 

Katara felt a headache coming on. “The…water tribe? You mean, the Northern Ambassador?” 

“Uh, right, that’s what I meant. And the Southern one’s invited too, of course.” 

She closed her eyes as the pounding got worse. “Ok, fine. I’ll be busy with the patient–s, in the mornings anyway. I’m tired now, so I’m gonna head back to my room.” 

Then, without waiting for him to answer, she turned back towards the East wing. When Jiro asked if she wanted lunch, she pretended to be asleep. 

Two hours later, she knocked on Cho’s door. They seemed unsurprised to see her back. 

“Where should we start?” She asked. 

Cho regarded her silently before stepping out next to her. 

“Follow me. Lord Zuko has given you access to the private library.” 

The pair walked down the hall, back into the central atrium—thankfully, Hahn-free—before turning down the North wing. Finally, they stopped in front of an unassuming door. Cho paused to unlock it.

It opened up into a massive chamber, at least double the size of the throne room. Its walls were lined with floor to ceiling shelves, a long ladder laying on one edge to reach the top rows, all filled to the brim with books. A winding staircase on the far left led to a second level filled with even more texts, the balcony circling the domed stained glass ceiling. Katara let out a gasp. 

“Welcome to the Royal Archives,” Cho said, handing her the key.

She looked around, taking a breath in. The air smelled slightly musky, a mix of old books, ink, and dust. It was like being back in Wan Shi Tong’s library--sans the murderous fowl. 

“Alright,” Katara said. “Well, I suppose we should start back at the beginning. Do we still have the tea he drank?” 

“I don’t think so. But I’m sure Ty Lee has some left.”

“Wait,” Katara paused in her perusal of Cho’s notes. “The tea was from Ty Lee?”

Chapter Text

He stood stock still, a branded silhouette stamped out against the dim room. Then, with a snap of his fingers, there was light. Zuko winced at the glare, blinking away spots. The servant who had pulled him from bed finally released the punishing grip on his arm, melting into the background with a bow.

Ozai was still in his coronation robes, a jacquard print against ivory silk, held together by a gold belt depicting two dueling dragons, their scales dotted with rubies. The sheen of his crown and oiled locks glinted against the blazing sconces.

“Children.”

“Yes, father,” Azula replied.

Unlike Zuko, she was fully alert, still in her perfectly coifed ceremonial attire, as if she’d expected this. Perhaps he should’ve as well. Their father always had a penchant for calling them at the most inopportune moments—story time with mother, tag with friends, swimming in the sea—all must be dropped at Ozai’s summons.

Azula spared a derisive eye roll in her brother’s direction before walking ahead. Zuko stumbled after, dragging along his limbs, still heavy with sleep.

They followed Ozai’s gaze to the new portrait. The artist was talented; he’d managed to capture their father’s likeness with startling accuracy. Unlike the previous Lords, he had posed sitting in his office, arm resting proprietarily on the desk. His face was serious but perfectly at ease. Even in paint, Zuko could see the hint of a smirk, a slight arrogant twist to his brow, and the predatorial assessment of his yellow eyes that always caused his son to squirm.

“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” Ozai asked, still looking at his portrait.

Eager, Zuko cut in. “T-to say goodbye to grandfather?”

His father’s lip curled. “Don’t be foolish. We’re not here to linger on such useless sentiments. No, I’m here to give you your last lesson. Now that I’m Fire Lord, I will have no more time to spend on your education.”

At this, Ozai finally turned his gaze upon his two children. “What is this place?”

“It’s the portrait gallery, father,” Azula responded dutifully.

“Exactly. And why do we have it?”

Zuko opened his mouth, but again, his sister beat him to the punch. “To honor and remember our noble forefathers.”

“Exactly. Your great-great-grandfather launched the largest war this world has ever known. We have cleansed Air temples, razed Earth cities, and built the most powerful nation on earth.”

The lamps burned brighter at his words, casting the chamber in amber; Zuko caught within.

Ozai smiled fully, exposing his teeth. “And it is your duty to this bloodline to continue on—"

“—do you wish to continue on, my Lord?”

Zuko’s eyes flew open. The driver stood outside the window, politely averting his gaze from his Lord, who had been crumpled asleep in one corner of the carriage. He straightened, clearing his throat.

“No, no. This is good.”

As the door swung wide, Zuko carded fingers through his loosened hair, adjusting his crown before catching sight of an errant ember skittering across the seat. Wincing, he doused it before stepping out.

At this time of the day, just as the sun had sunk below the horizon, the High Temple pagoda stood empty, the only movement a slight breeze nudging its lanterns across the rafters. Zuko walked briskly, his steps echoing on the timber floors as he entered the central chamber. Despite being similar in size to the throne room, the spaces could not be more different. The temple was lit intimately, with silver-plated candelabras casting a warm glow around the altar and shadows against the wooden beams above. Unlike so many other places in the Royal city, the Temple wasn’t choked with Zuko’s thorny memories. As a child, he’d come only on special occasions. On one visit, he remembered struggling to stand still in his starchy robes while the Sages chanted, eyeing his mother in front, whose face was impassive apart from the slight press of her lips. The air had been sticky, full of the noble’s perfume and incense.

Standing in this quiet, it was startling to realize it was the same room.

The altar was understated as well, only containing a few bronze plates with offerings. In front of the central column stood the sculpture of Roku, with a simple garland of tiger lilies circling his neck.

Slowly, Zuko approached and knelt on the rich carpet, his head bent, hand twisting into the tatami, as he tried to shake off his dream. He hadn’t had that memory in years, although the cast had made numerous appearances in his sleep before. The gallery was still there of course, boarded up behind the throne. Now, it also held his own oversized canvas, hung next to his father’s, ensconced in a similarly gilded frame. He’d sat for it at the insistence of the Council, but when the artist had sent along a preliminary sketch, Zuko approved it without a glance. For the first time, he wondered what it looked like. Growing up, he’d always been told he looked more like his mother. But as he bent forward in supplication in front of the altar, clothed in the Fire Lord’s silk finery, perhaps that was no longer the case.

“Lord Zuko, what a lovely surprise.”

Shyu walked towards him, smiling sedately. Zuko nodded and stood to greet him.

“Great Sage. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed, it has. Over a month, no?” His voice was calm, but Zuko didn’t miss the hint of question. Since Uncle’s collapse, he’d begged off the weekly Council meetings, claiming a packed schedule. And before yesterday, he hadn’t ventured much past palace walls—apart from his occasional masked detours.

“Yes, I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been a bit…busy.”

“There is no need to apologize, My Lord. But I hope you know, if anything is troubling you, you can come to me.”

Zuko looked at Shyu. The man was younger than most Great Sages, but his eyes twinkled with elderly knowledge. For a moment, he was so tempted.

“It is my job, you know,” Shyu said. “To hear confessions. It helps people to unburden their hearts to someone else.”

“For most, that may be true.”

“Perhaps even more so for a man carrying a nation.”

Zuko hummed, staring up at Roku’s face, tracing the features. He couldn’t see much of a resemblance, try as he might.

“I just came back from the Black Cliffs,” he said, finally.

Shyu’s face cleared in understanding, taking the bait. “Ah, of course. I can see why you’re troubled.”

Zuko shrugged, uncomfortable. It wasn’t a complete lie, of course. Every time he returned from a visit, he felt it weigh upon him. But these days, that was just one stone amongst the pile that sat upon his chest.

“It will get better, My Lord. Just have faith.”

“Faith is hard.”

“That’s true. Even I, a Sage, struggle with it. After all, following my beliefs did lead to me getting fired in the first place.”

“But you got your job back in the end.”

“Yes, indeed so.” Shyu paused for a moment, following Zuko’s gaze.

“I have spent years maintaining Roku’s altar. I had assumed that all avatars would be like him. Majestic. Wise.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “And then you met Aang?”

“Indeed.” Shyu chuckled. “But I suppose it’s a sign of how much the Air Nomads loved him that he still maintained such innocence.”

The candles flickered; their shadows pulled like puppets on a string.

“I guess you’re right,” Zuko replied.

“Would you like a cup of tea, sire?”

Zuko shook his head. “No, it’s okay.” He glanced sideways, assessing. “You look like you’ve had a long night yourself.”

“Yes, well…” Shyu sighed. “I was called to perform the last rites for someone. The patriarch is suffering so much. Even after all these years as a Sage, it’s difficult to see death looming so near.”

Zuko swallowed. “I can imagine.”

“Do you know when your Uncle will return from his travels?”

“No,” he replied too quickly. “Why?”

“Ah, well. It’s just that the man was an acquaintance of his, I believe. But I suppose there’s nothing to do about it if Iroh is not here.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Anyway, you’re not just here to see me, are you?”

Zuko mustered a rueful smile. “I’m quite obvious, aren’t I?”

Shyu chuckled. “Not at all, My Lord. Not on most things, at least.”

The pair walked behind the altar, where a small door stood. Its opening revealed a narrow set of stairs descending into the darkness. Zuko conjured a tiny flame, and the pair entered the catacombs.

Sozin’s tomb lay in one of the first caverns and was massive, much bigger than the human within. Apart from its size, the casket was surprisingly simple in design, with a black-colored exterior and painted red edges that had started to fleck. But it was the small antechamber next to it that Zuko was most interested in, where rows and rows of the Palace’s records had been stuffed. Soon after being crowned, Shyu had shown him this place, and he’d begun to go through the files.

Zuko didn’t have any exact goal for this project; he was just driven by the desperation to find any palette for the world he was supposed to be painting and the one he should be undoing. Sozin had been frustratingly meticulous in scrubbing anything before his reign. But still, thumbing through the dusty tomes, Zuko had encountered glimpses of a pre-war life: trade agreements with Ba Sing Se, marriage alliances between lower Fire nobility and Northern Water Tribe members, a strange, unlimited library in the desert run by an…owl? The mentions were off-hand, clearly written by someone who assumed the reader would understand the vague references. Still, Zuko continued going through them, off and on, over the years. He was now halfway through Azulon’s chronicles, mostly chock-full of insultingly cavalier descriptions: “successful raid on Southern Water Tribe village: two prisoners captured”; “sent troops to assist Ellora in quelling miners’ riot;” “directed surplus tax from the previous fiscal year into Office of Historic Conservation budget.” Azulon had seemed particularly fixated on this last bit; this was now the third volume in which Zuko’s grandfather had dedicated unbearably detailed discussions on the newest statue he’d commissioned of his likeness in Shu Jing.

Frustrated, Zuko shoved the book back onto the shelf. But the tome was blocked by something soft. He pulled it back out, peering between the narrow shelves to see a text he’d missed behind other stacks. Unlike the other volumes wrapped in paper, this was covered in smooth maroon leather. In one corner, it was stamped with a small white flower.

He traced the emblem with a finger, but right before he flipped it open, the room dropped into darkness. Zuko conjured another flame, which revealed the candle Shyu had left him with had been whittled to the end of its wick. Sighing, he stowed the text into the sleeve of his robe and stood up. It was probably a good time to leave anyway; he could feel weariness sinking into his bones.

***

Zuko quickly navigated the tunnels back to the palace, sliding through a hidden door to enter the North wing covered by a large dragon bust.

Vanishing the flame, his feet took him on autopilot to the next stop. But despite the late hour, the door to Iroh’s room already stood ajar. Peering inside, Zuko could see he was not his Uncle’s only visitor that night.

She stood at the edge of his bed. Behind her, the curtains had been thrown back, revealing the pale orb of the moon. He could see her bare arms raised above Iroh’s sleeping form from the doorway, palms moving in slow circles. The milky light traced along her shaking shoulders, her brown skin, and her lip bit in concentration before finally reflecting off the tears that flowed from her closed eyes. They traveled down her cheeks, quietly dripping onto the duvet. And in the silence, he heard her breath catch, a shudder of frustration.

It was all too much: Katara’s form lit by the twilight, the brine of sea salt from the Black Cliffs clinging to the cuffs of his robe, his Uncle’s prone form. He jerked away, breathing fast, to make his escape down the hall.

“Zuko,” Katara said, voice slightly damp.

He turned back to see her looking at him through the door's crack. “Wait, please,” she said.

He stood, rooted, as she moved towards him into the shadowy corridor before pausing a few feet away. Her hair was loose as if she’d been tossing between her sheets moments ago.

“What is it?” He asked.

She worried her lip. “I…I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for how I acted back in the garden. I don’t know why I reacted so…well, like that. There’s no excuse.”

“It’s ok. I understand you must’ve been surprised. It’s my fault for not revealing the true reason for my request.”

Katara seemed taken aback at his easy forgiveness. How silly, as if he could ever hold a grudge against someone like her.

“What were you doing there?” He asked instead.

“Oh, I thought maybe with my powers—under the full moon, you know—I’d be able to…well, heal him, I guess. Foolish, I suppose.” One of her hands drifted up to play with her necklace, a move he now recognized as an attempt to soothe.

“It’s not foolish at all.” He paused, debating the question at the tip of his tongue. “How--how is he?”

Her face contorted into a painful expression. “N-not good. Zuko, I’m so sorry this happened to your Uncle…and you. But I’ll do all I can to heal him. I swear.” She squeezed her eyes shut again as they filled.

Zuko wondered when the last time was that someone had cried for him. Or, for that matter, when he’d shed tears himself. But today had been a long day—he was tired and so, so drained. He felt his hand move without thinking, fingers brushing away the wetness. At his touch, Katara jerked in surprise, whipping her head up to stare at him.

But all he said was, “I know you will.”

Chapter Text

“So, my dear, how is your assignment going?”

Katara paused, saucer halfway to her mouth.

“Ah, yes. The dragonpox. It’s…slow progress.”

Ambassador Karik wrinkled his nose in sympathy. “I hope the Fire Lord’s not overworking you, child. After all, you’re a treasured guest of this nation. Not to mention a celebrated war hero. And you traveled all this way to do this.”

“No,” Katara said. “He’s not.”

But the Northern Ambassador seemed not to have heard her response. “I can only imagine how much work there is. For all the Fire Nation’s supposed power, how can they survive without proper Healers?”

“Yes, well, you learn to make do. Isn’t that right, Katara?” Another voice cut in. Her eyes slid over to its owner. Like most men around her father’s age, Oyalu had left the Southern Water Tribe to fight years ago and stayed in the Fire Nation immediately afterward as Hakoda’s ambassador, so Katara barely knew the man. But in the last hour, she found him surprisingly unsubtle for a politician.

Karik cleared his throat loudly. “Right, right, of course. Just another sign of how enterprising the Southern Water Tribe was, of course.”

An awkward silence fell before Katara remembered herself.

“And the Fire Nation does have healers.”

Karik cocked his head, confused for a moment before understanding came. “Oh, sure, I know with the Fire Lord’s open borders policy a few wandering tribe members have sometimes lent services to people, but of course, it’s not the same as having actual water benders—”

“They may not have benders, but there are healers. I’m working with the Royal Pharmacist right now.”

All three men started to chuckle.

“Katara, it’s just us Water Tribe members here,” Hahn said. He was lounging to her right, nibbling through half the biscuit tray. “Of course, those non-benders can help bandage a cut or two, but we don’t need to pretend. Only a water bender Healer can do any real medicine.”

She couldn’t really disagree with that. Even when her own tribe lacked benders, it was always understood that any non-bending treatments were temporary measures until the true Healers returned. But this morning, she had spent hours poring through Cho’s reams of detailed notes. She hadn’t understood half of the notations, but she could tell it was ingenious—combining things she’d never considered possible, describing the human body in ways she’d never thought non-benders could understand. And, most disturbingly, in ways even benders didn’t.

The Northern Ambassador continued on. “You know, before the war, our healers played a key role, providing services for the nobility of other nations. It’s why they were often selected as wives of diplomats. It was quite an honor.”

Katara took a sip of her tea, holding back a grimace. Whoever made the drinks seemed to have dumped the whole sugar bowl. At least it was able to drown out the bitter aftertaste of Karik’s unnerving grin.

“How is Master Pakku doing, then? Has he had any progress in helping train Southern benders?” Oyalu asked, deftly changing the topic.

“Unfortunately, not much,” she said. “There’s one student we've found, but it’s been hard since all the benders were…well, taken during the war.”

Oyalu’s scarred face wrinkled discretely in sympathy. Like her, he understood how the lack of southern water benders was a visceral reminder of what was still lost. Five years wasn’t enough for new generations to spring up and fill the gap. It was an open wound, a Tribe with no benders. Well, no benders except for her.

It had been one of the things Aang had understood about her. Even if he didn’t the rest.

“Of course, such a sad thing. And a good reminder of how we tribes must stick together, I say!” Karik interrupted. Hahn nodded vigorously, spraying crumbs in the process.

Oyalu’s gaze hadn’t shifted from hers. “Perhaps in some ways. Our tribes have evolved over those hundred years of separation.”

Sitting next to each other, Katara surveyed each Ambassador: Karik’s thickly woven azure parka, with its pearly white polar bear dog fur, shined starkly against the thinner navy tunic Oyalu wore.

“What do you mean?” Hahn asked. “We’re all still water tribe people in the end. Time hasn’t affected that.”

Oyalu shrugged. “War changes us all.”

Katara’s gut twisted as she looked down. She was still holding the tea, the reflection staring back at her, warped by the tremor of her hand. The men continued their conversation, now moving on to what seemed to be one consensus: the inadequacies of Fire Nation cuisine. She forced herself to nod along vacantly, gulping down the syrupy oolong.

“Excuse me,” she said a couple of minutes later. “I believe the tea is finished.”

The men paused, seemingly having forgotten her presence. “Oh my,” Karik said. “It seems so. I can call the maid to–”

“No need,” she cut in, jumping up and grabbing the kettle's handle. “I can get it.” And before he could object, she swept out of the room.

Thankfully, it seemed most of the servants were occupied in the kitchen on the other end, but she still held her breath as she bypassed the foyer to climb the stairs. Without thinking, her hand slipped into her pocket, fingering the handle of Pakku’s knife.

On the second floor, she worked quickly, twisting open door handles, hoping this hastily thrown-together plan of hers would work. Luckily, three doors down, she struck gold. Turning the handle, she came upon a room twice the size of her father’s igloo, with a bookshelf nailed to one wall and an ornate desk in the middle—Karik’s office.

Katara slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She hadn’t been able to wheedle anything from Hahn, but surely, if Arnook were up to anything, he’d have communicated with his ambassador.

She began to rifle through the papers. Most of it was pretty rote: invites to dinners with the Earth King ambassador, drafts of a speech, receipts for new robes. As the minutes ticked by, her frustration grew. If she didn’t find anything today, would she have to come back? She wasn’t sure her brain could handle their politicking for another afternoon, not to mention any more of their drinks. In her rush, a stack slid onto the floor. Cursing, she dropped to her knees, grabbing at the sheets. As she fished one from under a chair, the signature caught her eye: Arnook’s.

Heart racing, she read. The message was short, clearly continuing from a different page:

from reviewing the Fire Nation files. In any case, I agree with your suggestion to explore Plan B to find it.

-Arnook

Then, in different, scribbled writing below: CH, 9:15.

Katara combed through the rest of the sheets but couldn’t find any other pages of the letter. She was sure this was related to what Pakku had mentioned, but how? What was CH? What Plan B?

A noise outside the door snapped her to attention. Katara quietly placed the documents back and after a beat, poked her head out into the hallway. Seeing the coast was clear, she tip-toed slowly, wincing as the wood creaked below her feet.

“M-Master Katara?”

Damn it.

She turned slowly to see a young maid carrying a pitcher, eyes wide. Right, she could do this.

“Oh yes, perfect.” Katara straightened, attempting her haughtiest expression as she held out the empty kettle. “I was looking for you. The tea is out.”

The girl immediately stepped forward to grab the pot from Katara’s hands, a pink stain painting her freckled cheeks. “Of course, please forgive me, Master Katara. Anything for the Avatar’s friend,” her voice reverent.

Katara’s expression was fixed, but if it looked fake, the maid hardly noticed, having broken into multiple profuse bows before scurrying back to the kitchen. After a beat, Katara rolled her shoulders back and re-entered the parlor.

“Goodness, there you are,” Karik said congenially.

“What took you so long?” Hahn said less congenially.

“The servants were struggling to get the water boiling. And then I started feeling a bit tired.” Katara sighed. “All that healing, you know.”

The three men bobbed their heads in tandem. “Oh, of course, my dear! Young ladies have such delicate constitutions. My sincerest apologies for dragging on our meeting so late.” Karik said.

She smiled tightly. “Not at all. But I believe I should excuse myself a bit early.”

Karik nodded. “Certainly, certainly. Should Hahn escort you back?”

“Oh no,” Katara said, widening her eyes in concern. “I’m sure you men have things to catch up on. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

The Ambassador hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Alright, if you insist. I can send Hahn later in my carriage.”

“Feel better,” Oyalu said, his eyes a bit too knowing.

Hahn shoved another biscuit into his mouth, unperturbed. “See you later.”

As she slid into her coach, she didn’t have to fake the smile she gave the driver. “Before we head back to the Palace, can we make a quick stop?”

***

The house was located at the edge of Zoryu Park, on a cramped but clean street, squashed between other rather humble residences. Katara bid her driver to pull at the end of the block, handing him some coins to wait before walking to the door. She hesitated a moment, then knocked twice.

“One minute!”

A smatter of footsteps, and the entrance swung open.

“Katara!?”

“Hi, Ty Lee. Can I come in?”

The woman at the door blinked but then shrugged, a broad smile crossing her heart-shaped face.

“Of course!”

With that, she turned on her heel, and Katara followed her to a small parlor.

“Tea?”

Stomach abruptly queasy at the thought, Katara shook her head in refusal, so Ty Lee dropped neatly into a plush chair, her hands folded in front of her.

Katara perched on a purple and orange-covered chaise on the other side.

“This is such a lovely surprise! I didn’t know you were in town,” Ty Lee said.

“It was a bit last minute.”

The other girl regarded her for a moment. “Zuko asked you to come for Uncle Iroh, then?”

Katara was startled at the frankness. “Um…yes.”

“And I’m guessing you’re not just here for a social visit? Since I was the one that bought Uncle Iroh that tea, you’re here to see if I poisoned him.”

“I’m not here to accuse you of anything,” Katara said, shifting awkwardly. “But I thought it’d be a good idea for me to start at the beginning to get a better picture of what happened.”

Ty Lee’s expression didn’t falter, and her large eyes were gentle. “So he couldn’t be cured by bending then.”

“No, a general bending doesn’t seem to be enough. But if I can figure out the cause, I could try a more targeted healing approach.”

“Was it his chakras?”

Katara paused, unsure how much she should share.

Ty Lee chuckled softly, lips downturned. “I see; you don’t want to share information with a possible attempted murderer.”

“Do you blame me?”

The other girl met her gaze levelly. “I didn’t say that.”

Suddenly, a small hairless ball skulked into the room. Ty Lee’s face broke into an overlarge grin.

“Princess, my darling! There you are!”

The creature, its fur patchy with random orange spots and seemingly missing a leg, let out a high-pitched whine before slowly crawling toward Katara. She jumped at the feel of its wet tongue against her ankle.

“Oh, Princess, no! Bad tiger monkey!” Ty Lee leapt up, sparing an apologetic glance at her guest before scooping the squirming beast onto her lap. It let out an indignant huff in response.

“Sorry about that.”

“What an interesting pet,” Katara said, leaning down to wipe the saliva off her skin with the edge of her trousers.

“Isn’t she just so precious?” Ty Lee gushed, her eyes alight. “The ringmaster found Princess caught in the tent rigs one night and was going to kill her, can you imagine? So I had to take her in, naturally.”

Princess had settled, turning its yellow eyes to gaze at Katara; one of them was bugged out more than the other. A lump of drool slipped from its jaw onto its owner’s fuchsia skirt.

“Naturally,” Katara echoed faintly.

The other girl began to stroke the beast, and they sat in silence for awhile, broken only by Princess’s occasional snorts and the faint notes of the chimes by the window.

“He’s like a grandfather to me.”

“Sorry?” For a wild moment, Katara thought she was talking about Princess.

Ty Lee looked down at her hands and began to fiddle with her bangles. “Uncle Iroh. Ever since I left my family, I’ve never really had any trustworthy adults in my life, no one in general except for Mai, really. But after the war, the three of us—Iroh, Mai, and I—started having regular afternoon teas. And he’s given me so much advice. It was always the highlight of my week.” The girl paused, swallowing.

“So I’m glad you’re here, Katara,” she said. “Really. It’s good that you don’t trust me; it means you’re taking this seriously. Not that Zuko isn’t, of course, but he’s much more biased. He didn’t even put me in custody right after it happened. It was horrible, the expression on his face when Iroh collapsed—.”

At this, Ty Lee’s voice faded, her eyes taking on a faraway look, the edges of her mouth tight. But a moment later, she seemed to shake herself out of it.

“So ask me any question you’d like. I’ll try to answer to the best of my abilities.”

Katara sat back. When she’d demanded the girl’s address from Cho, the pharmacist didn’t protest per se but had raised an eyebrow while handing over the slip of paper. And Jiro hadn’t even mentioned her involvement when he’d first discussed Iroh’s condition with her either. It was clear neither of them thought her guilty. It made sense, after all. They may have fought on different sides of the war at first, but she was still friends with Zuko. Still, it didn’t hurt to be thorough.

“So, the tea. Healer Cho mentioned you had brought it.”

Ty Lee nodded. “Yes. The night market has a stall run by a popular tea merchant. With the nation’s open trade agreement, he’s been getting a lot of new varieties in, so I try to stop by and get some samples now and then after a show. This was a mix of white dragon and spices from the northern Earth mountains. And I knew how much Uncle Iroh loves white dragon blends.”

“Did anyone question the merchant?”

“Yes, I believe Zuko sent some guards to pick him up. But the man had no motive; he’d been a regular trader for years and was not even aware I was buying the blend for Iroh. Cho tested the sample against what he’d been selling to other customers, and it was all the same ingredients, but no one else fell sick…”

“Do you still have it? The tea?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

“Of course. Do you still think that it was the cause, then?” Her voice came out strained.

Katara sighed. “No. Or, well, probably not. But there are some bending techniques I’ve read about that can help you sense poisons that it is worth testing. I need to do more research on how they work, though.”

“It must be so wonderful to heal people with bending,” Ty Lee said.

Katara couldn’t help raising her eyebrow. “That’s a bit ironic, coming from you.”

The other girl shrugged. “Actually, it’s part of why I learned to block chi. It’s scary, as a non-bender, to be around benders. You’re always aware of the power they can wield over you to some extent. Even if they’re your friends. I wanted a way to defend myself, level the playing field. And the theory behind chi blocking is quite interesting. We tend to think of bending as an ability divorced from the rest of the body, but it’s all interconnected. My technique is all about redirecting your blood pressure at key points. Change that, and you can affect everything: your muscles, your senses, and your bending. Of course, it’s temporary—I’m no Avatar.”

The memory of her own arm, numb after Ty Lee’s deft jabs, was still visceral. Katara barely restrained herself from pressing the same joints again to confirm they worked. “Right.”

Ty Lee cocked her head. “I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” she replied, too hastily. “But that tea?”

“Right, I think Mai put it in the upstairs closet. Give me a minute…” With that, she got up, dislodging Princess, who let out an indignant yelp as a result and walked out of the room.

Katara took the chance to look around.

Unlike the relatively drab exterior of the building, Ty Lee had painted the walls of her house a bright peach shade. The furry chaise Katara’d been sitting on took up most of the room, studded with jewel-toned pillows embroidered with increasingly bizarre patterns. Above the furniture, a large canvas was hung, depicting a forest of giant, multicolored mushrooms and a dancing, ultramarine catgator. On the other end was the fireplace adorned with various shiny agates and quartz, small carved animals, and a set of small paintings. As Katara peered closer, she saw the first was a faded sketch of a much younger Ty Lee, still with her signature long braid, grinning broadly next to a taller girl—Mai. Mai had her arm circling Ty Lee’s shoulders and was caught in the middle of rolling her eyes, although the tips of her lips were upturned. The next one had Ty Lee with a bunch of other people Katara didn’t recognize in front of a large tent. The sign behind said “Master Tong’s Incredible Travelling Circus!” in large print.

The final portrait was one of four teens lounging on a beach. Ty Lee was shoulder to shoulder with Azula, who was wearing a more relaxed expression than Katara’d ever seen on the girl’s face. On the other end, Zuko stood with his arm wrapped around Mai’s waist. His hair was shaggy, eyes opaque.

“Found it!”

Katara whipped around, guilty, as Ty Lee re-entered, holding a small package. Spotting her at the portraits, the other girl stepped closer.

“Ah, yes. Ember Island. This was taken in such a different time.” Ty Lee’s fingers brush against the glass, across Mai and Zuko’s faces.

“He looks so young here,” Katara murmured.

“Oh, you mean Zuko! Yes, I suppose he does, now that I think about it. Not like these days, with that fancy crown of his. I’m not sure he ever takes it off,” Ty Lee said, snorting.

“That’s not true; he doesn’t wear it all the time,” Katara said without thinking.

The other girl slanted her a curious gaze.

“I–I just mean, it’s probably too pointy to wear to, like, bed.”

Ty Lee’s laugh was tinkling. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, placing the dried tea leaves mixture on the table. “How is he doing, anyway?”

“Who?”

“Zuko, of course.”

Katara sat back on the cushions. “Why’re you asking me?”

“Aren’t you two friends?”

“Aren’t you?”

Strangely, a look of guilt flashed across Ty Lee’s face. “Not recently. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Now, it was Katara’s turn to look away. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked…much.” Unbidden, a snippet of memory surfaces, his face half in shadows in an empty hallway.

"I know you will."

“I guess that’s not surprising. Even Mai’s tried to get him to talk, but he’s such a boy.” Ty Lee continued.

Thankfully, Katara was saved from thinking about how to react to that by the feeling of sandpaper against her shins. With a flinch, she looked down to see Princess balancing on her one leg, her bare tail flicking across her legs, hand open.

“Oh my!” Ty Lee said. “She must really like you. The only other person who begs for treats is Mai.”

“And that was after months of bribing her.” Another voice drily cut in.

“Mai!” Ty Lee exclaimed.

“I’m back.” The girl was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. She looked much like Katara remembered, clothed in a sleek black dress and black flats. Her cool eyes slid over the two of them.

“How funny,” the tall girl said. “I’ve also brought a visitor.”

She reached behind the wall and pulled Zuko into the room with her.

“Had to literally drag him from the Council meeting. Apparently, he’d rather spend all his time arguing with those windbags than his oldest friends.”

Zuko had been frowning, his mouth open to say something in response, but stopped short when he caught sight of Katara. Abruptly, his mouth snapped shut, surprise coloring his features. Indeed, it did look like he’d been dragged out of an important meeting: he was still swathed in the Fire Lord regalia, pointy shoulder pads and all. Only his crown appeared slightly crooked atop his head.

Katara mustered a weak smile. “I was just leaving.”

“No, stay, please!” Ty Lee cried.

“Yes, Katara, stay. I just picked up some spiced bangus from Mama Lai’s.” Mai said.

“Ooh, I love that place! And now, with four of us, it’s a proper party!” Clapping her hands in excitement, Ty Lee bounced over to Mai, grabbing the proffered steaming bags.

“But—”

“Don’t be silly,” Mai said, throwing an arm around Katara’s shoulders. “As Ty Lee mentioned, we insist. And besides, it’s a rare occasion to get our workaholic lordliness out of the palace. We have to celebrate.”

Desperate, Katara looked back at Zuko, but he was studying the paneling along the ceiling. Resigned, she let the other girl propel her into the kitchen, another surprisingly humble room with a beat-up wooden table. Ty Lee and Mai began moving around as she sat, pulling various cutlery from the cupboards.

“So, Mai you live here too?” Katara asked.

The other girl flicked a strand of her bob as she set down four plates. “Yeah, it’s been almost a year now, ever since the old man kicked me out.”

Katara’s eyebrows raised to her hairline. “Your father kicked you out of your house? Why?”

At this, Mai shrugged, cracking open one of the paper bags, the scent of fried fish wafting in the air. “He was mad Zuko and I broke up.”

“That is not what happened.” Zuko interrupted, his voice so close to Katara’s shoulder that she jumped. He moved around her, sinking into the chair across the table.

Mai seemed unruffled. “He basically did. Dad nagged me about our breakup so much, it drove me out of the family home.”

“Don’t be silly, Mai. Lord Ukano may have been upset at losing the prospect of you being queen, but even he knows you can do a lot better than Zuko,” Ty Lee said as she danced back in, carrying a large carafe.

Katara glanced at Zuko, but he merely looked amused at the insult. Mai gave a mock hum of consideration, tapping a long finger against her chin.

“You might be right, Ty Lee. But I’m definitely not going back. No more meddling parents. And Ty Lee’s such a lovely roommate.” At this, Mai reached out to brush her hand against Ty Lee’s.

“And Mai knows she’s always welcome to stay here.” Ty Lee said, her face pink as she turned her back to grab a dishcloth.

“But enough about me,” Mai said. “How are you finding your time in the Fire Nation? Is Zuko being a good host?”

Why did people keep asking her this?

“I’ve only been here a few days,” Katara said, determinedly not straying from Mai to the man directly beside her.

Ty Lee laughed. “That means Zuko hasn’t been very friendly, has he?”

“No! I mean, I also haven’t been–” Realizing what she was about to say, Katara cut herself off, then tried again. “He’s been very welcoming.” Then, she made the mistake of looking next to Mai. Zuko’s posture was straight, his face carefully neutral. Under his gaze, she felt her cheeks heat and looked down at her empty plate.

“I see,” Mai said. She had her chin resting on the heel of her hand, her eyes piercing.

The moment was thankfully cut off as Ty Lee opened the rest of the food, and they began to serve themselves.

The meal passed relatively quickly, with the other two girls carrying on the bulk of the conversation. Ty Lee dove into explaining her training for her new act — “Katara you must come see the show when it debuts!”— with Mai jumping in with her own wry observations. Apparently, wealthy nobles had little in the way of jobs, so the other girl had been spending her time split between various luncheons with other noblemen, babysitting her brother, and following Ty Lee to work, which meant she had a lot of strong opinions on the acts. Zuko was quiet, picking his food and shrugging off the other two girls’ attempts to draw him into conversation. None of them mentioned Iroh.

Katara was caught up with the bizarreness of the situation: even after the war, never could she have imagined herself here, sitting in Ty Lee’s cramped but homey kitchen, surrounded by people who were once her enemies as they argued over how strong a strongman needed to be to be considered an impressive circus act.

At one point, Mai reached over to poke Zuko’s forehead. “If you continue being so antisocial, it’s going to make the effort I took into getting you here all for nothing, and I shall cut you off as a friend.”

This seemed to trigger a small smile, and he rolled his eyes. “No you wouldn’t.”

Mai sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

The two shared a fond look. Sitting at the head of the table, Ty Lee watched the pair, her face uncharacteristically tight.

Then, a horrible retching sound cut through the moment.

“Oh no!” Ty Lee gasped, jumping up. “Princess must’ve eaten her food too quickly again.” The gagging noise continued, now interspersed with a girl’s cooing, thus effectively ending the meal.

“Zuko, you brought your royal carriage, didn’t you?” Ty Lee asked a couple of minutes later as they cleared the table.

He raised his eyebrow. “Well, to be more accurate, Mai forced me to bring us in one here, yes.”

“Great!” Mai said, coming in, carrying an upset but vomit-free tiger monkey on her hip. “Then you can escort your Healer back.”

Katara felt her stomach sink. “No, no, that’s not necessary. I brought my own.”

Mai frowned. “Are you sure? We didn’t see any other carriages when we arrived.”

Indeed, when the four of them stepped onto the street, Katara’s vehicle was nowhere to be found. She swore under her breath, realizing she’d only tipped the driver for an hour, and based on the darkened sky, it was clear that had long passed.

“So it’s settled then,” Ty Lee said. “You can take Zuko’s carriage back with him.”

“But—!”

“It’s late, Katara.” Zuko’s voice cut in, firm. It was the first time all night he’d directly addressed her. “We’re going the same way, anyway. Let me take you back.”

She swallowed but, seeing no other option, gave in with a nod. As they sat down, she looked out the window to see the two girls standing outside. Mai had slung an arm around the smaller girl’s shoulders, a strangely amused expression across her face.

The Fire Lord’s stagecoach was lavish, with the benches wide and covered with cushions bound in thick velvet fabric and a small lamp hanging in one corner. Zuko lifted a finger to it, and a flick later, the vehicle was flooded with light. Although it was bigger than the one Katara and Hahn had hailed, this ride felt more claustrophobic. This was highlighted when one of the wheels hit a rock, causing the carriage to lurch sharply sending Katara out of her seat. She braced for impact, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt a steady warm pressure circling her chest. Looking up, she realized she’d fallen straight onto Zuko. He looked down, a few stray hairs brushing against her cheeks, but it was too close to catch his expression.

Flushed, she pulled away, scrambling back to her seat. “I–I’m sorry.”

He looked surprised, his arms still outstretched. A second later, he cleared his throat several times. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Then, in a different voice,

“And I meant it yesterday, as well. That you don’t need to feel bad. You’re the one who came all the way here to help. I’m grateful, really.”

Just like last night, Katara didn’t know how to respond to this. For so many years, Zuko’s presence triggered in her an innate instinct to fight. Even when they were on the same team, it was a relationship forged in war. Now here, in peacetime, with only the gentle croak of the cicada crickets as their company, she felt unnerved.

“Well,” she said at last. “At least let me apologize for intruding on your dinner with friends.”

He snorted. “Please. You were doing me a favor, giving Princess someone else to obsess over.”

Katara’s mouth twitched. “Gods, it really is an ill-suited name for such an ugly thing, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what kind of mutt she is, but none of it is of royal lineage, that’s for sure.”

“I can’t tell if Ty Lee named her that way as a joke or not.”

Zuko’s mouth quirked, eyes glinting mischievously. “Ty Lee wasn’t the one who named her. Mai did.”

Katara clapped on her mouth as a giggle escaped from her lips. A moment later, both of them burst out in laughter. When the chuckles petered out, the air suddenly felt warmer.

He leaned back, shoulders loose. “How is working with Cho?”

“Good,” she paused. “They are very thorough.”

Zuko waited.

“But it’s still difficult to figure out a treatment plan when we don’t exactly know the cause of his illness.”

He sighed. “I can imagine. If only this was some sort of physical injury instead. At least there, the source of the wound is obvious.”

“Yes, exactly, when it’s obvious—” suddenly, it hit her. She jumped half out of her seat to grab Zuko’s arm, heart racing.

“That’s it!”

“What?”

“I’ve been spending so much time thinking of a specific remedy that I forgot the most obvious solution.”

“And that is?”

“Spirit water!”

Zuko’s eyes widened. “Of course,” he whispered. “It can heal almost anything, just like…” his hand drifted towards his scar.

Katara was hit with a wisp of memory of that puckered skin under her fingers; his eyes closed, complexion tinged by the emerald glow of a cave.

She quickly sat back. But as she began thinking, her heart sank.

“But how do we get it? We’d have to go to the spirit world for a new sample. Maybe we can ask Aang, but I’m not sure where his travels have taken him these days, so who knows how long it’d take him to get the letter, and we’re running on a clock. And, every other known sample is highly regulated by the Water Tribes.”

This time, it was Zuko’s turn to lean forward, lips curved, slightly dangerous in the light. “Then I guess we’ll have to find an unregulated one.”

Chapter Text

“There better be a good reason why you’ve dragged me all the way over here,” June said as she dropped in the chair behind the desk, legs crossed.

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “I promised you it would be worth your time, didn’t I?”

She smirked. “You always do, Fire Lord.”

“So, can you help us or not?” Katara said, voice sharp.

June shrugged. “Spirit water is not exactly a common request. But yes, I can.”

“There’s not really a sample for your pet to sniff after,” Katara pointed out.

“Nyla is very talented, as you well know,” June said, to which Katara stiffened.

“June,” Zuko said warningly.

The older girl glanced in his direction before sighing. “But you’re right, this isn’t something Nyla can find. That doesn’t mean I can’t be helpful in other ways.”

Katara looked like she wanted to respond, but some innate sense propelled Zuko to cut in.

“June has a lot of connections in the city. I figured if anyone knew how to find spirit water, she’d know.”

Katara’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t refute, which was a promising sign.

“Like I said, spirit water isn’t your run-of-the-mill contraband. It’s rare, and to anyone not a waterbender, more like a trophy or collector’s item, really. There’s only one place in the city where you can find such things. The Auction.”

“Like, an underground one?” Zuko asked.

June nodded. “There are many smaller markets, but the Auction is the premier spot—if there are any spirit water samples scuttling in the shadows, it’ll be going through there.”

Zuko suppressed the desire to snap at her for not telling her about these illicit dealings before. “Great, how do we get in?” he said.

“As you can imagine, it’s not exactly easy. The Auction only runs three times a year, and getting an invite in is notoriously difficult.”

Next to him, Katara let out a frustrated sigh.

“Luckily for us,” June continued smoothly. “I recently paid a visit to the home of a…mutual friend of ours.” At this, she pulled a scrap out of her pocket, which Zuko recognized: Jok’s jacket.

“A friend?” Katara asked skeptically.

June smirked. “Yup. It looks like he has left town and will not be coming back anytime soon. But fortunately for us, in his rush to leave, he left many of his possessions lying about.” With that, June unwrapped the fabric to reveal a gold embossed paper.

“When you sent your message, I grabbed this in case it might be helpful for…other purposes.” She paused, glancing meaningfully at Zuko.

“Never mind that,” he said, waving his hand. She’d meant tracing Jok’s drug ring, of course. But that was a pet project that would have to be paused for now. “What is that?”

June shrugged. “Our friend was a popular man; looks like he got himself an invite to the next auction.”

Katara leaned forward, her previous disinterest gone now. “So, when is it?”

June’s smile was feline. “In two nights, during the Fire Festival.”

Her smile grew bigger as Zuko handed over the absurd payment she’d requested. With a parting brush against his arm, she placed the ticket into his hand and sauntered out of the office.

Katara stared at the door June had left, a small frown between her brows.

Coughing, he said, “So, we should try to make a plan, then, shouldn’t we?”

“What was she talking about?” Katara asked.

“What do you mean?”

“This friend of yours. I’m guessing he’s not actually a friend.”

Zuko scratched the back of his head. “Ah, yeah. It’s nothing big, really.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But Zuko--!”

“Katara! It’s confidential Fire Lord business, okay? So please, stop asking.”

There was silence.

“Fine,” she said, voice clipped.

“Katara, I—”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. Let’s just focus on getting the spirit water.”

Zuko hesitated for another moment but nodded. He crossed back to his desk, rifling through the papers to find a quill. He heard a rustle behind him as Katara approached and then smelled a faint scent of cinnamon as she leaned closer. Instinctively, his hand jerked, sending the stack of books perched on one corner toppling to the floor. Katara crouched down to pick them up. She grabbed the largest, a red leather-bound volume.

Seeing the book in question, he sighed. “Don’t mind that. Just a waste of time.”

She looked up questioningly.

“No I just…I found it stuck behind some of the old Fire Lord records. I’ve only gotten a third of the way through, but I can’t make heads or tails of it, if I’m honest. It’s all written out in these tables with strange numerical notations. All I can work out is it’s some sort of set of tests? I think it’s part of a series or something, but I couldn’t find any other volumes with that jade plant logo on the cover.” Zuko let out a sigh. “I’d been hoping…”

“What?” Katara asked

He shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “It’s silly. I’ve just been hoping I could find some more guidance on…I don’t know, how to be a better, ruler? Or, you know, just not like the past ones.”

There was a moment of silence. Zuko felt his face heat. What was he saying? Fire Lords shouldn’t sound so unsure. He opened his mouth to try to cover up the confession with excuses, but the press of her hand on his arm stilled him.

“That’s not silly at all.” Her eyes were intense, pinning him.

Katara looked down, color tinting her brown skin. “But it’s strange,” she said as she gathered up the other books for him. “This almost looks like.” Now, it was her turn to shake her head. “Never mind.”

Jiro entered, carrying snacks. Then, the pair of them settled onto the couches across from the desk, and Zuko lit the fireplace.

“Well, we better get started.”

***

Two nights later, at a quarter to seven, Zuko pulled on the outfit he’d fished from the back of his closet. The clothes were a few years out of date, from his days as a prince, but he knew the expensive material more than covered that fact up. And most importantly, it lacked the signature shoulder pads and gold embroidery of a Fire Lord. He paused for a moment to look in the mirror, grimacing a bit. Even in these more casual clothes, he still felt awkward, as if he were an Ember Island performer himself.

The sky had just started to ripen to purple by the time he set off, tugging his cloak over his head to cover his scar as he slipped out of the servant’s halls. Mai and Ty Lee assured him not to wait around in the castle as they’d take a while to ready Katara. He had smothered a grin while waiving them off, their victim casting pleading glances at him as she was propelled out of Zuko’s office an hour earlier.

Outside, the city was decked out for the festivities. Long strings of paper lanterns were sewn across buildings, the shops beneath lit up to beckon revelers in. Large red posters hung on above the streets, with Fire Festival spelled out in sharp bold characters, and orange and yellow streamers and flowers flew in the summer air. It was a warm evening, perfect for celebrating, and people were already milling around despite the relatively early hour. Zuko walked past stalls with large signs, beckoning customers. Shopkeepers yelled out bargains for steaming buns and fire popcorn, the spicy scent wafting through the air. A small gaggle of children were throwing hoops in one stall, attempting to catch it on the neck of a small statue. They all seemed to have abysmal aim, but their parents didn’t seem to mind, cheering loudly. A young couple next to them was sharing a shaved ice desert, the girl taking a demure bite from the boy’s proffered hand, causing his acne-scarred face to flush.

“There you are.” A voice said. Zuko turned.

Later, Zuko would recognize the slinky black dress from Mai’s collection. On Katara, it seemed so different. The collar hugged her, trimmed with a deep red border. The dress’s neckline was deep, with its two straps holding it up and coming up to tie around her neck. She was wearing a necklace of maroon-tinted diamonds—the same color as his jacket, he realized—and a matching set of earrings set in the shape of a flower. Her shoulders were bare, with long bell-like sleeves starting half down her shoulder, made of some thin translucent material. When she lifted her hand to push back a section of hair behind her ear, the material caught some of the firelight.

Someone–he suspected Ty Lee–had gone ahead and painted Katara in the style he’d seen other noble fire nation women wear: a deep kohl around her eyes, a tint of color along her cheekbones, and a similar coral across the dip of her lips. Distantly, he realized he should point out that Ty Lee’s efforts were a bit in vain—they were wearing masks, after all—but the words died in his mouth.

“Sorry I’m late. Mai and Ty Lee took forever—her dress had to be hemmed, you know—and then I had to make sure it was dark enough to sneak out without anyone noticing, so I was scrambling a bit and,” She paused, a bit out of breath.

“Does it look…weird?” She asked. The question was tinged with self-consciousness.

“No. No, of course not. You look like…uh…” he swallowed. “You look like…a real, Fire nation noble lady.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, I think?”

Face warm, he turned away to survey the street until he spotted their destination. An elderly woman with a tight bun of grey hair was sitting quietly as crowds bubbled around her. He began to walk towards the stall, and the swish of fabric behind him told him Katara was following. She spotted the pair’s approach immediately, breaking out into a toothy grin.

“A mask, dearies?” She asked toothily.

Zuko nodded before turning to the selection lining the shelves of her stall. The designs were incredibly intricate, with thinly painted patterns and a shocking variety of colors and face types: young, old, air nomads, water benders; the shop seemed to have it all. Next to him, Katara plucked one to try on. But as he leaned towards another shelf to take a look, he felt someone shove against his shoulder. Without thinking, Zuko stuck out an arm to block a man, flush with drink, from stumbling into Katara. Unfortunately, this redirected him back towards Zuko, and the sudden redirection caused him to flail, catching the edge of Zuko’s hood with him. Panicked, Zuko pulled the covering back over his scar, but the sharp-eyed shop owner had caught it, and was now squinting at him.

“Is that…” she began, but Zuko hastily grabbed a random mask and threw down a set of coins from his pocket. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened at the amount as Zuko thanked her and pulled Katara away.

It was only when he made it several streets away, into an alley, that he looked down to see what he’d selected.

Katara broke out into a giggle.

The mask was a cartoonish tiger monkey with overly-large eyes and long, feminine lashes. On its head, a tiara was drawn between its ears.

“Careful, Ty Lee might mistake you for Princess’s long-lost twin.”

He groaned, glancing back towards the stalls. “Maybe I can—" but the chime of the clock tower interrupted him. Damn, they were going to be late. Resigned, he turned his back towards the street to discreetly push his hood down and secure the mask. With a rustle, he heard Katara do the same. Unlike him, she’d chosen a simple mask, a painted white face with a red spot across each cheek. A bride.

“Ready?” He asked.

She nodded.

They left the alley. On the other end of the street, a band had started playing, the drums thumping between the tinkering of bells. Zuko pushed against the crowd. They weaved between folk until Zuko found the street June had described. Unlike the main streets, these stores were all either closed or out of business. They slowed, their footsteps echoing across the empty road.

“I think this is it,” she whispered.

The door was unobtrusive, nearly hidden between two shops, with peeling green paint. But on its upper left-hand side, there was a small carving of a bouquet of flowers. Drawing up, Zuko wrapped on the wood three times, per the ticket’s instructions.

A near minute had passed in silence until they could hear a shuffle. With a grunt, the door cracked open. A face peered through the slit. An air bison mask.

“Yes?”

Zuko reached into his breast pocket, pulling out the embossed ticket. “We’re here to view the show. We’ve heard…there’s a special selection tonight.”

The bison man didn’t say anything but did snatch the ticket out of Zuko’s fingers. The door slammed shut.

“Umm,” Katara whispered. “Should we…?”

But suddenly, he could hear the clank of a chain being unlocked, and the door swung fully open. The bison man stood in front, wearing a set of plain but well-tailored black pants and jacket.

“Welcome, sir. Please follow me.”

As the pair stepped forward, the bison man shot his arm forward to block Katara.

“My apologies, sir. This invitation was for one person only.”

Zuko turned to look at Katara but, of course, was just met with the blushing bride’s fixed expression. Right, they had planned for this.

Gritting his teeth, he wound his arm around Katara’s shoulders. “So? This is not just anyone, as you can see. You want me to leave my wife out here with these…commoners?”

“Again, I’m sorry, sir. But the invitations are quite clear.”

“That is unacceptable,” Zuko said, channeling the iciness of a Fire Lord. “Do you know how much we’ve paid for this invite? Who the hell are you to tell my wife where she can and cannot go?” He stepped forward. For emphasis, he released a short breath, sending the nearby lamp into a blaze. The hair of the other man’s bison mask sizzled, causing him to jump back.

A cool hand reached up to stroke Zuko’s chest. “Darling, don’t scare the poor man.” Katara’s had taken on a silky quality. Her fingers brushed against his collarbone. He hoped she couldn’t sense the goosebumps that trailed in her touch’s wake.

As they rehearsed, he snapped his release on the lantern, letting it peter down into an innocuous flame. Zuko looked down to see Katara lean her head against his chest. Between the mask he saw her gaze up through her lashes.

“I’m sorry, my husband can be a little short-tempered. He has such a stressful job, you know. My darling’s been working so much, has barely anytime for me. But he promised to make it up to me by buying me a lavish gift for our anniversary. So, you can see how upsetting this is, can’t you?”

At this, she lifted her arm to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting the man see the intricate diamond and gold bracelet she was wearing, the signature crest glinting in the light. Zuko couldn’t see the other man’s face, but he heard his intake of breath in recognition. Who wouldn’t, after all? Arturo’s Jewelry was famous, even amongst commoners. He only made jewelry for the most select nobility. Thank god for Mai’s expensive tastes. Or, more accurately, Mai’s mother’s.

There was a pinch at his side, ripping Zuko from his thoughts. Katara’s other hand, which had wrapped around his chest, had been subtly digging into his ribs.

He cleared his throat. “Exactly. Do you want to tell your bosses that your stubbornness cost them such a valuable customer?” Zuko said, making his tone as haugty as possible.

The other man swallowed loudly. “But, still, sir, protocol…I’m not sure…”

Zuko smiled underneath his mask, sensing the man’s resolve weakening. Time for the kill. He dipped into his pocket to pull out a pouch, tossing it to him.

“Here, this should be enough to deal with any protocol. And a bit more for your kindness.” Zuko emphasized the last word. The man gasped at the gold, as he should. It could buy more than two carriages.

Thank god for greed.

“Of course, I appreciate you and your wife’s generosity.” The air bison man moved down the hallway. As soon as his back was turned, Katara ripped her hands away, stepping apart quickly. Zuko felt fuzzy, his heart pounding strangely.

“Let’s go,” Katara hissed. He nodded dumbly and followed her.

The hallway went on for a while, getting darker and darker. From the tilt, he could tell they were going underground for a bit before going back towards the surface. A tunnel. The thought made him antsy. He kept an eye on Katara’s figure in front of him.

Eventually, they stopped in front of another small, nondescript door. The other man produced a set of keys from his pocket, and they entered a massive room. The ceiling, which Zuko could see was likely a warehouse, given the sparse covering, hung a massive chandelier reminiscent of the one in the Palace’s formal dining room. Painted paper panels with floral designs covered the walls. Large tables overflowed with selections of fruits and vegetables. Other men wearing the same uniform as their escort were circling with serving dishes. A flutist sat in one corner, playing a light tune. On the edges stood other men wearing traditional demon masks, staring out at the crowd, posture stiff, with a scabbard attached to their hips. Guards.

Their original escort had bowed and melted into the crowd, but they were immediately approached by another man in a white jacket. He wore a different mask: a portrait of a man with yellow, angry eyes, one of which was circled in a large spot the color of dark plum. It was Zuko.

“Welcome to the Camelia House, dear guests,” Mask-Zuko said. Unlike the real man, this man’s voice was higher and calm.

“Yes, thank you,” Zuko replied drily. “It was quite a pain to get in, so I hope you’ll make it worth our time.”

“It’s called the Camellia House?” Katara cut in, her voice tight.

The man slightly inclined his head. “That is its official name, yes. Each Auction is different, but you are in luck. Camellia prides itself on bringing particularly unique specimens. But the bidding does not start until 8:30, so please enjoy yourself until then. Rest assured; you will not be disappointed.” With a slight smile, mask-Zuko nodded and glided away.

“That was weird,” Zuko said.

“They got your features all wrong. Your nose is not that narrow.” Katara replied. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I told you that would work.”

Zuko tried not to roll his eyes. When he first noticed the ticket was only for one person, he’d insisted, as Fire Lord, he should go alone. Katara indicated she might not agree with this, namely by telling him he was an idiot. Her brilliant plan was for her to go instead. Naturally, he responded calmly by explaining she was the bigger idiot. This was an illegal market with a number of shady figures. As Iroh’s healer, shouldn’t she stay behind just in case something happened? She said she’d been in quite a number of more dangerous situations, thank you very much, and wasn’t he as Fire Lord arguably also too important? He said that no, in fact that was not the case. They called each other an idiot a few more times until finally Katara paused, smiling a bit too sweetly.

“You know what, you’re right. Naturally, if the Fire Lord insists, then what can I, a mere commoner, say?”

Zuko had then valiantly smothered his first instinct, which was to point out that she’d actually said quite a lot already.

“I’m glad you finally see reason. Jiro! Can you bring us some dinner, please?”

The manservant might not have heard their whispering, but his gaze was still infuriatingly knowing when he came in the room to serve them.

An hour later, half (three-quarters!) way through the iciest dinner of his life, Zuko set down his fork.

“Fine. We can both go.”

Katara broke into a large grin, a sunbeam through a frigid iceberg. And though he should’ve winced at his lack of diplomatic skills, Zuko somehow couldn’t feel too bad about it.

Not that he’d admit as such to her now.

“Maybe. Would’ve still been easier if I just came alone.” This time he was ready for her pinch, darting away towards a waiter with drinks.

“Careful,” he said, handing her one of the flutes he’d retrieved. “I think it’s liquor.” The expression on Katara’s face told him she knew what he had done, but she accepted the glass nonetheless.

As Zuko sipped, he discretely scoped out the crowd. Most were dressed like them, in opulent clothes and murmuring quietly amongst each other. All, of course, in masks. He shook his head.

“I probably know many of these people; a lot seem like nobles.” He murmured so only Katara could hear. “Can’t believe this has been going on right under my nose.”

“You’re not a god, Zuko. You can’t be expected to be able to control or know everything. Not even the Avatar can do that.”

“Still, this is…I should’ve shut this down earlier.”

“Well, your incompetence is working in our favor right now. Without an active black market, there’s probably no way we’d be able to find Spirit Water in Hari Bulkan, so I’m not complaining.”

“It’s a good thing June knew about this.”

“Yes,” Katara agreed. “Thank goodness you two are friends.”

Zuko glanced at her. She was also looking out at the room.

“Uh, not sure I would call it that exactly.” He said.

“Oh?” She said mildly. “What would you call it?”

Zuko was spared an answer by the sound of a loud clap. The music cut off as Mask-Zuko raised his hands to catch the crowd’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin our show. If you would please follow us this way.” With a gloved hand, he indicated a large door to one end. Zuko set aside his glass and the pair of them moved towards it. They were in an old theater. The room was dim, with only a few lamps gathered to illuminate a small stage. As they walked in, a waiter handed them a paddle with a number on it with the number 28 painted on it.

They grabbed chairs nearest the entrance. Someone sidled into their row, and Katara shifted closer to Zuko to let him in. He caught the waft of her hair, slightly muted under whatever perfume Mai had sprayed on her. Cinnamon, now mixed with lavender.

A couple of minutes later, most of the seats were filled. Mask-Zuko in white leaped onto the stage.

“Tonight, as promised, we have brought you a selection from far and wide. At Camellia House, we only have the rarest of specimens for your delight and, more importantly, for the highest bidder. So sit back, and please enjoy the show! If you are a lucky winner, one of our staff will direct you to receive your prize at the end of our show. Now, without a do, let’s begin!”

A servant rolled out a tray holding a large necklace with a large jade stone the size of an arctic hen egg in the middle. “For our first item, we’re starting strong, folks,” Mask-Zuko said. “This is a necklace of the famed Avatar Kyoshi, gifted to her by Earth King Wu. We’ll start the bidding at 50 gold coins!”

Katara gasped, and even Zuko, used to living in luxury as he was had to agree. The amount was ludicrous. But this apparently was worth it to someone in the crowd.

“And we have 50! Anyone for 100?” Someone else raised their hand. And so it went. Item after item. Some things were obviously valuable to Zuko; paintings by artists that he recognized. Others, though, were less obvious. At one point, a monkey statue whose eyes were covered by a fabric set off a frenzy amongst other bidders that he couldn’t understand.

At least twenty items came and went, and doubt began to niggle. How could June be sure that one of the items would be spirit water, after all? It wasn’t like there was a menu or something. What if they put in all this effort just for nothing?

But just as he resolved to share his thoughts with Katara, mask Zuko started speaking.

“For our next item…ladies and gentlemen, do you want to get closer to worlds apart from ours? Do you have an ailment that is incurable? Or just want to own a substance so rarely seen outside of the Tribes? This can help with that…taken during the last raid of the Northern Water Tribe, it is highly sought after; some don’t even believe it exists…a sample of Spirit Water!”

Mask-Zuko pulled off the cover of the newest item on stage to reveal the small vial filled with a clear blue liquid. Zuko exchanged a glance with Katara, whose expression mirrored his. This was it.

“We’ll start the bidding at 300 gold coins!” Zuko’s hand shot up.

“300 to number 28! Anyone for 350?”

Another hand, two rows up, shot up.

“And we have 350! Do we have 400?”

“400 to number 28!”

“450 to number 4!”

“500, number 28!”

“550, number 4!”

“Zuko,” Katara whispered urgently. He nodded and took a deep breath, raising his card again.

“800 gold coins!” He yelled.

The crowd started to murmur. It was the highest bid of the night.

“My goodness,” Mask-Zuko said. Even he couldn’t contain his excitement. “What a startling development. Does anyone else want to bid over the Gentleman for 800?”

No one spoke.

“All right then. If no one else objects, the Spirit Water is going for 800 in 3…2…1…SOLD!”

As the item was rolled back behind the curtain in a polite smattering of applause, Zuko let out the breath he’d been holding. Suddenly, his neck jerked to the side, pulled by an arm that had looped around his neck.

“You did it!” Katara whispered fervently into his ear. Her breath was warm, soaking into his skin, through his chest.

He smiled and sat back, heart hammering. They did it. Now, they just needed to wait ‘til the end of the night, collect the water, and they’d be good to go.

A couple more items came and went. Then the lights dimmed. Mask-Zuko stepped into the center of the stage as a giant spotlight turned on him. Zuko blinked as his eyes tried to adjust to the bright light.

“Thank you all for coming tonight! We have reached the final item of the night. The crown jewel of our night, a specimen so rare that it is hard to find. At the end of the war this product has become near impossible. But naturally we at Camellia House pride ourselves in finding such special items. To protect you and your loved ones during these times of plague and pestilence, there is nothing quite like it…”

With a flourish, the entire curtain behind Mask-Zuko pulled up to reveal three figures. Two of them were guards. And held between them, staring vacantly ahead—

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Fire Nation. I present to you, all the way from the lands of the Southern Water Tribe, a genuine, water-bending Healer!”

Chapter Text

Like every bender, Katara remembered her first. When Aang had asked her about it, she’d mumbled something vague about being in school, not very exciting, etc. It just felt a bit silly to tell the Avatar that it actually started during a fight. She'd fallen behind the other students walking out of class during recess when he shoved her hard against the ground, into a snowbank.

“My auntie says your dad’s the reason we’re losing this war.” The boy, Lan, said.

Katara was a month shy of her seventh birthday and more knees than girl at that point, and Lan, though only a year older, had been blessed with puberty early and towered over her. She’d been expecting this; he’d been picking on her for weeks by then, though never more than sly comments or light shoves before. The accusation he lobbed sank into her stomach like an anchor.

“My father’s the best leader the Southern Water Tribe could have!” Katara sputtered.

Lan sneered. “If that’s true, why do we keep losing every battle against the Fire Nation?”

Katara scrambled away until her hands found the back of an igloo, using it as leverage to stand back up. Her legs were shaking.

Lan continued. “If your dad was better at his job, my dad would still be–he’d still be–”

His expression fractured, twisting into a mottled color. “My dad would be here!”

Katara’s heart started pounding. Her eyes began to fill. On instinct, she leaped forward, pummeling her fists against Lan’s chest.

“No. It’s not my dad’s fault! Take it back.”

But the boy merely shoved her again, so hard it sent her flying several feet this time. Her head hit a rough patch of ice, the pain snaking up the base of her skull.

“Never,” Lan said, his voice coming out in stilted gasps. “It’s not fair. Why does your dad get to live, while mine is--!”

He’d begun crying freely now, nose dribbling a line of snot across his chapped lips and his rounded cheeks.

Not that she’d noticed at the time. Katara hadn’t understood then the way grief sprouted on a child’s face, though for years after his face would haunt hers, a reminder of her callousness. But in that moment, all she felt was her own anger mixed with guilt, its tides buoyed by the adults who’d always explained her father’s absence.

Katara’s father was brave; he was a warrior. She was proud that he was out there, protecting them all against those terrible Fire Nation monsters. He didn't cause this pain.

And suddenly she could feel the water, its flow pulsing around her. Like the flash of lightning when it lit up the sky to reveal a hidden world for just one brief moment. And she reached for it.

Of course, childish temper tantrums did not create anything particularly impressive in real life. All that anger only managed to lift a couple inches of melted ice, at most giving Lan soaked socks. But the shock of seeing it had struck both of them dumb. Their scuffle brought the teacher running, who was old enough to know exactly what Katara had just done.

The teacher fell to her knees, with an expression that Katara had never seen before: hope.

***

The woman at the auction had no expression. Her hair was likely black once, but had dulled to the color of dried pond stones. Strands hung limp and loose around her shoulders. Her skin was a beige pallor, and she was dressed in a simple sheath, her bare arms thin and scattered with raised scars. Around her ankles and wrists were thick, rusting chains.

But by far the worst was her face. Her jawbones jutted out painfully, her cheeks sallow. She gazed across the room, unseeing.

Heart hammering, Katara clamped onto Zuko’s arm, and she could feel the tension of his muscles.

“Oh my god,” she said.

Zuko’s face was still hidden by that ridiculous mask, but she saw his tight nod of agreement.

“We have to do something!” She hissed.

“I know.”

“Time to begin our final bidding, ladies and gentlemen!” The auctioneer said. “Do we have–”

“800 gold!” Zuko interrupted.

The auctioneer looked thrown for a moment, before plastering his professional smile on again. “My, my, we are eager. Very well, would anyone like to respond to 800 with–”

“900!” A voice across the room yelled. Katara tried to peer through the gloom. It was a man wearing a thick cloak and a wolf mask.

“We have 900! Would anyone—?”

“1000!” Zuko said.

“1100!” The wolf replied, without waiting for the auctioneer.

“1200!”

“1300!”

Katara and the rest of the audience whipped their heads back and forth between Zuko and the wolf-masked man as the bids climbed higher and higher. Only the woman on stage remained unmoved.

“5000!” Zuko yelled.

The auctioneer’s grin, by this point, had grown maniacal. The audience began to murmur. “Oh my goodness, esteemed guests. We have here a record-breaking bid…do we have a counter?”

There was a pause. Katara’s fingers had dug so hard into Zuko’s arm she was sure she was drawing blood.

But then, the auctioneer glanced at the other man, his smile narrowing abruptly. He raised his placard.

“6000!”

Before Zuko could respond, the auctioneer clapped his hands together. “SOLD!”

Katara’s heart dropped.

“What the hell?” Zuko cried. “I didn’t even get a chance–” he started to rise out of his chair, but was blocked by Katara’s grip.

“Wait, Zuko. Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“I saw the auctioneer glance at the other bidder right before…I think this might’ve been fixed.”

Zuko swore as the guards pulled the woman back behind the curtains.

“We can’t lose her!” Katara said, a tremor creeping into her voice.

The auctioneer spoke again. “Thank you again, ladies and gentlemen, for joining us at Camellia House this evening. We sincerely hope to see you again soon at our next show!”

“Not if I have anything to do about it,” Zuko said darkly.

“Sir,” A voice from behind said, causing them to jump. It was another waiter. “Please follow me to collect your prize.”

Katara rose, pulled to her feet by Zuko. Seeming to sense her thoughts, he reached through the crook of his elbow to grasp her hand on his arm, squeezing her fingers tightly.

“Don’t worry,” Zuko whispered, as the pair followed the waiter. “We’ll figure something out…now that I know where this is happening, I’ll issue an order for an investigation and raid to arrest them once and for all.”

She shook her head. “No. These guys will be long gone by then.”

“Katara,” Zuko said. “Don’t be reckless–”

“Sir,” the staff said. They’d walked up to the edge of the stage, which had a small door flanked by two guards. “We can only have the primary buyer come with us beyond this point for security reasons, I’m afraid. Your wife will have to wait until you return.”

Zuko frowned. “That’s not—”

“It’s fine.” Katara cut in. “Go on.”

He turned to look at her. His eyes narrowed. The expression was probably meant to be all Firelord-like and intimidating, but through the princess mask, the effect was comical, causing Katara’s lips to twitch involuntarily. Shaking her head, she plastered a smile.

“My dear wife,” He began through gritted teeth.

“Don’t take too long, darling.” She said, letting go of his arm to toss back a flick of her hair. When he didn’t move, she lifted her brow and gave an exaggerated air kiss.

Zuko huffed, but didn’t protest. Before following the waiter, Zuko surprised Katara by stepping close to her, casually yet not so casually wrapping his arm around her waist and leaning into her.

“Be careful.”

His breath was warm, a puff against her ear.

Then, just as quick, he retreated, following the other man through the door. Katara eyed them for a moment before turning to scan the rest of the room. The crowd was slowly filtering back into the hall they’d been in earlier.

The clock was ticking. Katara leaned against one of the now-empty chairs, frowning. An image of the woman flashed in her mind. She let it sit and flow over her for a moment, that sensation of alarm. But this feeling was like an old friend for her, wasn’t it?

A shove against her interrupted her thoughts. Another woman, draped in a large fur, giggled and mumbled a slurred apology, the flute in her hand tipping ominously.

That was it.

Katara closed her eyes, casting her senses out to feel for it, the water, fermented and bubbling. She opened her eyes again and located her targets: a man near the exit door and a couple right behind her. With a flick, she bent, and three flutes full of champagne exploded. If she’d spared a glance like the other bidders, Katara might’ve seen how those in the vicinity gasped in pain as the shards dug into the skin, or the way the guards, who happened to be quite near, leapt to their aid. As it were, the crowd was too riveted to notice Katara as she slipped backstage.

Through the sliver of light filtering between the curtains, Katara could make out a few empty crates lying around backstage, a bit of rope, and, in one corner, a door, with no one else in sight. But when she tried the knob, it was locked.

After jiggling the handle a bit more with no luck, Katara, reached up the slit in her dress to the strap she’d tied across her other thigh, pulling out the small flask. She sent a reluctant thank you to Mai for forcing her to wear this skimpy outfit; they hadn’t even bothered patting her down like they did Zuko when they entered earlier, probably assuming it could hide nothing. She knew she’d have to move fast; there might not be guards back here now, but soon enough they’d notice her absence. Opening the bottle, she concentrated on grabbing a small amount of water from within it, letting it hover in front of her to assure it was the right amount, before inching it into the keyhole. Adjusting into the proper stance, she froze the liquid. There was a crack, louder than she intended, as the handle fell off, the door swinging open.

Taking a breath, Katara stepped into a dim hallway, lined with several doors. The first was for a small storage closet. The second appeared to open up to a larger room. Carefully, Katara peered through a crack to see a long set of cubbies lining the wall. The other end of the room was roped off, behind which a line of guests stood. A couple of people dressed in black were walking back and forth from the guests and the cubbies, handing out items.

She watched this exchange happen a few times, but the client she was looking for wasn’t here. Neither was Zuko. Well, that shouldn’t be too surprising. None of the cubbies could fit a person after all. For a moment, bile rose in her throat, and she shut her eyes, trying to focus on her breaths, and quietly closed the door.

The final door opened to a set of downward stairs. With a surreptitious glance behind her, she began to descend. The further she went, the darker it became. The air grew dry and stale. As she neared the bottom, she saw the floor around her feet open up. She pulled short, kneeling on the final hidden step to look through the slats, into what appeared to be a small cellar. Someone had repurposed the space, setting up a sparse cot in one corner, a chair in the other. It was on this chair, guarded by two burly men, sat the woman. Her ankle chains were now attached to a column nearby, and her hands were in a strange wooden box. It was, Katara realized with a pang, to stop her from bending. A couple feet away stood the auctioneer and the man in the wolf mask.

They were so focused on the woman, they didn’t notice Katara slip down in the shadows to hide behind a barrel at the foot of the stairs.

“Again, I apologize for the unexpected other bidder. With the Fire Lord’s pardons of all water and earth benders from prison, acquiring this good has just been much harder than before. Demand goes up for rare items, especially during this recent plague, as you can imagine.” The auctioneer was saying. “But, as you can see, we kept our end of the deal!”

“You confirmed her identity, then?” The masked man said. His voice was gruff and strained, but oddly familiar.

“Of course, sir. Camelia House prides itself on finding whatever your heart’s desire. For the right price, of course. I have to say, it was devilishly tricky to meet your specifications, sir. May I ask why this one in—?”

“That is none of your business.”

The auctioneer bowed so low Katara thought his nose might brush his shoes. “Of course, sir. My apologies.” He hesitated for a moment. “As for the amount promised…?”

“Per the contract, it will be delivered by tomorrow morning.” Wolf mask said, maintaining his gaze on the woman. He withdrew a small baggie and tossed it to the auctioneer.

“A tip for your hard work.”

“Thank you, sir, for your generosity!” The auctioneer jerked his head towards the guards. “Unshackle her.”

There were several soft clicks as they did as told, but even once released, the woman didn’t move. A guard grabbed her, pushing her to her feet. The sudden movement forward caused her to stumble.

The auctioneer was still talking. “We’ve given her enough to keep her out of it for the next day or so, and the manacles should make sure no funny business happens.” He paused then to look over at her.

“Not that you need to worry. She’s been broken in well, this one, and rare; from the labs, if her paperwork is correct.” He let out a high-pitched chuckle.

The woman had been staring into the air blankly, but at the laugh, she glanced up, and her eyes locked with Katara’s. They were a malted brown, the same tint of her mother and aunts. Of Katara. But on her, the pallor was off, as if staring into the spirit oasis pool without Tui and La.

Katara’s chest constricted so painfully as the dam around her heart was overwhelmed, battered by the sheer force of her anger. Her vision blurred, her mouth filled with salt. Without thinking, she sprang up from behind the barrel.

“Get away from her,” Katara said.

The men spun around.

“What the hell–?” The auctioneer gasped. But she didn’t let him finish.

With one hand, she hurled twin jets towards them, pinning the man in the mask by his wrist against the same column as the woman’s chains, freezing the liquid. She sent the other to the floor, hardening it into a line of ice. As the auctioneer stepped back, his foot slipped, sending him sprawling with a cry, and she shackled him with another ice bind.

She then turned her attention to the guards. By this point, they’d recovered from their shock and withdrew their swords. Katara swallowed as she pulled a long draw from her flask, letting her fury whittle it to a sharp point. She grabbed it with one hand and pulled out the other item strapped to her thigh: Pakku’s dagger.

It was not a moment too soon, as one of the guards ran forward, swiping his blade. She raised the icicle to block. The blade made it halfway through, sending shards scattering. She flung those pieces towards the guard’s face, and he yelled, using his free hand to try to protect his eyes.

But the other guide was still advancing. He moved quicker than the first, swinging low to the left. When Katara dodged, he seemed to anticipate this and grabbed her right shoulder hard, slamming her into the wall.

She bit back a scream as something popped and swung wildly with her dagger. A grunt told her she’d more or less hit her mark, and the guard let go, staggering back clutching his side. Blood was dripping between his gloved hands. But before she could catch her breath, something pulled her arm hard. She twisted around to see the other guard. One of his brows had been clipped by the ice and was bleeding into his eye, but the other was still open and angry. She twisted, trying to get out of his grip. He pushed her hard, flinging her to the ground. Winded, she blinked as the two men stood above her, smirking. Instinctively, she reached in her mind for her flask, only coming up dry—there was no more water.

“Looks like we’ve found some more product right here.” One of the guards stepped out of her frame; there was a familiar clinking sound as he clamped one end of a chain to her wrist. The other crouched down, grinning as he pressed his foot painfully against her arm, and reaching for her masked face.

“She’ll make a nice profit, won’t she, boss?”

The fear lanced through her, sharp. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Unbidden, an image flashed through her mind. A field of poppies. A half-smile.

There’s water in places you never think about.

She took a deep breath, sending her awareness wide, letting it sink into the ground, float into the air, to the huff of breath from the guard above her, the sweat beading on the auctioneer’s upper lip. The saltiness across her cheek. And she bent.

Distantly, Katara heard the gasps as the saliva was ripped from a man’s throat, conjured from the damp air, melded with her tears. But she only felt them rush to her fingers, freeze into talons. With a cry, she swung her free arm up, digging into flesh. The other end of the chain, not yet clipped to the column, followed the arc of her arm to clip one of the attackers in the temple.

The guard cried out, stepping off her hand. She scrambled up, swiping mindlessly at the other with her fingers and knife. Something warm and thick sprayed across her skin as her talons made contact with flesh. But there was no time. No time.

She rushed towards the woman, who throughout this–was it just minutes?-- had remained standing impassively.

“Come on, we have to go!” Katara said. The woman gazed at her blankly, eyes drifting to her ice fingers. There was a brief flicker.

Katara glanced back to see the man in the wolf mask. He was holding a blade and hacking away at the ice around his own wrist, nearly free.

“Damn it. There’s no time!” Katara hissed. She stashed her dagger along her thigh and grabbed the woman’s arm to steer her to the stairs. But when she stumbled, Katara glanced down to see that the ankle that had been shackled was bent in the wrong direction, the bone jutting against the skin, which was a dark, purpleish color. Nausea rose in her throat. No time. Instead, Katara pulled the woman into her arms. She was not particularly strong, but the woman was barely more than bones. Thankfully, she didn’t resist, laying her head on Katara’s shoulder, closing her eyes.

“What are you doing?” The auctioneer’s voice bellowed, reedy with panic. “Go after her, you imbeciles!”

The climb up felt infinite, only interrupted by Katara’s pants and the clank of the end of the chain still attached to her wrist. Soon enough, the body in her arms began to feel heavier, and Katara’s muscles started to scream in protest.

“It’s ok,” Katara said, although she wasn’t sure if the reassurance was for the other woman or herself. “I’m a water bender, just like you. I’ll get you out of here.” Finally, they reached the landing, and Katara’s arms buckled as she let the woman back onto her feet. From below, she could still hear muffled shouts.

The panic began to rise in her throat. She was out of water with a woman who could barely even walk. What the hell was she thinking? She should’ve just listened to Zuko, not gone so foolishly—

She felt a tug and spun, readying her dagger for attack.

“Katara, it’s me!”

She paused. The blade hovered an inch away from the man’s temple. “Zuko.” She breathed.

He was wide-eyed, heaving. She lowered her arm, dazed.

“How…?”

“I knew you weren’t going to listen to me. Took a minute, had to get rid of that server. Thankfully, with all the yelling, it wasn’t hard to find you.”

“Did you–”

He sent her a smirk, pulling open his jacket. Dangling on a chain across his chest was a vial—the Spirit Water. Zuko’s smile melted as he took in their state. “What on earth—?”

“There’s no time,” Katara said. “The shackles I put on the men below won’t hold them for much longer.”

Zuko straightened and nodded. “Right, let’s get going then.” He turned and started to walk.

“Wait,” Katara said. He looked back at them. “She can’t…she’s hurt. Her ankle…” Her voice wavered at the end as she glanced back down at the woman’s mangled foot.

To his credit, Zuko didn’t say anything. Just approached the woman with an arm out. “Do you mind?” He asked, his voice heartbreakingly gentle.

The woman tensed.

Katara brushed her hand against her arm. “It’s ok.” She said. “You can trust him. He won’t hurt you.”

The woman glanced back at Katara. With a jolt, Katara saw recognition in her eyes. And then, incredibly, she nodded. Zuko swiftly gathered her in his arms, and they set out down the hall.

“Any idea how to get out of here?” Katara said.

“There’s a side exit used for the winners, but…it’s probably not a good option right now.”

Katara raised her eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Caused a bit of a stir trying to shake my minder. Plus, it's more heavily guarded because it’s near the auction items.”

She cursed under her breath.

“How did you get back here then?” He asked.

“Stage.”

“Out the way we came in then, I suppose?”

“Yup.”

He sighed. “So much for a low-key night.”

Katara took the lead, guiding them back down the hall to the backstage door. They didn’t bother being quiet this time, bursting through the curtains. By now, the space had cleared out.

They jumped off the stage, running to the exit leading into the larger hall. Unfortunately, this was not as empty. A handful of guests were lingering and chatting, looking up at the sound of their entrance. For a moment, there was stunned silence.

“Is that the water bender?” One of the guests whispered.

“G-guards!”

A smattering of steps behind them revealed the two guards Katara had fought and the man in the wolf mask, appearing from the door Zuko had left through earlier.

“Thieves!”

Katara turned until she and Zuko were back to back. From her count, there were at least ten armed guards, not to mention the smattering of servers.

She took out her knife. Zuko summoned a fiery rope, whipping it in a wide circle, causing the crowd to jump back.

“There’s too many.” She whispered.

“I know.”

She needed water, damn it. Or at least—

“Zuko.” She grabbed his wrist. “The liquor.”

She felt rather than saw him nod. “Right.”

And then she reached.

Every bottle of champagne, ale, and wine exploded. Corks flew into the ceiling. Glasses ruptured. And a tower of flutes toppled as every drop of alcohol sought its new master. The tide rose in a wall between them and everyone else.

It only took a spark, from Zuko, really. The fire licked up the drink, greedily following the path Katara wove with her fingers across the room. Was this how all fire benders felt? It was toxic, heady, the way the flames leaped at her every beck and call. She directed the stream across the room, arcing towards the guards. Zuko’s bending danced along hers, a skater across her ice, acting out her desires. She needed to be just ahead of it, as to not be fully consumed. Too soon, however, the sparks twirled away from her, pirouetting onto rugs, tablecloths, dress hems. Guests fled past them in mass, ripping Katara and Zuko away from each other.

“We need to go, now!” Zuko was yelling at her. He had thrown the water bender over his shoulder and was looking at Katara, arm outstretched. The fire was scaling the walls now, burning through the threaded sign above the fallen champagne tower, only the first letters visible through the smoke. A woman screamed, stamping her foot as flames crawled up her heel.

“Katara!”

There was no time. She took Zuko’s hand, and together they ran.

Chapter Text

“Get Jiro and Cho!” Zuko barked. “Now!”

The two maids dropped their dusters, fleeing in a hurry. Zuko lowered the older woman off his shoulder onto a side chair. Between the flight from the auction house to the palace, she’d fallen asleep, her breaths a contrast to Katara and Zuko’s heavy pants.

He turned his attention to Katara, who was staring unseeing into space.

“Sit,” he said. The word came out coarse, pulled out through his smokened throat, rougher than he had intended, but she simply sagged into the nearby chair without a word.

“Katara.”

She didn’t respond, head bent towards her feet.

“Katara,” He said again, kneeling at eye level. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, the purple of a bruise crept towards her collarbone.

Slowly, Zuko curled his fingers around the edge of her mask, pulling it off, alongside his own. As they fell to the floor, Katara finally raised her eyes to his.

“I—”

“My lord!”

Zuko kept his gaze locked with Katara’s.

“Cho, a lady on the couch requires your attention.”

“Why…?” But there is the sound of footsteps and the sound of someone sucking in their breath.

“Yes, Lord Zuko.” Cho was always quick on the uptake.

“You should go with them,” He said to Katara.

“But Iroh—”

“That can wait.” He cut in firmly. “You’re injured.”

She continued to stare at him, her eyebrows organizing into protest.

“No, I need to—"

He shook his head. “Let me handle this.” Zuko pressed his hand into Katara’s knee. The fabric of her lovely dress was much too thin; he could feel the goosebumps along her skin.

“Please.”

She regarded him, and after a moment, she bit her lip and nodded.

Zuko let out an internal sigh of relief. He pulled his hand away from her, curling it into a fist as they stood. He turned back to Cho, who had begun gently gathering the patient in their arms.

“Move her to one of the guest rooms in the family wing. And tell no one of this.”

As Katara followed, she threw a final look back at Zuko, her expression strange. Before he had a chance to decipher it further, she was gone.

He turned to the other man standing quietly in the wings.

“There’s a fire on the city's east side that’s likely to spread. Order the guards and medical units there and ring the evacuation gong.”

“Of course, Lord Zuko. Consider it done.”

“And Jiro?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Call for the Head of the City Police. I have some questions that need to be answered. Now.”

***

Before Zuko could knock, there was the sound of footsteps, and the door swung open.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Katara said. In the last hour, she’d bathed, and a fresh cloth had been tied around her injured shoulder.

“Is my Uncle,” he said, swallowing. “…awake?”

Katara had turned her back to him, focused on coiling her wet hair into a braid. “No, Cho’s given him a sleep aid. I thought that might be best; bender-healing can be quite uncomfortable.” She blinked, then turned back to him. “But don’t worry, I told him our plan this morning.”

He let out a breath and forced himself to walk towards the bed. Despite Cho’s daily reports and his own visits, the image of Iroh’s yellowed face, starkly cut against the velour pillows, sent a fresh lance through his chest. It wasn’t right to see his Uncle like this.

It is all my fault.

“Zuko?”

He shook his head, pulling the vial he’d been fiddling with for the past hour. “Here you go.”

She accepted it before pulling a chair closer to the bed.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Zuko stood behind her. Cho, who up to this point had been perched across the room on a windowsill, gave up pretending to fiddle with a tincture and wandered closer.

Katara took a deep breath, closing her eyes. With one smooth motion, the bottle uncorked, and the water unspooled. Twirling between Katara’s fingers, the liquid began to shine, casting the room in glowing waves of light. Behind him, Zuko heard Cho’s soft gasp. He couldn’t help but agree—it was beautiful.

A moment later, the water darted down his Uncle’s throat. Iroh’s body jerked slightly before relaxing again. Katara pressed both hands firmly on his chest, her brows furrowed in concentration. With each tick of the clock, Zuko’s eyes bounced between them, locked in a battle he could not see. Then, abruptly, Katara’s eyes flew open and she pulled away.

A beat passed before Cho finally dared to speak.

“…What happened?”

Katara chewed her lip. “I’ve pushed the Spirit Water into the chakras.”

“So, did it work?” They asked.

“I’m not sure, exactly. I’ve only ever done this once for an external wound, so it was kind of obvious when it healed.”

Zuko flinched. “Aang’s injury, back in the caves.”

She flicked a glance at him. “Yes.”

So then, should we wake him up? I have some—”

Suddenly, Iroh’s whole body began to shudder. And then his Uncle started to cough. And cough. And cough. The sound was awful, like a lion vulture ripping through their prey. The force lifted his body off the mattress. Zuko surged forward, trying to press him back down. Then he felt something damp hit his cheek. Blood: thick, clotted, began to spew out of Iroh’s mouth, his nose, his ears. Slow, at first. Then all at once.

Someone was…saying something. Yelling?

“Turn him on his side, quickly!” Cho cried, pulling Zuko back to the moment. They had materialized next to Zuko, pressing a rapidly darkening rag against Iroh’s lips. “We don’t want him to choke on his own blood!”

As Zuko turned his body over, Iroh gave another strong shudder. A new spray of blood hit the bedsheets.

“What is happening?” He yelled. Cho didn’t reply, throwing the soaked-through cloth to the floor and grabbing another.

Desperate, Zuko looked over his shoulder. Katara was standing a bit away—likely pushed aside by Cho—staring wide-eyed.

“I need you!”

Jolted out of her shock, Katara nodded, rushing forward.

“How can I help?”

“Here,” Cho said, shoving the rag to her. With one hand, Katara pressed it in the same place, using her other to make a sharp sweeping motion. Cho dove towards their bag by the windowsill, rummaging through its contents.

“Keep him steady,” Katara said.

He nodded, focusing on keeping Iroh pressed into the mattress. There was the sound of shattering glass as the water from a nearby vase flew towards them. She started weaving the water across Iroh’s body, face twisted in concentration. After what felt like an eon, the hacking finally slowed. Katara pulled her hands back. But it wasn’t over: he was still losing blood rapidly.

“Move!” Cho yelled, appearing again. Zuko pulled Katara back as they tilted a mint green sludge down Iroh’s throat. His Uncle resisted for a moment, but Cho kept the bottle steady, pressing his mouth closed until Iroh finally swallowed. Almost immediately, his body slackened.

Cho let go, and the room fell silent as the three watched his Uncle start to breathe normally.

“Is he ok?” Zuko said, finally.

Cho pulled out a new towel to start mopping the mess.

“This should stabilize him for now. I’ve given him another dose of the coagulation potion. The attack was bad; I’ve never seen him bleed so much so quickly before.”

“The Spirit Water,” Katara broke in, her voice small. “…it should have worked.”

Zuko felt his gut churn, the tides he’d been treading all these months starting to swell. Hesitantly, he walked back towards his Uncle’s pillow. His face had resumed its earlier peaceful expression, with only a browning stain across his chin and chest betraying what had just happened.

This was all his fault.

Behind him, Katara and Cho were talking, their voices getting louder and louder.

“--seems to have accelerated his symptoms,” Cho said.

“That’s impossible!” Katara replied. “Spirit Water is sacred for a reason. It’s created by the spirits; how can it make someone sicker?”

“Oh, and the spirits are always perfect? I’ve actually read in some fascinating new hypotheses about the substance, in fact—”

“You can’t be serious? Just because someone makes a guess—”

“These are not just guesses, they’re backed by a real, scientific method—”*

“Enough!” Zuko yelled, slamming his fist into the headboard. The force caused the cup perched on the side table to fall, joining the shards of the vase below.

Immediately, his face flooded with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

When there wasn’t a response, he finally glanced at Cho and Katara. They were wearing near identical looks of chagrin.

Uncomfortable, he searched for something to say. “My Uncle needs his rest. Cho, please send in the maid to monitor him until morning.”

They dipped their head. “Of course. My apologies, Lord Zuko.”

Cho exited, leaving only Zuko and Katara in the room with Iroh. The pair studiously avoided each other’s eyes. Finally, when the maid entered, he cleared his throat.

“You should get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

Katara opened her mouth, expression contrite, but Zuko shook his head. “We can talk in the morning.”

And without waiting for a response, he turned and left.

***

Despite this promise, Zuko spent the better part of the next day sequestered in his office. He had work to do, after all, about this Camellia House business. And if it had the added consequence of not having to talk—well.

By evening, the endless meetings with officials—all of whom claimed increasingly dubious levels of ignorance about the auction house—began to wear on him. After a frustrating report from the police chief that the traffickers had disappeared without a trace, Zuko stormed out, itching for a fight.

When Jiro later found him, he’d just finished incinerating a dozen of the palace guards’ new test dummies, but the restlessness hadn’t abated. Zuko bent down to collect the charred scraps.

“Please, my lord. A maid can clean that up.”

“No. I’m the one who made this mess; I have to be the one to fix it.”

Jiro watched silently as Zuko gathered the pieces in his hands, piling them alongside his other victims. Once done, he finally turned to the manservant.

“Well, then. What is it?”

“You have a visitor. She’s quite insistent on meeting.”

“At this time of the night? Who is it?”

“Miss June.”

Zuko sighed. “Right. Let her in.”

“I’ve already directed her back to your office,” Jiro said, handing him a towel.

Zuko raised his eyebrows at the servant’s presumption but said nothing as he dried the sweat off his chest and returned inside.

June had already made herself comfortable by the time he arrived, legs thrown atop the desk as she nursed a glass of whiskey he recognized from his father’s old bar cart. At the sight of him, she wrinkled her nose.

“Have you not bathed?”

“I’ve been a bit busy.”

June scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure. All of Harbor City is buzzing with rumors about the robbery at Camellia House.”

Zuko let out a harsh laugh. “The robbery of a criminal, you mean?”

June raised her eyebrows. “My, my. Testy, aren’t we?”

“Just cut to the chase, June. I’m tired.”

“You could’ve just turned me away then,” she pointed out.

He didn’t have much of a response to that, simply collapsing into the chair across from his occupied desk. June swirled her drink as she regarded him.

“Want some of this then?”

Zuko snorted. “Are you offering me my own liquor?”

“Maybe.”

He rubbed his eyes. “No, I’m fine.”

She shrugged. “So, did you find the Spirit Water?”

Maybe he should have accepted the drink. “Yeah.”

“What happened then?”

Zuko pressed his thumb into his brow. “We found out that wasn’t all they were selling.” He bit back the bitter taste on his tongue. “It was a slave auction. Selling water bender.”

He heard her suck in a breath and looked back up. June had put down her glass, looking uncharacteristically morose.

“Ah.”

“You don’t sound all that surprised.”

She licked her lips, and something akin to discomfort flitted across her face. “Well…I’d heard rumors, of course. During Ozai’s time, some rich nobles liked to keep their water benders. Don’t really know why, it’s not like any wealthy nobles were off fighting in the war.”

He rubbed his eyes. “No. But it’s a status symbol; a perverted trophy.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So you did know about this?”

He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, avoiding her eyes. “No, I—I didn’t.” But that was not the truth, exactly. He hadn’t known about the trafficking, yes. But as Zuko smoked dummy after dummy, a memory had risen from the ashes, transformed from a mildly unpleasant moment to be inspected in a new, menacing light:

Zuko, age seven, playing with children at the old War Minister’s mansion. Azula, bragging about some new fire bending technique she’d learned. He, consumed with jealousy because their teacher had not taught him, foolishly trying it anyway. The flame whipping out of his soft palms, curving around his leg. The scorch of a burn—it was the first time he felt such pain, though it would certainly not be the last…And the next scene, blurry from the agony, of lying in a bedroom. Azula off in the corner, rolling her eyes while the Minister was blubbering an apology (to her, not to him). And a figure standing sitting next to him.

Try as Zuko might, he couldn’t remember more: the man’s face, his name, even the soft words of assurance he murmured to the young prince. All embarrassingly blank. The only imprint was the sweet relief of his wrinkled fingers before Zuko passed out again. Later, when he recovered, Zuko had been so focused on begging Azula not to tell their father about the incident that he hadn’t spared much thought for how he’d been cured so quickly without so much as a scab. Instead, the memory had served only as another humiliating example of his inadequacy. The identity of his mystery healer had thus faded; just another faceless servant.

“I didn’t realize the market was still operating after the war,” June mused.

“Not anymore, if I have anything to do about it.”

She took another sip. “I can ask around, try to figure out more.”

“I need to uncover the buyer’s identity. He seemed desperate to get their hands on a healer.” He swallowed. “And now they know of another one.”

“Katara,” June said.

“It’s my fault. We were still wearing the masks, but I shouted her name, like a fool. There’s no way they don’t know who she is.”

June looked down contemplatively. “I’ll keep an ear out, ask some other bounty hunters what they hear.”

“Do what you need to do, I’ll pay double.”

June smirked, swinging her legs off the table and setting down her cup.

“That’s a given.”

She came around the desk and leaned towards him, trapping Zuko as she braced her hands on his armrests.

“But enough shop talk. It’s getting late after all.”

She leaned closer and pressed her lips to his neck.

He closed his eyes as her hands drifted up his chest. She dragged her mouth up. Whatever lip paint she had on tingled against his skin slightly, leaving a numbing trail.

God, he was tired.

She had made her way up his earlobe now, nibbling his jaw, her leg pressed up into his lap. An invitation. And then her lips made it to his stubble, the corner of his mouth.

The scent of her liquor-dipped lips hit his nostrils. It was sharp, floral. A champagne, not a whiskey, he realized—his father’s favorite: harvested from volcanic vineyards near Fire Mountain City, infused with camellias.

Zuko pushed June’s shoulder away. “I should get to sleep.”

The rejection clearly surprised her, but she quickly schooled her expression. Grabbing the glass again, she swallowed the last remaining drops. Wiping her mouth, she stood.

“All right.”

Zuko remained seated while she grabbed her bag and turned to leave. As she reached the door, June paused.

“As a bounty hunter, I make it a practice not to question my clients’ motives. But chasing after illicit drug dealers and a substance known for healing all injuries with a powerful water bender in tow. I can put two and two together, you know.”

“Good night, June.”

“Sweet dreams, Fire Lord Zuko.”

***

“No!”

Zuko gasped, eyes flying open. Above him was a sky of ashes; he’d set the throw pillow on fire, its singed feathers floating above the canopy. Sitting up, he wiped the sweat from his brow. A glance at the window showed it was not yet sunrise, but his sticky back and pounding heart guaranteed more sleep was no longer likely. Pulling on a tunic, he padded out into the dark hallway.

At this hour, the silence in this palace wing was thick; he could almost hear the blood plumping through his veins. And it was only because of such quiet that he even heard it. A soft sigh, a rustle. And then he saw from where: the finger of buttery light, peeking through a door.

When he got closer, the whole scene didn’t surprise him. Only two people had permission to enter the library, after all.

“Oh!” Katara said, straightening at his entrance.

“…I saw a light was still on,” Zuko said lamely. The candle she’d lit was halfway through, pearls of wax starting to drip onto the oak table, filling what little space wasn’t already covered with papers. “How long have you been here?”

She gave a small smile. “A while. Couldn’t really sleep.”

“Yeah.” Zuko didn’t quite know where to look, finally settling on the open book in her hands. “What’ve you got there?”

“Just trying to read up on Spirit Water, see if anything can explain why—I mean—what happened.”

He pulled out another chair, scooting closer. “Really? I’m surprised anything in this place would be helpful for that.”

“Most of the collection is pretty Fire Nation-centric, of course. But I did find a few books in the back detailing water-bending practices in the back, and even a book written by an old Western Air Temple monk.”

“Huh. I’d have never guessed. To be honest, I always avoided this place as a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just, I never took you as much of a bookworm.”

“Hey, in my defense, my tutor was such a nightmare. He was the previous Finance Minister and would spend hours droning on about currency and new economic strategies.”

“God, that sounds like torture.”

“Six-year-old me would agree.” He paused. “You should send that Air Nomad volume to Aang.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I just meant…Can I just take this out of a prized collection?”

“Why, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“What does that mean?”

Katara laughed softly, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

She smiled, eyes twinkling mischievously against the candlelight. And then she opened her mouth to tell Zuko a tale involving a library beneath a desert, its giant owl guardian, and Sokka’s sticky fingers. It was exciting, action-packed, and, of course, absolutely ridiculous.

“You know,” he said, wiping a tear away between laughs, “I’m beginning to suspect those boys wouldn’t have survived half the things they did without you.”

Katara smiled broadly. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Zuko shook his head.

“Well, there’s no scary spirit guard here. So take the book. I promise, they’re not doing anyone good gathering dust in this old tomb.”

She bit her lip, which was a classic sign that there was something else she wanted to say. He raised his brow, waiting her out.

“…I did notice that.”

“Notice what?”

“Just, I haven’t seen many people around the Palace, except for Jiro, Cho, and the two maids from earlier. It does feel…very, uh, tomb-like.”

He shrugged, flicking open a nearby journal. “I had to fire a lot of the staff. When I was first crowned, it was not too bad—it only happened when I was outside palace walls. But after the first assassin made it into the Master Bedroom, it was obvious there was a mole. It was easiest just to let all of them go.”

When she didn’t say anything, Zuko looked up from his perusal to Katara’s stricken face.

“Don’t worry!” He said. “I hadn’t been sleeping in that room. And I wasn’t harmed—not seriously, anyway. And besides, it’s only me in this place, what’s the point of having so many servants?”

“Zuko,” Katara said, voice strained. “What the hell! Did you figure out who sent the assassins?”

He shrugged. “Uncle and Shyu wanted me to do a proper investigation, but what was the point? If I tried to eliminate everyone who used to be loyal to my father, I would have to take out half the nobility. It just seemed simpler to increase security and let the old staff go. Uncle convinced me to keep Jiro, though. He’s too damn competent, I must admit…”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

The clear outrage in her tone made him smile. Still so noble.

“Katara, the war is over. We are all busy with our own plans: Aang with his air nomad search, Sokka with his leadership training, you with your water bending school. And I have my duties as a Fire Lord.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know about me trying to start a school?”

“Oh,” he said, scratching his ear awkwardly. “Your brother mentioned it, I think. He always sends me these ridiculously long letters, yammering on about anything and everything every month. Even when I don’t respond, he keeps sending them. Persistent guy, that one.”

Katara snorted. “Oh yes. If he weren’t such a warrior nut, Sokka could’ve had a thriving career as a gossip columnist.” She sobered. “But seriously, Zuko, you should have told us.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. And besides, the attacks mostly stopped since Ozai’s death.”

That event, of course, he had shared already. After agonizing over what to say for hours upon receiving the news, Zuko’d settled on a few short lines written to each member of the gang: Ozai passed away in his cell/Heart attack, the sages think his lack of bending led to a bodily shock/I’m ok.

The night after they burned the body, he and Iroh went to Ember Island to distribute the ashes. Zuko sold the beach house the next day.

Katara shifted, a conflicted look flitted across her face. “I’m sorry. Aang had said we should go, but we’d just gotten a promising new lead on a potential nomad encampment.” She hesitated. “And from your letter, it didn’t seem, well …”

“Katara. You don’t need to apologize for not wanting to come to the funeral of a tyrant.”

“But still, I—”

He sighed. “Then, if you’re truly sorry, can you do me a favor?”

She nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

He smirked. “Shouldn’t you wait to hear what my favor is, first, before agreeing?”

She raised a brow. “You don’t scare me.”

He leaned forward. She’d combed her hair loose tonight, a hint of whatever oil she used to bathe still present, mixed with the scent of pressed parchment. “Maybe you should be.”

He heard the slight hitch of her breath. Amused, he sat back in his chair. But Katara wasn’t fooled.

“Don’t avoid the question.”

Zuko smiled, wry. “I’d like it if you stop apologizing to me.” When she frowned, he shook his head. “I’m serious. I know being back here in this palace cannot be easy. And yes, the Spirit Water didn’t work, but I know you and Cho are trying everything you can.”

He paused, closing his eyes as the familiar lump began to grow in his throat. “And if…if there is nothing else we can do, well, that is not on you.”

Something cool pressed onto his fist—Katara’s hand.

“Alright, I’ll stop apologizing. But we’ll figure this out, Zuko. Iroh will recover.”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

But of course, they were both lying.

Desperate to distract himself from the telltale stinging gathering behind his eyes, he pulled his hand from under hers, busying himself by reaching for a new book.

“So, have you found anything helpful?”

She relaxed at the shift in conversation, reopening the tome with a soft thump. “Not really. I’ve learned a lot of interesting lore and some amusingly offensive propaganda.”

He looked down at the title he’d just grabbed.

“Sneaks and Spirits: A Ten-Year Observation of Northern Water Tribe Battle Strategy. Subtle. Why do I fear this will end in a long diatribe about how ultimately nothing can compete with the Fire Nation’s glorious power?”

“Oh, you’ve read that one?”

“Nope. That’s just how every book commissioned during Ozai’s reign seems to end.”

“Goodness. Looks like these military strategists forgot to account for a certain Master of All Four Elements in their predictions.”

“And one very lethal water bender.”

It was hard to tell in the waning light, but Zuko could almost swear a faint blush warmed across Katara’s cheeks at the compliment before she nosed deeper into her book. The pair of them fell into a comfortable silence, only the slight rustle of pages between them. When the sun finally started to peek through the windowpanes, Zuko closed his book, standing to stretch and dousing the candle.

“I think that’s enough for now. It’s past dawn.”

While he had meant that as a signal for them to try to go back to bed, Katara had other ideas. “You’re right. I should check in on the water bender.”

Despite the shadows growing under her eyes, he knew better than to dissuade her. They left the library, turning down the hall.

“How is she doing?”

Katara sighed. “Alright, we think. Cho bandaged her superficial wounds, and I tried to fix the ankle, but the injury is old. We won’t know the extent of long-term damage until she wakes up.”

“I’d like to ask her some questions when she’s up to it.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “About Camellia House.”

He nodded tightly. “I’ve sent out some contacts to track them down, but if she had any leads, that would be invaluable.”

Katara worried at her lip. “Alright, I’ll let you know when she wakes up.”

They stopped. The guard stationed outside the guest room straightened at the sight of them. As Katara turned to enter, he grabbed her arm.

“For now, can you stay in the Palace? Just to be safe? Or if you leave, please bring a guard with you.”

“I can take care of myself, Zuko.”

“Lord, do I know that. But, this time, please. You saw how desperate those bidders were. At least until we can catch them.”

She shook her head softly, a rueful look on her face.

“What?”

“No, it’s just a bit ironic, isn’t it? That the safest place right now might be the Fire Nation Palace, of all things.”

He forced a strained smile. In truth, Zuko couldn’t shake the feeling that, in reality, he was just asking Katara to lock herself in a far more deadly cage.

Chapter Text

Despite the early hour, Katara wasn’t her patient’s first visitor of the day.

Ty Lee smiled, pausing mid-massage of Iroh’s arm.

“Hi, Katara.”

“Katara, it is so good to see you, child. Come in!” Iroh boomed. He was sitting up, grinning and blinking rapidly.

Katara’s mouth twitched, amused.

“Looks like Cho swung by already?”

His gaze turned dreamy. “Ooh, yes. They gave me this wonderful concoction for my pain.” He gestured towards a half-empty flask on the side table with a gold liquid. “…said that it’s bad for me to have it too often, but because of last night, they made an exception.”

At the mention of last night, Katara’s own smile faltered. She pulled another chair towards the bed and settled into it, taking in his appearance more closely.

“And now how are you doing?”

“Well, I was very sore earlier, but now I’m feeling ever so lovely! Like floating on a pretty, fluffy cloud.” He sighed, nostalgic. “It would be even better if I could have some oolong, of course.”

“Sorry, sir,” Katara said. “You’re on a strict diet.”

“Goodness, I told you to just call me Iroh, or Uncle, my dear.”

“I’m sorry, uh, Uncle.” Katara bit her lips. “Did Cho tell you what happened?”

Uncle Iroh shook his head. “They said it might be better explained by you.”

“Right.” Katara hesitated, not sure how to start. “You…well, the Spirit Water didn’t work. I infused it with your chakras, but it caused an adverse reaction. You lost a lot of blood.”

“I see,” he said. “Do you have an idea why?”

“No. I’ve also never heard of this happening before. I’ve been doing some research, though, and I just sent a letter to Yagoda. So hopefully we will have some answers soon.”

“That is quite odd. I’ve never heard of Spirit Water not working before.” He hummed, stroking his beard. Seeing something in her expression, he cracked a smile. “It looks like you have something else you want to say.”

“It’s nothing, just… you’re taking this pretty well.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m sure Cho’s lovely little potion is helping. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about this situation. And I’m an old man, Katara.”

“Not that old,” Ty Lee interjected.

Katara scooted forward in her chair. “Yes, like Ty Lee said. And we still have other options. For now, we can continue with your usual treatments.” She raised her hands. “May I?”

Iroh nodded, and she closed her eyes as she laid her hands on his chest to assess. When she opened her eyes, she saw two sets of eyes staring at her, curious.

“What are you feeling for exactly?” Ty Lee said.

Katara licked her lips, at a bit of a loss. No one had ever really asked what it felt like to heal before—apart from other water benders, of course.

“Bending allows me to sense the flow of chi through our body. Yagoda, my healer instructor, taught me this method. Usually, when there’s a blockage of chi flow, it’s where the source of the injury is.”

“But, that’s not what’s happening to Uncle Iroh?” Ty Lee said.

“Yes. It’s like his chi has something polluting its waters. I don’t know the source, but whatever it is, it’s creating these large clumps across his body that block his chi flow. It’s why he can’t firebend either, along with his other symptoms. So far, I’ve been trying to use my bending to break them up until they can fully dissolve.”

“But every day, new ones reform,” Ty Lee concluded.

Katara nodded.

This filtering, as she’d been privately calling it, did seem to help with his pain. And Cho’s elixirs had restored Iroh’s appetite and stopped the vomiting—at least, until last night. But this was only a temporary solution at best; they were giving themselves a bit more time, but for how much longer, Katara didn’t know.

When she was done with the filtering, Iroh closed his eyes with a sigh, sinking back into his pillows, before his expression suddenly twisted into a grimace. He looked down at Ty Lee, who had begun to knead his legs quite vigorously.

“My dear, while I do appreciate you offering to ease my aches, I would not mind if you were a little less thorough and give this poor man a—ugh” Iroh’s complaint was cut off as Ty Lee jabbed the heel of her palm into his left calf.

“Come now, Uncle. This is all for your own good,” the other girl admonished.

Katara hesitated. “Are you sure you should be going that hard?”

Ty Lee’s mouth twisted in amusement. “Don’t worry. This is a normal part of chi blocking training. Our bodies have these bottleneck points, like taps.”

She gestured to certain places along Uncle Iroh’s thigh as an example. “You can use them to turn off movement, blood flow, and bending; or, turn them on stronger. Since Uncle does not have the strength to get out of bed, it’s important these points get stimulated, so his muscles do not atrophy.”

“Huh. I never heard that before.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? How bending is so intimately tied to the physical body.”

“Yes,” Katara said, looking down at her fingers. “It is.”

“Actually, it’s good that I ran into you.” Ty Lee said. “About the tea sample. Did you find anything useful?” Her voice was carefully neutral.

“No. Like Cho said, none of the ingredients are poisonous. In fact, it even included dried pacui, which is often used to cure poisons.”

Iroh patted Ty Lee’s hands, which had stilled on his knees. “See? I told you, child. It wasn’t the tea.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Ty Lee,” Iroh said, his voice suddenly stern. “Look at me.”

She glanced up. Her face was twisted, her large brown eyes full.

“This is not your fault,” he said.

Ty Lee swallowed but didn’t say anything.

“It’s true,” Katara piped in after an awkward moment. “Whatever is causing this illness, it was not your tea. I used the bending technique to pull out the liquids within it—there were no toxins, just water.”

Iroh nodded. “Exactly,” he said. He reached up to gently brush away a tear. “The only thing you are truly guilty of, my dear, is this painful torture session you call a massage.”

Ty Lee snorted damply. Katara pretended to busy herself with fluffing Iroh’s pillow as the other girl discreetly wiped her cheeks.

“Don’t think this means I’m finishing up your massage early, Uncle.” Ty Lee said.

The old man sighed dramatically. “If you insist.”

Katara watched as the pair exchanged fond glances. When Iroh reached over to the side table to grab his empty water glass, Katara stood, crossing the room to get him a new one.

“Well, I’ve been dying of boredom stuck in this bed. Tell me what’s been going on. Any interesting gossip?”

“Oh! Apparently, there was a massive fire on the east side of the plaza last night during the Fire Festival,” Ty Lee said.

Katara froze.

“My goodness,” Iroh said. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No idea. Mai and I were on the other side, so we only saw the flames from a distance. But that part of the grounds was much less busy, so hopefully the damage wasn’t too bad.” She leaned in, whispering dramatically.

“Rumor is, it was started by some fire benders at an underground gambling den.”

Katara returned to her seat, concentrating on the ridges of the glass in her hand.

“A casino?” Iroh asked.

“Yeah. My neighbor said they saw guards swarming. Even the Head Inspector had been called. Whatever was happening, it definitely wasn’t legal.”

“My, my. I suppose someone angry with their losses started the blaze, then?”

Ty Lee shrugged. “That’s my guess."

Katara set down the cup on the side table hard.

“It wasn’t a casino.”

Iroh and Ty Lee glanced back at her, startled.

“What do you mean?” Iroh said.

“They weren’t gambling…it was an auction house.”

He raised his eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

Katara looked down at the carpet before responding.

“Because we were there—Zuko and I. To bid on the Spirit Water.”

“I thought you told me you had found a supplier?” Iroh said.

“Well…it is true we found a seller,” Katara said, shrinking in her seat. “Just, uh, not, a very legitimate one.”

Yesterday, when Katara had explained the plan to source the Spirit Water to Iroh, she had admittedly not gone into much detail. It hadn’t been that hard to avoid mentioning the specifics; Iroh was groggy from his medicines and didn’t ask many questions. Zuko hadn’t even wanted to tell him at all, but she’d felt too guilty to hide it completely.

“Zuko was the one who started the fire, then?” Ty Lee said.

“No,” Katara said quietly. “It was both of us. The plan was just to get the Spirit Water and then leave. But we learned they were not just selling rare objects, but also people.”

Ty Lee gasped. “Slaves?”

“A water bender. So, we had to change our plan.”

The other girl shook her head. Iroh was frowning, deep in thought.

“A water bender…” He murmured.

Katara squeezed her eyes shut. “But it’s fine. We got her out. And once she’s stable, I’ll arrange for her to go back to the South Pole.”

From the expressions on their faces, it was clear they wanted to ask Katara more details, but both seemed to think better of it.

“Well,” Ty Lee said, after a strained silence, “I should be heading back. I told Ringmaster Po I would return to practice by midday, and I don’t want to get on his nerves; as it is, he’s been so stressed about this show. Yesterday, the new staffers he hired to set up the tents caught dragonpox. He’ll have to hire a whole new crew. It’s the third time in a month this has happened.”

“Really?” Katara said, latching onto this new subject. “From what Jiro mentioned, I thought the disease was under control.”

Ty Lee sighed. “Well, only if you’re talking about Capitol citizens. But most of the victims are new migrants from the Earth Kingdom. Most can’t afford the private healing centers or the few water-bending healers in town, who charge outrageous rates. Even though Zuko directed the treasury to provide more money to the public health department, the infections have continued.”

“Oh,” Katara said, frowning. She’d been so wrapped up in Iroh, she hadn’t taken much time to think about things outside of palace walls. “Is there any way I could help?”

Ty Lee’s face broke into a delighted smile. “Oh, of course! Mai and I are going to the public infirmary tomorrow, if you’d like to join.”

“I’d love to.”

“Lovely.” Ty Lee stood up, braid swinging behind her. “We’ll pick you up in the morning. I’ll see you soon, Uncle.”

After she left, the room settled into much more comfortable silence. Technically, Katara had already finished her filtering for the day, but something kept her from leaving. Searching for something to say, she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“I didn’t realize you and Ty Lee knew each other so well.”

Iroh beamed. “She’s a sweet child, isn’t she? We have grown close over the last couple of years through our shared love of tea. Ty Lee has excellent taste in oolong blends. She’s like the granddaughter I never had.”

“I thought that would’ve been Mai, no?” Katara said, before realizing. Her face flooded with heat, but Iroh just chuckled good-naturedly.

“Mai and I do prefer a good whiskey now and then. But now that she is no longer my nephew’s fiancée, we do not see each other as much. She’s too busy avoiding that foolish father of hers.”

Katara didn’t know what to say to this revelation. Mai had mentioned it at dinner, of course, but it felt different hearing about their relationship from Zuko’s own uncle. It evoked a strange flutter of wings through her gut.

Iroh continued, “I’m glad you went with Zuko to the auction. My nephew can be a bit impulsive sometimes, throwing himself into dangerous situations without care.”

She nodded tightly. Katara wanted to tell him the truth, that the impulsive one had been her, but the words clumped together in her throat.

She thought of Zuko, then; his figure outlined by the flames of the auction behind him, reaching out towards her.

“He looked out for me, too,” she managed. When there wasn’t a response, she looked up from her twisting fingers to see the old man giving her a knowing look.

“I’m glad. He’s always been a sensitive boy, Zuko. My brother hated it, of course, saw his feelings as weak. Ozai tried so hard to burn that out of him.”

Katara didn’t miss the word choice. “Are you saying his scar…”

Iroh smiled, eyes sad. “My nephew has grown a lot in the past couple of years. War ages everyone in that way. I had assumed that now, it might be best for me to step back, give him the space to find his way in this new role, and define what being a Fire Lord is without my baggage. But I had forgotten, really, how young he—you all—still are. And I worry my choice has left him adrift.”

He paused, a faraway look stealing across his features. “Now that my time seems to be coming to an end, I wish I had done things differently.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

With a grunt, Iroh tried to sit up a bit more. When Katara leaned forward to help him, he clamped onto her hand with surprising strength.

“I know that you and Zuko have a complicated history. But I hope that you’ll remain by his side. It’s true, Mai and Ty Lee are here, but he will need the support of all his friends. And once I’m gone, he’ll have no other family left.”

Katara bit her lip, but she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Except for Azula, you mean.”

Iroh tilted his head, puzzled. “Has Zuko not told you?”

Katara felt sweat begin to bead across her palm, the flutter in her gut turn serrated. “What has he not--”

But her question was interrupted as an ear-splitting sound pierced through the air. It was a woman’s scream.

Without thinking, Katara flew to her feet, dashing out of Iroh’s room towards the noise. She skidded to a stop in front of a familiar door. Pushing past the guard who had been peeking through the crack in the door, she pulled up short.

Cho was standing near the entrance, holding a long, sharp glass item that looked like an overly large needle, with a strange balloon attached to the blunt end in their left hand. The room was a disaster. Across the floor lay a variety of objects—shards of vials, tufts of pillow feathers, and an upturned metal serving tray. The comforter had been ripped off the bed, and the curtains around the bedframe were hanging in tatters, their ends crumpled on the carpet.

“What is going on?” Katara demanded. Cho whipped to look at her, surprise clear on their face.

“I-I’m not sure, she just suddenly,” They said, gesturing helplessly.

Katara followed their gaze across the room. The water bender was crouched on the opposite end, pressed into the corner, wrapped in the duvet like a sad excuse of a shield. Her face was a stark contrast from the auction. Now she seemed viscerally aware of herself; her pupils nearly consumed her irises, face ashen. She’d stopped screaming now, but her lips were jittering, as if she’d just jumped into a glacier lake.

And her gaze was trained on Cho.

Katara slowly raised her hands, taking a small step towards her.

“It’s ok, it’s all right.” She said, keeping her voice soft. The other woman flinched, seemingly noticing Katara for the first time.

“I’m not here to harm you.”

The woman kept trembling, but now her gaze skittered between Katara and Cho.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, alright?” When the other woman didn’t respond, Katara slowly dipped her hand into her skirts. The woman didn’t flinch this time, but she had turned her attention fully onto her.

With a swift motion, Katara uncorked her flask, pulling some water to float in front of them. The woman’s eyes widened, but she didn’t start screaming again. Encouraged, Katara bent the puddle into shapes: a koalaotter, an otterpenguin, a sea squid; all animals from the Southern Water Tribe. It was a game she’d played often with children back home, to have them guess what figure she was making. Mya, in particular, had loved it, always badgering Katara between lessons to do it again. Katara would huff but eventually acquiesce. Because secretly, even as an adult, she loved the game. The simplicity of it, the joy her bending could bring. It was a reminder of what she first loved about bending, back before it was a tool or weapon.

Katara watched as recognition began to set in on the older woman’s face. Her chest began to heave; slow, at first, then faster. Concerned, Katara dropped her hold on the shapes, letting the water collapse onto the rug.

“Are you…?” But before she could finish her question, the woman leapt up towards Katara, pulling her into an embrace as she burst into sobs.

Katara tensed in surprise before relaxing to pull her closer, letting the two of them collapse back down to the floor. Despite being more than twice Katara’s age, the smallness of the other woman’s stature evoked a strange maternal instinct in her. She started rubbing soft circles into the woman’s back, murmuring soothing words the way she would comfort children in her village. The woman shuddered again but didn’t move away.

Eventually, the woman calmed, and Katara released her grip. Dimly, Katara realized that Cho had stepped out. It was just the two of them in the room now.

The water bender was looking at her now, gaze more clear-eyed, with a hint of curiosity as her eyes fell below Katara’s face.

She smiled, hand reaching up to stroke her necklace.

“It’s from my mother,” Katara said.

And then, “My name is Katara. What’s your name?”

It took a moment for the woman to process the question, still fixated on the necklace. Then she blinked, pulling at the grey strands of her hair shyly before responding.

“Nini. My name is Nini.”

The name dropped like an anchor into Katara’s stomach. It hit the seabed, dislodging the sands atop an old memory—a cheap, fireside scary story now brought back to life. Heart hammering, Katara struggled to keep her voice even.

“Nini…as in Kya’s friend?”

The woman’s eyes widened in recognition. “You know Kya?” She pronounced the name with the tang of awe—the way six-year-olds do when talking about their best friend.

“Yes, she was my mother.”

The woman—Nini—straightened. “You’re Kya’s daughter? Does that mean she’s nearby? Can I see her?”

Katara closed her eyes. She felt a strange sense of déjà vu; just like last time, she had to be the one to share this news with someone who loved her mother.

“I’m sorry, Nini. My mother passed away many years ago.”

This time, when the sobs started again, Katara didn’t try to stop them.

***

Nini did not ask how Kya died; perhaps it was obvious. Distantly, Katara knew there were many questions that needed answers—about the auction, her strange injuries, her lost years—but she hesitated, watching as Nini braided and rebraided her hair, humming softly. The older woman felt fragile, a delicate piece of china with so many hairline fractures already that even the slightest brush could cause collapse.

Eventually, Katara convinced the other woman to let her take a look at her injuries. Because water benders were particularly attuned to their bodies, bending-healing was often deeply intimate and uncomfortable for them—particularly when it was inflicted without their consent—so Katara hadn’t tried to heal her while she was unconscious.

With full reach, Katara placed her hands on the woman’s arm and, like with Iroh, sent her awareness out. The results made her stifle a gasp. The scars across the surface of Nini’s body had only been the beginning.

When a water bender’s body is harmed, if they are skilled, their bending would reach out as a protective measure to try to self-heal. The leftover residue created slight fissures and scarring throughout—like eroded stones in a chakra pool. But Nini’s chi showed countless reroutes—a sign of repeated, constant wounds that her body had kept trying to heal. Katara had healed many soldiers, including other water benders, but never had she seen injuries this extensive.

Focusing now on the mangled ankle, she could sense, based on the way the water and chi were flowing, that the bone must’ve been broken at some point and never set, forcing it to fuse awkwardly, turning the foot to jut inwards at a painful angle. It was as Katara had feared; the injury was too old to be healed by bending.

She pulled her hands away, shaking.

Such level of injury, inflicted again and again, going back years, not to mention the patchwork of physical scars. The conclusion was inevitable, no matter how much Katara wanted to believe otherwise. Nini, who had been squirming slightly from the analysis, now cocked her head curiously. Katara pushed down the bile rising in her stomach, forcing a watery smile.

“All done. Thank you, you did great.”

Nini blushed at the praise. It sent a strange spear through Katara, the innocence of the expression.

If her mother lived, she’d be the same age as this woman.

“About your ankle…I’m sorry. The injury is too old, I don’t think you’ll be able to walk properly again.”

If Nini was surprised by this diagnosis, her face didn’t show it. Instead, she turned to assess the room, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Where am I?”

“In the Fire Lord’s Palace.”

At the words, Nini’s posture stiffened. She swung back to look at Katara sharply.

“Fire Lord?”

“Yes.”

The color drained from the other woman’s face.

“No, no.”

Katara swore internally before gathering the woman’s hands in her own. “Don’t worry, Nini. You’re safe here, I promise.”

But the woman shook her head vigorously. “No, I don’t want to be here.”

Katara pressed her hands into the woman’s palms, willing warmth to flow into them. “Trust me. It’s not—this isn’t the same Palace. Lord Ozai is dead. The war’s ended, you see—”

But it was clear that Nini was no longer hearing her. She flinched away from Katara’s grip, curling into a ball, and digging her fingers into her scalp.

“No. No, no, no. Please, no.”

“Nini, I know you’re scared, but I swear—”

“NO! I WANT TO GO HOME!”

The wail was horrible, like nails across metal.

Swallowing, Katara tried again. “I know, Nini. And I promise, you will. But with how weak your body is right now, it wouldn’t be safe—”

But the other woman just started rocking back and forth.

“No. Nowhere is safe in the Fire Nation. Please, please, please. Nowhere is safe for me.”

Nini’s gasps got shorter and shorter, her chest stuttering and eyes glazed over. Sweat had begun to bead across the woman’s forehead. Katara tried talking again, reasoning with the woman, but it was no use. Nini began to claw at her throat.

“I—I can’t breathe—”

Alarmed, Katara shook her shoulder, “Nini, can you hear me? Please, try to take a deep breath. Listen to the sound of my voice,”

“I—I can’t! I can’t b—”

Wildly, Katara swung her gaze around the room, landing on a flask of pale gold liquid left on the side table. She recognized it from Iroh’s room—the peace draught. She grabbed it, tripping along the carpet to get back to Nini, whose lips had started turning blue.

“Drink this,” she ordered.

Thankfully, the other woman didn’t resist as Katara tipped the contents into her mouth. The effect was immediate; Nini’s chest slowed, and after a few moments, she closed her eyes with a shuddering sigh.

Carefully, Katara gathered the woman in her arms and moved her to the bed. Nini stirred slightly as Katara pulled the duvet over her, but before long, her breaths settled into a regular rhythm as she drifted into unconsciousness.

Katara collapsed on the chair near the bed, watching the other woman sleep, pressing a hand to her own throat, listening to the beats of her own heart finally start to calm as well.

A moment later, Katara closed her eyes, letting her head fall into her hands. It couldn’t have been half past noon, but she suddenly felt exhausted, every muscle sore like she’d just run miles.

When she was younger, Katara sometimes had these fantasies of turning into a seal otter. What would it be like, she’d wondered, to slip into the waters? To float amongst the icebergs? Let the arctic temperatures numb her body until she wouldn’t have to feel anything at all?

A knock interrupted her thoughts. As she turned towards the door, it cracked open and Cho peeked their head in.

“What are you doing here?” Katara said.

“I wanted to check in on the patient,” Cho said, stepping fully into the room. “But I see she’s asleep now.”

“You need to leave.”

Cho’s eyebrows raised. “I’m her appointed pharmacist-healer.”

Katara opened her mouth to respond, but paused at Nini’s sleeping figure. “Let’s talk in the hallway,” she said.

Cho narrowed their eyes but followed. As they exited, Katara glared at the guard, who took the hint and scuttled away to give them some privacy. Katara spun around to face the pharmacist.

“You shouldn’t be here. Nini will be awake soon.”

“Oh! She told you her name, then? I’d only just entered the room when she started screaming, so I didn’t really get the chance to ask.”

Katara’s anger flared, chasing out the tiredness that had appeared just minutes ago.

“That was because you scared her with your strange needle weapon!” She hissed.

Cho frowned, puzzled. “Oh, you mean the syringe? It’s not a weapon, just a prototype, really. An exciting invention, actually. I found the schematics in the journals I’d mentioned. Of course, it needs more testing. I was just bringing it back with me to my office—”

“I don’t care what it is,” Katara interrupted. “I don’t want you near Nini anymore.”

Cho whipped their head up to look at her, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“Nini doesn’t trust Fire Nation people. Understandable, really, given what she’s gone through.”

“Did she tell you what happened to her?”

Katara let out a harsh bark. “Not in so many words. But the injuries speak for themselves. Multiple breaks, in the same spots, with no evidence of proper healing. The layers of scars, the widespread damage to her chi…it’s obvious.”

Understanding dawned on Cho’s face.

“You’re saying she was tortured.”

Katara looked down, willing the tears not to come back out again.

“And now she’ll probably never be able to walk properly again.”

Cho bit their lip, troubled.

“Are you talking about her ankle? Because I’ve been thinking about that, but I have been testing some new muscle-based elixirs that have had some great success on veterans.” Cho stepped towards the guestroom door. “If I can just take a look,”

“No!” Katara said, arm jutting out to block them.

Taken aback, Cho faltered. The movement caused the vials in their satchel to clink against each other, echoing in the dark hall.

“No,” Katara said again. “None of your new-fangled ideas. Nini needs treatment from her own people. She’s not some, some guinea mouse to test out your new toys.”

“Look, I get that she’s fragile, but I really think this could help—”

“I. Said. No.”

Cho bristled. “Excuse me?”

“Nini is a water bender. She needs proper water bending treatment.”

Now it was Cho’s turn to scoff. They rubbed a hand through their cropped hair, shaking their head. “Of course, so typical.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that, you benders are so narrow-minded.” They ripped open their bag, muttering under their breath as they dug inside before finally pulling out a container of amber solution to show Katara.

“Do you see this? This is starpoppy extract. It can be used to heal over 200 different injuries, including healing partial blindness.”

“And this?” They said, brandishing another vial filled with green paste. “This is a mixture of melonyam ash, banana pulp and mongoose lizard scales. I invented it myself–it can heal almost any first-degree burn or gash within minutes. Yet, still, everyone always wants a water bender for an illness. When there are so many more tools, if they’d bothered to explore—”

They shook the dusty red notebook they’d been holding in their other hand above their head. “—that is still to be untapped.”

“Look,” Katara said, feeling her anger gather. “I’m not saying pharmacists like yourself can’t be useful, but people rely on bending because it is a tradition that has been used for centuries and centuries! Don’t talk as if you know anything about what it means to be one!”

Cho’s lip curled. “Oh, yes, tradition, what a typical excuse. People do so love to remind me about the importance of being traditional.”

But a look passed over their face, almost too quick to catch—sadness. The anger that had been building in Katara fizzled, leaving something much more unpleasant in its wake.

She wet her lips, looking at the ground before choosing her next words. “Look…maybe traditional was not the right word.”

“Really? I think you chose the perfect one, actually.” They said, voice bitter.

A viscous silence swelled between them, before Cho’s face smoothed into a carefully blank slate.

“Fine.” They said, straightening and repacking their satchel. “If that’s what you want, I’ll stop caring for the water bender. Not like I don’t have a million other patients to tend to.”

And with that, Cho turned on their heel. Katara opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. Instead, she only watched Cho’s figure retreat down the dark hall.

***

Katara finally pulled herself away from Nini’s bedside a couple of hours later, giving strict instructions to the guard that he was not to let anyone else in. She made her way to the east patio, where Jiro had told her the messenger hawks roosted. After scribbling out her message to Oyalu, she stood in the dovecote, following the bird until the last of its feathers were cut off by a drifting cloud. Her stomach grumbled; she’d missed lunch.

Vaguely, Katara had intended to go straight back to Nini’s room, but her feet seemed to have a different idea. It was only when she heard the splashes that she realized she was back in the garden she’d encountered on her first day back in the Palace.

Today, it was empty, save the turtle ducks. A group of them was gathered on one edge of the pond, clucking cheerfully as they dunked their heads underneath the surface. At the opposite end, Katara spied the smaller bird from last time. As it paddled over to the group, one of the larger birds dove deep to catch a minnow, and the resulting wave caused the little one to lose its balance. He started flapping desperately to stay upright until Katara crouched down and gently nudged him straight. The bird squawked rudely in response before immediately turning tail to again chase the rest of the flock. As he swam away, she noticed that the injured wing from earlier was now bound clumsily in a small gauze sling.

She stood again. The sun was warm, the lapis of the sky glittering off the pond. A neat stone path wound across the grass, leading to a small circular patio with chairs and a table on the back end. The rest of the garden was dotted with lush bushes of various flowers—pale moon peach and dramatic panda lily intermixed with bushes of fragrant jasmine. The walls around were covered by thick vines and lined with smaller persimmon trees, which, this time of year, had only started to bloom their sweet fruit. And in the center, the old wisteria hung, its branches floating, skimming the pond’s surface in the breeze.

Someone had poured an immense amount of care into every little detail, from the single blade of grass to the last leaf.

Katara squeezed her eyes, shutting out the beautiful garden, and began to cry.